Bone Deep

32

Half an hour after dusk Becker took up his position in the woods that girded the side of Kom's house. From his post behind a large oak he could see both the backyard, where Kom's preferred entrance into the woods lay, and the driveway. Becker took no extraordinary precautions to remain unseen; if Kom glimpsed him it would only increase the pressure, and unrelenting pressure was the idea. Becker would continue to squeeze, depriving Kom of his usual outlets, forcing his destructive energies back into the man until he imploded. He had been comfortable too long, he had grown too accustomed to his ways. He had drunk too deeply of blood and triumph to stop. Becker would cut off his supply until the man was wild with thirst and frustration, until he was compelled by his own demons to act, to do something desperate, something foolish. And Becker would be there with a bloodiust of his own.

Clipped to his belt was a deer hunter's aid, a sound amplification device the size of a transistor radio with padded earphones. To a casual observer Becker would look like a man listening to a Walkman, but in reality the machine gave him hearing capabilities approaching those of the deer themselves. He adjusted the earphones and turned the volume up until he heard the electronic squeal of feedback, then turned it down a notch until the squealing stopped and the woods exploded with sound.

The thrumming of cicadas rose to a deafening level and even the sounds of his own breathing boomed in his ears. He adjusted the volume yet again until every background noise came through distinctly but the overall level was tolerable, and even then he had to measure his own movements so that the rasp of flesh against cloth did not drown out the rustle of leaves or the distant whine of a car's tires against the asphalt.

Kom came out of his house and walked across the lawn to his tennis court and Becker heard the sound of the man's footsteps on the grass crunch as clearly as if each one were cracking through thin ice. Kom carried a flashlight and wore a thin nylon windbreaker. A rake was slung over one shoulder like a rifle. As Becker watched, Kom stepped past the treeline until he stood over the grave.

Kom switched the flashlight on momentarily, then decided that it was not necessary and snapped it off again. He raked for a moment, smoothing the ground over and around the grave site, and with his amplified hearing Becker could hear every slap of stone against the tines of the rake, the rustle of the parted leaves, the mild grind of metal slicing through soft dirt. After a moment Kom dropped the rake and swatted at his face and neck as if he had been attacked by mosquitoes.

Becker took the earphones off and watched in fascination as Kom hopped and slapped frantically at himself. He pulled the hood of the windbreaker over his head and ran, swinging a hand in front of his face like a windshield wiper. Mosquitoes could not have brought about such a response, Becker thought. Kom had disturbed a nest of wasps or bees.

Becker stifled a laugh as he watched Kom scurry toward the safety of his house, his arms flailing like propellers, his fat-hipped, splayfooted waddle carrying him as fast as he could go.

Within a minute Kom's car appeared in the driveway, tearing into the street. Becker wondered if the man was allergic to bee stings, if he was racing to the hospital to be treated for anaphylactic shock. People could die of bee stings-Becker had witnessed a case himself, the woman's face and hands swollen within minutes like sausage casing pumped full to bursting, her eyes all but vanished amid the turgid skin. He sprinted to his own car, which was parked a block away, ready for just such a trip, and wondered about the irony of it all if he was forced to save Kom's life if the man passed out in his car before he could make it to the hospital.

Kom drove rapidly and recklessly, cutting through the stoplight by the center as it turned red, and Becker let him go, allowing the intersection to clear before running the light himself. He caught up with Kom as the car entered the Merritt, and stayed with it when it got off three exits later and fishtailed its way onto the local road, endangering itself several times before pulling into the parking lot of the hospital. Becker paused at the bottom of the hill as Kom got out of the car, his windbreaker hood still drawn over his head, and ran to the hospital. When Becker saw the long-legged strides, he knew he had been fooled. He raced his car up the hill and left it in the emergency entrance. Flashing his Bureau badge in one hand, he grabbed Tovah as she was about to enter the elevator, spun her around and tore the windbreaker hood from her head. The security guard, excited by the commotion, retreated when he saw Becker's badge.

"Where did he go?" Becker demanded.

"You," she said, throwing her arms over her face as if she expected him to strike her.

"Where is he?"

"He's changed," said Tovah, cowering. "He's changed, he's different.

"I won't hurt you," Becker said, pulling her arms from her face. "He said you might. I saw what you did to him in the elevator."

"That has nothing to do with you. Where did he go?"

"I know I told you about his women, but that's all over. He's so different now. He loves me, John, he does. He's so attentive, so loving, it's all over, all of that other stuff is finished, I can tell.."

"Why did he send you out like this?"

"He needs some peace from you," she pleaded. "You're making him crazy.

He told me how you're harassing him, how you won't let him breathe-John, he's not interested in Karen, I know it. They're just friends."

"This isn't about Karen," Becker said.

"That was all my fault, I was jealous, I exaggerated things-I should never have said anything to you." She continued to back away from him, her arms held high, still expecting a blow. Becker walked her into the corner at the edge of the elevator block so she could no longer evade him. Her voice was too loud, too fast, hovering on the verge of hysteria, and it had brought a small crowd of onlookers who stood several yards away, watching.

"Tovah, listen to me. I don't know what he told you. I don't know what has frightened you, but I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know where he is. I want you to tell me where he went."

"You should see him," she said, shaking her head as if it were impossible to make him understand. "You were his friend, he liked you, he counted on your friendship, and now you've turned on him, you've broken his heart. You should see him, he's not himself, his eyes-he hasn't slept-his eyes-He's afraid of you, John, he thinks you're going to attack him again. He sees you in the shadows, he thinks you want to mug him, he's heard the stories about you, we've all heard the stories about you, but he's seen what you can be like, he can't get that beating out of his mind-his eyes..

"He's lying to you, Tovah. He's lied to you all his life and he's doing it now."

"He's not, he's changed, he loves me now, you wouldn't know, but I'm there, I'm the one he touches. I'm the one he kisses. Not Karen, not anybody else, just me, it's just me…

He fought an urge to slap her, to shut her up, to make her stop being so afraid of him. "Why did he send you out like this?"

"He needs some peace. You're so paranoid about Karen..

"Karen has nothing to do with this," he said again, still fighting the urge to slap her. And then he stopped, frozen by the sudden realization that it did have to do with Karen. It had everything to do with Karen.

He fled from the hospital as if pursued.

Kom approached the house from the south, coming through the trees. He paused at the edge of the lawn, surveying the layout, mapping his exits, plotting an escape route if needed. The light was on in the master bedroom, an easy drop from the ground-floor window to a flower bed-he could be out and away in no time. He glanced at the sky where dark clouds rolled and seethed across the moon like scum atop boiling water.

It would rain before the night was through and would be very dark long before then. Kom smiled; he liked the dark.

A form passed before the bedroom window and Kom moved toward it. He paused just outside the cone of light that fell onto the grass and watched with delight as Karen passed again, the backlight shining through her T-shirt. He moved closer, inching into the light. Karen stood with her back to the window, reaching her arms to her hair, and the T-shirt crept up her naked legs, revealing the first rounding of her buttocks. Grinning, Kom moved still closer. Karen froze in place for a second, then moved toward the bedroom door and out of his sight.

He walked to the house and listened for a moment just under the window.

He could hear her moving about distantly and he peeked into the light, standing on his toes. The bedroom was empty. He thought for a moment of crawling through the window, of waiting for her in the bed. The wolf greeting Red Riding Hood in Grandmother's clothing, smiling to show his big teeth.

He worked his way around the side of the house and was heading for the front door when he heard a sound and stopped. The night was preternaturally still, waiting for the storm. He looked upward again.

In the clearing surrounding the house there was still some faint light coming from the sky through the gaps between clouds, but in the woods it would be much darker. The clouds were massing now, rolling into each other like flows of black lava, and the sky would be solid black within minutes. The scent of moisture was heavy in the air. Kom could sense it hanging all about him, suspended.

Kom took two more steps to the corner of the house, then suddenly found himself falling forward. He landed heavily, then felt a knee in his back and the hardness of metal pressing into his temple just in front of his ear.

"Don't move," Karen said. "Federal agent with a gun to your head."

"Karen, it's me. It's Stanley."

"Stanley? What are you doing sneaking around like that?"

"Can I get up?"

"Of course."

He stood slowly, checking himself out, brushing off his clothes. "What did you do to me?" he asked, half laughing.

Karen shrugged. "Just a takedown." She still gripped the pistol in both hands, holding it where her arms fell at groin level, the barrel pointing to the ground. Measured against the bare skin of her legs, the white T-shirt, the gun looked enormous. They could hear the phone ringing in the house.

"I never even saw you," Kom said.

"You weren't supposed to," she replied. "What were you doing, Stanley?

I thought you were a prowler."

"Sorry. I didn't know what else to do, where else to turn. I don't know who else to talk to…" He allowed his voice to trail off.

"What's wrong?"

"Tovah attacked me," he said.

"Attacked you?"

He hung his head. "I feel so ashamed."

"No," she said sympathetically. "No." The phone rang for the fourth time, then stopped as the answering machine took over.

"I didn't know what to do. I couldn't hit her back, I couldn't make myself do that… I just left. Like a child, like a baby. I just walked away. You mustn't tell anyone, please, Karen. I know how I would look, being beaten by a woman…"

"Of course..

"I tried to stop her, I held her arms, but she kicked me, I tried to hold her down, she bit me. And when I let her up she started to throw things at me… Karen, I don't know what to do, I just don't know what to do."

"Oh, Stanley."

"I can't control her.. He took a step toward her, his head still hanging, forcing her to embrace him. She put her arms around him awkwardly, aware for the first time of her skimpy clothing. When she pulled away Kom noticed her nipples standing erect against the cotton.

"Did I do the wrong thing coming here?" he asked dolefully.

"No, of course not," Karen said. "You just- Maybe you should have called first."

"I had to leave then, I mean right then… I shouldn't impose on you this way, I have no right..

"We're friends," Karen said.

"I know, but I've put you to so much trouble." He looked at the sky again. The clouds were solid now. The only light came from the house.

A large raindrop, startlingly cold, hit him on the chest. "I should go … somewhere," he said.

Karen said, "Come inside."

He lingered, reluctant, and Karen touched his hand to motion him forward. He gripped her hand and she led him into the house that way, leading him as she would a child.

Becker called Karen from the car as he sped back toward Clamden, then hung up when the machine's recorded message came on. When he called Tee, Marge answered, sounding harried.

"He's in the shower," she said. "Is it important?"

Becker hesitated. At best, Tee could get to his house ten minutes ahead of Becker. If he had to get out of the shower and dry off and dress, the advantage was all but gone. "No," he said. "I'll deal with it."

Marge hung up and turned to Tee, who lay naked in bed beside her.

"You make me shirk my coply duties," he said.

"You have other duties," she reminded him. Her hand had gripped his swollen penis throughout the phone call and it gently tugged him toward her now.

They giggled together in the dark, and for that moment at least, Tee thought only of his wife.

Karen returned their pistol to the dresser drawer and threw on a robe before returning to Kom, who waited in the living room. When she saw him clearly under the interior light she had to check herself to keep from starting. His eyes were so bloodshot they seemed to have turned fiery red and they were wild and darting in a way she had never seen before.

"Stanley, your eyes.. "I haven't slept for days," he said. "Nights with Tovah have been so bad, this storm has been building… I can't sleep."

"You're a doctor. Prescribe some pills."

He chuckled. "Tovah takes pills," he said contemptuously. "I have to be alert. The captain doesn't sleep."

Kom looked around the room expectantly. "Are you sure John won't mind my being here?"

"John's not here."

"You agents have terrible hours."

"I work behind a desk, mine are normal. John more or less makes his own."

"What's he working on now?" he asked, smiling.

"Johnny Appleseed… Tell me what happened, Stanley." Karen sat on the sofa next to him, trying not to look at his eyes, which were still wild and unsettling. "Tell me about Tovah."

Kom twisted his neck, groaning, and put his hand on it "She hit me with a plate. I think… I have to have it looked at. It feels like a tear."

He turned toward her, craning his neck, inviting Karen to look and touch. She placed a tentative hand on the spot.

"Oh God, that feels so good," he groaned. "Leave your hand there, leave it there. Oh God, you're ' so warm."

He moved closer on the sofa, making it easier for her to reach him, and leaned over at the waist so that his hands fell naturally onto her thighs for support.

"Don't stop, don't stop," he moaned. "Your fingers are magic. "

He shifted his weight, writhing slightly under her touch, and one of his thumbs came to rest on the bare skin of her leg where the robe had opened. He froze the thumb in place, not moving it until she was used to its touch.

"It's been so long since anyone touched me like that. Oh God, Karen, you have no idea. I think you could heal just with your hands alone. What a wonderful touch. Ohhh. Ohhh." Twisting his body slightly, as if to position her hand in the right place, he moved his own hand on her leg so that it slid smoothly along her skin.

Karen pulled back and closed her robe.

"Don't stop…"

"Stanley, this is a little dangerous."

"Is it?"

"I can talk to you, but we have to leave it at that."

His face took on the look of sweet sadness that she knew well, the look that made her want to cradle him and comfort him. She recognized it was a dangerous impulse indeed.

He nodded as if he understood everything without being told.

"You're right," he said. "You're right." He stood, cranking himself up by degrees and wincing at every stage. "Can I just use the bathroom?" he asked, moving toward the bedroom.

"What did she do to you?"

He took a step and stopped, clutching his hamstring, then continued, limping.

"I just need some water on my face," he said. "I feel a little dizzy."

Karen hurried to his side and held on to his arm to offer support. "What did she hit you with?"

"Whatever she could reach," he said. He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned some of his weight on her, "A kitchen chair, one time. I'll be all right, really. I just need to… Just a little dizzy."

"I'll call the paramedics," she said, leading him into the bedroom and to the door of the master bathroom.

"No, no. I need to talk more than I need medical help," he said.

"Please, Karen, just give me a few minutes and I'll be out of your hair."

"You're not in my hair… It's a little messy in there," she said, as he entered the bathroom. He kept his hand on her shoulder until he closed the door, looking at her with that brave and doleful smile.

Kom regarded himself in the mirror, smiling with approbation. Damn, he was good, he thought. He didn't have her yet, but he was making progress, he would get her, he knew it. He looked closely at his reflection, tilting his head from one side to the other with admiration.

His fiery eyes glared back at him, bloody, staring… mad. For the first time, Kom saw his demon emerge, saw it come and slide behind those eyes and take control.

He gripped the sides of the sink as the mania launched itself upon him and shook his body. It had never been stronger, he felt himself crumble under the onslaught and knew he was powerless. It was the wrong time, the wrong place, too dangerous, too dangerous, but the mania gripped him and shook him like a rag and he knew he must give in to it. He tried to struggle, tried to assert his reason as he had done when the demon had demanded that he kill To vah, but his will was impotent. Kom had never known it like this, it was not merely insistent, it was titanic and absolutely imperious. He had to clutch the sink in order not to be knocked to the floor as he trembled and quaked with the mania's might.

When he gave in, when he relinquished his will to the mania, he began to laugh with the joy of it. Still watching himself through his crimson eyes, he tossed his head back and laughed and laughed. He unzipped his pants and his penis sprang forth, swollen and ready. He clapped a hand over his mouth lest his laughter tear the house apart.

Karen heard the noise coming from the bathroom and moved closer. It sounded like laughter, wild, unrestrained, lunatic, and she felt an instinctive fear that she quickly suppressed. She was a strong, competent, highly trained professional; she had nothing to fear in her own house, and certainly not from a marshmallow like Stanley Kom. The sound was abruptly muted and became a sort of strangled cry.

"Are you all right?" she asked, leaning toward the bathroom door. She heard his voice but could not make out the meaning.

"Stanley?"

"Help," he murmured. She put her ear to the door, not sure she had heard him correctly, not wanting to intrude if she was wrong. "Stanley? Are you all right?"

"Help me," he said, scarcely louder. Karen opened the door and found him on the floor, his back to her, his face resting on the side of the bathtub. "What happened?" she demanded in alarm.

"Can't get up," he said weakly. "Dizzy."

She stepped to his side, took hold of the hand that he lifted toward her.

"Help me up," he said, rolling his eye toward her, unable to lift his head. She bent beside him, putting her arm around his back. Kom slid his own arm around her back, then grabbed her legs with his other hand and lifted. Karen pitched face forward into the bathtub and Kom scrambled atop her, pinning her in place with his weight on her back.

As she came to herself from the first shock of the fall, Karen felt Kom's hand gripping her neck. He was saying something about letting him do it, it wouldn't hurt, but it was not his words that had meaning, it was his weight upon her, the insistent thrust of his swollen flesh against her, the squeezing of her neck. Prevented by the confines of the tub from moving, she reached back with her arm and pulled his hand from her neck.

"You mustn't resist," Kom said, clamping his fingers on her neck once more. "It's just something I have to do, please let me do it, Karen, it won't take long, it won't hurt you, I promise it won't hurt…

She grabbed for him again, reaching backward as far as she could, and caught his ear. She pulled with all her strength and heard him howl in pain. He pushed her head hard into the porcelain, then clutched at her neck once again. Fighting dizziness and a growing nausea, she clawed at his hand again, turning her head desperately from side to side. His penis probed at her but his weight had her completely pinioned there and she could not move to resist him. She tried to thrash from side to side but the porcelain gave her no purchase and the narrow limits of the tub provided no place to squirm.

Kom gripped her hair and used it to lift her head before slamming it again and again into the drain. She reached back, clawing for his face, but he fended her off with an elbow while continuing to pound. Finally her struggles ceased and she went limp. Kom could see blood trickling from under her face and into the drain.

He knew she was only stunned from the blows, but it would keep her quiet long enough for him to finish the job properly. He clasped her neck once more, made sure that he could feel the pulse under his fingers, and squeezed. There was no need to be gradual now, no need to worry about her discomfort. He clamped down hard.

The mania surged through him, making him want to howl in triumph. It was a supreme moment and he experienced it with perfect clarity, saw the hair stirred by her breath, saw the tiny bumps and dents in the porcelain like pores in skin, heard the sound of his own heart pound.

Every movement seemed to be slowed down a hundred times and he could see the components of every motion.

Her legs relaxed, giving him greater access at last, and he thrust forward to enter her, dropping his face close to her head. Karen pushed with both arms and lashed her head back, catching him flush in the face with her skull. He bellowed in pain and surprise and in his moment of con fusion Karen twisted to one side, almost propelling herself to her shoulder. She jabbed at his eyes and missed, tried to hit him in the throat with her knuckles, but then he recovered and was at her again, this time with a fury. She pushed against the tub with all of her strength, trying to turn him, but his weight was too much and she fell back, confined, unable to maneuver.

Kom smashed her head against the porcelain again, snarling with anger now. His own blood poured from his nose onto the back of her neck and he was incensed, outraged, that she had fooled him and hurt him and nearly escaped. She continued to fight and every bit of her resistance infuriated him further.

When she fell limp this time, he knelt on her back, forgetting the sex, and gripped her neck with both hands. His lust was gone and the mania, too, had vanished during the struggle, leaving him with only his anger.

He would kill her now, not because the demon required it, not because of the thrill, but because he had to save himself. And because she deserved it.

His breathing sounded strange to him and he realized that his nose was broken. More of his blood fell onto her neck and his fingers slipped before regaining their grip.

There was a sudden change of atmosphere in the house, the curtain rippled, and Kom could hear the sound of the night and the rising winds clearly. Someone had opened the door.

Without a second's hesitation he rose from the tub and went directly to the bedroom window. He could hear footsteps coming toward the bedroom but he did not panic. Even as he dropped from the window onto the flower bed and ran toward the woods he was proud of how calm he was, how well he responded to the situation. He felt exhilarated, eager to face another challenge. He was still in control.

Becker had noticed the open window and started toward it when he heard the groan from the bathroom. Karen's face was awash with blood but her voice was strong as she pushed him away.

"Kom," she said.

"I know.

Karen spat blood and allowed Becker to assist her to a sitting position.

"Get him," she said.

"You need help," he said.

She pushed him away again. "Get him. Get him."

Becker dialed 911 before climbing through the bedroom window.

With the audio device turned on, the sound of the rain hitting the canopy of leaves overhead made it seem as if he were standing in a shower stall. He adjusted the volume level, trying to factor out the noise of the rain and the roaring of the wind. At first he could hear nothing over the background noise but eventually his ear adjusted and he could distinguish other sounds. He heard a branch break with a loud report, and then a grunt. Animals did not grunt because of their own awkwardness. It was Kom and he was moving too fast for efficiency under the circumstances. He had not allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark after being indoors and was paying the price now with his careless passage. Becker stepped farther into the woods, taking himself at an angle to Kom's line of flight, and moving slowly until he could distinguish the shapes in front of him.

At the edge of the soccer field Kom paused, listening for signs of pursuit. He was breathing heavily and the noise of the storm made it impossible for him to hear anything. He saw no lights behind him. He gasped several times, then held his breath, straining to hear the sound of voices or footfalls in the woods, Confident that he was not being followed, he struck out directly across the open soccer field, shortening his route toward home. The field was open to the sky but that did not greatly alter its visibility. The light from distant houses illuminated the dark and roiling hottoms of the clouds but did little to brighten the field itself. He was glad that he knew his way, it was a great advantage. But then he had many advantages, he told himself as he walked quickly across the open space. There seemed no need to run. He was smarter than they were, he was more experienced than they were-had he not outwitted them and again? — and he was not going to panic. He was calm, he told himself, exhilarated but mentally calm, not frightened at all. He did not bother to define who they were, they were the forces that would contain him and cripple him and prevent the Cap'n from operating. He had bested them for years and years and he had no doubt that he would continue to do so. The weight of destiny was on his side, he felt. It wanted him to succeed.

In the middle of the field he looked over his shoulder. Anyone moving would be visible; Kom's trained eye would pick them out as they entered the field. There was no one. He had eluded his pursuers. He grinned to himself, then started to chuckle, careful to keep the sound of his elation low.

Something moved at the edge of the woods that was his destination. A dark shape disengaged itself from the darker background and stepped into the field. Kom stopped and blinked, thinking it must be his imagination, a creation of the rain and wind. The shape moved again and took the form of a man. Kom veered off his line and headed left, hurrying now, keeping his eyes on the man, who did not move again once he had revealed himself. Kom could feel him watching and expected at any minute to see the man give chase or shout or train a light on him.

He reached the trees with relief and started on a long arc to bypass the man and swing around toward his home once more. He moved more cautiously now, even though he was nearly certain that the man had not been pursuing him after all, that he was a bystander, some homeowner out for a walk in the storm, an innocent. Nonetheless, Kom paused frequently to listen and scan the woods in front and on his right side where the man had appeared. There was nothing, he was alone, and every step, every uneventful check inspired him with renewed confidence.

Kom started up a small hill and saw a tree move along the crest, saw it split itself in two so that two trunks stood were there had been only one before. The new trunk extended a branch and Kom realized that it was a man, one arm pointing straight at him as if it were a weapon. With alarm, Kom veered sharply to his left again, stumbling away from the man. When he looked back, the man was still there, standing like a sentinel. When Kom moved, the man's arm moved so that it was always pointing at him. Kom widened his arc, scrambling farther away until he could no longer see the man or his threatening gesture.

He fell, trying to watch over his shoulder while hurrying forward, and picked himself up quickly, fearful that the man might suddenly be upon him.

After five minutes without further incident he had convinced himself that the men were hunters seeking deer illegally, which would account for their silence. He felt better; he had eluded the pursuit, he was still winning, everything would be fine.

He had come to the edge of a lawn and paused, deciding whether to take the shortcut or skirt the open space, when once more the shape of a man stepped forth from the shadows, alarmingly close this time, and lifted an arm to point accusingly at him. Stifling a cry, Kom ran to his left again, stumbling and crashing through the underbrush, finding himself in a tangle of vines and brambles that tore at him and clung to him like hands. He looked back, dreading the sight of the man approaching, but saw nothing. With a gasp he broke free of the restraining vines and ran.

Kom tripped and fell, his shoulder colliding hard with a tree. He landed heavily and lay still for a moment, trying to get his bearings; then, remembering the closeness of the man, he frantically rolled to his side so that his back was not exposed, and stared into the darkness.

Nothing moved except the branches in the canopy that thrashed eerily from his ground-level perspective, witches' fingers clawing the night air.

He lay perfectly still for what he thought was a long time, curled into the fetal position, watching. He began to think of himself as invisible; if the man was looking for him, he would not think to look on the ground, he would have passed on by now, he would not have seen Kom.

How could he see him? He would lie there a bit longer, letting the man get completely out of range; then he would backtrack, slip around him.

As he felt the courage and brilliance of his plan renew his confidence, the dripping of the rain from the trees, the sodden clothes that clung to his skin no longer bothered him.

Once more a tree split in twain and the man stood there, scant yards away, arm outstretched. It was impossible, it was right where Kom had been looking all along, the man could not have been there-yet there he was. Kom froze like a rabbit, praying he was not seen. Slowly the man lowered his arm until it was pointing directly at him. Kom could make out no features on the man's face in the darkness, only his outline, silhouetted against the background of trees, but he knew now that it was Becker.

He ran in the only direction allowed to him, knowing he was being herded like a sheep. He thought of turning and confronting his tormentor, but he understood that when he turned, Becker would not be there, he would have vanished in the gloom; that he appeared only when he wanted to be seen. It was the thought of having him suddenly swoop down upon his back that kept Kom running. He feared him now as he would a giant bird of prey, an adversary that had different senses, was ruled by different urges from those of men. Whenever he tried to swerve toward his house, Becker was there like a wraith, directing him to the way he must go.

When he turned back, the man was there too, his finger pointing accusatorily. Kom was half running, half crawling now, trying futilely to get ahead of his tormentor, slipping, falling, covered with mud, soaked to the skin. Clothes torn, flesh scraped and bruised, his broken nose now throbbing with insistent ache, he proceeded sometimes erect, sometimes on all fours like a running ape, lashed and harried through a nightmare gauntlet of flailing branches and tripping roots.

Becker had driven him to the watershed preserve of the reservoir and Kom labored up a hill, following a path as best he could, seeking a tunnel through the encroaching trees, a trail one arms'-span wide where the whiplike boughs would not seek his eyes and claw at his aching face.

Even in the dark, pursued by a specter, Kom knew where he was. He was approaching familiar ground-the orchard he had used as his private cemetery was on the other side of the hill, the reservoir beyond it. He would have an advantage there, he told himself. He knew the territory better than anyone. In some sections the trees were small, too low to hide behind. Becker was making a mistake herding him there. Kom would be on his own turf and he would turn and destroy Becker as he had done Kiwasee.

Halfway up the hill he stumbled again and this time he stayed down, groping with both hands until his fingers came upon a fallen limb.

Looking around, expecting to see Becker hovering only yards away, he rose, lifting the limb in both hands, and continued up the hill.

Come at me now, he thought murderously. Come waggle your finger at me now. This is not an elevator and this is not Dr. Stanley Kom, the good citizen, the pushover. I'm Cap'n Luv and I have a weapon. I am the man who killed the black man with a shovel-because I had to. And now I have to kill you. He felt a chuckle bubbling up within his chest. Adrenaline coursed through his veins with the crackle of electricity and he was himself again, Luv the indomitable. He knew he would overcome.

Lightning crashed and lit the night and Kom saw the end of the path where the trees fell away and nothing remained but the lowering sky.

There was open space there, room enough to make a stand, and he hurried up the hill, panting, desperate to be there. He carried the limb as a soldier would a rifle, comforted by its size and heft.

Becker waited atop the hill, leaning against the hole of a copper beech, indistinguishable in the dark from the tree itself. He heard Kom's labored breathing and could distinguish words now, muttered low in his throat. Kom was talking to himself with the tenor of a man who did not know he was speaking aloud. The tone was angry, defiant, paranoid, and sounded to Becker like the delusional rumblings of bag ladies and the willfully homeless. The earphones of the listening device hung uselessly around Becker's neck. He had dispensed with the machine long ago. Kom was moving too slowly, too noisily for Becker to need any help keeping track of him.

Kom struggled abreast of Becker, leaning a hand on the beech for support, not even glancing at Becker. Becker heard him say "love" and "the best" as he passed, taking the final few steps toward the edge of the cliff. From there he would have to swing right and follow the path along the cliff's edge for a hundred yards before it turned again and headed back down the hill.

But Kom did not turn to the right. He stopped on the slippery rocks that abutted the trail and turned to face the woods, lifting the limb like a weapon. He swung the limb back and forth in front of him a few times, snarling, swinging at shadows, fighting phantoms. Becker stood ten yards away, leaning against the tree, invisible to Kom, and watched with amusement as his quarry spent the last of his energy on the threatening air, He let the branch sag to the rocks at last, leaning on it and breathing heavily.

Lightning flashed again as Becker stepped forward, finger pointing, revealing him before he was ready. Kom screamed, swinging the limb as if galvanized by the thunderbolt. The limb smashed into Becker's leg just above the knee. Stunned, he watched Kom swing again, unable to move quickly enough to avoid it. The timber hit him in the leg once more and Becker knew as he fell that the bone was broken.

It was Kiwasee all over again, Kom told himself. He had won, he had destroyed the great Becker. Sensing triumph, he attacked in a frenzy, swinging once and scything the air as Becker rolled, then again, missing once more and hitting the trunk of the beech. The limb snapped in two, leaving the smaller end in Kom's hands. Kom looked at his suddenly diminished weapon, momentarily baffled.

Becker pulled himself up holding on to the tree and stood erect, giving Kom his full length as a target. Kom chose to go for his head and Becker ducked, then pushed off with his good leg, propelling himself under the swinging club and into Kom's chest. Kom gasped in teffor and recoiled, pulling them toward the edge of the precipice. Becker could feel Kom's breath on his face, could see his eyes, wide with fear and a kind of madness, rolling back like prey in the grip of its predator.

Becker seized him by the throat, and Kom dropped his weapon to clutch futilely at Becker's hands, trying to free himself. He was gasping words but Becker could not make them out amidst the turmoil of the struggle and the storm.

Kom struck at him ineffectually, then suddenly lurched backward as his heels slipped off the rock. His arms windmilled frantically, as if he might fly. He was held to the rocks only by his toes and Becker's grip on his neck. Ultimately, it was not enough as his soles slipped from the wet stone. Becker caught his belt as he fell and was slammed to his stomach atop the rock by Kom's free weight. Kom dangled over the precipice, his feet clawing the air.

It took Becker a moment to recover from the shock of his fall to the stone and the torrent of pain that lashed his leg, but he held his grip on Kom's throat and belt. He had been pulled to the edge himself so that his face looked into the blackness of the drop and his arms hung straight down, clinging to Kom. He spread his legs behind him, digging at the slippery stone with his knees and his toes, but he could still feel the inexorable pull of gravity dragging him slowly toward the edge.

Kom's every gyration pulled them both closer to disaster.

"Don't move," he said, and to his surprise Kom stopped squirming. Becker felt his gradual slide arrested as the toe of his one working foot found and caught a slight indentation in the stone.

Kom gargled something past Becker's restrictive grip and Becker realized he was saying, "John."

Becker eased his grip on Kom's throat enough so that the man could speak.

"It's all a mistake," Kom said. "A terrible misunderstanding. They loved me. They all loved me."

Becker tightened his grip on the neck, squeezing the carotid artery but leaving the throat clear. "Is this how you did it, Stanley? Did you squeeze them just like this?"

Lightning flashed and Becker could see Kom's eyes, wide, wild, and red, but no longer frightened. In the second's illumination, Becker thought he saw Kom grinning insanely at him.

"Is this the way?" Becker asked. "Is this what it felt like?" As he squeezed he saw Karen's face before him, her beauty covered with her own blood. His arms were shaking with the strain but jealousy and fury flooded him as he squeezed even harder.

Kom's head began to swim and he grabbed at the hand at his throat.

Just then Becker lost his toehold and felt himself sliding toward the edge. Pain streaked through his broken leg as it dragged across the rock. "If you struggle, I can't hold you," Becker cried.

"They loved me," Kom said. "They did it for me."

Becker's belt buckle caught a flaw in the stone's surface and he was checked for a moment, then gravity prevailed and he was dragged ever closer to the edge.

"I can't hold you," Becker said. He was surprised by the calmness in his tone. Kom, too, seemed perfectly controlled, as if they were both living between the spaces of time where a second was a lifetime and there was no reason for hurry or panic.

"You're my friend," Kom said. "You can save me, John. We're friends."

Becker's arms began to buck uncontrollably from the strain of holding on.

Kom's eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"This is how it feels, John. Isn't it good?"

Becker released his hold on Kom as the lightning flashed once more. He saw Kom's face a last time as he began to fall into space, the eyes gleaming. More than anything, he looked triumphant.

After the lightning the darkness seemed even darker. Becker heard the first collision of flesh with rock, and then the second, a hollow, cracking sound as Kom's skull hit stone. The rest of the sounds were drowned out by the crack of thunder.