Cody McFadyen - The Face of Death

"Yes. One hundred percent."

The relief runs through her in a full-body shudder, startling me. It resembles the body language of disbelief. I realize there might be some of that mixed in there.

She puts a hand against her forehead. "Wow." She touches her cheeks with the palms of both hands, like someone trying to hold themselves together. "Wow. Sorry. It's hard to come to terms with after all this time."

"I understand."

She turns to me. "Did you go inside my house?"

"Yes."

"Did you--" Her face crumples. "Did you see what he did ?"

She starts to cry. I go over and take her in my arms.

"Did you see what he did ?"

"I saw," I say, and stroke her hair.

42

ELAINA HAD COOKED DINNER, AND BONNIE AND I STAYED TO EAT.Elaina worked her usual magic, turning the dining room into a place of merriment. Alan and I had been somber upon arrival; by the time dessert arrived, we'd laughed more than once and I felt loosened up and happy.

Alan had opted for a final try at chess with Bonnie. I was pretty sure it was going to be a fruitless endeavor. Elaina and I left them to it and worked together in the kitchen, a slow and amiable rinsing of dishes and filling of the dishwasher.

Elaina poured us both a glass of red wine and we sat at the island in the kitchen together and didn't say anything for a little bit. I heard Alan grumble, and imagined Bonnie smiling in reply.

"Let's talk about Bonnie's schooling," Elaina says, out of the blue.

"I have a suggestion."

"Uh, sure. Go ahead."

She swirls the wine around in her glass. "I've been thinking about this for a while. Bonnie has to go back to school, Smoky."

"I know." I sound, and feel, a little defensive.

"I'm not criticizing. I'm aware of all the circumstances. Bonnie needed time to arrive, to grieve, to normalize a little. You too. I think that time has come and gone, though, and my concern now is that your fear is the real barrier."

My first instinct is to get angry and deny, deny, deny. But Elaina's right. It's been six months. I've been a mother before, I know the drill, and yet, in that time, I haven't gotten immunization records for Bonnie, or found her a dentist, or sent her to school. When I step back from the day-to-day and view it as a whole, I'm dismayed. I've spun a cocoon for Bonnie and me. It's spacious, it is lit by love, but it has a fatal flaw: Its architecture was inspired by fear. I put a hand to my forehead.

"God. How could I have let this go on so long?"

Elaina shakes her head. "No, no, no. No blame, no shame. We review our faults, we accept the fact of them, we change for the better. That's called responsibility, and it's a lot more valuable than beating yourself up. Responsibility is active, it improves things. Blame just makes you feel bad."

I stare at my friend, dumbfounded as always by her ability to put words to the simple and the true.

"All right," I manage. "But I have to say, Elaina, I am afraid. God, the thought of her out there in the world . . ."

She interrupts me. "I'm thinking homeschooling. And I'm thinking that's something I'd really enjoy doing."

I stare at her, dumbfounded again. Homeschooling had occurred to me, of course, but I had dismissed it as I had no way to implement it. But Elaina-as-teacher . . . I realize it's a perfect solution. It deals with, well, everything . Bonnie the inquisitive and Bonnie the mute, equally. Don't forget Smoky the fearful and Smoky the neglectful.

"Really? You'd want to do that?"

She smiles. "No, I'd love to do that. I researched it on the Web, and it's not that hard." She shrugs. "I love her like I love you, Smoky. You're both family. Alan and I aren't going to have children of our own, and that's okay. It just means I have to find other ways to have children in my life. This is one of those ways."

"And Sarah?" I ask.

She nods. "And Sarah. This is one of the things I'm good at, Smoky. Dealing with children, with people, who have been hurt. So I want to do that. The same way you want to chase after killers, and probably for the same reasons: because you need to. Because you're good at it."

I ponder the echo she gives to my earlier thoughts, and smile at her.

"I think it's a great idea."

"Well, good." She gives me a kind look. "I'm pushing you on this because I know you. As long as you're not hiding from the truth of things, you won't let Bonnie down. It's just not who you are."

"Thank you."

It's all I can think of to say, but I can tell from her smile that she gets it as I meant it.

What about the deception, here? If you go to Quantico, if they aren't enough to give you the "happiness" you think you need (and how selfish and ungrateful is that, anyway?), then you'll be taking a child away from Elaina. Elaina, who's never gotten to be a mom even though you and I both know she'd be better at it than anyone we know, present company included.

Even so, I think, and for now, the voice goes quiet. We sip our wine and smile as we listen to Alan's grumbling about being beaten at chess by a girl.

It's nine-thirty and Bonnie and I are back home, foraging through the kitchen together in search of munchies. She's let me know that she wants to watch some television, and made it clear that she understands I want to continue reading Sarah's diary. I find a jar of olives and Bonnie grabs a bag of Cheetos. We head into the living room and curl into our respective, well-worn spots on the couch. I pop the cap of the olive jar and bite into an olive, feeling the salty taste of it burst into my mouth.

"Did Elaina talk to you?" I ask her, talking around the olive.

"About homeschooling?"

She nods. Yep.

"What do you think about that?"

She smiles and nods.

I think it's just fine, she's saying. I smile.

"Cool. Did she tell you about Sarah too?"

Another nod, more somber this time, layered with meaning. I understand.

"Yeah," I reply, nodding myself. "She's in bad shape. How are you with that?"

She waves her hand, a dismissive gesture.

So not a problem it's not worth asking about, that wave says. I'm not selfish, that wave says.

"Okay," I say, smiling, hoping the smile shows her that I love her. My phone rings. I check the caller ID and answer.

"Hello, James."

"VICAP requests are in. Nothing yet, but maybe by the morning. The program on Michael Kingsley's computer continues to defy all attempts to unlock it. I'm home, going to reread the diary."

I fill him in on the day. He's silent afterward. Thinking.

"You're right," he says. "It's all connected somehow. We need to get the information on the grandfather, that case from the seventies, Nicholson."

"No kidding."

I look at my trusty notes, reviewing what I've written. I grab the PERPETRATOR AKA "THE STRANGER"page. METHODOLOGY:

I add:

Continues to communicate to us. Communication is in puzzles. Why?

Why not just say what he wants to say?

I consider this.

Because he doesn't want us to understand immediately? To buy time?

Attacked Cathy Jones, but let her live so she could deliver a message. Took David Nicholson's daughter hostage for two reasons: so that Nicholson would steer the Langstrom investigation, and so that Nicholson could deliver another message. Risky.

Message from Jones--her badge and the phrase: "Symbols are only symbols."

Message from Nicholson--"It's the man behind the symbol, not the symbol, that's important," followed by his suicide. Why did Nicholson have to die? Answer: because his connection goes deeper than the Langstrom investigation. Vengeance. I reread what I've just written.

I'm just spinning my wheels here.

I put the pages aside. They're not going to help me anymore tonight. I grab the diary pages and get comfortable. I think, as I start reading, that I'm beginning to understand how Sarah's story fits into the bigger picture, not for The Stranger, but for her.