“Not only parroting her words-reliving her story.”

“But Peter, if Eve was horrified by her grandmother, why would she take on her name and story?”

“Because this time, Eve decided to reinvent Grandma as a good person, a kindly person who not only likes Jews but wants to learn more about them. It’s no accident that she showed up at your class, Rina. And it’s no accident that she chose to confide in you.”

Rina felt weak. “How do we break it to her?”

Decker shook his head. “We don’t. Even if it’s true, neither one of us is equipped to deal with it. Eve needs to find a psychiatrist who’s familiar with these kinds of traumas. Then we tell the psychiatrist what we found out, and leave it up to his or her professional judgment.” He grinned at her. “Which was what I suggested in the first place.”

“I know, I know.” Rina managed a tepid smile. “Thanks for helping.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

“I don’t feel well. I know you told me this could happen. I was forewarned.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t forearmed.”

Eve had eagerly agreed to an initial round of therapy-six sessions, one per week. During the first session, the psychiatrist started the slow process with an intake and history, leaving Eve unsatisfied. She needed her identity now! She needed hypnosis! But the doctor refused to rush the therapy.

So she dropped him and went to someone else-not a psychiatrist this time, but a hypnotherapist. As far as Rina was concerned, he was not qualified to handle Eve’s delicate situation, and she wanted no part of it. But Eve begged her to accompany her to the appointment, and Rina relented.

As the session progressed, Eve broke into tears, sobbing bitterly. But she divulged little except to say that her name was Sarah Miller. Twenty minutes later, Rina insisted the hypnosis be stopped. Eve was too emotionally wrought to go on.

Afterward, Rina walked her home, staying with her until Eve/Sarah insisted she was all right. The next day Rina went to check on her, but it was too late. There was no answer at the door. The apartment was empty. The young woman had packed up and left.

Decker had not expected easy resolution, and Eve’s behavior came as no surprise to him. Rina hadn’t expected much, either, but still, she was sharply disappointed. For months, neither of them talked about Eve. Then one night, just as Rina was drifting off to sleep, Decker said out of the blue, “I wonder what she’s doing. Whether she really has any memory of what happened.”

Rina turned to face him. “I’d hate to think of her flitting around in one confused mental state after another,” she said. A pause. “Maybe she’s gone home to make peace with her grandmother.”

Decker said, “How would you feel about that?”

Rina didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. It’s a terrible position to be in, to love a woman who once was a monster. Still, even though Ava Mueller would be an old woman now, perhaps even frail, she has innocent blood on her hands. She ought to be held accountable for her actions.”

Decker ran his finger over the rise of Rina’s cheekbone. “Maybe that’s why Eve came to you in the first place.”

“Why?”

“To see if you, as a Jew, were capable of forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Eve didn’t do anything wrong. Even my parents, who are camp survivors, don’t believe in collective guilt.”

“Not to forgive her, to forgive her grandmother. Could you have done that if Eve had asked you?”

Rina thought about it, then slowly shook her head. “No, I couldn’t have forgiven Ava Mueller, because I’m in no position to grant that forgiveness. The only people who can do that are long since dead.”

“I know. But it’s sad to think of Sarah going around with this burden. Do you think she’ll ever make peace with her guilt?”

“I don’t consider guilt a burden,” Rina answered. “ To me, guilt is the police department of the human soul. No offense, Peter, but cops can be pains in the neck. But think of how bad we all would be if they weren’t around.”

“Maligning my profession?” Decker laughed.

“Not at all. I’m complimenting it.”

“Yeah, right! Let’s go to sleep.”

She kissed her husband good night and then stared up at the darkened ceiling. As her mind free-associated, Rina thought not of Sarah Miller but of a crime more than half a century old, and of those lives taken prematurely. She said a prayer for the deceased, and her words comforted her. As she fell asleep, Rina wondered if Sarah Miller would ever find words to comfort herself.

“The Stalker” deals with the double-edged sword of idolization and adoration. This is a case of obsession and compulsion gone horribly wrong, until it reaches its terrifying conclusion.

It was hard for her to fathom how it all went so sour, because in the beginning the love had been sweet. The roses and candy that had been sent for no occasion, the phone calls at midnight just to say “I love you,” the amorous notes left in her mailbox or on the desk at work, his stationery always scented with expensive cologne. The many romantic things that he had done during their courtship were now a thousand years old.

Somewhere buried beneath rage and hatred lay the honeyed memories. Julian telling her how beautiful and alluring she was, how he loved her lithe body, her soft hazel eyes and silken chocolate-kissed hair. Bragging to his friends about her rapier wit or whispering in her ear about how her lovemaking had made him weak-kneed. The last compliment had always been good for giggles or the playful slap on his chest. How she had blushed whenever he had raised his brows, had given her his famous wolfish leer.

The evening of his proposal had been the pinnacle of their fairy-tale romance, starting off with the Rolls-Royce complete with a uniformed driver. The chauffeur had offered her his arm, escorting her into the back of the white Corniche.

The most fabulous night of her life. And even today, steeped in righteous bitterness and bottomless hostility, she would admit that this sentiment still rang true.

There had been the front-row tickets at the theater. The play, The Fall of the House of Usher, had been sold out for months. How he had gotten the seats had only added to Julian’s aura of mystery and intrigue. Following the drama had been the exclusive backstage party where she had met the leading actors and actresses. They were all renowned stars, and she had actually talked to them. Well, truth be told, mostly she had gushed and they had murmured polite thank-yous. But just being there, being part of the crowd…

She had thought herself in a dream.

And the dream had continued. After the play had come the elegant candlelight dinner in the city’s most expensive restaurant. Julian had preordered the menu-a peek of what was to come. But that evening she had mistaken his controlling nature for élan and confidence. He had arranged everything, starting with the appetizers-beluga caviar accompanied by blinis and crisp cold vodka. Next came a puree of warmed beets served with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of chives. Then a salad of wild greens, followed by a lemon sorbet to clear the palate. All the courses enhanced with the appropriate wines.

She always remembered the feast clearly. So real. If she thought about it long enough, she’d wind up salivating.

The delectable beef Wellington dressed with pungent, freshly ground horseradish, accompanied by boiled red potatoes and julienne carrots and celery. And the desserts! The most sumptuous pastry cart. To complete the evening’s meal, a deep, full-bodied sherry aged over fifty years.