Faces of Fear

Alison’s eyes widened. “Gross!”

“Oh, it was gross, all right. But the weird thing was, when she put up a composite of the face, I had the strangest feeling that I’d seen it before. Like it was someone I know…or at least once knew well enough so she looked familiar. But I can’t put my finger on it.”

“So what did she look like?” Alison asked.

Risa thought a moment and shrugged. “That’s the other weird thing. I can’t really tell you what she looked like — it was just a woman’s face. Certainly not ugly, or even just homely. But not really pretty, either. Just sort of — I don’t know — nondescript, I guess.” She moved closer to Alison, bent over, and kissed her on the cheek. “Actually, I’m glad you didn’t see the show — it would give you nightmares. Speaking of which,” she added, straightening up, “don’t forget it’s a school night. I’m going to go to bed and read until Conrad gets home.”

“Okay. ’Night.”

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t.”

Alison turned back to her keyboard, and Risa went to her bedroom, undressed, and put on her nightgown. But when she finally slid into bed, picked up her book, and tried to start reading, she couldn’t concentrate. Instead of taking in the words on the page, she kept thinking about the nondescript face from Tina’s special, and the nagging feeling that it was somehow familiar, despite its utter forgetability. Maybe it was the hair — maybe she’d have recognized her if the rendition had shown her with blond hair, or short hair.

Or maybe it was nothing at all, and the face had simply been so bland it reminded her of everyone and no one at the same time.

She knew if she kept thinking about it, she wasn’t going to sleep at all tonight. Deciding that if it was still bothering her in the morning, she’d watch the show again on TiVo, she turned determinedly back to her book.

ALISON CLOSED the lid of her laptop. Even with the distraction of trying to figure out how to make things right with Cindy, she’d still gotten a good start on two of the papers due before the end of the week. If Cindy had replied to her e-mail or responded to the Instant Message she’d sent when she saw that her oldest friend had logged on to MySpace, she would probably have finished at least one of the papers. But Cindy logged off without even acknowledging that she was online, and Alison’s hurt at the snub had been gnawing at her ever since.

She stood up and stretched, but didn’t feel like going to bed — she’d only think about the fight with Cindy, and dreams with her best friend walking away, telling her to “Go play with your new friends,” would haunt her again tonight.

Maybe she’d just read awhile.

But none of the books on her nightstand inspired her.

Maybe she’d watch Tina Wong’s special. She might recognize the face her mom thought looked familiar. At least it would keep her mind off Cindy Kearns and her other old friends.

Alison put on her bathrobe, padded downstairs in her slippers, and closed the door to the media room. Curling up on the sofa, she clicked on the TV, found the show on the TiVo list, and snuggled in to watch.

And instantly found Tina Wong’s material as disgusting as her mother had said it was. What was her dad thinking, letting this go on? Feeling faintly sick at the bloody images flashing across the screen, she fast-forwarded to the very end, where her mother had told her the face slowly came together. Clicking the TiVo back to PLAY, she watched in fascination as the blank face began to fill in.

Then, when it was complete, she paused the image.

The face did look familiar. The trouble was, it seemed flat, and there was no life to it. Nor did it have the normal contours of a real face; instead, it looked more like a balloon with features glued on so well they seemed to have merged with the rubber.

But it was still a balloon.

And yet, something about the features…she gazed at the screen for a long time, trying to recall where she’d seen this woman, and then it came to her.

But it wasn’t possible.

Was it?

Goose bumps crawled over her arms and a cold chill ran through her.

She clicked off the television and hurried upstairs, grateful that the light was still on in her mother’s bedroom and the door stood slightly ajar.

“Mom?” she said with a tremble in her voice as she pushed the door farther open.

Her mother looked up over the top of her reading glasses.

“I watched Tina Wong’s special.”

Her mother frowned, and looked at the clock. “Honey, it’s almost midnight.”

“I know. But I also know who that face reminds you of.”

Her mother lowered her book and took off her reading glasses. “Who?”

“Margot Dunn.”

Her mother’s jaw dropped open. “Margot?” she said. “Sweetheart, Margot Dunn was an international supermodel — she was beyond beautiful. And the face that Tina Wong showed was…” Risa searched for the right word, then shrugged. “…pretty ordinary.”

“I know. But if that face hadn’t been round — if it had had the kind of angles Margot Dunn’s had—” She stopped abruptly, seeing the doubt on her mother’s face, and shifted gears. “Whoever’s killing those women is some kind of weirdo. What if he was obsessed with Margot Dunn? What if—”

“What if you go to bed?” Risa declared. “I think you’ve been reading way too many supermarket tabloids.” She cocked her head. “You didn’t watch the whole thing, did you? It’ll give you the worst kind of—”

“I fast-forwarded to the end. And if I have nightmares, I’ll come crawl in bed with you like I did when I was little.”

“Not with me and Conrad, you won’t,” her mother told her. “Now off to bed. And think good thoughts before you go to sleep, okay? I think maybe I should call your father in the morning and lodge a complaint about the lovely Tina.”

“Come on — she’s just doing her job,” Alison said, then kissed her mother. “And no matter what you think,” she added as she left the room, “I bet I’m right. I bet it is some nut who’s got a thing about Margot Dunn.”

WHEN ALISON WAS GONE, Risa put the reading glasses back on and picked up her book again. But Alison’s words were like worms burrowing holes in her concentration, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to get through another page.

Margot Dunn? The image at the end of the show hadn’t looked anything like Margot.

Had it?

Of course not.

And yet…

Before she’d even made a conscious decision, Risa slipped out of bed, pulled on her robe, shoved her feet into her slippers, and made her way down the darkened stairs.

In the media room, she sat on the still-warm couch where Alison had curled up, turned the television on and fast-forwarded to the end of the special.

She paused it when the composite filled the screen, as Alison had not long before.

And as she gazed at the image, she realized that something about that face did, indeed, remind her of Margot.

But that was ridiculous. The woman depicted on the screen was pretty enough, but hardly beautiful. If she had a picture of Margot, she thought, the differences would be apparent. She’d see it, and so would Alison.

Except that there were no pictures of Margot in the house; the only ones she’d seen were in the weird room in the basement Conrad had called the Margot Museum.

Had he cleaned it out yet? Maria hadn’t said anything about clearing anything from the basement.

Risa turned off the television, got up, and walked through the house to the kitchen, then into the stairwell that led down to the basement.

She could hear the machinery of the house humming steadily.

She switched on the solitary light that was mounted halfway down the stairs, descended into the vast area beneath the house, and started down the dim hallway to the storeroom that had held all of Margot’s things.

Twenty yards away she could once again smell the sweet scent of the perfume that still pervaded the