The Face of Death

'Go on,' I say. 'What happened next?'

She looks off, her voice faint.

'He asked me how I liked the poem. He seemed genuinely interested. I didn't answer. He didn't seem to mind. 'It's good to see you again,' he said. 'Your pain is more beautiful than ever.' '

'Sarah, how accurate is your memory of the way he talks and what he says? Don't be offended.'

'I have a gift for voices and what people say. It's not a photographic memory or anything. I can't remember it exactly, not word for word, not like that. But I'm pretty good. And I really concentrate on him when he's speaking. The way he talks. The things he does.'

'That's good, it will help,' I encourage her. 'How tall is he?'

'A little over six feet.'

'Is he black or white?'

'White and clean shaven.'

'Is he a big man? By that, I mean, is he fat or skinny? Muscular or weak?'

'He's not fat, but he's not thin. He's very strong. He has a perfect body. Perfect. Not a flaw on it. He must work out like crazy. He's well built without being all pumped up.'

I hear Barry's pen scratch away.

'Go on,' I say. 'What happened next?'

' 'I'm almost done sculpting you, Sarah,' he said. 'Ten long years, full of ups and downs and twists and turns and sorrow. I've watched you bend and break. It's interesting, isn't it? How many times a human being can shatter and still keep moving forward? You're not the same little girl you were when we began this journey, are you? I can see the cracks, the places where you had to glue yourself back together.' ' Sarah shifts in the bed, restless. 'This isn't exact, okay?

It's not word for word, but basically it's what he said and how he sounded.'

'You're doing fine,' I assure her.

She continues. 'He had a bag with him. He opened it and pulled out a small video camera and pointed it at me.'

'He's done that before, hasn't he?' I ask.

She nods. 'Yes. He says he's documenting my ruin. That it's important, that without it there's no justice.'

Killers collect trophies. The video is his.

'What did he do next?'

'He focused on my face, and he said: 'I want you to think of your mother.' ' She turns to me. 'Want to see what he saw?'

Before I can tell her no, I really don't, her eyes change and I forget to breathe.

They fill up with a grief and yearning as vivid as a sunrise. I see hope unfulfilled, a fundamental loss of heart.

She turns away. I can breathe again.

But how can she?

'What then?' I push out, a little shaky.

'He just sat for a little bit, watching me through the camera lens. Then he started to talk to me. 'Do you know what one of the most exciting parts of this is for me, Sarah? The things I can't control. Take this place, for instance. A family that is kind to you without being truly warm. A son who shows the world a perfect face, but blackmails you so you'll suck his cock. It's amazing. On the one hand, all chance. I didn't make this home. On the other hand, you are only here because of me. Did you ever think of that while Michael's cock was in your mouth? That you were there, looking up into his eyes, because of the things I've done?' '

Sarah gives me a sardonic smile. 'The answer is yes. I did think about The Stranger, some of those times.' I note that her hand is still trembling.

'Go on,' I encourage her.

How'd he know Michael was abusing her? A mental note I keep to myself, for now. I don't want to break her rhythm.

'He got nasty, then.' She stares off, remembering. 'He said: 'Do you know what Michael made you, Sarah, the moment you got down on your knees in exchange for his silence? He made you a whore.' '

Sarah's hands fly up to her face, startling me. She covers her eyes and her shoulders tremble.

'Are you okay?' I ask her in a soft voice.

She heaves out a single deep breath, almost a sob. A moment passes and she drops her hands back into her lap.

'I'm fine,' she says, toneless.

She continues putting a voice to the man she calls The Stranger.

' 'Chance, but not really,' he said. 'All I had to do was place you on the road, as God willed me to. I knew I could count on human nature to make your journey hard, as long as I was there to remove the kind ones. The ones that care are always a minority, Little Pain. A raindrop in a storm.' ' She looks at me. 'He's right. He may have stacked the deck and given my life a push, but the people that did bad things to me?' She rubs her arms as though she's cold. 'He didn't make them do those things. They did them on their own.'

I want to comfort her, to tell her that not everyone is bad, that there are good people in the world. I've learned to stifle this instinct. Victims don't want sympathetic words. They want me to turn back time, to make it not have happened.

'Go on,' I say.

'He kept on talking. He likes to hear himself talk. 'Our time together is going to be done soon. I'm almost ready to complete my work. I've found the last few pieces I've been searching for, and soon, I'll reveal my masterpiece.' He stuffed the camera back into the bag and stood up. 'It's time for the next leg of your journey, Little Pain. Follow me.' '

'Why does he call you 'Little Pain'?' I ask.

'It's his pet name for me. His 'Little Pain.' ' The look in her eyes is savage. 'I hate it!'

'I don't blame you,' I murmur. 'What happened next?'

'I started to move toward the door, like he asked, but then I stopped. Useless, I know, but I felt like I needed to make him force me to walk out that door. Like it meant something that I didn't go on my own. Silly.'

Maybe, I think, but it gives me hope for you.

'What then?'

' 'Don't be difficult,' he said, and he grabbed me by the arm. He was wearing thick gloves, but I could still feel how hard and strong his hands were. He led me down the hall to Dean and Laurel's bedroom.'

She gives me a wistful look. 'That window I was sitting at when you came in? I remember seeing it then, thinking what a beautiful day it was.'

'Go on,' I coax her.

'He pushed me down the hallway that leads to their bathroom.'

She shivers. 'That's where he had them. Dean and Laurel.'

'Were they alive?'

Her gaze at me is weary. 'Of course they were. They were naked, and they were alive. They weren't moving. I didn't know why until he told me. 'Drugged,' he said. 'I gave them an injection.' Mivasomething chloride he called it. I can't remember the exact name. He said it kept them aware, that they could feel pain and hear us but that they couldn't move much.'

Score one for me on the drugs, and one for Tommy on the muscle relaxant, I think.

Something occurs to me. 'Sarah, his voice--would you recognize it if you heard it? Not just the words or the way he speaks, but the tone of it?'

She nods, somber. 'I can't forget it. I dream about it sometimes.'

'Go on.'

'He had Dean facedown. Laurel was on her back. He set his camera on a tripod, and put it on record. Then he picked Dean up like a baby, no effort at all, and stood him in the bathtub. 'Come here, Little Pain,' he said to me.