North End
Boston, MA
6:53 pm
Diana’s head was aching. Again.
By the time she left the M.F.A, the only thing she wanted was to make it back to her hotel. After so many days on the move, she couldn’t wait to hit the pillow. No interruptions. No bad dreams. Just one night of legitimate, deep sleep.
The Bureau had them staying at a place near Faneuil Hall. A short walk from the FBI field office. When she came up to State Street though, a re-paving crew was blocking her way. The maze of orange barrels and detour signs forced her to go halfway around the North End to get back to her hotel.
Driving up Salem Street to try to cut across to the harbor she was further delayed when a large group of pedestrians crossed the street in a slow-moving herd. She saw a woman leading them by the light of a fake lantern, dressed in Revolutionary-era costume—tourists heading to the Old North Church.
She rubbed her eyes. It didn’t help. Everything was still blurry. As she was about to let her foot off the brake, something caught her eye. Standing on the far side of the street. Under a tree on the brick sidewalk.
It was him.
Everything came back to her in an instant. The nightmare in the motel room. Cold fingers on her back. Gunshots that never were. Only this time she was awake. It was real.
He was standing alone. Wearing the evening shadows like a cloak. She pulled alongside the church courtyard fence. Checked her sidearm, as much good as it had done her the last time. Diana kept her eyes fixed on him as she got out of the car.
Vayne didn’t move. She crossed the street, gun pointed. The strangest sensation came over her. Like this blind man was looking at her.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.
He smiled, somehow hearing her across the din of the city. “Yes you are.”
He was right. Even from a distance his voice made her shiver. His presence stole any warmth from the air. The temperature dropped ten degrees in a minute. He owned the night. Every gesture, every hint of his posture asserted his dominance. Now even closer, she was sure of it, he was staring at her. With that horrid, mangled, empty face.
Her stomach revolted. Acid bubbled into her throat. She suppressed it. Clenched her jaw against the vomit reflex. But the rest of her body betrayed her. Her arms quivered. Her legs buckled. Just standing up required effort.
Vayne spoke. That same hoarse whisper haunting her sleep. His tone was no longer beseeching. “You have not heeded my warning.”
Diana tensed. She contracted every muscle. Let a breath out of her lungs. She had to keep her cool. “You’re my job. That’s all. Fuck you and all your fucking mind games. Whatever you think you’re doing. You’re under arrest for the murder of Roger Saxon.”
The gun quivered in her hand. She cursed herself. Damn it, hold steady. Somehow, even she didn’t believe her own words.
“You are a stubborn one indeed,” he said. “Very well. If you insist on walking this path, you must be free to do so with your eyes open.”
“Like I said, I’m not afraid of you,” she repeated, a necessary lie she tried hard to believe. He terrified her. She kept talking. South Boston crept into her syllables. The FBI façade faded. Standing there in the freezing night, facing the horror, she reverted to the kid in her brother’s hand-me-down Cam Neely road jersey, ready to drop her gloves with anyone in the neighborhood. “You need to be put down like a fucking dog. I don’t fear people like you. You’re a sad old man. A monster.”
Vayne shook his head. Tangles of hair alternated shadows and light across his face. Her subtle metamorphosis appeared to amuse him. “That is no way to talk to me, Ms. Mancuso. I have not done anything to warrant such insults.”
She almost laughed. “You’re a goddamn child-killer.”
“You disappoint me,” he said. His words fell to a hiss, more feline than human. “After all that you now have learned, I expected better from someone with such an inquisitive mind. You more than anyone should recognize the value of learning all the facts before you pass judgment.”
“I don’t know what you think we’re talking about--”
He silenced her with a gesture. The breath evaporated from her lungs. “You require further convincing. Unless you choose to turn away, as I advised. This will be your final chance to do so.”
“You’re offering help?” she said. “Not likely.”
He ignored her disdain. Extended a hand. “In a manner of speaking.”
Diana kept her gun pointed at him. But breathed a sigh of relief. Her momentary reversion had done the trick, kept her in the game long enough to get past her fear. To get him talking. He wanted to tell her things. Demented fantasies and paranoid delusions probably. Her training could take over. Keep him talking.
“Okay…enlighten me,” she said.
“You need not humor me.”
She had crossed a line. Establishing boundaries was important.
“Perhaps you might be better served by listening,” he said. “You are a woman of intellect. I will ask no more of you than to rely on your own mind.”
She nodded. Diana understood. He wasn’t going to harm her. He was trying to recruit her. “You’ll need to convince me.”
She had no intention of allowing him to persuade her. But she needed him to think that she was at least open to the possibility.
“I do not come bearing the hand of treason,” he replied.
“Then what are you offering?”
She looked right at him. Let herself stare back at his tortured face.
“Answers.”
It was at that moment that she realized why his expression was so disconcerting. His lips weren’t moving. She heard his words. But Vayne hadn’t opened his mouth. He hadn’t done so since their conversation had begun. The epiphany shattered her careful demeanor. Dizziness flooded her. She staggered. Fell to one knee.
He was there beside her. “I was afraid it might come to this. I must show you. I know what you need to believe. What you tell yourself in the dark corners of your mind. But none of that is necessary. I can see your fear, as plain as you can see me standing here,” he said.
Diana scoffed at his peculiar answer. “You want me to believe you—show me.”
“Very well,” he said.
The moment he put his hand on her face, everything went black.
