Page 52 of Close Up

Once again he fell silent. Once again she thought he might not respond.

“I saw a man moving through gray fog,” he said. “Now and then he comes across someone else in the mist. He kills the other person and for a while the fog clears. It’s as if he has performed a sacrifice. He finds himself on top of a mountain. He can see for miles. But the fog always returns. When it does he realizes that another sacrifice is required. Sacrifices are not performed randomly. They require a ritual.”

“We’re talking about the Poet, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“What does your vision tell you about him?”

“He’s not simply a cold-blooded businessman who kills for money. I think he murders people because on some level he believes that is the only thing that keeps him sane.”

“And he doesn’t comprehend that murdering people in a ritual sacrifice is exactly what makes himinsane?”

“That is the one thing he can never admit or acknowledge.”

“Which means you’ve figured out his deepest, most closely held secret, his vulnerable point.”

Nick watched her in silence for a very long time.

“You understand, don’t you?” he said finally.

“Your fever dreaming sounds a lot like what I do when I focus my camera. I open my senses, my inner eye, and try to see beneath the surface. I try to ask the right question, the one that unlocks a few secrets.” She smiled. “It’s called intuition, Nick. Neither one of us is crazy.”

“That’s what Jones wrote in his personal journal.”

“Who is Jones?”

“Never mind. That’s how I work, too. Patricia married me because she hoped I could protect her. When she opened the door that night and saw me emerging from a trance, she was convinced that she had chosen a mentally unbalanced eccentric who was as dangerous as the man she was hiding from. Later, on that rooftop, the violence overwhelmed her.”

“She was already terrified, unnerved, and feeling guilty for having deceived you. She had run from one man because he threatened her with physical harm only to find herself with another man who might be deranged.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you do what you do, Nick? Why did you become a private investigator?”

“I’m not sure. It’s the only work that feels right for me.”

“I think you are drawn to that work because it allows you to use your talent, your keen intuition,” Vivian said. “Do you realize how fortunate you are? You’ve found a purpose in life and you have the ability to fulfill that purpose. Be grateful.”

“Do you think it’s really that simple?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. Obviously your kind of intuition is powerful and it has complicated your life. I’m sure it will continue to do so. But I think you would have far greater problems if you tried to ignore or suppress it.”

“You’ve known me for less than three days but you know more about me than Patricia did in the weeks that we were together. More than anyone does, except for Uncle Pete.”

“You and Patricia were a mistake. It’s over. Let it go.” Vivian started to turn away. “I think that’s enough personal history for now. I’m going to get a shot of whiskey to help me get back to sleep.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

She paused. “What about your visions?”

“I’m through for now. I don’t have enough information yet to ask the right questions.”

“I understand.”

Once again she started across the patio, heading toward the darkened living room.

“Vivian.”

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