Icarus

FIFTY

The traffic was heavy and every driver on the road seemed to be driving for the very first time, inching slowly when they could have gone normal speed, weaving unsteadily when they should have been stable. It took Jack over five and a half hours to get back to the Lincoln Tunnel, where, of course, things were bumper-to-bumper and he was stuck even in the EZ Pass lane.

Fidgety, he picked up his cell phone and dialed his home number to collect his phone messages. He was hoping that Grace had called. He needed to talk to someone, to try to put the pieces of the puzzle together, and not just the disparate pieces connecting the murders but the complicated thoughts and emotions that were charging through him. He was surprised that he wanted that someone to be her.

As he punched the "Okay" button, the car in front of him lurched forward and miraculously the traffic was momentarily clear. Just as he heard his phone machine connect, he found himself in the tunnel and the connection was severed. He clicked off the power, shrugged, and figured he could wait twenty more minutes until he was home.

Driving uptown, he wondered if he should stop off at Dom's. Dom would sit and drink with him, would let him talk until he was all talked out. But suddenly he was too tired to even think about sitting or drinking or talking. All he wanted to do was go straight home and fall into bed. He wanted to sleep for the next twelve hours and, if possible, not think or even dream about everything that had happened.

He parked the car in his garage, put the key in the slot for the penthouse, then changed his mind and went to the lobby to pick up his mail. There had to be a magazine in there, there was always a magazine in his mail, and he decided all he'd do is read whatever dumb story he could find on whatever dumb star or starlet they were writing about, and then he'd pass out.

It's a plan, he thought.

But it was a plan interrupted. As he stepped out to walk through the lobby to the mailboxes, he saw someone waiting for him. Raoul, the doorman on duty, looked fidgety and the expression on his face said that the person had been waiting a long time.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Waiting to see you."

"I've been calling up every fifteen minutes, Mr. Keller," Raoul said. "In case you came in through the garage. Also, Frankie said a cop was here to see you; he let her into-"

"How long have you been here?" Jack asked, interrupting the doorman. He was focused only on his visitor.

"Two hours. Maybe more. I don't know. Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no." Jack realized he was flustered. But pleased. As tired and drained as he was, he was very pleased. There was no one he wanted to see more.

"Come on up," he said to Grace Childress. "We have a lot to talk about."

– "-"-"HE USHERED HER out of the elevator and as he did he cocked his head slightly to the left.

"What?" she asked.

"Ever since the break-in," he said. "I'm just skittish. I keep feeling like someone's here. Or has been here." He listened intently – she stayed absolutely quiet – and glanced around the entryway and living room. Then he shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he told her. "Just you and me."

"Could I get a drink?" she asked.

"Anything you want is in the bar in the living room. I'm just going to check my messages."

He walked to the den, unable to shake the feeling that something was different, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing was broken. There was a strange odor, he thought, but he couldn't put his finger on it. And it was so faint, it could be coming from anywhere. Still…

He told himself he was being ridiculous. He saw the green light flashing on the phone machine, saw that he had three messages. He wondered if any were from McCoy. He'd been so consumed with his own search he hadn't even thought about the fact that she might have uncovered something new.

Jack went to press the "Play" button but as he did, he heard a noise from behind him. Grace was standing in the doorway, her hands empty, her shoulders hunched down.

"What happened to your drink?" he asked. But she didn't answer. And when she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. "Do you want to talk?" he said.

"No," she told him. "I don't want a drink and I don't want to talk."

"What do you want?" Jack Keller asked.

"I don't want you to ask me any questions till the morning. And I want to make love to you until then," Grace Childress said. And, as the tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, she said, "Please."

– "-"-"SHE INSISTED ON turning out the light. She didn't want him to see her.

"But you're so beautiful," he told her.

She kissed him then and held his hand tight, as if her strength alone could keep him from shining a light on her body. He broke away from her kiss, said nothing, didn't move for what seemed to him like hours, but he was only a second or two away from her as he thought of Caroline, felt longing for all that was past. Then he grabbed her and pulled her toward him, hugged her so it seemed their bodies might merge, and he kissed her again, a quick kiss, then another, and another, this one long and sweet and deep.

Their lovemaking was both tender and brutal. There were demons to exorcise. He knew what his were, and he was happy to unleash them. He did not know what was behind her passion but, as their bodies grazed, caressed, and rammed against each other, as he kissed her shoulder, licked her muscular back, heard her moan and even scream, felt her take him inside her and her legs squeeze around him, trapping him, draining him, exhilarating him, he did not care.

They lay quiet together in the dark. He could feel her soft, consistent breaths. He was aware now of his nakedness, and felt awkward until her hand brushed against his arm and all self-consciousness disappeared. He tried to talk once, to ask her why she was crying, but she held a finger up to his lips and hushed him. Then they fell asleep, her head buried in his chest, his arms covering her gently like a soft summer blanket.

– "-"-"JACK WOKE, THE sharp, wonderful odor of sex on his bed and in his skin, and he reached over to turn off the alarm. But the alarm was not set, he realized. Hadn't been set in quite some time. He was not getting up to go to work. There was no work. He did not have to worry about disturbing his wife. His wife could no longer be disturbed. Someone else had shared his bed last night, was about to share his morning. This was something new and while the world around him seemed to be collapsing, exploding, he couldn't help but allow a quick, contented sigh here in the world that was his bedroom.

He lifted his head, turned to see if Grace was beside him, but she was not. He heard a noise from the kitchen and luxuriated in the sudden, pungent smell of coffee that floated in. Jack swung himself out of bed, went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and took a quick, hot shower. When he emerged, he put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then heard Grace calling to him: "I know you're up. Get out here."

She was on the terrace, relaxed and comfortable in one of the two chairs around the cast-iron table. It was a glorious early morn; the chill had already disappeared. Jack saw that on the table was a wooden tray, set with two mugs of coffee and a plate that held a hunk of bread and a sharp, white Cheddar cheese. It was a scene he had lived many times with Caroline and he couldn't help but feel a tug at his heart. But the softness and vulnerability in Grace's eyes forced him into the present. And the sight of his blue-and-white silk robe, loose on her body, open to reveal one thigh and the curve of her breasts, made him smile and long for her yet again.

"I'm starving," she told him. "So I just foraged in the fridge."

He went to her and kissed her. She shifted in her seat and the robe loosened further; her right leg was bared almost to her hip now. He couldn't help but glance down. She quickly went to cover her leg but the silk billowed and, again, he saw a glimpse of what she'd been trying to hide.

"What is that?" he asked.

Grace flushed. He could see her biting her lower lip. She shook her head tightly.

"What happened to your leg?" Jack asked again.

Grace stood up from the table. She turned her back on him, walked to the edge of the terrace, put both hands on the brick retaining wall, and looked out over the park.

He felt his stomach tighten. She was too close to the edge. When he spoke, he could hear the words come out thickly. "It's morning," he told her. "I'm allowed to ask questions now."

She turned around to face him, said, "Yes," and nothing more, then started crying again, silent tears that ran down her face like rain streaking down a windowpane. Jack took a step toward her, felt his legs weaken as he got too close to the balcony's edge. He reached for her arm, touched her, but as he did, she jerked away from him, stepped back. He was left alone then, by the wall, and he found himself looking out, looking down. He was horrified to find that his stomach was in his throat and his legs were like iron anchors rooting him to the spot. He felt the dizziness coming on and couldn't move. He wanted to speak, to tell her to take his arm and lead him back to safety, but he couldn't. His throat was closing and the panic was setting in.

"I didn't call the police," she was saying. "When you went to Samsonite's apartment and didn't call me when you were supposed to, I didn't call the police. You must know that by now."

Jack tried to nod. Maybe he did. He couldn't tell.

"That's partly why I came here last night," she was saying. "I was worried about you. I thought maybe you were… I didn't know what happened and I was worried about you."

He tried to concentrate. Yes, concentrate on what she's saying, he told himself. Answer her. Distract yourself. Look at her, look away from the edge and think. Concentrate. "Why?" he managed to say now. "Why didn't you call?"

Grace was trembling. "I know he told you, Jack."

And now, here it came, like an unavoidable sledgehammer. It was upon him: the vision. His legs felt like they were nailed to the floor, but he could feel his body drifting toward the edge, could feel the inexorable force lifting him, throwing him over. He could feel that he was toppling over. He was Icarus, unable to fly, falling to his death… Concentrate. Talk to her. The sweat was pouring off him. Couldn't she see what was happening to him? Couldn't she help him?

"You figured everything else out, you should have figured this one out, too. I couldn't call the police."

What was she saying? Couldn't? Why not? He could feel the wall, as if it had hands that were reaching out and grabbing him, pulling him closer and closer. What was she talking about?

"It's stupid, I know, and if you'd gotten hurt I never would have forgiven myself, but I couldn't… I'm terrified of them. Terrified of going through all that again."

And suddenly, as the robe blew open again, fluttered in the slight breeze, even as his worst fear was gripping him and squeezing, cutting off his air and his clarity, he understood. "An accident," he breathed. "When you were young." She nodded and he could see her entire face tighten and her eyes go hard.

He could hear Kid, right here on the terrace, saying: There was an accident when she was a kid. That's all it was. At least that's all I'm gonna tell you.

Jack staggered forward, one small step, forcing his feet away from the pull of the edge. He forced himself to look down, decided to focus on the table. It was important to focus on something, important to concentrate on something safe, so he stared at the tray. First he took in all the accoutrements, then made himself take in the specifics. The deep-blue color of the plates. The roughness of the bread. The pale waxiness of the cheese. And then the knife. The beautiful knife with the finely honed blade and thick dark wood handle. The butcher knife that he knew so well.

Dom's knife.

"Where…" he whispered. "Where did you get that?"

She looked down at the knife. Said: "In the kitchen." She picked it up by the handle, held it in front of her, the blade catching a streak of sunlight and glistening. "It was sitting on the counter."

"No." Jack's breath came quickly and hard. He focused on her bare leg now, lifting his head so he could see the long, jagged scar that ran from the middle of Grace's right thigh up to her hip.

Kid's voice: An accident… that's all it was… But she's definitely still scarred by it. Sexily scarred.

"The Murderess."

"Let me explain."

"You're the Murderess," he said. Staring at his friend's knife, still fighting the fear, the wind that was whistling only in his head, and the image of his body, leaping, falling, dying, he screamed at her: "Who else did you kill!"

"You have to believe me," she said. "It was an accident. It has nothing to do with today, with what's happening."

"I have to get off the balcony," he said.

"No," she told him. "I know you're frightened. But if you stay here you'll listen. I don't care if I have to force you to listen, but you have to listen."

His voice came out raspy. "Have to go in."

But she barred the door. He didn't have the strength to push her aside. When the vision came, when the fear took over, there was never any strength left. "I was fourteen," she was saying. "Fourteen years old. Just a little girl, wanting to be a cheerleader. And my best friend, Kara, she was trying out, too. And you know how important that is to a little girl. Well, it came down to me and Kara. We heard that only one of us would make it, and we made a pact that no matter who won, we'd always be best friends. And…"

Jack was trying to focus on what she was saying. Fighting the edge, struggling against the pull and trying to understand. Grace took a deep breath. "And," she continued, "on a Saturday, two days before we were going to find out which one of us made it, we were on Long Island, where we lived…" The words were painful to her. They were coming very slowly. "We snuck out. Told our parents we were biking to the library. But we biked to the train station and we were sneaking into the city. A last celebration before one of us didn't get what we'd both worked so hard to get."

What was she talking about? What did this have to do with the knife in her hand and the bloody body of Samsonite lying on the bed next to him and the girl in the bathtub with the needle in her arm?

"Only… before the train came," she was saying now, "we started talking. Kidding around. Pretending we would do anything to win. People were listening and they heard what we were saying, and it sounded awful but we were only joking, we were really only joking. And she pushed me and I pushed her back. And we started wrestling…" Grace was crying now. Not silent tears but slow and difficult sobs. She was trying to hold them back so her words came out in bursts and gasps. "And," she said. "Oh, God, and I gave her a shove but we were too close to the tracks…"

I remember this, Jack thought. Why do I remember? Why is this familiar?

"She fell right in front of the train as it was pulling in. I tried to save her, people saw me, I jumped down after her and tried to pull her up. But I couldn't and then the train was too close and I panicked. I pulled myself up, I gave her up and let her die. I didn't make it all the way, the train caught my leg, almost severed it. But it was saved. And that's what this scar is. My reminder, every single day, of what happened."

He could see it all now: The newspaper headlines from fifteen years ago. The local tabs leaping on the story and blaring it as their lead: GIRL KILLS FRIEND TO MAKE CHEERLEADING SQUAD. It was a scandal and everyone was talking about it, writing about it: How could this happen? Is there too much pressure in schools? What's happening to children today? But the name was wrong. The name was so famous for those weeks, it was like the Amy Fisher thing, people made horrible jokes, but the name was wrong…

"Remember," he breathed. "The name… not your name…"

"I changed my name," Grace said. The crying had stopped and she was calm. The sobs seemed to have exhausted her. "After she died, you can't imagine what it was like. The police cleared me, I was innocent, they understood what happened, that it was an accident, but everyone else – the kids in my school, Kara's parents; oh, God, Kara's parents, they lived on the block and it was so horrible… It was in all the papers, on TV… People thought I killed my best friend so I could be a goddamn cheerleader. My parents had to move, my father quit his job, I left school… You can't imagine. So I changed my name."

Grace Lerner. That was the name. He remembered: Grace Lerner!

"No one ever knew. When I moved into the city, I was Grace Childress; that was my mother's maiden name. No one knew who I was and I could go back to being a normal person. I never told anyone. Until Kid. We used to talk about everything and I trusted him, and you can't imagine the burden of carrying it around with me, no one knowing, so it just came out one day. I told him the whole story. I guess that's when he changed my nickname from the Rookie," she said. "That prick."

He could see her clenching the knife. As she talked, her grip got tighter and tighter.

"Afterward, I hated that I told him. Sometimes I couldn't sleep, knowing that someone knew."

Jack looked up. Saw a movement behind her. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, thought maybe he was hallucinating. But it was real, all right. It was amazingly, blessedly real. Keep her talking, he thought. Keep her talking now, just a few seconds more…

"That's why you killed him," he said.

She looked stunned. Shocked that he had said it out loud. "No." She shook her head violently. "Is that what you think?" When he nodded, she said, "No! It just meant he could talk to me. It's why he came and told me what he told me. How afraid he was. He trusted me because he knew I'd trusted him. The way I'm trusting you now. I just want you to understand why I didn't call the police. I was with him the night he died. I left my party to go there. I'm the woman you've been looking for. But I left before anything happened. I did, Jack, you've got to believe me. I left, but later I came back to tell him I'd made a mistake, that it was all over, for real this time, but when I got there he was dead. I saw him on the street and… I couldn't tell you. I knew you were looking for me but I couldn't tell you. Or that sergeant. I couldn't face more publicity, I couldn't imagine living through that again. But I didn't kill anyone."

"Dom's knife," Jack said.

"I told you. I found it in the kitchen! I don't understand what-"

But Jack didn't wait to find out what she didn't understand. He looked behind her and said, "Get Dom's knife."

She whirled and Bryan was right behind her now, he'd crept up on her, so light on his feet, and he grabbed her wrist. Jack heard the crack and Grace's quick scream, and Bryan had the knife. He'd taken it away from her. Held it in front of him, an expression of wonder on his face.

"She killed him," Jack said. "She killed Kid and the others."

"No!" Grace screamed. "You can't think that! Jack, after last night, you can't think that!"

Jack stumbled forward, away from the wall. He grabbed hold of the table and the world stopped spinning around him. He felt the pull of the wall recede and Grace's story began to echo now inside him. He saw the look of pain deep in her eyes as she held her broken wrist. He saw the look of fear as she stared at Bryan behind her. Jack started to take a step toward Bryan, to thank him, but he stopped short. Looked up and said to Kid's friend, in a voice that was low and terrible, "How did you get in here?"

"It's time for our session," Bryan said. "Did you forget?"

"I didn't ask that," Jack said. "I asked how you got into my apartment."

Bryan didn't answer at first. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he said, "I let myself in."

It was as if ice water were running through Jack's veins. He could feel the chill devour his entire body. "And how did you do that?" he asked.

Bryan answered as if he were talking to a simpleton. "With my key."

"What key?"

"The one I took," Bryan said. "The one I took off the black lady."

"Mattie," Jack said.

"That's right," Bryan nodded. "I used it before, you know. Came in from the garage. That time I tried to warn you, when I wrote on the wall. You didn't know I used it, though. I was smart that day. I broke the glass so you'd think I came in from the balcony."

Grace moaned, a low, barely audible expression of pain. All of the color had drained from her face.

"Give me the knife, Bryan," Jack said calmly. "Why don't you just hand me the knife."

"Oh, no," Bryan said. "It's mine. It belongs to me now. I just left it here by mistake. When I was cleaning up."

Jack didn't understand what Bryan meant. What he did understand, what was very, very clear, was that he was talking to a madman. And he knew he had to stay calm if he wanted to stay alive.

"When were you cleaning up?" he asked gently.

"This morning. Very early this morning. It was very messy. After I was gone I realized I left it on the kitchen counter."

"Can we go in the living room and talk about this?" Jack took a step toward the sliding glass door but Bryan raised the knife, jabbed it menacingly at Jack.

"No," Bryan said. There was no anger in his voice. No tone at all. No emotion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Keller, but you're going to have to stay out here."

Jack tried to keep his tone as even as Bryan's. "I think Grace needs to get to a doctor. Why don't you let me call a doctor and then you and I can stay out here and talk."

Bryan's brow furrowed just a bit. He didn't seem confused, though. He looked slightly offended. "Everyone thinks I'm an idiot," he said. "But I can't be such an idiot, can I? I outsmarted everybody, even you." He looked over at Grace and shook his head. "You think I'm going to let you call somebody?" he said to Jack. "Come on, Mr. Keller, you can do better than that." And as he said those words, Bryan's face lost that blank look. Now he looked deeply angry. Although his voice never wavered, got no louder, his cheeks turned red. The rage in his eyes made them shine like a beacon of hate. "That's what you told him – 'you can do better.'"

"What?" Jack asked. "What are you talking about?"

"'You can do better,' that's what you said. I remember. In the restaurant."

Jack remembered, too. Kid and Bryan around the table at Jack's. Jack telling them their plan wouldn't work. Bryan gently asking questions, Kid urgently telling Bryan that it didn't matter, that Jack was giving them the money.

I think it's a shitty idea for now. For you, Jack had said to Kid. And partly because you can do so much better.

Kid saying: Jack, don't say that, please. The "please" was so urgent, as if he were trying to tell him something crucial.

He was. He was telling Jack not to issue a death sentence.

"It was all about the gym, wasn't it?" Jack said. "It was all about the fucking gym."

"Everyone was always trying to take him away from me," Bryan said, standing on the terrace, the knife held loosely but still pointing straight at Jack. He sounded so sad now, like a petulant child who couldn't comprehend why he was being made to stand in the corner. "But we were gonna be partners. Our whole lives we said we'd be partners. The gym was going to be our place. Why would you wanna split us up?"

"No," Jack said. "That was never the idea. He wasn't going to leave you behind."

"Yes, he was. He was always trying to leave me behind. Even in school. Even in St. John's. I was his best friend. I loved him. I protected him. But he liked somebody better than me. He got another best friend…"

"Jesus," Jack said softly. "The boy on the team. The boy who broke his neck."

"Harvey Wiggins," Bryan said, nodding. "I'm nicer than him, I'm as smart as him. Why wouldn't he like me as much as Harvey?"

"You're the one who hit him. In practice. You broke his neck."

"I had to make Kid understand, didn't I? He thought he liked Harvey better than me."

"That's why he went away. It's why he went to Virginia. He wanted to get away from you."

"He thought I wouldn't find him. But I did. I found him, all right. He was very surprised when I showed up but I think he was happy. I think he was glad to see me."

"Did you go to school there, Bryan? To Virginia State?" Jack could barely get the words out. "Were you on the football team?"

"For half a year. Then my knee got real bad. The coach wouldn't let me play anymore."

"You knew the players, the ones who came to my restaurant."

"They were nice guys," Bryan said. "They were real nice guys."

"You killed them."

"I felt bad about it, Mr. Keller, honest. But I had to. They didn't understand. I made the plan; it was a smart plan, wasn't it? But I only told them half of it. They thought I was just gonna rob the place and they'd make some money. And they were really excited when they heard I got this." Bryan opened the top two buttons of his polo shirt to show Jack what was underneath. Jack moaned when he saw it, closed his eyes, and felt a nauseating bile rise from his stomach up through his throat.

Around Bryan's thick neck was the diamond necklace Jack had bought for Caroline.

"It's beautiful, Mr. Keller," Bryan said. "It's the most beautiful thing I ever saw."

Jack's head rolled back and he heard it plain as day now. The words in the office that terrible night. The crazy words that made no sense. The last words Caroline ever heard: Wooly here… the will is strong… wool candy broken…

"Kid's nickname for you, when you played football," Jack said to Bryan. "He told me what it was. He called you something."

"The Wall," Bryan told him. "I blocked for him. I saved him over and over again. Since we were little boys. So he called me the Wall."

Wooly here… the will is strong… wool candy broken…

He understood now. He was hearing it all for the first time. With no concussion, with no pain distorting the sounds. Oh, God, he could hear it as plain as day.

The Wall is here… The Wall is strong… The Wall can't be broken.

Jack could barely get his next words out.

"You killed my wife," he whispered. "You shot me and you killed my wife."

"I didn't want to hurt you," Bryan said mournfully. "I really like you. But she was trying to take him away, too."

"No," Jack said. "It's not possible."

"He saw her. It was an accident, he wasn't looking for her, but he saw her down there. Right after I found him." Bryan's voice was high-pitched now, the sound of a puppy locked up in a room and left alone for too long. "He told her, Mr. Keller. All about Harvey Wiggins. He said he didn't, but I could tell."

"She didn't do anything," Jack said. "She was just trying to help him. She didn't have to die."

"Yes, she did. She was going to send him away. Far away."

Jack sagged. "To London."

"How was I gonna get to London, Mr. Keller? How was I gonna find him when he was so far away?"

"He knew? Kid knew that you… that you killed her?"

"No. Not then, anyway. But back here, back in New York, he was starting to understand how smart I really was. He was starting to figure it out. I didn't ever want him to know because I wanted him to love me. I was so afraid he might… he might hate me if he found out."

"What was there to figure out, Bryan?"

"That I got the invitations. To your opening. I told Kid I'd leave him alone, let him go where he wanted. I told him I was leaving Virginia 'cause he didn't want me. 'Cause he didn't love me anymore. But I didn't leave. I figured out a better plan. So he couldn't love anyone else, only me."

"You went to my wife."

"She knew about me and she was scared. I told her I'd leave him alone, I'd leave them alone, but she had to help. She couldn't say anything to anyone, 'specially not to Kid. She just had to get me two invitations to your opening. At first she didn't want to do it but I convinced her it was okay. She thought she was being so smart, I could tell. She thought I was gonna rob the place. But that's what I wanted her to think, 'cause I knew she didn't care about money. But I didn't care about money, either, Mr. Keller, I just wanted what was mine. I just wanted Kid to stay with me.

"Bryan," Jack said very slowly and very softly. "Kid had another nickname for you, too, didn't he?"

Bryan nodded. And began pacing. Small fidgety steps that belied the deadly calm of his voice. "I didn't like it, though. It made me angry."

"The Mistake. That's what he called you."

"He told it to me when we were in college. The first time I told him I loved him. He told me that I didn't understand what had happened, I didn't understand anything at all about that night when he cried and I hugged him and I kissed him. He said that everything I knew was just one big mistake. But it wasn't, Mr. Keller. And I proved it wasn't. Over and over again, I proved it."

"When did he know? When did he find out about Caroline?"

"The night he died. He finally asked me."

"And you told him?"

"Oh, no. I told him that no matter what he thought, he couldn't prove it. And I told him he'd better not say anything, either. I said that if he told you, you'd never see him again. I said you'd blame him. And he knew I was right. It's why he couldn't tell you about the woman, either, the English one. He knew you'd hate him."

"What English woman?" Jack asked. "What-"

"That's why he was so wrong," Bryan said, not hearing Jack. Bryan's pacing had brought the two men nearly face-to-face. "I would never hate him. No matter what he did, I couldn't hate him. I loved him. I loved him so, so much. The only people I hated were the ones who tried to take him away from me."

At the far end of the terrace, Jack saw Grace move. She looked like she was going to faint – her wrist was dangling at a terrible angle – but he saw her gather herself and silently move toward the terrace wall. Jack realized what she was going to try to do and he felt it again. The dizziness started to take him over and he thought to himself: No, you can't let it. You have to fight it. You have to beat it this time. You have to beat it.

"What happened when you came back here, to New York, after Virginia?" Jack forced himself to ask.

"He said he'd do the gym with me," Bryan answered. "So we started making plans. And then he started helping you; he thought he could fix you, fix what I done to you. He felt guilty, you know, what happened with him and your wife. He felt guilty but I thought, hey, you're rich. So I told him to get the money from you."

Don't watch her, Jack thought. Don't watch her crawl out on the ledge, crawl onto the wall. Don't even flick your eyes that way because Bryan will see and then it'll be all over. Don't even think of Kid, out on the terrace, saying, Hey, do you know you could actually walk to the next building from here? You'd have to be kind of nuts but…

Grace was on the wall now. The Rookie/Murderess took her first timid step onto the ledge that would lead her to the rooftop next door and to safety.

"But you tried to take him, too." Bryan was talking again. "You tried it years ago, tried to steal him from me, and you were gonna take him again."

"Bryan, I wasn't stealing him. I-"

"Yes, you were! And he was gonna go! That's what he said to me that night, up in that apartment of his. He begged me to let it happen, said he'd set me up if I'd only let him go work with you. And you know what I couldn't believe? He was afraid of me, Mr. Keller. All I ever did was save and protect him and he was afraid of me! As if I'd ever hurt him."

"You killed him, you stupid son of a bitch. Don't you understand that you killed him?"

"But I didn't hurt him! I'd never hurt him!" And now Bryan was angry. His voice grew loud as he took a step closer to Jack. "And don't you call me stupid. I'm not stupid. I'm smarter than you or any of them!"

Don't look at Grace. Don't think about Grace. She was crawling now, on her hands and knees eighteen stories high and she was almost a quarter of the way there. Don't think about her and don't be afraid of Bryan. Stand up to him and give her time to get away.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I'm really sorry. I was just angry. I know you're not stupid. I can't even figure out how you did all the things you did." That seemed to calm Bryan down so Jack went with it. "What happened that night? With Kid."

"I couldn't believe he was afraid of me. It made me feel so sad. And then so angry. So I told him, sure. I told him, okay, I'd let him go with you. Only he had to talk to me for a while. Let's have a beer and talk, I said. I told him I always wanted to see him drink a beer. So we did."

"Only you drugged it," Jack said, and remembered going to meet Bryan at Hanson's, Bryan handing something to a client, getting money in return. "The guy in the gym, the guy you said was betting. That wasn't a bet, it was a drug deal."

"I do a little dealing sometimes, to make ends meet. Kid told me about that crazy Russian girl. The blackjack dealer. I got to meet her and talk to her and she got me stuff sometimes."

I know what you want me to say, Samsonite said. I figured it out, too. But when he came to buy the fucking acid, I didn't know who it was for. I didn't know what he was going to do with it…

Jack had thought she meant Kid. So had McCoy. But it wasn't Kid. It was Bryan.

"Samsonite got you the acid. You got it from her and you put it in the beer."

"I told you I'd never hurt him. I knew if he took it, he'd be okay when he fell. I knew, when I threw him over the side, he'd be happy right up until he died."

Grace was almost halfway. Move faster, he thought. Move goddamn faster!

"What about the women?" Jack asked. "What about the Team?"

"That was all your fault. It was over. No one was gonna steal Kid from me anymore, everything was fine. Then you had to start looking. You coulda gotten me in trouble."

"Why did you have to kill them, Bryan?"

"Different reasons. The dancer, you know, the stripper…"

"The Entertainer."

"Yeah. Her. I'd seen her. I knew her. I went up to see if, you know, with Kid gone, maybe she'd be nice to me, do the kinds of things she used to do to him. So I went up to ask her. But she laughed at me, told me I was a loser." Incredulously, he said, "A loser, Mr. Keller. Can you imagine that? She was dancing all that dirty stuff and taking drugs and she called me a loser." He shook his head and looked at Jack as if they were conspirators, the two of them against a crazy world. "I was there, you know. When you buzzed. I let you in, went up a flight. I saw you go in, then I went down and nobody suspected nothing."

"You are smart, Bryan. You even broke the lock so they'd think I did it."

Bryan smiled, pleased at the compliment. But the smile disappeared immediately when he heard the noise behind him – the little fluttering of wings and the gasp that followed – and saw the look in Jack's eyes, the look of absolute and total despair.

– "-"-"GRACE KNEW SHE could do this.

She had never been so terrified in her entire life but still she could do it. Just don't look down, she kept telling herself. Don't look down, stay quiet, and keep going. Julia Roberts could do this, she thought. So just pretend you're Julia Roberts and this is a movie and when you get to the other side, Richard Gere's going to be waiting for you.

The lunatic hadn't heard a thing. Jack was doing a good job keeping him talking. So all she had to do was concentrate on crawling. She was on her stomach, her arms out in front of her, keeping her steady, holding on to the side of the wall. Her legs were out behind her and she used her thighs to grip and balance as she propelled herself forward. She thought about nothing but inching toward the next building and making sure she didn't fall. She wouldn't look up, either, she decided, until she made it to the other side. She wouldn't let anything distract her. Anything. And she didn't.

Which is why she didn't notice the pigeon.

It had flown down, landed on the ledge a foot ahead of her. When she reached it, her arm grazed its soft feathers. She felt the wings flap, heard the bird coo its annoyance, and it did the one thing she couldn't afford, couldn't let happen…

She gasped in surprise and she drew her hand back. And when the pigeon flew up, hovered by her hair, she waved it away, panicky, and as she moved she lost her balance. She knew the madman would hear her now but she didn't care. That was the least of her problems. Here she was, walking a tightrope a million miles above Manhattan, and she panicked, she was going to fall off a goddamn roof because she touched a goddamn pigeon. The thought that came into her head now was a saying she'd seen on a coffee mug at the gallery: Life's a bitch and then you die. Pretty damn apt, she thought, because she was rolling over to her left now, she had lost her balance, she was falling. Then she wasn't falling any longer. She fell.

– "-"-"JACK WATCHED GRACE disappear and he wanted to scream, he thought he would jump out of his skin, but he knew it was his only chance and he had to take advantage of it. He couldn't think about her, refused to let himself think, and as Bryan turned, as his eyes followed the path of the frightened pigeon soaring up into the sky, Jack swooped down, grabbed a ten-pound dumbbell that was sitting on the terrace carpeting a few feet away, and swung it as hard as he could at the back of Bryan's head. As Bryan sensed the attack and tried to dodge it, the weight crashed into the side of his neck. It was not a crippling blow but it was good enough. Bryan, stunned, fell down hard and Jack threw himself through the open door and into the living room. He knew he wouldn't have enough time to get the elevator or even to get to the stairway. Bryan had not stayed stunned for long. He was up immediately, he was already on his feet and coming after him…

Jack knew exactly where he was heading: to the guest coat closet in the foyer. It's where Caroline kept her hunting rifle. He was supposed to have brought it to her in Virginia but he'd forgotten. It had to still be there. It had to be. So he sprinted; all he needed was time to throw the door open and reach into the corner of the closet and grab it. He didn't have a clue if the gun was loaded but he didn't care. It was his only hope and all he could think about was that he could yank it out, aim it at Bryan and pull the trigger, and hope that he blew the crazy fucker all the way to hell.

Jack stumbled on the living room carpet, slipped; his knee grazed the floor for a moment and a stab of pain went through his hip, but he was up immediately and moving. Bryan was through the door now, but Jack had enough time, he was sure of it. If the gun was there, he could reach it. He was close now. Bryan stumbled, too, on the carpet, was up fast, was moving again…

Jack was there now. He was at the closet. He grabbed the door handle and pulled. Without waiting, he practically leapt inside, reaching frantically to push past the coats to find the gun standing in the corner. Please, let it be there… please, let it be there and be loaded…

But something was wrong. Something was falling out of the closet, falling onto him. Something big and clumsy, knocking him back and getting in his way. He couldn't reach the gun. It was impossible. He couldn't even reach the coats. This thing was on top of him and Jack was going down, he was on the floor, the thing wrapped around him and pulling him down.

No. No, no, no, no! Not a thing. Jack realized it was not a fucking thing at all.

A person. A dead person.

Patience McCoy.

Her head was practically severed from her body, her beige suit was stained a deep, pervasive red. A foul smell enveloped him as surely as her rigid limbs.

Oh, God. She was on top of him. Jack was on the floor, fighting off the policewoman's dead body, her skin cold to the touch, his stomach heaving as he looked into her still eyes, felt her blood as it stuck to his shirt and face. He was trying to scramble to his feet, nearly blind with fury and the realization that it was over. No one could save him now. No one. Bryan was standing over him. Jack had lost.

Bryan kicked him in the ribs. Jack could feel the first thud and his side was rocked with pain. He felt another and another until he realized he'd been kicked against the wall, he was propped up against the hallway wall. He was hurt pretty bad but it no longer mattered. The frenzy of movement was over. McCoy sprawled, lifeless, in front of the open closet. Bryan was calm now, staring at him. His eyes had become vacant again, empty of rage. In his hand was Dom's knife, the tip pointed at Jack's heart. The room was absolutely silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock that faced the elevator door.

"I guess I shoulda told you," Bryan said, nodding at McCoy. "She can't help you anymore."

"You killed Dom, too, didn't you?" Jack managed to get out. He saw blood drip down from his chin onto his shirt. He didn't know if it was his own or McCoy's. He didn't really care.

"No, Mr. Keller. You killed him. You said you told him everything you knew. So I had to find out what he knew, didn't I? He was a tough old fuck, I'll say that. He pulled a meat cleaver on me. Can you believe it?"

"Yeah." Jack thought of Dom. Remembered his strength and his stubbornness. "I can believe it." Bryan was slowly moving toward him now, with short, deliberate steps. "When you killed Samsonite," Jack said, "you had me there. Why didn't you just kill me then?"

Bryan looked at him incredulously. "I like you, Mr. Keller. You're my friend. I don't just go around and kill everybody, do I?"

"But on the street… the shots. You shot at me."

"They were warnings. I couldn't let you tell on me, could I? What kind of friend are you, that you'd go tell on me?"

Oh, my God, Jack thought. Oh, my God, oh, my God.

"All those others, they made me kill them," Bryan said, and took another step toward Jack. "I never wanted to hurt any of them. They made me. The one in the tub, she laughed at me. The one in the bed with you, she could've connected me to the drugs. The one in the house, the one with the husband, she asked me to be her trainer. She came to Hanson's just like you, then she was starting to ask questions. The English one. He told her. He told her what was happening and she was going to go back with him to London. Everyone was trying to take him away from me! Your wife most of all; she wouldn't listen when I had her up in that room. She kept thinking I wanted money. I didn't want money, Mr. Keller, I wanted Kid." Bryan reached down, grabbed Jack by his shirt collar, and effortlessly yanked him to his feet. "I've never murdered anybody, Mr. Keller." His eyes were absolutely cold and dead and his voice turned into a whisper. "You're the first."

Bryan cuffed Jack across the face, knocking him backward. Immediately grabbed him, held him upright, hit him again. He spun Jack around, slapped him a third time, and Jack went down. He was on the floor, on his knees, and he saw Bryan jab at him with the knife. He scrambled away but he felt the blade puncture his skin, and warm blood began to ooze down his side. Bryan jabbed again and again as Jack frantically dodged the thrusts, backing away each time, and Jack realized they were back on the terrace. His eyes bulged and he made a desperate attempt to lunge back into the apartment but Bryan jabbed him again, in the shoulder, and when Jack grabbed at the wound, Bryan hit him again, knocking Jack backward until he was up against the retaining wall. He was at the edge of the terrace. There was nowhere else to go now.

"I feel really bad about this, Mr. Keller. But it's like I told you – there's some really weird people out there."

Holding the knife against Jack's neck, he bent him backward. Jack felt his feet leave the ground, his waist leveraging the top of the wall. The upper half of his body was leaning over into space.

"You're going over, too, Mr. Keller. You can go over easy or you can go over hard – but you're going over."

It was coming true. The wall was finally winning their battle. The edge was calling to him and drawing him near. Soon he would know what it was like to heed its call. Soon he would be falling. Flying. He would be Icarus. Out of control. Screaming…

When he heard the voice, he thought he had to be hallucinating. But he realized that Bryan had heard it, too, because Bryan relaxed his grip on Jack's neck and cocked his head.

It's not possible, Jack thought. It's just not possible.

But it was. There was no question. It was Grace's voice they heard, her quivering, frightened voice saying, "Help me." And then again: "Please, help me."

Bryan grabbed hold of Jack's shirt and dragged him to the corner of the terrace, toward the spot from which Grace had fallen. Bryan leaned over, holding Jack close to him. Jack tried not to look but he had to. What he saw was worse than any blow he'd taken from Bryan.

It was Grace. She had not plunged to her death. She was clinging desperately to one of the gray stone gargoyles protruding from the building. Her hands and legs were wrapped around the gargoyle's neck. Her broken wrist prevented her from pulling herself up but her will was not allowing her to let go and plummet.

"Help me, Jack. Please help me," she cried.

Jack saw a tiny smile cross Bryan's lips. "That's a good idea, don't you think, Mr. Keller?" And when Jack looked at him questioningly through his swollen eyes, Bryan said, "Let's go help her."

The next thing Jack knew, he was lifted up and he was somewhere he went only in his deepest and darkest nightmares: standing on top of the retaining wall. Eighteen stories below him was Madison Avenue. With no net.

It was worse than any hallucinogen. He could not stop the images from sweeping over him. And he could not stop the fear from paralyzing him. He was ten years old again; his mother had fallen. He was hanging on to Reggie Ivers's leg, dangling from the seventeenth floor. The noise from below was suddenly all around him: cars thundering by, horns honking wildly, vendors hawking their wares with harsh and angry screams. The street rushed up to meet him, bending and folding like a concrete flying carpet. Traffic lights were blinking furiously; the sky was filled with glittery explosions of red, yellow, and green. Jack's head snapped back. He was looking straight up into the broiling glare of the sun and he knew he was going over, that this was the end. The images and cacophony of noise all merged into one stultifying and choking blackness and Jack began to lose consciousness until a hand appeared magically in the small of his back, holding him up and pushing him back to an upright position on the ledge.

"Go get her," Jack heard.

For a moment he thought he must be waking up from a dream, but Bryan's face came back into focus and Jack knew this was no dream.

"Jack, please," he heard Grace call again. "I can't hold on much longer."

As Bryan jabbed at his leg with Dom's knife, prodding him to move, Jack turned his head so he could see Grace. She was sweating and petrified, trying desperately to keep her grip on the grotesque sculpture. She saw him now, said nothing, but their eyes locked and Jack nodded once. He was coming.

As the knife nicked his calf, Jack's right foot slid tentatively forward. Then his left foot slid after it. His first step. He was six inches farther along the ledge. He slowed his breath, commanded himself to stop trembling. The right foot slid again, then the left.

Twelve inches.

"Jack," Grace said. Her voice was calm and soft; it did not betray the urgency of her words. "You've got to move faster. I'm slipping."

Slide. And again. Eighteen inches. And yet again. Twenty-four.

He could no longer hear the traffic below or Grace's raspy breaths. There was no sound at all anymore but the steady pounding of his heart.

Thirty inches.

Thirty-six.

Three feet away from the terrace. The knife no longer cut into his legs. He was far enough away to be just out of Bryan's reach.

Jack's right foot slid again. His left started to follow… and then stopped. Long seconds passed and Jack didn't move. He was frozen.

"Jack," Grace said. That's all she said. There was nothing else she could say.

"Keep going, Mr. Keller."

Nothing from Jack. No response to Bryan's words. No more movement. His body was rigid. The only sign that he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"Mr. Keller, I said don't stop. I don't have much time. You don't want me to come get you."

Still nothing. He looked catatonic.

"I'm coming now," Bryan said. "And you're going to be very sorry."

Bryan put his hand on the top of the wall, pushed off, and slowly lifted himself up to step onto the ledge. He did not seem at all afraid or tentative.

Jack turned his head, the first movement he'd made in over a minute. He watched Bryan take one firm step toward him.

And he thought: Got you, you fucker. I've got you now.

– "-"-"BRYAN'S NEW PLAN was simple. Let Jack Keller get out as far as he could and just watch. He knew the man's fear would overtake him. He knew he'd fall and that would be that. The girl couldn't hang on much longer. By the time anyone else figured out where the bodies had come from, he'd be long gone. And besides, they would fall on their own. He wouldn't even have to push them. So it wouldn't even be murder. He could just walk away.

And then, once and for all, it would be over.

Bryan never figured that the fear would screw up the plan. Frozen as he was, Jack looked like he could stand there forever. And the longer this took, the more chance of failure. The key to success was always speed. Who'd said that? His coach, he thought. But which one? That guy in Virginia. He was a jerk but sometimes he was right. And he was right about speed. It was essential now. Someone could show up looking for the cop. Maybe another cleaning woman was coming. Bryan couldn't risk it. This had to stop now.

He wasn't afraid, standing on the one-foot-thick wall. Heights didn't bother him. He wasn't going to fall, no way. This was going to be easy. Just walk out and give one little shove. Then wave bye-bye. If he had to, he could do it to the girl, too. She'd be easy. All he had to do was walk out a little farther and down she'd go.

He took his first step and was surprised when Jack finally moved. The guy had been like a fucking rock. But now he turned to face Bryan and Bryan thought it was a strange movement. Not confused like it should have been. It was weirdly confident and deliberate. He didn't look so paralyzed all of a sudden. And he could even speak. How weird was that? What was he saying? What the hell did he say?

It sounded like: "Hold on, Grace. Just hold on."

And now he was saying something else. What was going on? This time it sounded like he said, "How's your knee, Bryan?"

What? His knee? His bad knee? It was like it always was. He looked down to see what the hell this guy was talking about…

– "-"-"JACK REMEMBERED BRYAN limping out of the restaurant after their lunch with Kid. He remembered Bryan saying, after the funeral service, that he'd blown his knee out at St. John's and lost his scholarship. And just a few minutes ago he'd said the coach at Virginia State had told him he couldn't play anymore because of his knee. Bryan Bishop had a weak spot. It was time to find out just how weak.

He waited until Bryan looked down. Jack had thought the bad knee was the left one and that's where Bryan's eyes went. He didn't wait any longer.

Jack took a deep breath and dropped down. He'd spent his rigid moments trying to figure out how best to keep his balance when he let himself fall and he'd figured right. He was going down on his right side, used both hands to grab whatever brick he could and keep himself from toppling over, and he lashed out with his right foot as hard as he could. His heel connected solidly with Bryan's left knee and he could see the pain shatter Bryan's dulled expression. As Bryan bent over, Jack was already on his way up.

Don't think, don't look down, all you've got to do is make it two feet and you're back on the balcony. Two feet and you've won.

Bryan was struggling to keep his balance. He was on his side and grabbing wildly to try to keep from turning over and rolling off. Jack jumped, hurdling Bryan's thrashing body. His hands made it – his chest banged down hard on the brick but his head was over – all he had to do was pull the rest of himself over and he was on solid ground.

Bryan kicked wildly. His knee slammed into Jack's thigh and Jack could feel his lower body going over the side, but his fingers dug into the brick. His legs were dangling, Bryan had hold of his ankle, was trying to twist him over, and Jack felt his own grip weakening. He was starting to get pulled back out. He was losing. And if he lost he was dead.

You only fall if you want to fall, Jack.

You only fall if you want to fall.

I don't want to fall, Jack thought. I don't want to fall. And he realized he was not just thinking it. He was screaming it, yelling at the top of his lungs: "I don't want to fall! I'm not going to fall! I am not going to fall!"

He could feel the strain in his forearms as he pulled. He kicked his leg free, still screaming. He felt pain rip through his right leg – it was the knife again; he was sure Bryan had just slashed him because his leg felt as if it were on fire – but then he was over, slamming down onto the terrace floor, rolling all the way until he flipped into the cast-iron table. Without hesitating, he was up on his feet.

Bryan had regained his balance. He was on his knees, still two feet from the ledge. He was moving slowly, careful not to make a misstep. He was on his feet now, and as he faced Jack, his expression was one of murderous rage. Jack knew that Bryan thought he was running, that he was expecting Jack to head for the front door and the stairway, anything to get out of the apartment. But that wasn't Jack's intention. He wasn't running. He wasn't going to leave Grace. There would be no what-if this time. There would be no more deaths.

No. Jack knew that wasn't true. There would be one more.

Their eyes met and now Bryan seemed to be the one paralyzed. Standing on the wall, he watched, transfixed, as Jack made no move to turn and run, simply stood his ground and stared back at him. Bryan smiled because Jack was waiting for him, was going to take him on, was going to meet him man-to-man, and, making sure the knife was tightly in his grip, he took one more step forward…

Jack took one step, too. He went to the barbell that sat on the terrace in the middle of the workout equipment.

This is a clean, Kid had said. The hardest lift there is.

Jack bent down.

The only thing holding you back is fear. He could hear Kid urging him on. You're strong enough to get rid of the fear. You're strong enough now. Right now.

Jack started to look at the weights on the end of the barbell.

Don't ask how heavy it is, Jack. It doesn't matter.

He gripped the bar, his hands shoulder-width apart.

You're strong enough now. Right now.

He lifted the weight up to his waist.

You are fucking Arnold.

He bent his knees, breathed in, made a sudden shift, and then the weight was above his head.

You are Hercules Unchained.

His legs wobbled but stayed firm. His arms were crooked at the elbow.

He remembered all the pain. Lying in the hospital and feeling broken. Realizing that Caroline was no longer with him, that he'd never see or touch her again. He remembered sitting in the wheelchair, crippled, and the agony and the fear that came with his struggle to once again become whole. He remembered Kid telling him he didn't just want him to be back to normal, he wanted him to be better than normal. He remembered the glory of taking off his brace and being pain-free. He remembered the Entertainer's lifeless body floating in the tub and the expression of pure horror on Samsonite's lips, her throat slashed inches away from him. He could feel McCoy's body tumbling out of the closet onto him and he envisioned Dom, his beloved Dom, being hacked to death by a lunatic who didn't know the difference between love and hate or life and death. He heard the explosions in the office in Charlottesville. Felt his life slipping away. Heard the doctor telling him that Caroline would not be coming to see him. Caroline was dead. And now he was looking at her murderer! Jack remembered running his hand over Grace's body and making love to her in the dark.

Jack Keller looked straight into the eyes of the madman who was standing on the wall, looking confused, waiting to see what he was going to do.

You're strong enough now, he told himself.

Right now.

"Bryan," Jack said. "Catch."

His knees bent, giving him the leverage he needed, then they snapped straight up. As they did Jack tossed the two hundred pounds of weight into the air, straight at Bryan Bishop. Bryan's hands reached out and his fingers curled around the barbell before it could reach him. He caught it, brought it to his body, and stood facing Jack, a thin smile lighting up his face, waiting for Jack to acknowledge his amazing act of strength. Then he realized what Jack had done. He realized that his amazing strength had just killed him.

The momentum of the barbell staggered Bryan. He bent back, way back, first his head, then his neck and shoulders, then his legs.

He couldn't keep his balance. He couldn't stop moving backward. He was shaking his head in disbelief. It didn't seem right. He was so close. He'd been so smart. It had been such a good plan.

Bryan's bad knee buckled now and he could no longer stay on his feet.

Jack saw one foot step backward, find nothing but air. Bryan's eyes widened. Then his other foot went back. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

And then he disappeared.

– "-"-"JACK WASTED NO time jumping up onto the ledge of the wall but he did not look to see Bryan's fall.

He moved carefully but quickly. One step then another. He made it almost all the way to the next rooftop, stopped, and bent down. He straddled the ledge with his legs, put his hand down and said, "Take my hand." When Grace didn't move, couldn't move, he just repeated it, very quietly, "Take my hand," he said. "Now. I won't let you fall."

He saw her close her eyes, saw her broken hand raise up toward him. When he grabbed it, he heard her gasp, but he had her and didn't let go. She reached her other hand up in the air and he grabbed that, too, slowly pulled her up, straining, fighting to keep his balance, but nothing bad was going to happen now, that he knew, this was the easy part, and then they were both on the ledge. He did not care about the street below. His head was clear and he realized the edge had lost its ability to call out to him, to grab him and pull him over. He was stronger than that. He was stronger than anything.

Still holding Grace's hand, he stood her up and they slowly walked back to his terrace.

Jack felt the heat of the sun now. And he once again heard the noise of the traffic from so far down below.

He watched as she stepped onto the terrace floor. Then he followed. They were hugging, her face buried in his chest, and he stroked her hair and told her she was safe. Told her they had won.

Jack Keller held her tight and told her that, at last, there was nothing more to fear.