Knoll’s face tightens as he looks down at the body. “You have any kids, Blackwood?”

I’m sure he knows the answer by now but is making a polite inquiry. “No. I’m not sure if I’d make a good mother.”

“I think you’d make a great one.”

“Really?” I’ve had men tell me I was too detached, too cold. This surprises me coming from a hard ass like Knoll.

“It’s the people who worry the most about being a good parent that do their best. At least I’d like to think so.”

“You have kids?”

“Two girls and a boy. My oldest daughter is almost ready for college,” he replies.

As he looks down on Claire Nelson I can only imagine what’s going through his mind. He’s a good cop and a thoughtful person. I can sense the fear he has about not being able to protect his own children from the evil in the world. His feeling of loss has to be greater than my own.

I’ve avoided long-term romantic attachments for one reason or another all my life. I’ve been in love, but never so much so that I was willing to take the kind of emotional risks that go with getting married or having children. I tell myself that someday I will when I meet the right guy. Someday. That seems like a thousand years from now. Unfortunately, biology isn’t as patient. Beyond that, I wonder if my own analytical nature and mixed-up childhood have made it impossible for me to make that leap beyond logic and just go with my feelings. I could have met the right guy a dozen times for all I know.

My feminist side hates to acknowledge it, but when some women turn thirty they really do change. Maternal instincts, the urge to nest, go full bore. In a way I kind of hope these feelings will change me and my way of seeing things. Would I have given Terrence another chance? Will I open myself up to other opportunities? Will I let people in?

On some level I deeply understand the desire to turn off the rational part of one’s mind and follow emotion. Sadly, this is also why so many people want to believe the Warlock is real. To them, he’s the proof of the supernatural. He’s evidence that there is such a thing as fate and that God or the universe has a plan for us.

But this is all just a trick. An illusion of mystery. The murdered girl, bleeding on the asphalt below us, is just a prop in the Warlock’s twisted play.

In this moment I think I understand something about him. He’s analytical. He’s logical. He’s not a believer in anything other than himself.

He wants to believe. He envies that ability for others to let go. He wants to embrace emotion and religious belief. He may even have convinced himself on some level that he does believe these things, but deep down he doesn’t. He’s manufacturing evidence because he sees none. God isn’t a living entity for him, so he’s trying to pretend he is God.