Chapter 6

After his communion with the dark-haired beauty in New Orleans, exhilarating and satisfying as it was, he'd still sensed the experience was less than perfect. It troubled him when he couldn't immediately define the imperfection.

He relived the event and previous events daily, but in a fractured manner, certainly not in sequence from beginning to end. In fact, he purposefully avoided a sequential review, preferring a random, in-depth reassessment of each moment within each element of the ritual. A memory of the taking, for instance, the first grasp of the prey, the sensual feel of a thin arm in his hand, gave way to the driving emotions coursing through him that had forced the hunt. The next memory might be the moment the girl's soul escaped to wherever souls journeyed when their bodies could no longer sustain them. The memory of watching the young girl's eyes become fixed and lifeless might be replaced by a particularly satisfying instant during the stalk, that moment in time when he realized the taking was possible. Still, uneasiness had hung heavily throughout these kaleidoscopic reviews, which disturbed him until he recognized its source. His Ah-hah! of discovery came one day when he tried to analyze the muffled sounds of the prey behind the adhesive tape over her mouth.

The imperfection was the absence of sound!

He suddenly realized he needed to hear the whimpers of terror, the screams of pain, the expressions of anger, because, yes, terror sometimes gave way to anger. But the intimate place in New Orleans disallowed the full interaction required to achieve perfection. Sound not muffled could have attracted unwanted attention. To that end, he enhanced the intimate place he'd selected for his communion with Hanna. The soundproofed, perfected intimate place became truly intimate, allowing, even encouraging her full verbal interaction.

So much more satisfying!

Sometimes, he'd be sitting at his desk, and suddenly a scream of terror would echo in his mind and reverberate through his body, and he'd feel the ecstasy of the moment coalesce in his groin until he throbbed with need. Now sound joined sight and taste and touch and the fragrant aromas in his memories.

Had he achieved perfection?

Almost. As perfect as his time with Hanna had been, he still sensed something was missing, that some small element in his ritual eluded perfection. He couldn't put his mind around the missing piece, but he knew something more was needed. Again his fractured, random review of the event stalled discovery, but during a revisited moment when Hanna had spoken to him, had asked him why, he abruptly realized the time he spent with his prey was much too brief. Next time, he vowed, he would stretch out the event, turn it into days, not hours.

With this decision, fantasies erupted, became more complete and compelling. Soon the fantasies would overwhelm the memories, and fantasies gave impetuous to the Urge.

Too soon!

He dampened the fantasies and cherished the memories. He forced satisfaction with his kaleidoscopic views of past events. Still, with new fantasies, the Urge had been reborn, and it was growing, becoming stronger with each passing day. Within weeks, he anticipated the memories, sweet as they were, wouldn't be enough.

Finished with his early-morning rounds with his east-coast financial advisors, David hovered over Las Cruces, more particularly Denise's bed, which the comely lesbian shared with a gorgeous redhead David had never seen before. Both Denise and her new lover appeared to be asleep, lying naked atop the sheets. Normally he would have shifted his consciousness to another connection, but the redhead intrigued him. While he was studying Denise's fair-skinned bed partner, Denise opened her eyes, stretched, gazed fondly at her bedmate, and carefully rolled her feet to the floor. Donning a robe, she padded to her kitchen.

"Good morning, Denise," David said using his female voice, which was his habit when visiting the psychologist.

She jumped in fright, but not much. She'd become used to David's sudden intrusions over the years. She returned his greeting and started the morning coffee.

"Who's your bed partner?" David asked.

"Colleen O'Hara. Adorable, isn't she?"

"Yes. Very. She has an amazing body. She's not Irish is she?" he asked with an invisible tongue in an invisible cheek.

"Hah! I met her a few weeks ago, and we've gotten together a few times since. Last night was the first time she's stayed the night." Denise grinned broadly and hugged herself. "She's utterly delicious, David. She might be the one." A shiver of delight rippled down her spine. "I know you're dying to ask, so I'll tell you. She's bisexual but prefers women, and like me, she's looking for a committed relationship."

Suddenly she frowned. "Regardless, I still want your baby, David."

"Have you discussed the possibility with Colleen?"

"Not in any detail, only that I wanted a child of my own. Colleen understands and feels the same, but she's content to wait for a few years." She huffed a laugh. "Being bisexual, she won't have as much trouble finding a mate as I."

"But like you, she'll need to have sex with a man to become pregnant. How will that make you feel?"

Denise raised her shoulders with a shrug. "Depends. If no romance were involved, I'd understand. After all, I must do the same." She grimaced. "I'd be much more upset if she had sex with another woman."

"Even Mother."

"Especially your mother."

"Why?"

"We're talking commitment here, David, a lifestyle you've adroitly avoided called monogamy."

"Ah, the dreaded M word. I might surprise you someday. I've met someone special, too. That's one of the reasons I dropped by this morning, to tell you I won't make a decision regarding your project until I see how things develop with Nora. You mentioned changing jobs and moving to Phoenix. Don't, not until I know whether I can cooperate with your request."

She poured a cup of coffee. "I see. When do you think you can give me an answer?"

"I can't venture a guess. I'm taking it easy with Nora, being slow and deliberate. Sex with her is an issue but isn't prime in my mind." He laughed softly. "I'm courting her the old-fashioned way, using her father and my mother as chaperones."

Denise hooted with laughter. "You've got to be kidding. You! Courting!" She cracked up again.

"Keep it down. You'll rouse Colleen, and I have another subject I'd like to discuss with you."

"Okay. Courting! Amazing! I suppose you've sent her candy and flowers."

"Yep, no candy, but she'll receive a dozen red roses at her office sometime today. By the way, I visited Nora in her past. She was about sixteen at the time. She's twenty-seven now."

Oh, Denise thought, our child would be such a wonder! A child with my intellect who can slip the bounds of time! "Have you visited the future yet, David?"

"No, which is the other reason I dropped in. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't matter a distortion of time and energy a distortion of space?"

"That's one theory, but..."

"Stay with me for a minute, Denise. Using the speed of light and the Lorentz invariance, is it possible to conclude that time can be viewed as a red-shifted, three-dimensional past, and a blue-shifted, three-dimensional future as seen from a four-dimensional present?"

Her expression crinkled as she concentrated. "It's one possible conclusion. Where are you heading with this, David?"

"I'm not sure. I had this crazy notion that my consciousness has learned to red-shift, or accelerate into the past, but has yet to blue-shift or decelerate into the future."

Denise snorted. "When your consciousness visits the past, doesn't it need to move back to the future to return to your body?"

"No, my consciousness never leaves the present. Whether I'm connected to someone else's present, past or future, I remain in my present. Always. I visited Mother and Nora in their past without leaving my present. The journey red-shifted or accelerated, but my consciousness never ventured from its here and now. The same would happen if I visited someone in the future, except the journey would blue-shift or decelerate, if my theory is correct."

"It could be as simple as superposition combined with the uncertainty principle, rather than an acceleration or a slowing-down process."

"I suppose. Colleen is waking up. I'd like to discuss this some more with you. I'll drop by when you're alone and we can talk more."

Darla and Carol watched as Joseph Patterson stepped into the corral and stood calmly as the wild-eyed horse shied away from him and raced to the other side of the enclosure. They were visiting a horse farm in New River, a small community north of Phoenix off I-17. They'd arrived to look at some horses advertised for sale. As soon as they'd stepped from Carol's sedan, Darla knew they wouldn't buy a horse from the wrangler who greeted them. The horses were maltreated, broken-down or wild. The horse in the corral with Joe was definitely the latter. Darla held little George in her arms. The boy was awake but content.

Ten minutes after entering the corral, Joe stepped forward, taking three paces before he stopped. He seemed to be talking to the horse, but Darla couldn't hear the words, only soft sounds. The horse cocked its head, but didn't race away. Another ten minutes passed before Joe took another three paces, closing the gap between horse and man further.

"What's he doing?" Darla asked.

"He's talking horse, if we're to believe his daughter. He's whispering, communicating the same way horses communicate with each other. Nora says it's a soft, subtle language, almost a whisper, and that her daddy is what's known as a horse whisperer."

Look at her eyes, her expression, Darla thought. My mother's communicating, too, using the silent language that flows from a woman to a man to show affection, to express interest, maybe even love. Yep. Mom's got it bad. The hick from the sticks, as Mom called him, interests her. No, interest isn't a strong enough word.

Darla didn't know enough to define her mother's emotions, not yet. Perhaps even her mother wouldn't be able to express how she felt, not yet. Then Darla muffled a laugh. Except one emotion. Knowing her mother like she did, she suspected her mother would recognize the one emotion overwhelming her - passion.

Yep, no doubt about it. Mother's horny. Darla wondered how long it would take before her mother tripped the cowboy so he fell between her shapely legs. Not long, she guessed. She gave them a week, tops.

When Darla turned back to the action in the corral, Joe was standing next to the wild horse. Then something happened that amazed Darla. The horse turned and rested its head on Joe's shoulder. The beast's nostrils flared and fluttered with a sigh. The wild look was gone. The horse looked... serene. Joe ran his hand down the horse's neck and down over its back, petting the large, wild animal. Amazing.

"Little darlin', if horses could purr, that one would be purring up a storm," Darla whispered to her son.

"I know if he touched me like that, I'd be purring," Carol said quietly without taking her eyes off Joe and the horse.

Darla chuckled softly. Yep, Mom's got it bad. She revised her estimate. Five days, tops.

"Look, the horse is following him, Darla!" Carol exclaimed with a whisper.

Darla watched Joe step up onto the railing of the fence and throw his leg over the horse's bare back. Is he crazy? Darla wanted to shout out, to tell Joe to stop, but her mother gripped her arm forcefully and shook her head without taking her eyes from the scene unfolding in the corral.

"Be quiet," Carol ordered, a forceful whisper.

Why were they whispering? They weren't in a church. Reverence wasn't demanded. Still, the man and horse solicited veneration.

The horse wore no saddle, no bridle. No bit controlled its mouth. Joe held no reins in his hands, but he sat astride the wild horse without a care in the world. He leaned down over the horse's mane, and Darla could see his lips moving close to the horse's ear. Yeah, he's talking horse, Darla thought, whispering to the animal. Horse and man have bonded. Mutual respect and trust seemed to flow from one to the other and back again.

Without any apparent control over the wild horse, Joe touched the animal's neck, and the horse stepped forward, walked calmly toward the other side of the corral, turned and broke into a trot, slowed and turned again, all at the slightest gesture from the man on its back. Darla knew there was much more going on between man and horse than she could perceive.

A few minutes later, Joe rolled gracefully from the horse's back. Standing in the dirt of the corral, he stroked the horse, whispering praise, Darla assumed. She'd never witnessed anything like the stunning exhibition she'd just seen. Suddenly, she understood. She was watching true greatness, simple but unique and stunning achievement. Tears stung her eyes, tears that overwhelmed when great achievement is witnessed. The same tears flushed during some sporting events, or during a movie or a song that grabbed her soul. Yes, suddenly she understood why her mother had fallen for the hick from the sticks.

"A good horse," Joe said when he exited the corral. "I can buy her cheap if you want her."

Darla shook her head. "Not here, not from that man," she said.

Joe pursed his lips, nodded and said, "I understand. She's not ugly, but she's plain. Even with proper care, she'll never shine. Poor breeding."

Carol wrapped her arm in his and said, "Darla deserves a champion, cowboy."

"As do you, Carol Stanley. As do you."

Nope, Darla thought as she watched her mother and the cowboy together. Two days, tops.

Finally Nora's boss decided he could use her in the Hanna Jenkin's case. He asked her to reinterview Hanna's girlfriends.

"Perhaps the girls will tell you something they wouldn't tell a man," the jerk said without apology.

Nora didn't care, not that much. At last she was in the thick of it, involved in the investigation. She carefully but quickly read the reports of the interviews already performed and found them lacking detail or follow-up. Nora decided to start with Jenny Burns, Hanna's best friend. She called, made an appointment to speak with the girl, grabbed her purse and hurried away from her desk before her boss changed his mind.

She hoped the jerk was right. Would Jenny tell her something she hadn't told the male agents who had interviewed her? Yeah, she would, Nora decided, if there was anything to tell, that is. Jenny had not witnessed the abduction. So far, the FBI and local police had uncovered no witness to the abduction.

Jenny was a large girl for her age, an early developer, who still carried much of her baby fat. She had a pretty face with large, brown eyes, eyes still devastated by the loss of her best friend.

Conducting the interview while sitting in a living room with Jenny's mother listening in, didn't feel right to Nora. "I wasn't able to take my morning run, and I need to stretch my legs. I noticed a park close by. Let's take a walk in the park while we talk, that is, if it's all right with your mother."

Jenny's mother nodded, even flashed Nora a small, encouraging smile. Nora and Jenny left the house, jaywalked across the street and soon entered the park.

"How are you doing, Jenny?" Nora asked as they strolled with a leisurely pace. "Losing your best friend as you did must be very... hard on you."

Sudden tears flushed the girl's eyes, but she brushed them away, determined not to breakdown in front of an FBI agent, Nora assumed.

"Why haven't you arrested the fucker who... who killed Hanna?"

Jenny's outburst shocked Nora, mostly because of the girl's choice of words, but Nora hid her reaction. Besides, Jenny's words gave Nora a clue to how she could deal with Jenny on the girl's level.

"We're tryin', Jenny, but in all candor, we don't have shit." The shock now went both directions, and when Jenny's steps faltered, Nora added, "That's why we're talking to everyone Hanna knew again. I'm going to be candid with you, Jenny, and hope you'll be the same with me. We have the killer's DNA, so when we know his identity, we'll be able to prove he committed the crime. We also have some fibers and other forensic data from the..." Nora nearly said dumpsite, jargon normally used to describe the location a killer leaves a body if it was killed elsewhere, jargon a little insensitive, considering the circumstances. "... place in Encanto Park where the killer left Hanna's body. That's it. No fingerprints, no witness to Hanna's abduction or murder, no real evidence that points us toward the killer's identity except his DNA, which only helps us after we identify him.

"The sick fucker raped Hanna, didn't he? That's why you have his DNA."

"Yes. He raped her. Listen, Jenny, I believe the fucker stalked Hanna, watched her over a period of time before he abducted her."

"She was a virgin," Jenny said. "A good girl. Sweet. She wasn't like me. Shit wouldn't come out of her mouth if it was full of it."

She's wondering why the killer selected Hanna instead of her, Nora deduced. Tell her. She has a right to know. "A killer like this one has fantasies, Jenny, sick fantasies that drive him to do what he does, and one of those fantasies involves the look of the victim he selects to bring the fantasy to a reality. Driven by fantasy, the killer went out and searched for the right girl, a girl who fit his preconceived notions, and finally he chose Hanna. When we catch him and talk to him, perhaps we'll find out why he hunts for a certain type of girl; although, often the killer himself doesn't know why he picks one victim over another. Anyway, once the killer makes his selection, he stalks his victim, follows her around for a while, looking for the perfect moment to grab her when no one is watching. This stalking time, a few days before Hanna disappeared, makes the killer vulnerable, gives us a way to determine his appearance, perhaps even his identity."

Nora took a deep breath and continued, "I need your help, Jenny. I need you to think back over those days. I need you to talk to Hanna's other friends, too, and ask them to think back to those days. I need to know everything Hanna did, every second of every day, if possible. I need to know everyone she spoke with or interacted with in any manner. Can you do this for me, Jenny?"

A fierce determination entered the girl's expression. "Yeah. I'll help. So will a lot of other kids. We want to do somethin'."