But Damien would not, clinging tightly to his mother. The fortune teller lifted her rubber mask, revealing herself to be just a plain young girl wearing an enormous grin.

"Look. I'm just a person. This won't hurt a bit."

Relaxing, Damien held out his hand, Katherine sitting with him, across the card-strewn table.

"Oh, what a nice, soft hand. This is going to be a good, good fortune."

But she paused, gazing at the hand with confusion.

"Let's try the other," she said.

As Damien held out his other hand, the girl gazed at both, clearly puzzled.

"Is this part of the routine?" asked Katherine.

"I've never seen this," said the girl. "I've been doing children's parties for three years, and I've never seen it before."

"Seen what?"

"Look. No personality lines. All he's got is creases."

"What?"

Katherine looked too.

"They look fine to me," she said.

"Was he in a fire?" the girl asked.

"Of course not."

"Look at your own hand. Look at all the tracing. It's different with each person. These are marks of our identity."

There passed an uncomfortable silence, the child himself gazing at his hands, wondering what was wrong.

"Look how smooth his fingertips are," said the girl. "I don't think he has any prints."

Katherine looked closely. She realized it was true.

"Well," laughed the girl, "if he robs a bank, they won't catch him."

And then she laughed harder, while Katherine gazed at the small hands in puzzled silence.

"Could you tell his fortune, please? That's what we came in for." ^Catherine's voice was uneasy.

"Of course."

But as the young girl reached for the child's hand, they were interrupted by a voice from outside. It was Chessa, the nanny. And she was shouting from a distance.

"Damien! Damien!" she cried. "Come out! I've got a surprise for you!"

The fortune teller paused, sensing, as Katherine did, a certain desperation in the cry.

"Damien! Come out and see what I'll do for you!"

Exiting from the tent with Damien in her arms, Katherine paused, gazing upward toward the house. There, poised on the roof was Chessa, a heavy rope in her hand, cheerfully stretching it upward to show it was wound around her neck. Beneath her the crowds began to turn, smiling in confused anticipation as the small clown moved forward to the edge and held her hands out as if readying a high dive into a pool of water.

"Look here, Damien!" she shouted. "It's all for you!"

And in a single movement she stepped off the roof, her body plummeting downward, snapped back up by the rope, then hanging limp. Silent. Dead.

On the lawn they stood in stunned silence, the small body swinging gently to the accompaniment of a carousel waltz. And then there was a scream. It was Katherine.

It took four people to quiet her and move her into the house.