THEY HAD come far in the eight hours—farther than Shannon would have guessed the woman would last. He stopped by the Caura, five miles down-river from the plantation, and stood in the morning sun with a clenched jaw. The river was only twenty feet wide here and it curled around this meadow. It would be the safest place to leave her. She would have greater visibility of any approaching animals, and if he failed to return, she could find her way to safety down the river. It would also give him a way to reach her quickly once he’d finished.

Tanya.

She hardly registered as Tanya any longer. She was “that woman.” It was what his mind called her now. And then on occasion the other part of his mind would call her “Tanya,” and his heart would break a little. The voices pushed him at a relentless pace.

Ahead, the mountain rose and then fell over the cliff to the plantation. A Year bird cawed long and sober above him, and Shannon lifted his gaze to the canopy. The black bird’s foot-long beak rested open. A yellow eye studied him. Shannon lowered his head and looked at the trees cresting the rise ahead. Abdullah waited there. A killing waited there—a throat begging for the blade. He imagined the thick brown cords of Abdullah’s neck, parting under the edge of his knife. The man’s eyes were smiling.

Shannon’s breathing thickened. The plan was well laid and ticking along like a clock. Friberg would be moving by now. A chill flashed up his spine. He wanted to be there, facing the man who’d killed his mother and father, feeling the pounding of his heart, tasting his blood.

“Can we rest?” The sound of the woman’s voice jerked him back to the river. Yes, that woman. Tanya. He could hardly remember why he had brought her. To share this part of his life with her, of course. To bring her into a holy union with death. To hate her so that she could love him. It was something that made no sense to weak minds, but to others it made perfect sense.

In the black fog.

You’ve lost your sanity, Shannon.

Have I? The world is insane.

He turned to her. She stood twenty feet off, haggard and dripping wet and looking near collapse. She gazed at him steadily. Her mind wasn’t as weak as her body, he thought.

“You’ll wait here,” he said. “If I don’t return, take the river east to Soledad.”

He heard his voice from a distance, as if he were floating over his own body, and it sounded strange. Like the words of some dark priest summoning a body for sacrifice.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.

“To help you understand,” he said.

“Understand what? That you’re a tortured soul?”

Shannon forced a grin. The fog swam in his mind.