The Face of Death

things, peers and boys and just saying no. The complex dance of learning to share the world with others.

All of this had whirled through my mind. The fact that Bonnie had read books about art and painting and now painted on a regular basis--and painted well--had mollified me to a point, quieting some of my fears and allowing me to rationalize shelving the problem for another day.

'Okay, sweetheart,' I had said. 'For now, okay.'

Her spiritual precociousness was evident in other ways; not just in her paintings, but in her ability to listen with complete attention and tremendous patience, in her over-mature ability to go right to the heart of emotional matters.

She was a child in many ways, it was true, but in some ways she was far more perceptive than I was.

I sigh. 'Today I went and saw a girl named Sarah.'

I tell her an abridged version of Sarah's story. I don't tell her about Sarah being forced to have sex with Michael, or the graphic details of the Kingsleys' deaths. I do tell her the important things; that Sarah is an orphan, that she feels chased by someone she calls The Stranger, that she is a young woman who's reached the zenith of despair and now sits ready to tumble downward, free-fall, into darkness, forever. Bonnie listens with interest and thoughtful intensity. When I finish, she looks off, deeply contemplative. She turns back to me, points at herself, then at me, and nods. It takes a moment for our telepathic shorthand to kick in.

'She's like us, that's what you're saying.'

She nods, hesitates, then indicates herself with emphasis.

'More like you,' I reply, getting it.

A nod.

I stare at her.

'You mean because she saw the people she cared for getting murdered, sweetheart? The way you saw your mom get killed?'

She nods, then shakes her head. Yes, she's saying, but not just that. She bites her lower lip, thinking. She looks up at me, indicates herself, and pushes me away.

Now it's my turn to bite my lip. I stare at her--and suddenly I understand.

'She's like you would be without me.'

She nods, her face sad.

'Alone.'

A nod.

Communicating with Bonnie is like reading pictographic writing. Not everything is literal. Symbology plays a part. She's not saying that she and Sarah are one and the same. Sarah is a young girl who has lost everything and everyone she loves and--here is where the semblance ends--who is now alone in the world. Bonnie is saying, She is what I could be if there was no Smoky, if my life was just foster homes and memories of my mom dying.

I swallow. 'Yeah, honey. That's a pretty good description.'

Bonnie has her scars. She's mute. She still has nightmares sometimes, nightmares that make her scream in her sleep. But she's not alone.

She's got me, and I've got her, and that makes all the difference in the world.

I could see Sarah with more depth now: Sarah screamed in the night, but there was no one there to hold her when she woke up. There hadn't been for a very long time.

A life like that might make you surround yourself with the color black, I mused. Why not? Everything was darkness, best to make sure you remember that fact, best not to let yourself indulge in the fantasy of hope.

A clink of glasses distracts me from my own musings. Elaina has returned with our drinks.

'Orange juice for the two of you, water for me,' she says, smiling and sitting down.

'Thanks,' I say, and Bonnie nods, and we sip our OJ.

'I heard what you were telling Bonnie,' Elaina says after a moment. 'About the girl, Sarah. Terrible thing.'

'She's in bad shape.'

'What's going to happen to her now?'

'I guess once she's released from the hospital, she'll go into protective custody. After that, it depends. She's sixteen. She'll either go into a group home or foster care until she's an adult or she's emancipated.'

'Will you do me a favor?'

'Of course.'

'Will you talk to me about this? Before she gets released from the hospital?'

I puzzle over this request for a moment, but only a moment. It's Elaina, after all. Her purposes are pretty easy to divine. Particularly when combined with her earlier revelation to me about being an orphan. 'Elaina, it would not be a good idea for you to take this girl on. In spite of the obvious--that there's a psycho out there who seems to have a fixation on her--she's messed up. She's hurt, that's true, but she has a serious hard side to her. I don't know anything about her background, whether or not she does drugs or steals or . . . anything.'

Elaina gives me one of her tolerant-but-loving smiles. A smile that says: I love you, but you are being thickheaded.

'I appreciate the concern, Smoky, but that will be between Alan and me.'

'But--'

A quick shake of the head. 'Promise you'll call me before her release.'

End of conversation, game over, give it up if you know what's good for you--

but I love you. I smile, I can't help it. Elaina makes you smile, it's what she was born to do.

'I promise.'

Elaina watches Bonnie during the day (and often the evening) for me. She and Alan have become a part of Bonnie's family. It works. They don't live far, there's no one I trust more, and Bonnie loves them both. I'm fumbling with the problem of Bonnie's muteness and I know--I know--that I have to address her schooling soon. But for now, this works.

They were even happy to bow to my fears, without questioning me or making me feel silly about it. Their house had been alarmed (upthe-wazoo style, same as mine), and Tommy had set up a simple video surveillance system. And of course, there was Alan, a giant with a gun, who slept here as well.

I owe them both.

'I promise,' I say again.

Alan had returned. He was busy losing a game of chess to Bonnie. Elaina was in the kitchen making us all a late lunch while I spoke to Callie on the phone.

'Got the pages all printed out, honey-love. What now?'

'Print out another six copies. One for Barry, one for James, one for Alan, one for Assistant Director Jones, one for Dr. Child, and one for yourself. Courier Barry, James, Dr. Child, and AD Jones their copies at home. I'll call and let them know they're coming. I want everyone to read this. Once we've all gotten through it, we'll compare notes.'

'Fair enough. What about your and Alan's copies?'

I look toward the kitchen and smile.

'Are you hungry?'

'Does the wind blow? Does the moon circle the earth? Is the root of a prime number--'

'Just get over here.'

I am on the phone with Assistant Director Jones. I have called him at home to bring him up to speed on everything. One of the first things you learn in any bureaucracy, never let the boss get blindsided.

'Hold it,' he says, interrupting me. 'What did you say the name of the guy at the second scene was?'

'Jose Vargas.'

He whistles through the phone.