"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."
Hollis knew Maggie leaned toward her, and didn't start when a cool hand covered one of hers.
"You'll remember when you can, Hollis."
"I remember everything else. I remember every goddamned thing he did to me. I remember the way his breath smelled in my face, like spearmint chewing gum. The way he smelled of Ivory soap. The way his skin felt against mine, hot and slick with sweat. The way he… grunted in the back of his throat while he raped me. I remember… everything. Except that. Why not that?"
"There's a reason. There's always a reason."
"You mean my mind doesn't want me to remember? But why that? All the horrible things he did to me-and I can't remember a sound? Just a sound? Why?"
"I don't know. But we'll figure it out. I promise you, Hollis, we'll figure it out." Maggie drew a little breath, and Hollis thought she heard a catch in the sound, but the other woman's voice was steady when she said, "Can you start from the beginning? Can you tell me everything that happened from the moment he grabbed you?"
"Yes," Hollis said. Her hand turned and gripped Maggie's tightly. "I think I can now."
Hollis Templeton's room was around a corner and near the end of an unusually quiet corridor on a quiet floor of the hospital; her doctors felt she would be better off not disturbed by the hustle and bustle common in most of the building. So when John got off the elevator and passed the silent waiting room, he found himself half consciously walking more quietly down the deserted hallway so as not to intrude upon the peaceful atmosphere.
He turned the corner having seen no one and stopped abruptly when he did see someone. Maggie. She was outside Hollis's room, leaning back against the wall beside the closed door. She was hugging her sketch pad with both arms, her head bent, long hair falling forward to mostly hide her pale face, but even from this distance John could see her shoulders shaking and hear the muffled but wrenching sobs.
Before she could see or sense him there, John stepped silently back around the corner and retreated to the doorway of the waiting room, more shaken than he wanted to admit to himself.
Magic. No, it wasn't magic, what she did. Whether her ability was paranormal as Quentin insisted or merely an overdeveloped sensitivity to the feelings of others, the undeniable fact was that Maggie suffered right along with the victims of violence she tried to help. He wondered if he had the right to ask her to put herself through that. If anyone did.
And, not for the first time, he wondered why she did it. He had considered having her background investigated, certainly something he could have done, but it wasn't his habit to acquire information about people that way. Especially people he wanted to work with. Digging into somebody's past without so much as a by-your-leave was hardly a good first step to induce trust and cooperation.
Both Quentin and Kendra had adamantly stated that Maggie's motives had to be both powerful and deeply felt, and John could see that clearly enough. To willingly put herself through what she did, her reasons would have to be strong ones.
So what were they? What could possibly drive a sensitive woman, with the intelligence and artistic talent to be anything she wanted, to torture herself this way?
John shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and waited there, leaning beside the doorway, all too aware that only Maggie could answer that question. And nobody had to tell him it wasn't something she would willingly discuss, especially with a virtual stranger.
Both the question and that reluctant answer were difficult to accept, and he thought about both, so preoccupied that he didn't hear her approach until she spoke.
"What are you doing here?" Except for a faint redness around her eyes and a hint of strain in her face, there were no lingering signs of that storm of emotion John had briefly witnessed.
"I called the station. Andy said you were probably here talking to Hollis Templeton. He said he'd tried to call you."
"I turned off my cell phone. I usually do during interviews." Maggie frowned slightly. "But I got your message; I was planning to meet you at four."
He nodded, accepting that. "Yeah, well, it might be a good idea if we go there now."
"Why?"
He didn't want to tell her, but there was no choice. "The police think there's been another attack, Maggie. A woman was reported missing a couple of hours ago. Her husband just returned from a business trip and discovered her gone and the front door literally standing open."