Not necessarily, Thomas-the-professor had to admit. Friends banged friends' wives all the time, even friends they genuinely loved and respected. If they hated, it was usually to rationalize their betrayal. Looks good on the prick, or Serves him fucking right. Otherwise, such peccadilloes had surprisingly little impact on the suite of expectations and attitudes that made up friendship. It was as though the two behaviors worked on a different frequency.

'Could be,' Thomas replied, looking away from Sam.

She needs to know! Tell her!

'What's wrong, professor?' Sam asked. Just then, the elevator chimed open.

'Cynthia Powski,' he said, as the doors closed. 'Do you think she might still be alive?'

What have I done?

'Might… But we doubt it.'

'Why's that? He spared Gyges, didn't he?'

'In a living-death sort of way, I suppose he did. But you missed the rest of Cynthia Powski's performance this morning.'

Thomas swallowed. It hadn't occurred to him there might be more. 'What do you mean? What happens?'

Sam hesitated—her face looked all the more beautiful for its concentration. 'There's a break, and when he starts shooting again, Cynthia's still in the throes of passion, but something's changed. The neurologists we consulted think he somehow attached a transmitter to the primary pain pathways to her brain—'

'The spinothalamic and spinoreticular pathways?'

'Exactly, and used it to replace the pleasure control panel or whatever the hell it is he uses in the beginning of the BD.'

Thomas could only stare.

'Then he hands her a piece of broken glass.'

Images of Cynthia—memories from this morning—flashed before his mind's eye, her writhing now soaked in blood and scored by weeping gash after weeping gash.

Sam continued. 'The pain input generated by the resulting tissue damage, they told us, was probably stopped before it reached her brain, and translated into a signal that directly stimulated her pleasure centres. He rewired her like a basement rec-room, professor, then watched her slice her way to ecstasy.'

'My God,' Thomas whispered.

He made her cut herself. He made her want to cut herself…

Sam blinked rapidly. 'Wait till you see it, Tom. There's no God, trust me.'

Churning in his gut.

What the fuck is happening? Wake up… Wake up!

'But then that's Cassidy's point, isn't it?'

Thomas clutched his hands to keep them from shaking.

The Field Office was smaller than he expected, and except for cleaners, apparently abandoned.

'Hard to believe I run the FBI, isn't it?' Sam said, as she gestured to her cubicle.