He stared at her, unable to look away. A black abscess burst inside him, the sickening horror of what he’d done, not once but over and over again, more times than he could count. He could no longer sense his own breath, hear the wind in the leaves outside, or feel the heat of the afternoon air upon his skin. Whatever thin membrane had held him intact within the void had dissolved. All that remained was the knowledge and the realization that he would do it again, without ceasing, until he died.

Chapter 49

Chapter 49

ENTERING RIVERVIEW, HE found himself missing the noise and squalor of Coney Island. Here, the rubbish bins didn’t reek of discarded seafood luncheons left to rot in the afternoon sun. The gravel had been neatly raked, the grass watered and trimmed. The entrance gates resembled those of a medieval castle in a movie, banners flapping. The candy colors and fairy-tale buildings reminded him of a spun-sugar egg he’d received one Easter as a boy: he’d smashed it with a rock to better see what was inside, swallowed the sweet splinters, and made himself ill.

A flicker of that sickly desire overcame him as he navigated the thronged midway. He’d visited Riverview only once, shortly after it opened for the season in May. He’d been curious about the heavily wooded picnic area known as Fairyland, its name ironical considering the activities reputed to take place there. That day he saw no one at Fairyland save a young mother with her children, and he left the park feeling disappointed.

Now he meandered along the Pike, scanning the crowds and carnival workers for a face that might spark a story idea. He ignored the Ten-in-One—people with obvious scars or deformities interested him less than those whose eyes betrayed an inner disfigurement, perhaps one that mirrored his own. But it was early enough in the day that most of the people he passed seemed cheerful and expectant. Families, courting couples, small gangs of boys racing along the Lagoon.

He drew up short when he reached the Hell Gate pavilion, momentarily confused by the sight of policemen everywhere, guarding its entrance and dredging the canal, poring over piles of refuse.

Of course—the murder! The queasy excitement he’d felt earlier flared into delight. Here was a scenario for a movie! And they might even be able to film right here at the park! He took out his notebook and scribbled Hellgate, stood, and watched until a policeman walked over.

“I’ll have to ask you to leave, sir.” The cop gazed at him with distaste; contempt, even. Or perhaps he just imagined that? But no, the man fingered a billy club in a manner that seemed both suggestive and threatening.

Unless he imagined that, too. He nodded at the policeman and hurried off, and didn’t stop again until he reached Fairyland.