He hung up. Tucked the phone into his coat pocket.

"What happened?"

He looked like he might be on the verge of tears or a breakdown or both. "God, Sheila—he said Pennsylvania P.D. went to Tish's apartment and practically found a shrine to Barclay. Clippings, photos, all kinds of books about witches and my book about him crammed with sticky notes and underlined in red pen. The two of them had been writing letters to each other."

Sheila wished she could say it surprised her.

"Jesus, Martin, I'm so sorry."

"How could I have been so stupid? How could I not see the signs?"

"How would you have known?"

"The Bible. Her obsession with serial killers. How she glommed on to me the way she did. And the thing with the mirror mask."

"What thing?" Sheila asked, but he was still talking, still working out what happened out loud.

"He must have put her up to it. Convinced her to get close to me, planning the whole time to kill her while I watched. Did she know what he would do to her? Did she sacrifice herself for him?"

"Martin, this wasn't your fault. You've dealt with borderline-obsessed fans before. Maybe you should've been more careful, but how could you possibly know something like this would happen? How would anyone know?"

He nodded, looking off at the flashing red light hung over a distant intersection, intermittently casting its eerie glow over the surrounding conifers.

Finally, he spoke again. "Detective Lumsden said she was pregnant."

Sheila didn't know what to say to that. She just blinked at him in the intermittent red light.

"We used protection," he said, looking down at the sidewalk. His eyes rose to meet her gaze. He held it decisively, as if to sell what for all she knew could be a lie.

"But the coroner pinpointed the date of conception to the past few days. I mean, it's possible... they're not one-hundred percent effective... maybe she poked holes in them. Maybe he did. He was in my house, Sheila. I had sex with—with his groupie."

As opposed to one of your own, Sheila thought. She hesitated in reaching out, wanting to console him but feeling somewhat repulsed by everything he just revealed. "It's not your fault, Martin," she said, in lieu of physical comfort.

It's never his fault. He stumbles through life, constantly tripping over his own dick and this is what happens when you stick it in every piece of ass that shows you the least bit of interest, Martin. This right here is what happens.

She felt guilty for thinking it, but there it was. The truth laid bare.

He stepped toward her, holding out his arms like a sad little boy needing his mother. She pulled him into an embrace, even though what she really wanted to do was walk away from Martin Savage and hop on the next ferry out of town.

But doing that would be a death sentence for both of them. Barclay would find her. It wouldn't be long before he'd torture her into revealing Martin's whereabouts. Then he'd either kill her or use her as bait to lure Martin out of hiding. Might even kill Ruby and Norma just for fun.