Don't people always say that in the end it is always the women who do the choosing?
They'd been together for almost three hours when they finally passed through the park's gates and, looking back now, well it seems incredible, but if truth be known, for a moment he'd thought of not going through with it.
That made him smile.
Not gone through with it? How could he have thought that? My, how things would have been different if he'd simply said goodbye and gone his own way.
3
San Quirico D'Orcia, Tuscany Neither Jack nor Nancy could get back to sleep. That had become routine too. His wife was the only person he could bring himself to talk to, the only one who could even begin to understand what had happened to him, and how it had left him.
The real nightmare had started long before the nocturnal ones. Overworking and over-caring had led to Jack's collapse at JFK, after a cold case conference in LA, right in the middle of the hunt for BRK and just days before the birth of their son.
Now, he and Nancy went over the ground again, searching for a way to find some peace: Jack's weeks in intensive care, unable to speak or walk properly, afraid that he'd die or be crippled for the rest of his life; Nancy's fears that he'd let his job ruin their marriage, her thoughts of leaving him, taking Zack to her parents' house and starting over again. As usual, they didn't leave a stone unturned. And as usual they didn't make any real progress.
Nancy King was tall, trim and tough. The daughter of a Marine, she knew how to deal with a crisis. Or at least she thought she did. After Jack's crash and burn, they'd seen La Casa Strada on an Internet auction and she'd just known that they had to buy that hotel and start over in a new country.
A new beginning. A new way of life.
That's what she'd said they'd needed, and that was what she'd been determined they'd have. Only now, well now, it seemed that new beginning was on hold.
And on hold was something Nancy wasn't going to settle for.
Dawn was filtering through the shuttered windows when she finally got back to the prickly suggestion that Jack seek some professional help. 'The Bureau gave you a number for a psychiatrist in Florence, a good one who said she'd see you at the drop of a hat. Ring her in the morning.'
'The female trickcyclist -,' Jack tried to joke his way out of it, '- you really think I need to see this shrink?'
His wife raised an eyebrow. 'Honey, we both know you need to see a shrink. Now please get it done, yeah?'
He gave in. 'Yeah, I'll get it done.' He sounded defeated, but even as he spoke, he felt slightly better at hearing himself admit that after all this time there might just be some help on its way. 'You want some breakfast?' he asked, standing in front of an open window in his boxers, patting his belly.
Behind him, Nancy could see the sun shimmering and rising across the velvet green valley. Below them, she could hear their chef, arriving in the kitchen, opening his giant fridges for supplies and starting his routine preparations before his staff arrived. She loved this place, loved her new beginning and she so wanted Jack to love it too. 'Paolo's in, he'll cook us eggs, maybe some pancetta as well.'
Jack leaned over his wife and kissed her. 'I'll get coffee too, I think we both need it.'
She watched him pull on tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. Despite his emotional vulnerability, he still looked every inch the college athlete she'd fallen in love with. 'Eleven years, Jack King. In a few days' time we'll have been married for eleven years. How did it all fly by so fast?'
Jack didn't have the answer. 'I guess the good times always seem to go the quickest and the bad times stick around too long.'
He kissed her again and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. 'Don't worry, honey, everything will be better soon.'
Jack smiled at her, and as he headed for the kitchen he tried hard not to dwell on the fact that July the eighth, the day of his wedding anniversary, was also the day the Black River Killer had claimed his sixth and youngest victim.
4
Georgetown, South Carolina Much in the manner that old men remember their first love affair, Spider finds himself comforted and aroused by his recollections of his first kill. Eyes still shut, his mind almost slipping into sleep, he rolls back twenty years and remembers the last moments of his momentous meeting with Sarah Kearney.
The summer sun and sweet floral smells of the South Carolina parkland sting his senses once more; he and Sugar stand inches apart, a delicious awkwardness at the end of their first meeting.
'Looks like rain,' he'd said, glancing up at the battleship-grey cloud heading their way. 'You got a ride?'
Sugar had shaken her head. Her pretty black hair swished as she did. 'No, I came out by bus.'
Of course you did, my darling, of course you did.
'Where you going? Can I drop you somewhere?'
'Hey, would you mind givin' me a ride to Georgetown? It's not outta ya way or nothin'. In fact, you go right through it and I can show ya a short cut an' all.'
'Course not. Nothing would give me more pleasure.'
The walk back to his car had been so exciting. Anticipation had crackled through his veins like a broken electric cable in a thunderstorm. But he hadn't forgotten himself. Oh no, he'd been the perfect gentleman, right up to the end.
He'd opened the passenger door for her, and closed it carefully once she was safely inside.
'Why thanks, that's really nice of you.'
What happened next had been the best bit. He'd pictured it dozens of times, even acted it out in his garage to make sure it would work properly.
'First rule of the road, better safe than sorry, always buckle up.' He'd said it with a smile and pointed at her seat belt.
She'd laughed at him.
Fancy that, she'd actually laughed at him. 'You're a real gent, aren't ya,' she'd said, 'real kind to ladies, that's pretty unusual these days.'
Pretty unusual. He smiled again at the recollection, she'd certainly been right there.
Then she'd done as he asked. Good little Sugar had clunked the seat belt into place and started to sit right back to make herself comfortable with her new gentleman friend.
Poor Sugar.
She'd never made it to comfortable.
As she tossed back her hair, Spider had made his move. Two fingers, bent double at the knuckles, driven deep into her throat, either side of the windpipe. An unbreakable choke-hold.
Just remembering it made him tingle. He flexed his hand and relived the excitement of pressing harder and harder, pushing her neck back against the headrest and blocking off her airway.
Sugar had struggled but the seat belt had pinned her back – just as he'd figured it would. She clawed at his arm, but he'd thought of that as well; the sleeves of his wool jacket just snapped off her nasty fingernails.
He'd thought of everything. He always did. Always would.
And that final kiss? Wow! He'd never forget it.
His lips to hers at the very moment he choked the final breath from her body and caught it in his mouth. Like he was swallowing her soul.
He breathes out. Feels her warmth again, feels that part of her, still inside him – maybe even attached to his own soul.
God it had been exciting. The most exciting, wonderful moment of his life.
And then she had been his. Truly his.
Was it really twenty years ago that all that happened? He could hardly believe it.
My, how time flies so fast.
It only seemed like yesterday that he'd looked across at Sugar's dead body in the passenger seat and realized that they were joined for ever, as surely as if they were man and wife.
Spider opens his eyes in the dullness of the present day and smiles. Sugar had indeed been special. It was so good to have her back in his life.
5