CHAPTER TWENTY TWODear Girl Who is Already DeadThis is what the murderer thought:He thought, “The girl tends to come out in the early evening, except for Wednesdays. On Wednesdays she comes out in the morning when the mist still covers Matthews Beach. Useful.”He thought, “She always runs alone and then stretches out by the water. Useful.”He thought, “She tends to favor her right ankle, which seems to be a little unstable. Endearing, that. She is friendly to the other joggers on the trail, and doesn’t mind falling into step with them temporarily, and will even chat with them. Useful.”He thought, “Something about her eyes. Something about the soft paleness of her throat. She seems to run above the ground, not necessarily across it. I think she was not created for this earth, but from the stars. And to the stars I will release her.”Briefly he thought that this could be a kindness, but then he pushed the thought away. He is not a man who dwells on being kind.Her time is com

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUREddie on EdgeEddie didn’t sleep that night.This was for many reasons.One, he was extremely nervous about playing at the station in the morning. Had he chosen the right songs? Would Bryony be moved by the one he had written especially for her, the one teased from Jasmine the Guitar on that fine, moon-magic evening? He had never played it for her before, and he could imagine her eyes growing starry and luminous with her joy, and hoped she would be bouncing eagerly from foot to foot, impatient to hug him, impatient to cover the bottom half of his face with kisses, ready to slip her anxious hand into his as she stood stalwart beside him. There would be interviews and maybe even autographs, and they would network and make small talk and schmooze, and do all of those necessary, yet sometimes delightful, things of making and selling music.This was, quite honestly, enough to make him nervous on its own, but something else had Eddie on edge.It was the feeling of d

CHAPTER TWENTY SIXIf Something Were To HappenBryony and Rikki-Tikki hardly missed a practice. The sound of her fists rhythmically hitting against his open palms was both soothing and empowering. Sometimes Syrina would come in and watch, and scream: “Go for his eyes, Bryony! This murderer wants to take you down! Go straight for his eyes!”, but usually it was just Bryony and her very precious Rikki-Tikki.“Rikki-Tikki, you have become a brother to me,” she told him.He grinned. “Nothin’ like fighting to make you feel like family.”It was the evening before Eddie had to play at the station, and they were having an especially lovely practice with fists and feet, and Bryony’s ponytail flying through the air.In the midst of the delightful mayhem Rikki-Tikki said: “Everybody seems to have been touched by fate so far, except maybe for Eddie. I wonder when his turn will come.”He watched carefully as Bryony’s eyes lost their starlight glimmer and the bones of her face seemed to press

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHTThe Gift“I found a body in the water this morning,” Bryony said to Police Detective Ian Bridger.He was young, and he tried to seem hard, but somehow he wasn’t able to pull it off. He was a sweet man underneath, the kind that called his mama and worked on the neighbors’ cars without expecting payment. This was maybe why the girls was able to talk to him so freely when her tongue had frozen up with his partner. His partner had looked right through her, looked at the body as though it was nothing except an annoyance. It wasn’t an annoyance; it was a woman. At least it had been. Once.“Why were you at the lake?” the detective asked her. He spoke softly, afraid that if he raised his voice he would spook this young woman, this poor shuddering girl who had seen such a terrible sight. Her eyes had faded, the irises dimmed from whatever color they had been, to a pale gray. Her pupils seemed to be shaped like stars. Those eyes kept roving to a small cactus sprung up ne

CHAPTER THIRTYChild of the SkyDetective Bridger sat at his desk with several grisly pictures spread out in front of him. Lovely young women without heads, without hands, without eyes. Women with their heads shaved and women with their bodies disassembled. There didn’t seem to be anything in particular linking them together, but the sheer number of victims caught his attention, and the sadness around their tender mouths kept it.How many mothers will pick up the phone to call their daughters, and then suddenly sink into a chair when they remember nobody will answer? How many little girls will grow up without somebody’s gentle hands braiding their hair? What the good detective didn’t want to admit to anybody, especially himself, was that whenever he closed his eyes he saw Bryony Adams’ face staring up at him from each portrait.Bryony devoid of skin and clothing and emotion. Bryony imperceptibly shaking her head and saying, “Why didn’t you help me, Detective Bridger? Why did you le