For the moment.
Li Ling wondered what it must be like to go through life being as unattractive as this woman. Her body was toned but had no real shape. Her legs were thick from ankle to thigh. Her hair was thin; there was no pleasure in touching this hair. This woman's hips were wide and her breasts were small. Her skin was dry and colorless and cracked, not soft and touchable like Ling's own lustrous skin. Li Ling looked down at the naked woman and all she felt was curiosity. Did this woman have lovers? Did men stare at her and lust after her and want to fuck her? Did women?
Ling was alone with the woman now. Togo had gone to get the transportation. They no longer needed the woman; they had gotten the information they'd needed from her. It hadn't been easy. She'd been tougher than the man. Stronger. It had taken Togo's best effort to get what they'd needed. But of course they'd gotten it. They always got what they needed. The naked woman had given them more names. And more information. She had put them one step closer to their ultimate goal.
Ling admired this woman. She was impressed by her strength. As physically unappealing as she was, that strength made Ling want to touch her, to caress her, to have some physical contact other than the pain she'd helped inflict.
The woman wasn't moving, but Ling knew she was still alive. She bent down, put her hand on the woman's forehead. She ran her fingers down the woman's neck, gently stroking it. The hand moved farther down her chest, to her left breast. Ling let her hand rest there, rubbing the breast softly. She bent farther down, put her mouth on the woman's nipple. Ling's tongue snaked out and she tasted the nipple. It was salty from the woman's sweat. It tasted good.
She put her mouth up against the woman's mouth, put her lips against her lips. She could feel the soft breaths coming in and going out. She kissed the woman, very slowly, then she pressed harder and harder still. She could feel the woman stir ever so slightly.
Ling thought that perhaps she was making the woman happy. She deserved happiness.
Li Ling believed that all people deserved happiness before they died.
She was aware that someone was touching her. It was as if she were dreaming. And perhaps she was. The touch didn't feel real, but it felt comforting. A caring touch amid the terrible pain. Perhaps she was at a doctor's. Perhaps the miracle she'd been praying for had occurred. Perhaps someone had saved her.
She felt movement on her cheek and then the gentle touch slid downward. She felt warmth on her breast. And she wasn't sure, but she thought the same warmth was somewhere near her mouth. Then the warmth and the light pressure of the touch stopped. And she felt as if she were being transported. For a moment she thought, I'm on a stretcher, yes, I have been saved. But that flash of happiness didn't last long. Because something else occurred to her. What if she wasn't on a stretcher? Maybe it was something else. Maybe this was what death was, she thought. It was hands picking you up and moving you to the afterlife.
She felt nothing for some time after that. No hands, no warmth, no movement.
She did hear a steady drone, though. So she was still alive. Maybe this was what you heard when you were flying toward heaven. It was the noise generated by the world of the living, slowly fading as you went to a quieter place. Quiet was appealing. Quiet sounded nice. But suddenly she was overcome by a yearning for noise.
The drone stopped-she had no idea how long it had been going on; the line between conscious and unconscious was way too blurry for her to conceptualize the passage of time-and then she felt hands on her again. And more movement. Yes, she was being carried once more. She had a brief moment of panic as she began to suspect that she was not being lifted toward heaven. She was not going upward; she felt herself falling now.
She began to realize that she was far, far from heaven. And even enveloped by the pain and the darkness and the jumble that her senses had become, she understood that heaven was not a reality for her. Not now. Now she was being dropped straight down into hell.
Li Ling knew what her instructions were. And she had no real problem carrying them out. Togo had left the killing to her, knowing how much pleasure it usually gave her. But this time she did not feel the glow that normally accompanied a kill. She felt a touch of sadness that such a strong woman was disappearing. Ling could tell the woman was struggling to live. She had no chance, of course-it was a battle she could not win; one that Ling could not let her win-but still Ling felt she deserved the chance to fight and to die on her own terms. She put her two fingers on the pulse that was beating ever so faintly in the woman's neck, but she didn't press down and still the pulse. She kept her fingers there until she felt the pulse begin to slow naturally. Then she turned and walked away.
There was no need to make the kill.
The unattractive woman with the will of steel would be dead in seconds anyway.
There was no noise at all now, nothing at all really, no sense of movement around her, no warmth or even cold. She couldn't tell for sure, but she felt as if she were alone. As if she were the only person left in whatever world she was in.
She didn't know if she was able to move, but she thought that perhaps she could. She felt some connection to her arm and to her fingers. She tried moving her hand, and it seemed to work.
It also brought the pain back.
It was so strong, so overwhelming, that she almost willed herself to die on the spot. She understood where she was now. It made perfect sense. And she understood, too, that she did not have long to remain on earth and that it seemed so much easier to die without all the pain.
But she knew there was something she could do before she died.
No, not could do. Had to do.
She had to make things right. That was what was important to her. Finishing her job. And making things right.
This thing especially.
Her hand moved enough to touch her own chest. She almost passed out from the sharp stabs that seemed to plunge themselves into her arm. But the pain didn't matter; she understood that now. Living was important. Dying was important. Pain was something in between that ended and was forgotten. She knew that her pain was very close to being over. So she forced her arm and her hand to move and that's when she realized she was naked. That was okay, she thought. It didn't matter. She could make things right using her nakedness. Her eyes opened now, just a slit of an opening-it was all she could manage. It wasn't really relevant anyway; she couldn't really see. The pain was already disappearing; she could feel it fading the way she could feel the life fading from inside her. Her hand moved to the ground again, felt around. She needed something. Something sharp. She didn't know if she could even tell the sensation of sharp anymore. Then she felt it. Something with an edge. She pressed her finger against it and there was a different warmth than she'd felt from whatever had been touching her body. This warmth was not as pleasant. But it made her happy, happy enough to move her lips into a simple and glorious smile.
Yes, she could do this, she was positive. She could make things right.
She would make things right.
And then, she hoped, if she was lucky, she'd die with the smile still on her face.
18
The OGM on Abigail Harmon's cell phone was the same as the one on the answering machine in her New York City apartment. Neither was in Abby's voice. Justin could assume only that a housekeeper had either been recruited for the task or had taken it upon herself to make sure that the message was singular rather than plural, or at least no longer made reference to the deceased Mr. Harmon: "You've reached the Harmon residence. Please leave a message and your call will be returned as soon as it's convenient."