At once, the door swung to behind her, shut with an echoing boom. She’d been expecting that, but it didn’t matter, she couldn’t help herself: her whole body went so tense it thrummed. Now the dark was complete. It surrounded her. She could see absolutely nothing. Could only feel the church’s dank and stony atmosphere. Could only smell—what was it?—something fetid and hot, something panting, dangerous, close. He was there. With her. She knew it. Circling her, predatory. She was so frightened she began to shiver. She wanted to shout out in fury: This is unworthy of you! But she didn’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And anyway, it was nonsense: this was right in his line.

“You know, you remind me, in some ways, of the Pacific salmon,” he said from directly behind her.

Again, she couldn’t help it—she gasped, startled. She spun towards his voice.

“I think I must’ve taught you about the Pacific salmon. I always took great pains over your education, as I’m sure you remember.” He was already moving on, moving along the circular walls. Harper turned where she stood, trying to follow the sound of his voice. “Really, it’s an amazing creature. The salmon. It smells its way out of the ocean, upriver. Smells its way hundreds of miles, against the tide, against all obstacles. Finally comes back to its home waters, its headwaters, the place where it was spawned. And there it mates—and then it dies.”

His voice ceased. Harper was still turning in her place to follow him. But he was playing with her. When he spoke again, he was once more behind her.

“What I mean is, it’s an awfully long way to travel for love—and then death. Isn’t it? But then the salmon can’t help itself. I think an instinct for self-destruction must be built into the nature of its desire. That’s what I’m getting at: some people are like that too. Maybe most people. You, for instance, come after me and after me because you can’t resist me, can you? Even knowing that I’m going to kill you. Is that a labored metaphor? It just popped into my mind.”

“A little. It’s a little labored.” Harper had to moisten her lips before she could say any more. “But since we’re in it, I do seem to recall that the salmon, just before it dies, grows fangs to fight with.”

He laughed happily. “You do remember.” And he lit a match.