John Saul - Faces of Fear

But where?

“Who is the woman that this modern-day Frankenstein is trying to create?” Tina asked as the camera cut to her sitting on a stool in front of a wall-sized rendition of the assembled face. “If you know who this woman might be — if you recognize her as someone you once knew — call the police. Maybe together we can stop this monster before he kills again. But if we don’t stop him, we know he will kill again. Maybe someone in your neighborhood. Maybe someone in your family.” She fell silent for a perfectly timed moment, then: “Maybe even you. I’m Tina Wong. Thank you for watching.”

A computer commercial came on, and Risa finally clicked off the television, but the memory of the strange composite face stayed with her. The face had reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on who it might be.

Maybe an old client?

But already the image was fading from her mind. Not that it mattered, really. Those artists’ renditions never wound up looking like the person anyway, and there had been nothing particularly memorable about this face to begin with.

She folded up the throw and laid it across the arm of the sofa, took her empty wineglass to the kitchen, then headed upstairs, turning most of the lights out as she went, but leaving enough on to offer Conrad a welcome when he came home.

Alison’s light was still on, so she knocked softly on the bedroom door and went in.

Alison was at her desk, textbooks open in front of her, her fingers flying over her computer keyboard.

“Hi, honey. It’s getting late.”

“I know,” Alison said. “I’m almost finished.” She turned in her chair to face her mother, and Risa was relieved to see that her daughter didn’t look nearly as depressed as she had at dinner. “So how was Tina’s special?”

“Actually, it was even worse than I expected. The charming Ms. Wong went way overboard, but I’m sure she’ll get the ratings she was looking for. I suspect your father can hardly wait for her to move on.”

“So what was the worst part of it?” Alison asked.

Risa’s brows arched. “Probably Tina’s hypothesis that whoever’s killing all these women is trying to re-create someone by using other women’s body parts.”

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—”