were all ranting about how unfair life was to them. How maybe in a different time their tastes and instincts would be accepted as normal. It was more whining than musing, Gladden had always thought. He called up the file marked Eidolon and began reading.
____________________
I think they will know about me soon. My time in the light of public fascination and fear is near. I am ready. Each one of my kind eventually assumes the mantle. Anonymity will be lost. I will be given a name, a designation not reflective of who I am nor of my many skills, but simply determined by its ability to fit nicely into a tabloid newspaper headline and stimulate the masses to thoughts of fear. We study what we fear. Fear sells newspapers and television shows. Soon it will be my turn to sell.
I will be hunted soon and I will be notorious. But they won't find me. Never. That's what they won't realize. That I have always been ready for them.
I have decided it is time to tell my story. I want to tell it. I will input all that I have, all that I am. Through these windows you will see me live and die. My laptop Boswell makes no judgments, cringes not at a single word. Who better to hear my confession than Laptop Boswell? Who more accurate a biographer than Laptop Boswell? I will begin to tell you all now. Turn on your flashlights. I will live and die here in the dark.
Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering.
I didn't write that first but I wish that I had. But it doesn't matter because I believe it. My suffering is my passion, my religion. It never leaves me. It guides me. It is me. I can see that now. I think what is meant by those words is that our pain is the pathway upon which we make our life's travels and choices. It paves the way, so to speak, for all that we do and become. Therefore, we embrace it. We study it and, for all its harshness, we love it. We have no choice.
I have a great feeling of clarity about this, of complete understanding. I can turn and look back on my path and see how the pain made all my choices. I look forward and can see where it will take me. I don't really walk along the path any more. It moves beneath me, carrying me, like a great ribbon through time. It carried me here.
My pain is the rock upon which I make my stand. I am the perpetrator. The Eidolon. True identity is pain. My pain. Until death do we part.
Drive safely, dear friends.
____________________
He read it again and felt deeply moved by it. It touched his true heart.
He went back to the main menu and switched into the Barter Board to see if there were any new customers. There weren't. He typed the G command for good-bye. He then turned off the computer and folded it closed.
Gladden wished the cops hadn't taken his camera. He couldn't risk going to claim it and he could barely afford to buy another one with the money he had left. But he knew that without a camera he could not fill orders and there would be no more money. The anger building inside him felt like razors moving through his blood, cutting him from inside. He decided to wire money out from Florida, then go shopping for another camera.
He went to the window and looked out at the cars slowly moving along Sunset. It was an endless moving parking lot. All that smoking steel, he thought. All that flesh. Where was it going? He wondered how many of them in those cars were like himself. How many had the urges and how many felt the razors? How many had the courage to follow through? Again the anger pushed through his thoughts. It was something palpable inside him now, a black flower spreading its petals in his throat, choking him.
He went to the phone and dialed the number Krasner had given him. Sweetzer picked up after four rings.
'Busy, Sweetzer?'
'Who's this?'
'It's me. How are the kids?'
'What-who is this?'
His instincts told Gladden to hang up right then. Don't deal with their kind. But he was so curious.
'You have my camera,' he said.
There was a short moment of silence.
'Mr. Brisbane, and how are you?'
'Fine, Detective, thank you.'
'Yes, we have your camera and you are entitled to have that back since you require it to make a living. Do you want to make an appointment to pick it up?'
Gladden closed his eyes and squeezed the phone until he thought he would crush it. They knew. If they didn't they would have told him to forget the camera. But they knew something. And they wanted him to come in. The question was how much did they know? Gladden wanted to scream but a higher thought was to keep cool with Sweetzer. No false moves, he told himself.
'I'll have to think about that.'
'Well, it looks like a nice camera. I'm not sure how it works but I wouldn't mind having it. It's here if you want-'
'Fuck you, Sweetzer.'
The anger overtook him. Gladden spoke the words through a clenched jaw.
'Look, Brisbane, I was doing my job. If you got a problem with that come see me and we'll do something about that. If you want your fucking camera then you can come and get that, too. But I'm not going to stay on the line while you-'
'You got kids, Sweetzer?'
The line was silent for a long moment but Gladden knew the detective was there.
'What did you say?'
'You heard me.'
'Are you threatening my family, you motherfucking son of a bitch?'
Now Gladden was silent for a moment. Then a low sound started deep in his throat and grew into a maniacal laugh. He let it out uncontrolled until it was all he could hear and think about. Then, suddenly, he slammed the receiver down on the phone and cut the laughter off like a knife in the throat. He had an ugly grimace across his face and he shouted to the empty room through clenched teeth.
'Fuck you!'
Gladden opened his laptop again and accessed the photo directory. The computer's screen was state of the art for a laptop model but the graphics chip still wasn't nearly the quality he'd have on a stationary PC. But the images were clear enough and he was able to make do. He went through the file photo by photo. It was a macabre collection of the dead and the living. Somehow, he was able to find solace in the photos, a sense that he had control over things in his life.
Still, he was saddened by what he saw before him and what he had done. These little sacrifices. Offered up so that he could salve his wounds. He knew how selfish it was, how grotesquely warped it was. And the fact that he turned these sacrifices into money tore away his comfort, turned it into the self-loathing and disgust that always came. Sweetzer and the others were right. He deserved to be hunted.
He rolled onto his back and looked at the water-stained ceiling. Tears filled his eyes. He closed them and tried to sleep, tried to forget. But his Best Pal was there in the darkness behind his eyelids. As always, he was there. His face set, a horrible slash for lips.
Gladden opened his eyes and looked at the door. There had been a knock. He quickly sat up as he heard the metal scrape of a key going into the outside knob. He realized his mistake. Sweetzer had had a trace on the line. They knew he would call!
The door to the room swung open. A small black woman in a white uniform stood in the doorway with two towels draped over her arm.
'Housekeeping,' she said. 'I am sorry I'm so late today but it's been a busy day. Tomorrow I'll do your room first.'
Gladden exhaled and noticed that he had neglected to put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside knob.
'It's okay,' he said, quickly getting up to stop her entrance into the room. 'Just the towels today, anyway.'
As he took the towels he noticed embroidered on her uniform the name Evangeline. She had a lovely face and he immediately felt sorry that this was her job, cleaning up after others.
