“Good,” Doctor Gross said, paging through the scribbled legal pad. “I’ve been reviewing the notes from our discussion – is it all right for me to take notes again today?”
“Yes, fine.”
“A lot has happened since we spoke last. For one, of course, your wallet was found, and your ID checked out – a whole life for William B. Dance.”
“That’s not me. Derek must have made up that name, that past, used computer programmers, you know. Punks-”
Doctor Gross gave a slow shrug. “If so, the punks did a darned thorough job. We found your – sorry, William’s – grade school records; an excellent student. And his driver’s permit at fifteen, and Marines enrollment documents.”
“But what about high school? What about immunization? What about paper records, not just computer records? It isn’t a very complete history, is it?”
“There are holes, sure, but that’s the nature of paperwork. Everybody’s got an incomplete-”
“He did a good job.”
“He?”
“Derek Billings.”
“Yes, that’s the other big thing that has happened. Your friend, Mr Billings – you killed him. Why?”
“Yes,” broke in Donna, a desperate light in her face.
“Why?”
Azra turned toward her, his eyes seeming to shrink back into his skull. Despite their diminishment, Donna could see herself reflected, huddled and expectant, in them.
He chewed his lip before saying, “Well, I killed him because it was his time. I’ve always known when it’s somebody’s time. I killed him because he deserved a good death. I wanted to prove I was ready to be an angel again. I wanted God to forgive me.”
“He didn’t,” Donna noted flatly.
“I know.”
“You’re human, Azra,” she said, almost pleading.
“You can’t escape it. You need to stop trying. You need to pull a defense together. You need to figure out some way to live.”
Doctor Gross broke in. “All right. I’d like to explore this a little further. In your confession, you said that when you killed Mr Billings, you put aside your human feelings of – for instance – friendship and compassion, to achieve the divine end of assuring an appropriate death?”
“Yes,” Azra replied, turning toward him.
“In the other murder cases – the newspaperman, the priest, and so forth – did you put aside your human emotions then, too?”
“Keith McFarland killed them. I only oversaw. And besides, I didn’t even have human emotions then.”
“When did you start having human emotions?”
“When I fell in love with Donna,” said Azra, glancing toward her.
Donna looked away.
“Ah, yes, we talked about that. Well, what about when you killed – sorry, when you arranged for the police to kill Keith McFarland? You said you were already in human form when that happened. Did you have to put aside your human emotions then?”
Azra leaned his head back on the rumpled sheets. Blue lines of fluorescence radiated down his dark hair.
“If I remember – that is something else I was not prepared for, how bad mortal memories are – I exulted in Keith’s death. I had watched him kill so many people, and he was such a mess. He is certainly better off dead.”
“Why is that?”
“Keith’s life was tragic. He was never truly happy or truly in control of himself unless he was killing, or enjoying the fruits of killing.”
“How do you know that? Did he tell you?”
“We didn’t particularly speak. He heard my voice sometimes, I know, but he didn’t respond.”
“Did you enjoy killing and the fruits of killing?”
“‘Enjoy’ is a mortal term. It implies a needy and desirous body. I did not enjoy killing, except for killing Keith – which was when I had a body. I appreciated a well-planned death, but did not enjoy killing until Keith.”
Donna released a despairing moan.
“Did you enjoy killing Derek?”
Again, the question seemed to surprise Azra. “I suppose I did. I certainly felt it. I hadn’t expected to feel it so strongly, getting my thumb bitten off.”
“The ER nurses said there was semen in your underwear when you were brought in.”
Azra breathed, taking in that information. “Semen?”
“It was your semen, Azra.”
His face looked sickly white. “Forgive me. This is a shock to me.”
“It was a shock to them, too. What do you think it means that you ejaculated in your underwear?”
“It means I was sexually aroused.”
Doctor Gross wrote. “Why would killing another person arouse you?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right.” He flipped through his notes. “All right. I’m going to walk you through your description of the murder, right from the confession you gave to the police. Tell me at each step how aroused you felt, or how aroused you feel at each moment while we talk about it.”
“All right.”
“First, during the day, you asked a cell mate for a penny – Mr Joseph Lawrence. He gave you one. You said you knew then that you would use it to suffocate Mr Billings. How much arousal did you feel when you got the penny?”
“None. I just put it in my pocket.”
“Okay, then you waited for night, when Billings was asleep. You said you were thinking about how the killing would go. How aroused were you during that time?”
“Not at all.”
In encouragement, Donna patted his bandaged hand.
“Once you were sure he slept, you crawled down off your bunk. You had the top bunk. You climbed down and stood by his bedside, looking at him.”
“I remember a tightness… down here. I did not recognize it then. I remember the pocket where the penny was – the pocket felt loose, like it was pushed out.”
“You held the penny between your index finger and thumb, then slid it into his mouth and straddled him.”
“My heart was pounding. There was an exciting ache. Yes. I was excited.”
“You jammed the penny in his throat, and he struggled. He bit off your thumb. You saw your own thumb in his mouth. You lifted your hand and cupped the other hand over it. He was choking on your thumb, squirming beneath you.”
“Perhaps that was when the semen got in my underwear.”
“Did you want to do anything more, then?” Doctor Gross looked up, gauging Donna’s reaction. She was fervid and trembling.
“No. I don’t know what I wanted to do. It felt frightening and good.”
“Oh, Azra,” Donna said, revulsion and despair on her face.
“All right. So, you got up from the bunk and went to tell Lawrence to call for a guard. What did you feel then?”
“My hand was hurting. I don’t remember anything else.”
“So, was it the killing that excited you, or putting your thumb into his mouth?”
“I don’t know. Both. Now I understand Keith a little better.”
“Do you think it is natural to have these feelings?”
“What do you mean, natural? Do you mean part of God’s plan – or sin?”
“Do you think God wants humans to have these feelings when they kill? Do you think it’s sin?”
“I don’t know. God knows when all things are to be born and when they are to die, and you can’t be born without having to someday face death, and you can’t die without something killing you. God wants mortals to die, yes – and he wants them to have sex. I do not know if he wants them to connect the two.”
“Do you feel any guilt, remorse, or shame for having killed Derek or Keith?”
“Yes,” Azra said. “At first, I felt sorry for him, for Derek. I apologized to him while I was killing him. And now, now that I know it was not a test from God, now that I know about the wallet and the records – whether Derek made it up or it is all true – I feel bad. I feel guilt. I wish I hadn’t killed him.”
“Let’s get back to Keith. Why did you choose to assist his slayings?”
“He chose to kill, and I had to assure the killings were fitting – just.”
“How is it fitting and just for a young priest to be killed in a confessional on Christmas Eve?”
“How is it not just?”
“Shouldn’t good folk live long, happy lives and die quietly in their sleep?”