She wouldn’t look at the files on her desk tonight, she told herself as she pulled down the zipper of her ivory wool dress. If she had a problem, it was that she didn’t allow herself enough time. Tonight she would pamper herself, forget about the patients who would come to her office on Monday morning, forget about the clinic where she would have to face the anger and resentment of drug withdrawal two afternoons next week. She’d forget about the murder of four women. And she’d forget about Ben.
In the full-length mirror inside the closet, her reflection leaped out at her. She saw a woman of average height, slim build, in an expensive and conservatively cut white wool dress. A choker of three strands of pearls and fat amethyst lay against her throat. Her hair was caught back at the temples with pearl-trimmed ivory combs. The set had been her mother’s, and as quietly elegant as the senator’s daughter had been.
Her mother had worn the choker as a bride. Tess had pictures in the leather-bound album she kept in her bottom dresser drawer. When the senator had given the pearls to his granddaughter on her eighteenth birthday, they had both wept. Every time Tess wore them, she felt both a pang and pride. They were a symbol of who she was, where she had come from, and in some ways, what was expected of her.
But tonight they seemed too tight around her throat. She slipped them off, and the pearls lay cool in her hand.
Even without them the image changed little. Studying herself, she wondered why she had chosen such a simple, such a
She caught herself. Shaking her head, she slipped out of the dress and reached for a padded hanger. Here she was-a grown woman, a practical, even sensible woman, a trained psychiatrist- standing in front of a mirror and imagining herself in red leather. Pitiful. What would Frank Fuller say if she went to him for analysis?
Grateful she could still laugh at herself, she reached for her warm, floor-length chenille robe. On impulse she bypassed it and took out a flowered silk kimono. A gift, rarely worn. Tonight she was going to pamper herself, silk against her skin, classical music, and it would be wine not tea she took to bed with her.
Tess put the choker on her dresser then pulled out the combs and lay them beside it. She turned down the bed and fluffed the pillows in anticipation. Another impulse had her lighting the scented candles beside her bed. She drew in a whiff of vanilla before she headed toward the kitchen.
The phone stopped her. Tess sent it an accusing glance, but went to her desk and picked it up on the third ring.
“Hello.”
“You weren’t home. I’ve waited such a long time, and you weren’t home.”
She recognized the voice. He’d called her before, at her office on Thursday. The thought of a self-indulgent evening at home slipped away as she picked up a pencil. “You wanted to talk to me. We didn’t finish talking before, did we?”
“It’s wrong for me to talk.” She heard him draw in a painful breath. “But I need…”
“It’s never wrong to talk,” she said soothingly. “I can try to help you.”
“You weren’t there. That night you never came, you never came home. I waited. I watched for you.”
Her head jerked up so that her gaze was frozen to the dark window beyond her desk. Watched. She shivered, but deliberately moved closer to look out at the empty street. “You watched for me?”
“I shouldn’t go there. Shouldn’t go.” His voice trailed off, as if he were talking to himself. Or someone else. “But I need. You’re supposed to understand,” he blurted out quickly, accusingly.
“And I’ll try to. Would you like to come to my office and talk to me?”
“Not there. They’d know. It’s not time for them to know. I haven’t finished.”
“What haven’t you finished?” There was only silence as he dragged his breath in and dredged it out again. “I could help you more if you’d meet with me.”
“I can’t, don’t you see? Even talking to you is… Oh, God.” He began to mumble. Tess couldn’t understand. She strained her ears. Perhaps Latin, she thought, and put a question mark on the pad, circling it.
“You’re in pain. I’d like to help you deal with the pain.”
“Laura was in pain. Terrible pain. She was bleeding. I couldn’t help her. She died in sin, before absolution.”
The hand on the pencil faltered. Tess found it necessary to ease herself into the chair. When she found herself staring blindly at the window, she forced herself to look down at her pad again, and her notes. Training clicked into place, and she schooled herself to breathe deeply and keep her voice calm. “Who was Laura?”
“Beautiful, beautiful Laura. I was too late to save her. I hadn’t the right then. Now I’ve been given the power, and the duty. The will of God is hard, so hard.” He almost whispered here, then his voice became strong. “But just. The lambs are sacrificed and the clean blood washes sin away. God demands sacrifices. Demands diem.”
Tess moistened her lips. “What kind of sacrifices?”
“A life. He gave us life and he takes it. ‘Your sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in the house of their eldest brother, when suddenly a great wind came across the desert and smote the four corners of the house. It fell upon the young people and they smote them; and I alone have escaped to tell you.’ I alone,” he repeated in the same terrible blank voice he had used to quote. “But after the sacrifices, after the trials, God rewards those who remain innocent.”
As if she would be graded on them, Tess concentrated on mak-ing her notes clear and even. Her heart hammered away in her throat. “Does God tell you to sacrifice the women?”
“Save and absolve. I have the power now. I lost faith after Laura, turned my back on God. It was a blind, terrible time of selfishness and ignorance. But then He showed me that if I were strong, if I sacrificed, we would all be saved. My soul is tied to hers,” he said quietly. “We’re bound together. You didn’t come home that night.” His mind was swinging back and forth. Tess could hear it in the shifts of his voice as much as in the content of his words. “I waited, I wanted to talk to you, to explain, but you spent the night in sin.”
“Tell me about that night. The night you waited for me.”
“I waited, I watched for the light in your window. It never came. I walked. I don’t know how long, where. I thought it was you coming toward me, or Laura. No, I thought it was you, but it wasn’t. Then I-I knew she must be the one… I put her in the alley, out of the wind. So cold. It was so cold. Put her out of sight,” he said in a terrible hiss. “Put her out of sight before they could come and take me away. They are ignorant and defy the ways of the Lord.” His breath came in jagged gasps now. “Pain. Sick. My head. Such enormous pain.”
“I can help the pain. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come.”
“Can you?” A frightened child being offered a night-light during a storm. “No!” His voice boomed out, suddenly powerful. “Do you think you can tempt me to question God’s will? I am His instrument. Lauras soul is waiting for the remaining sacrifices. Only two more. Then we’ll all be free, Dr. Court. It isn’t death that’s to be feared, but damnation. I’ll watch for you,” he promised, almost humbly. “I’ll pray for you.”
Tess didn’t move when the phone clicked in her ear, but sat perfectly still. Outside the stars were clear and close and bright. Cars moved by on the street at a sedate pace. Streetlights pooled onto the sidewalk. She saw no one, but wondered, as she sat near the window, if she was seen.
There was sweat on her forehead, cold and sticky. She took a tissue from the corner of the desk and carefully dried it.
He’d been warning her. She wasn’t sure if even he was fully aware of it, but he’d called to warn her as much as to ask for help. She would be next. Her fingers trembled as they lifted to where the pearl choker had lain. She couldn’t swallow.
Slowly, and with infinite care, she drew the chair back and eased out of it, and out of the sight of the window. She’d put a hand to the curtain to draw it closed when the knock on her door made her slam back against the wall in an animal panic she’d never before experienced. Terror swam into her as she looked around for a means of defense, a place to hide, a way to escape. She fought it back as she reached for the phone-911. She had only to dial it, give her name and address.
But when the knock came again, she looked at the door and saw she’d forgotten to put on the chain.
She was across the room in seconds, heaving her weight against the door and fumbling with the chain, which suddenly seemed too big and unwieldly to fit into the slot. Half sobbing, she threw it home.
“Tess?” The knock came again, louder, more demanding. “Tess, what’s going on?”
“Ben. Ben, oh, God.” Her fingers were even clumsier as she pulled to release the chain. Her hand slipped on the knob once, then she yanked open the door and threw herself against him.
