Julie glanced over and smiled—a twisted affair, equal measures of longing and loathing. “I think of him sometimes with those women he killed. I never saw the videos he made but I heard about them. I was always curious to … to see them.” She paused. “Did you see them?”

“Yes. They were horrible.”

“I can imagine.”

Kelly felt cold. “What else can you imagine?”

Julie’s smile widened, changed. Her bare foot rested in the mud. The allure of the snuff film, even the wife was not immune. “I can imagine him doing it to me,” she said.

Kelly moved close. “And?”

Julie just stared. “You asked me why I’m hostile toward you.”

Kelly was suddenly sick of her sick attitude. “You play a dangerous game, girl. He’s still alive. His body may be crippled but his mind isn’t. No one knows what that mind is capable of. You and Michael don’t realize it, but you’re in danger here. So is your son. You should move from this place, go far away.” Kelly stopped. “But you stay here on purpose.”

“This is my son’s home.”

Kelly felt disgust. “You like to be close. It turns you on.”

“I have Michael now. He turns me on. He doesn’t want to leave here.”

“Do you ever visit Gene?”

“No.”

Kelly nodded. “But you drive by the apartment. You park across the street and stare at the windows. You hope for a glimpse. You wonder if he’s thinking of you.”

Julie’s chuckle surprised her. “You wonder the same thing.”

Kelly felt bitter. “You’re disgusting. Where did he bury the bodies?”

“I don’t know.” Julie picked up her shoe and stepped past her. “You can leave now.”

Kelly grabbed her arm. “When he went off for weeks at a time, did you ever ask why?”

“He said he had to lecture.”

“But you didn’t believe him.”

“I didn’t care. I wanted to be with Michael.”

Kelly was not sure what made her ask her next question.

“Did you ever want to be with the two of them at the same time?”

“Ask him.” Julie brushed off Kelly’s hand and walked away.

A HOT summer evening. The Acid Man’s father and Kelly sat on his porch and sipped lemonade. A draped insect screen surrounded them like a layer of illusion. The houses beyond the porch appeared blurred and unreal through the cloudy material. Dr. Fred Banks looked like a creature dug from the past. He wore his age like a scar. He’d had a hard life, Kelly had no doubt. The last five months must have been particularly rough. When he’d answered the door ten minutes ago, he had stared at her a minute before saying, “You the one who shot him?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I shot your son.”

He asked if she would like some lemonade.