"We can talk about anything you like," she was saying. "Just like when I came back yesterday. Pick a topic. The weather, sports-cabbages and kings."

Hollis smiled. "My favorite quote was always the one about believing six impossible things before breakfast. That always seemed like a good attitude to have."

"I know what you mean. The way the world is these days, it's almost incomprehensible how anyone could have a closed mind. It seems like most every day there's a story in the news about one of our certainties being turned on its ear."

"Maybe that's what it means to be human," Hollis offered. "Forever questioning our certainties."

"Maybe," Maggie agreed. "It's as good a definition as any other, I guess." She paused, then said, "Only a few more days until the bandages come off. How do you feel about that?"

"You sound like the hospital shrink," Hollis noted, neatly avoiding an answer.

"Sorry. Occupational hazard, I suppose; I spend so much time asking people how they feel about one thing or another. But I am curious. If the operation was successful and you can see again, do you think that will help you to get past this and move on with your life?"

Hollis didn't really want to answer but heard herself answering anyway. "In some ways, sure. If I can see, he won't have… destroyed everything. I'd still have my art, and still in the same way, so that'd probably help. Give me something to concentrate on."

"But your art is going to be different no matter what," Maggie said. "Nobody experiences violence without coming out of it fundamentally changed."

"You mean the dreams?" Hollis asked the question jerkily.

"Yes." Maggie's voice remained quiet, easy, as if nothing she said was at all unusual. "Your dreams have become more violent and far more vivid, with nightmares common. You wake up often in the night, suddenly, even without nightmares. Most of your senses have become sharper, and you'll be quicker to react to them. And it'll be a long time-if ever-before you feel completely safe again."

"You're more blunt about it than the shrink was."

"I don't see any reason to soft-pedal it. You're an intelligent woman, and you've had plenty of time to think these last weeks. To wonder. To ask yourself what is and will be different now. Your art will be. I don't have to know what you drew or painted before to be certain of that."

"Yeah, I know." Hollis gripped the arms of the chair, her fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly. "But how will it be different?"

"There's no way to be sure until you find out for yourself. I'd guess that if you paint you'll discover a tendency toward starker images, more vivid colors. You may choose subjects you avoided before, or even fixate on one or two images to the exclusion of most others."

"Images like the scalpel he used to take my eyes?"

"Maybe. Or some other image that represents violence or loss to you. It might have no connection at all to what happened to you-at least to all appearances. But it will be connected. And you'll know how or will have to figure it out. The images won't leave you alone until you deal with them." Maggie's voice remained matter-of-fact but was not without compassion or understanding.

Hollis drew a shaky breath. "My mind was always preoccupied with images before this. But how will there be images, visible images, from this? What happened to me was all… darkness. I never saw anything at all."

"Your other senses will fill in the blanks. What you heard and felt, what you smelled, what you touched and what touched you."

"Evil touched me. How will I paint that?" "I don't know. But you'll know. Eventually, you'll know. And you'll have to paint it or somehow give it form. That's what artists do."

"Is that what you do? Give evil form?" "I… suppose I do. Or at least try to give it a face." Hollis half laughed under her breath. "You know what's most ironic about all this? I came out here for a whole new start. I inherited enough money to be able to quit my crass commercial-art job and spend a few years finding out if I had enough talent to be a real artist. And I'd barely got my studio set up when this happened. Fate just loves to kick us in the ass."

"Yeah, I've noticed." Maggie paused, then added, "I suppose it's useless to ask you if you remember anybody watching you before the attack. Following you." "I don't remember anything out of the ordinary. So if he was watching me, I never saw him. Which is a very, very creepy thought. Why did he-do you know why he picked me?"

"The police haven't found a helpful common denominator among the victims. Different physical appearances, different jobs and lifestyles, a fairly wide range of ages-though he does seem to lean toward women in their twenties. It was probably nothing you did, Hollis, and it certainly wasn't your fault. You just fit whatever requirements he's put together in his twisted mind."

"Do you think… he'll do it again? Attack another woman?"

"Yes."

The immediate, calm answer made Hollis hesitate, but only for a moment. "Until he's stopped. Yes, of course. But why? Why is he doing this?"

It was Maggie's turn to hesitate, but then she replied slowly. "I'm sure a psychologist or profiler could develop all sorts of motivations. And I'm sure they'd be right. There are always reasons, at least explainable-if not understandable. Even for monsters."

"But there's only one real reason, isn't there? One real motivation behind his acts?"

"Yes. There's always a single driving motivation behind a predator like this one."

Hollis tilted her head, listening to that voice, the steady calm that was so deceptive. She wondered what it was she could almost hear moving about in the unseen depths beneath Maggie's tranquillity.

Something… cold. No, not really cold. Chilled. Something dark and chilled.

Fear? Knowledge? Understanding?

For some reason, Hollis was unwilling to ask aloud. Maybe because she didn't know Maggie well. Maybe because she was half convinced she was imagining way too much in the darkness behind her bandages.

Or maybe just because she was afraid of the answer.

She forced herself to concentrate on the subject of a monster's motivation. "What is it? Why does he do this to us, Maggie?"

"Because he wants to. Because he likes it."

Hollis drew a breath. "Yes. I… felt that. The way he touched me. As if the very texture of my skin intrigued him somehow. The way he… smelled me."

"He enjoyed your scent?"

"Must have. Or wanted to remember it later. He kept… sniffing. I'd feel his breath on my skin, then hear him sniff. My arm, my throat, breasts. All over. I'd stopped… begging… by then." Hollis heard her own voice as though it belonged to someone else, the words coming faster and faster, almost spilling out of her.

"I was tied up, unable to move. When I'd come to the first time, it was to realize he'd taken my eyes. I struggled then, fought him. Cursed him. But it was no use; no matter how loud I screamed or how hard I struggled, it didn't seem to affect him at all. He… did what he wanted to do. Raped me. And after that, after I'd stopped screaming and cursing, he… beat me-almost methodically. It seemed to take all my will to deal with the pain without screaming. I didn't want him to hear me scream from the pain. Didn't want him to… have that satisfaction. So I didn't make a sound, just concentrated on listening to him."

"What else did you hear, Hollis?"

"Him. Breathing. He was very quiet, but once or twice I heard him humming to himself. Not a tune I recognized, although there was something familiar about it. Not even a tune, really. Just humming. And…"

"And?"

"There was something else, but… I can't remember. I know I heard another sound, a sound that bothered me somehow. Because I recognized it, or thought I should have. Something. But I don't remember now."