She took one last deep breath, held it, then forced herself to meet his gaze.

“Did you look at them?”

He nodded.

Had he stared at them? Ogled them? My God, how long had he had them? What must he think of her?

“All of them?”

“No. Enough to realize what and… who they were, and to make sure the envelopes didn’t contain anything else. Alicia I’m sorry. I—”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you bring them here? Why would you do this to me? What are you going to do with them?”

“Not what I’m going to do with them.” He upended the Staples bag, and a wide box slipped out. “What you are.”

He lifted the box so she could read the illustrated label on its front.

She squinted her blurry eyes. “A paper shredder?”

“Right.” He pointed to the envelopes. “These aren’t just photos. The negatives are in here. I could have burned them—for a while I seriously considered it. But I figured you might want to turn them into confetti yourself.”

He pulled the shredder from the box, placed it on the floor in front of her, and plugged it in.

“Why are you doing this for me?” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve guessed you’ve been carrying around something heavy. I never realized how heavy.”

She looked away. “I’m so ashamed.”

“Of what?”

“How can you say that?” she said, hearing her voice rising. She didn’t want to lose control—not here, not now. “You’ve seen. God, what you must think of me.”

“I don’t think you’re to blame, if that’s what you’re getting at. No more than a battered child is to blame for his bruises. They call this kiddie porn—such a goddamn cutsey name. Call it what it is: pictures of children being sexually abused.”

He picked up one of the envelopes and offered it to her.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Time to put this behind you.”

She forced her hand forward. About halfway to the envelope it stopped, as if it had run into an invisible wall. She pushed through that wall and willed her fingers to grip the envelope and take it from Jack.

He turned on the shredder and stepped back. She heard the blades begin to whir below the slot in its top.

She’d managed to touch the envelope, but when it came to reaching inside…

“You can do it,” he said.

“This won’t solve anything,” she said. “There must be hundreds of prints in collections around the country. That man traded them for pictures of other kids.”

“But these will be gone. No one will see them. And with the negatives gone, no one will be able make fresh copies from them. Maybe it’s more symbolic than practical, Alicia, but it’s a start.”