“When he opened the door she started to speak. But he reached out and laid his fingers flat over her mouth and held them there. Until she lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes wide and flat all at the same time upon him. And every bit of her piled up in those eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It did not matter that she flinched from him. He expected she would flinch more than once in the time ahead of them. In truth, he liked that, he wanted it. He wanted to hear her moan, not only with pleasure but agony. Because it was the only way she could apprehend him, could understand all of him. Which he knew she could do.

“When she was quiet, he took her by the hand and led her into the house. Down the hall and up the stairs. And got her all the way to the landing, at the door to his bedroom where she stopped him. She reached her free hand and took his shoulder, his short one, and turned him to face her. She stood like that a long moment. Looking at him. And he saw not just the rage and anger that he expected but also some fracture in her soul, some infirmity, an ancient chasm. And he wondered then if she might kill him, might finish the job she failed at so many years ago. Thinking that the same way she had returned him to his essential self, perhaps he’d done the same for her. This did not frighten him. It was excitement, was what it was.

“When she spoke he saw the hatred of him there in her eyes, as if her voice was something apart from her. And it was that hatred he wanted. He wanted to own it. Not tame or change or make it go away. But to own. He held his eyes on hers then and saw the shrink of retreat. Ferocious, he gazed upon her. For as long as it took for her to look away. Because there was no negotiation. Then, her head turned, toward the door she was already entering even though she had not yet moved; then, she told him she’d heard what happened to Peter. He was confused a moment. He had to think who Peter was. He had been sure no one would talk to her. Because they would not know her, and they would know him. But Peter did not matter to him, then or ever. What mattered was she was now moving ahead and he was following, toward the bed.”