“But conventional art can only take us so far” he said. “Because using traditional methods like paint and stone create a barrier between the artistic event and the experience of art. And as artists we have to be all about breaking down barriers.” Picture of the Berlin Wall falling as a crowd cheers.

“So, guys like Chris Burden and David Neruda began to experiment and make themselves the art —one barrier down! But it's not enough, because to the average audience member” another dopey face from the crowd, “there's no difference between a lump of clay and some crazy artist; the barrier is still there! Bummer!” Then Weiss's face came on screen; the camera jiggled a little, as if he was positioning the camera as he talked. “We need to get more immediate. We need to make the audience part of the event, so the barrier disappears. And we need better answers to the bigger questions. Questions like, “What is truth? What is the threshold of human agony? And most important...” and here the screen showed that awful loop of Dexter Dumping Doncevic into the white porcelain tub, “what would Dexter do —if he became part of the art, instead of being the artist?” Here there was a new scream —it was muffled, but it sounded tantalizingly familiar; not Weiss's, but something I had heard before, although I couldn't place it, and Weiss was back on screen, smiling slightly and glancing over his shoulder. “At least we can answer that last one, can't we?” he said. And he picked up the camera, twirled it around off his face and onto a twitching heap in the background. The heap swam into focus and I realized why the scream had sounded familiar.

It was Rita.

She lay on her side with her hands tied behind her and her feet bound at the ankles. She squirmed furiously and made another loud and muffled sound, this time one of outrage.

Weiss laughed. “The audience is the art” he said. “And you're going to be my masterpiece, Dexter.” He smiled, and even though it was not an artificial smile, it was not particularly pretty, either. “It's going to be an absolute ... art-stravaganza” he said. And then the screen went dark.

He had Rita —and I know very well that I should have leapt up, grabbed my squirrel gun, and charged into the tall pine screaming a war cry —but I felt a curious calmness spread over me, and I simply sat there for a long moment, wondering how he'd taken her and what he would do to her, before I finally realized that, one way or another, I really did have to do something. And so I started to take a large breath to get me out of the chair and through the door.

But I had time for only one small breath, not even enough to get one foot on the floor, when a voice came from close behind me .