Chapter 8

Blue Creek, June 13, 9:30 PM

It had been a long day.  Dropping her bags on the kitchen table, Jill made straight for the shower.  When she emerged from the bathroom, she heard a chair creak in the kitchen, and realized that Richard must have come home right after she did.  When she went to see he looked up, a folder in his hand as it always seemed to be now.

"How was your day, Babe?" he asked, barely making eye contact before returning his attention to the file.

"Long.  After class I had dinner with Cynthia Milner and her husband.  Then I went back to college to catch up on grading.  The Milners are having a party this weekend.  I'd really like to go."

"I may have to work."

"You're off Saturday.  Or did Mr. Shively change your schedule?"

"No.  At least not yet."

"I'd really like to go," she repeated.  "They've got a wonderful place to swim down on the river, a natural beach, what they call a swimmin' hole," she said.  "I bought a swimsuit.  Would you like to see it?"

"Yeah," he said, laying the folder aside.

Jill took a plastic bag from the table.  "Wait here.  I'll put it on for you."

She went to the bathroom.  After stripping, she examined herself in profile, as she did every day now, and noted with ambivalence that she still wasn't showing.  She put on the two-piece, threw on a robe, and went back outside where Richard was engrossed in the file.

When he looked up from his work, she opened the robe to show him.

"What do you think?"

"You look great," he said with patently contrived enthusiasm that made her eyes well with tears. 

You didn't even look at me, she thought, If I ask later what color it is, you will not remember---but you will remember every sickening detail about your murder cases, she thought.

Resentment boiled inside her.

Why can you not look at me the way that stranger at the gas station did?

She wrapped the robe about her, mechanically cinched the belt, and sat down feeling suddenly weary.

"Please try to arrange your work so that we can go to the party," she said.  "It's important to me."

"Ummm," he murmured absently without looking up.

Most maddening was that his disinterest wasn't deliberate.  His one-track mind simply filtered out unimportant noises such as her voice.

"The man who helped me with the tire was really nice," she said, trying to capture his attention.

"Umm huh."

It was juvenile, but she persisted.  "He was disappointed that I was married.  I think he really liked me."

As if he had used up his stock of grunts, he failed to respond except with a slight nod.  He was tolerating her presence the way some adults tolerated an annoying child.

"I'm going to bed," she said suddenly.

"Be in later," he murmured.

Jill held her emotions in check until she was alone in the bedroom.  Then she took off the swimsuit and hurled each piece in the general direction of the closet.  She got dressed for bed and snatched the covers up to her chin.

Is what I expected only a silly dream? she asked herself.  Is this what marriage really is?  If Richard is good to me, and faithful to me, and loves our child, do I have a right to expect more?  Maybe all the romantic daydreaming nonsense one reads of and sees in movies is just for people new to each other.  Maybe it has to fade away once people get used to each other.

Her logic was cold comfort.  Jill ached at the thought of giving up on the "daydreaming nonsense."  She longed for it.  She needed it, especially now.

She was still awake when Richard finally slipped into bed and fell asleep immediately.  It was the final slap in her face.  Simmering resentment kept her awake, and she knew that she would be tired in the morning.  Letting herself get run down wasn't good for the baby.

Suddenly she felt terribly alone.  Since her Aunt Mirabelle's death, she had only Richard.  Now, perhaps she had lost him too.  Self-pity washed over her.

It is not fair!  Why can you not look at me the way you did?  Why can you not be more like that nice man at the station?

Jill tried unsuccessfully to stifle the tears filling her eyes.  Richard had drifted away into a world that did not include her, a world that she instinctively avoided even thinking about.  Why he wanted to think about such horribleness was incomprehensible to her.  The horrid fascination of that world was seducing him.

I will not allow this! she told herself, clenching her teeth until her jaw ached.

Richard rolled over, reaching out to Jill's side of the bed.  Finding only cool sheets, he sat up quickly, thinking that he had overslept.  Groggily, he blinked at the clock.

Four thirteen?  The baby!  A miscarriage!

Flicking on the light, he hurriedly slipped on his pants, snatched up his shirt, and went out bare-chested.  He found her sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and studying.

"Are you okay?"

"I am fine," she said without looking up.

Relieved, Richard released his breath.  Then he saw that she was holding Jacqueline Benson's photograph.

"What are you doing with that?" he asked.

"What you always do," she said, peering intently at the portrait of a young woman with short blonde hair.  "She looks intelligent.  I have been trying to understand how such a monster could have deceived her."

He noticed the stacks of material she had taken from his brief case.  She had sorted it neatly, reports here, profiles there, crime scene and postmortem photocopies arranged by incident.

"You shouldn't be doing this," he said.  "There are things there that you shouldn't see.  It's not good for you."

"No one should have to see them.  Yet someone has to if this man is to be stopped, no?"

"Not you," he said as he reached for Benson's photo.  "I don't want you to---"

She pulled it away from his grasp.

"I must do this," she said.  "It is part of your life, a life I promised to share when we married.  Where you go, I go."

"A cop shouldn't bring his work home," he said.

"But you do."

"It has to be part of my life, but not ours."

"I do not understand how I forgot the lesson I learned.  I have made the same mistake I made when you were trying to find Molly's daughter," she softly insisted.  "This is the way you are, and there is no point in trying to deny it.  The only way to keep me separate from this is for me to no longer to be a part of you.  That is not an option.  You will not change so I must."

He looked at her uncertainly.

"Besides, you need me."

"Of course I do."

"I mean with this."

"No.  That is one thing I don't need."

"Yes you do.  There are things here you could not possibly understand."

"But you do?"

"Yes.  I'm a woman."

"I've noticed," he quipped.

"Not lately," she replied drolly.  "But let us not discuss your conjugal neglect."

"Jill, I---"

"I am joking."

She wasn't, but it was not something to be fixed with words, reasoning, or persuasion.

"You must understand this man in order to find him.  You must place yourself into his mind to see things the way he does.  Is this not so?"

"Yes."

"But he does not function alone.  You also must understand his victims to understand how they made him do the things he did."

"They didn't make him do anything."

"In a sense they did.  It is a dynamic.  He does something, his victim reacts, and then he reacts to that reaction.  It is basic psychology.  To understand what happened one must know about the women as well as about him.  For that you need me."

Despite his aversion to the idea, he saw that what she said made sense.

Jill stared intently at the photo.  "It says that her boyfriend left at a service station in Fayetteville after they argued."

"Yeah.  We think Paget hooked up with her there.  He spent the previous night in the apartment with the pimp and prostitute he had killed the day before."

"Let's role play," she suggested.  "I am upset because I just had a fight with my boyfriend.  I told him to leave, and he did."

"Paget saw---"

"Step into the role, Richard.  It makes it clearer if we do away with the third person."

"Okay.  I see you fighting with your boyfriend.  I notice that you're good looking, but what really stands out is that you're standing up to him.  I think you need to be taught a lesson."

"He would think that so quickly?" asked Jill stepping out of the role.

"I think this guy categorizes women quickly.  Beauty plus standing up to a man equals bitch."

"And since he is a sexual sadist that would turn him on," she said.  "It makes sense.  Okay.  I am angry with my boyfriend."

"So you notice that I'm a good looking guy and approach me?"

"Of course not.  I would not approach a stranger, but still we make contact somehow.  Let me see the picture of him."

He took the five-year-old picture from the folder and passed it to her.

"Imagine him without the facial hair and bulked up.  That's what the pictures from Oregon show."

Jill studied the picture.  Something about it tickled a memory, but she couldn't place it.

"He is handsome in an uncouth sort of way."

"Like a biker," he suggested.

She remembered that the profile characterized Benson as a low risk victim.

"We talk, but you are a stranger and I do not accept rides from strange men.  Unless something extraordinary happens I will not reveal to you what has happened.  You should not even know where I was going, much less that I need a ride."

"Maybe I overhear the argument?"

"Perhaps."

"That has to be it.  I overheard and come off like I'm trying to help out a lady in distress."

"The traditional masculine role," she said with a nod.  "Protective and solicitous, but that is not enough to overcome my natural caution."

"And good sense?"

"And good sense.  You might say or do something that makes me want to talk to you, but I don't think I would trust you enough to go with you---at least not at first."

"I know you need a ride back to campus so I offer to take you there.  It's too far to walk, but it's not like you would be hitching on the highway or going with me on a long trip.  It would be just for a short time, in town, and in broad daylight."

Jill thought for a moment.

"I might be confident enough to go with you if you appear safe and respectable."

"I'm getting close," he said, trying to imagine how the abductor might play it.  "But I know that if I don't play you right I'll lose the chance to hook you."

Jill shuddered at the expression.

"Maybe we should stop this," said Richard.  "It's making you uncomfortable."

She shook off the suggestion.  "No.  Let's go on.  I am upset because my boyfriend promised to go with me to see my mother.  Wait.  Is that what he did---offer to take her?"

"Maybe, but you said it would be out of character to agree to a long trip with a stranger."

"Let me think, Richard," said Jill, staring intently at the picture of Jacqueline Benson.  "You offer but---wait!  Why did I tell you about going to my see my mother?  We have to have an extended conversation.  Why would I do that?"

Richard shrugged.

"Because I am angry with my boyfriend and hurt.  Maybe I find your interest flattering.  Under the circumstances---I feel rejected and undesirable---your interest in me is . . . perhaps comforting.  So I talk to you and eventually tell you where I was going."

"So I offer to take you and you accept?'

"No.  I would turn you down."

"But something changes your mind.  What?"

Jill shrugged.

"Perhaps you are nice to me in some unexpected way . . . or you do something that makes me feel obligated to accept your offer.  But to do that you would have to appear safe and respectable."

"Maybe we're overestimating her," said Richard.

"Maybe.  Psychology is fuzziest of fuzzy studies"

"I think we got somewhere anyway," he said.  "We at least know that the guy is probably a pretty good actor."

By daylight they had finished off two pots of coffee.  Richard had folded the top edge of the Arkansas map down and taped it to the kitchen table, then folded a Missouri map along the southern border and overlaid it so that the highways aligned.  He marked Paget's most likely route from Marked Tree through Elsinore to Mountain View, and then started another route from Fayetteville to Springfield and east through Norwood to the logging trail where Benson's body had been found.  The two routes overlapped from east of Blue Creek to Mountain View.

Jill pursed her lips.  "It seems probable that it was him.  Why does no one believe that?"

"Until they identified the coed there was no reason to," he said.  "What made him bring her back if he is in hiding here?  Tanner says he's controlled by his fantasy, but it just seems he would have more sense than that."

"Why did she go with him, Richard?  I think she had to have more sense as you say."

"They found drugs at the scene in Fayetteville, so he had access.  Maybe he gave her something to knock her out." 

"She went with him of her own volition," she said.

"You mean she just decided that it was okay to get into a stranger's car and go with him?"

"I think.  He could not carry an unconscious woman, or even guide an unsteady one to his car without someone noticing."  She frowned, trying to imagine the scene.  "He must be very good at making women trust him."

"You keep saying that.  Why are you so sure?"

"Because she was beautiful and intelligent.  A girl like that learns something about men quite early.  She must.  Yet he overcame her natural wariness in a very short time."

Richard wasn't entirely convinced that Jill's empathy wasn't coloring her perceptions of the girl.  He yawned and stretched, looking at his watch.

"Glad I've got today off."

"Can we go talk to the other woman," Jill said suddenly.  "The one who got away from him."

"Cathy Howard?  Why?"

"You obviously need to know more about him.  So let's stop guessing and do our research.  She spent more time with him than anyone you know.  Perhaps she can tell you something that will help."

"We've got a party to go to.  Remember?"

"I do not wish to go."

"I do.  I was looking forward to seeing you in your skimpy new bikini."

"It is not skimpy," she said, blinking at the tears that had suddenly ambushed her at his words.  "Besides, I already put it on for you.  You just do not remember."

He looked intently at her.  With tousled hair, sans makeup, lack of sleep, and bathed in the harsh fluorescent light that purpled an ordinary person's every blemish, she looked absolutely beautiful.

"I remember, but my eyes weren't opened.  I notice a lot when they are, Jill."

"Yes, well it is nice when they are," she replied.

Canaan Camp, June 14, 10:30 AM

Brushing back a loose strand of hair, Raven pushed the pedal again.  When the heddles lifted the warp, she pulled the shuttle back to the left, undoing her latest mistake.  The six-step pattern wasn't intricate, but she still occasionally got it wrong.  She examined the foot and a half of finished cloth, and smiled in satisfaction at her creation.  She poured herself into the here and now of the complex task.  Although she was still learning, she was becoming adept and the complex movements, leaving time to think.  Just now it was good that she could concern herself with nothing more distressing than ripping out misplaced yarn.  She began again, thrusting through the shuttle and beating down the weft.

What can I do about Shane? she asked herself as she added her clatter to that of the more experienced weavers.

She liked him, and the natural thing to do, if she were a normal woman instead of what she was, would be to let the relationship develop with the aim of marriage and children like the Bible taught.  Raven tried to picture herself in Shane's arms.  The thought of being held close made her grimace.

How can I want to be in his company when I can't stand the thought of him touching me? she asked in frustration as she slammed the beater bar back more forcibly than necessary.  The necklace moved at the hollow of her breasts.

Why did you take it?       

"Fudge," she said softly as she saw another mistake in the pattern.

The minced oaths had become second nature to her since joining the Church.  Now everything was "foot," "shoot," "heck," and "darn" instead of the more descriptive expletives that came naturally to her.

Raven began pulling out everything down to her mistake.

If only I could undo the past so easily, she thought ruefully, unaware that Paget was watching her from the doorway not fifteen feet away.

His attention fixed on the movements beneath her sleeveless blouse and on the way her loose fitting shorts rode up as she worked the pedals.  It was a shame that her hair was the wrong color, but she had the kind of fragility that excited him.

Won't let the kid touch you, huh?  Saving it up, are you?  Still a virgin at your age!  He suppressed a laugh.  Bliss!  What a name!

Paget liked dwelling on the minute details of his fantasy.  He savored each step, but now he cut straight to the climax.  Planning could come later.

Begging.  Promising.  Asking why I'm doing it.  I won't tell you because then you'll just start that idiotic screaming and thrashing around or else turn into wood on me.  I want you to hope and to keep trying so that I can take my time.  You're going to do things you can't even imagine before you finally get what you deserve.

He throbbed as he thought about it.

You're not going to just fade out like the rest of them.  You're not going to get away that easy.

He lingered, imagining her being what he would make her be.  He could almost smell her from across the room.

You're going to be special, Miss Dusky.  Real special.

Highway 60 West of Elsinore, June 15, 6:00 AM

Jill hit him with it twenty miles east of Blue Creek just as the sun cleared the trees.

"If you're sure that's what you want," he said uneasily, already queasy at the thought.

"You do not wish to see the birth of your child?"

"Well the traditional place for the father is in the waiting room.  You know, he paces, smokes, and worries until the doc walks in and says ‘Congratulations.  You have a fine baby boy'---or girl."

"You do not wish to be a part of it?"

"I wouldn't be much of a part of it if I passed out," he replied, trying to joke his way out of the commitment.  "Call me when it's over, and I'll come right in."

"You're serious!"

"I don't have the guts for it," he admitted.

"I am the one who must endure the discomfort."

"That's what I don't have the guts for."

"I want you with me."

Taking his eyes from the road just long enough to make eye contact, he sought her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.  "I'll be there."

"Good.  It will save you from your vice.  They do not allow smoking in the delivery room."

He smiled despite his misgivings.  Sharing confidences made them lovers, but the banter made them friends.  The two together they made them what their wedding vows had declared, "one flesh."  Putting a firewall between the work that had become his obsession and the woman who was his life had been a well intentioned, but huge, mistake.  He should have known she could handle it.  She had always been the stronger one.  He smiled wryly, thinking that Jill could handle the horror of his investigation better than he could handle the horror of the delivery room.

"You find something humorous?" she asked.

"Me, Babe.  I always underestimate you, but you know me pretty well, don't you?"

She inclined her head, allowing herself a small smile.

"I detect a Gallic shrug," he said, decelerating as he came to the Birch Tree exit.  "What say we grab some breakfast?  We've got time."

"What did I prepare for you before we left?"

"I've got to build up my strength for the ordeal of birth," he said as he pulled into the lot of a café.

"No more for me," she said.  "I am on a strict regimen.  I know to the fraction of a kilo how much I should gain and when."

"Sounds like women's work.  I won't interfere."

Tempted by a packet of boysenberry jam, Jill relented and ordered toast and tea.  Richard read the menu and surprised her by ordering only coffee.

"You were not really hungry," she said.  "Why did we stop?"

"I thought you could use a break."

"I am pregnant, not ill."

It was early in her pregnancy.  Later Jill would learn that there was not that much difference between the two conditions.

"What will Mrs. Howard think when we show up unannounced?" she asked.

Cathy Howard's number was unlisted, and Richard had decided not to involve the Carter County authorities since he was acting in an unofficial capacity.

"She may not talk to us," he replied.

"Then we will have made the trip for nothing."

"Not exactly.  We'll have spent the day together.  I wouldn't call that a waste."

Elsinore, June 15, 10:00 AM

Cathy Howard had moved, but a former neighbor directed them to a trailer park in town after Richard showed her his badge and ID.  The trailer was neat, small, and old, and would never see the open road again.  A woman answered his knock without unlatching the screen door.

"Are you Cathy Howard?" he asked.

She peered through the silvery mesh, a baby on her hip.  "What do you want?" she asked guardedly.

"I'm Richard Carter, a deputy sheriff over in Hawthorn County."  He held up his badge and then turned the folder so that she could see his picture ID.

"This is my wife, Jill.  If you could spare the time, we'd like to talk to you about Paget."

"I've already told them everything I can remember," she said without moving to unlatch the door.

"I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important, but two women have been killed over in our county and---"

"The TV says he's in Oregon," she interrupted breathlessly.

"Yes, but I think he may have been staying in our area before that.  I don't think he would be foolish enough to come back, but . . . we all have to be cautious until he's caught."

She clutched her baby to her, still making no move to invite them in.

"He is a cute one," said Jill.  "What is his name?"

"Billy," she said, turning her attention to Jill for the first time.  "Are you a deputy too?"

"I am only Richard's wife.  We also are having a baby.  I hope ours is as bright-eyed as Billy."  She turned to Richard.  "Have you noticed how he has been studying us?"

Cathy bounced the baby on her hip, but still made no move to open the door.

"Is he a little explorer yet?" Jill asked her.

"He gets into everything," she said, fumbling with the latch.  "I don't where my manners have gone.  Come in out of the heat."

They had iced tea in the kitchen nook while Cathy, with wide-eyed Billy on her lap, dispassionately rehearsed her abduction and captivity.  The amount of detail she related made Richard revise his estimation of her intelligence.

"I think we must have a guardian angel," she said.

"How did he treat you?" asked Richard.  "Was he threatening and abusive, or apologetic and reassuring?"

"Threatening while we were in the car.  After we got home he just assumed control like he wasn't worried that I would do anything but what he said.  He didn't talk much---just told me what to cook or where to sit.  He tied me up when he slept."

She frowned, interlaced her fingers, and worked her hands as she continued with closed eyes.

"He was going to kill me.  Even before I heard about that Arkansas family, I knew that.  I'd catch him looking at me, and I just knew.  But all he ever really did was like give me orders.  He kept saying everything was going to be all right as soon as he was able to leave.  He was lying."

"What did he talk about?" asked Richard.

"We never had a conversation.  He said the car he wrecked was stolen and that he needed to hide because he wasn't going back to prison.  That's how he explained kidnapping us."

"How did he gain control of you?"

"I . . . uh . . . I really . . . don't want to think about it."

"Cathy," said Jill.  "No one can imagine what it must have been like, but I can get closer to that than my husband can.  My husband needs to know how this man behaves.  He needs to know if Paget is the one who killed the two women where we live or if he should look for another man."

"I just want it to be over."

"I know.  Believe me I do.  But you are the only one who has ever gotten away from him.  Perhaps you know things about him that no one else does."

"Nothing important."

"Sometimes small details are the most important," said Richard.

"He didn't say where he was going or what he was going to do.  I can't remember even a hint of anything like that.  Believe me, I've tried---I've tried real hard."

"Perhaps you are trying too hard.  Let's just you and me talk.  I will make my husband sit still and be quiet," said Jill.

Cathy laughed.

"I'll try," she said.

As soon as she started talking about the night of her abduction she became woodenly serious.  Her face lost all expression.

"He faked having a heart attack," she said.  "He was almost apologetic about needing help, especially about having me help him to the car.  I got him into the back and started for the hospital . . . he told me not to speed.  I thought he was worried about causing me to get a ticket.  Then he grabbed my hair and . . . I felt the knife on my throat.  He didn't have to do that.  Billy was in the car.  I would have done what he said.  He made me take him home.  That's when I knew then he was going to kill me.  I thought about crashing the car but Billy was with me."

"He said if I did what I was told nothing would happen to Billy.

"Did he ever hit you later or threaten you with the knife again?" asked Richard.

"The only time he even touched me after that was when he tied me to the chair or to the bed."  She shifted uncomfortably, bit at her lower lip.  "He always kept Billy with him when I was out of the room.  He never said he would hurt him . . . but I couldn't take no chances.  I knew he would kill me when he left but maybe not Billy."

She sniffed, her eyes riveted on Jill's.

"He wouldn't have just killed me, either.  I saw this look in his eyes."

Cathy shook her head angrily.

"It was stupid of me to stop.  But the accident wasn't staged, and he seemed like a decent guy and I thought he was having a heart attack.  He was so convincing.  I remember how he set my mind at ease.  You know what he did?  He acted like he was worried that I'd get my dress dirty if I helped him stand.  Can you imagine?"

It sounded familiar.  Jill wondered if she had read it, or perhaps had seen it in a movie.

"He never fooled me again though," continued Cathy.  "He kept saying he wouldn't hurt me, but I knew better.  I saw the real him when he grabbed my hair in the car."

"You're safe now, Dear," said Jill.

"Sure," said Cathy as she absently bounced her baby on her knee.  "But when someone knocks at the door.  Or when I wake up in the night thinking I've heard something.  Or when some strange guy looks at me.  Funny---I used to like that.  Now I just wonder what's behind the smile."

Jill impulsively reached to touch the young mother's hand.  "I'm so sorry we're making you remember all this," she said.

"It's okay.  I don't guess nobody could understand who ain't had it happen to them."

Jill knew, but it would do no good to relate her own ordeal.

"Can I hold your baby?" she asked.

"Why?" asked Cathy, lifting her chin.  "So that I'll feel more like we're just having a girl-to-girl chat instead of being interrogated?"

"No.  He just seems so darling, and I want to get to used to it.  Richard and I are new to the area and we have no friends with children.  I really would like to hold him.  Practice I suppose."

"Sure," said Cathy, visibly relaxing.  "I'm sorry about that interrogation thing.  Here.  Take my little man---but watch him.  He grabs everything."

Jill sat Billy on her lap.

"He's so intense," she said to Richard.  "He listens to everything we say, and I think he's trying to figure us out."

"He's a handful," said Cathy.  "When are you due?"

"Maybe around Christmas or New Years," said Jill dodging the little hand seeking her nose.

She twisted away, but not before Billy clutched a handful of her long hair.

"Sorry about that.  He loves hair," said Cathy, gently prying open the baby's fist.  "And watch out, sometimes he takes it in his head to taste it.  Don't you, you little heathen?"

She chucked his plump chin, eliciting a single toothed smile.

"Anyway . . . the man---he didn't say anything about what he had done, or what he intended to do except that he would leave when it was safe.  He was calm most of the time.  The only time he got angry was at some TV preacher.  I didn't hear what made him mad, but he was cussing him out good.  Of course a lot of people don't like what preachers say, reminding them of death and all."

1:30 PM

"So how did she avoid being attacked?" he asked once they were on the way back.  "I mean she fits his fantasy---young, pretty, vulnerable.  He had control for days.  Why didn't he attack her?  Or do you think maybe he did and she just doesn't want anyone to know?"

"I can understand if she didn't," said Jill.  "But perhaps the baby made a difference."

"Paget has a soft spot for kids?  Sociopaths don't have soft spots."

"Labels like ‘sociopath' lead to oversimplification," she said.  "Billy has no father.  Paget's father abandoned his mother when he was quite young.  Perhaps he identified with the baby.  Maybe it caused him to delay . . . the inevitable.  Or perhaps he simply kept her alive to take care of the child so that he would not have to do so."

Richard took his attention from the road long enough to stare at her a moment.

"I keep thinking that she wasn't telling us everything."

"You think he attacked her?  It's understandable that she would lie if that happened, but I do not think so.  She was not beaten and there were no bruises on her neck.  From the description of his crimes and those horrible pictures it seems that he cannot restrain himself.  Violence is the essence of his sexual behavior.  He would have at least hurt her badly enough to leave bruises."

Richard felt a pang.  The meager insights he had gained didn't seem worth forcing Jill to immerse herself in the horror as he had done.  They rode in silence for some time before Jill spoke.

"Billy was a complicating factor I think," she said.  "But in the end it would have made no difference.  Perhaps he would not kill the child, but that thing would have killed her.  She knows that.  It is why she cannot sleep."

"I'm sorry, Babe," he said.

"Don't be.  I am with you, and . . . we are sharing something for a change."

"The last thing I want is to make you sad."

"It is a sad business, no?"

Even before she continued, he knew something he didn't want to hear was coming.

"Once making me happy was the most---no," she said, stopping herself.  "That is the very thing that we must avoid.  You must not shut me out of your life, and I must not resent what is so important to you."

"Jill, it's . . ."

"It is a dark place that you have taken me," she finished.  "No matter.  I have been to dark places before.  It is better than being alone.  That is the darkest place of all."