rest is largely guesswork. And a little insight. I'm a behaviorist, you see, Jared. I teach certain people to understand their behavior, to adjust to it, and sometimes to alter it. You, Jared, are a more interesting subject than most. And that, sir, is the long and the short of my interest in you.”
“There's nothing special about me.”
Sonnenberg smiled at him. Baker saw his eyes drift toward the moisture on his right cheek and linger there a moment before they fell.
“You don't really believe that, do you, Jared Baker?”
Sonnenberg watched him leave. He watched Baker walk slowly through the maze of the dock like a man in deep thought. He watched him climb a gangplank steepened by a falling tide toward a waiting Benjamin Meister. He heard a clatter of plastic behind him.
“What do you think?” he asked, not turning. The clatter stopped and he heard Emma Kreskie's feet shuffle to his side. They watched until they heard the growl of Meister's engine. The woman turned toward him and nodded.
”I think so too,” Sonnenberg answered. ”I think it will work this time.”
Look at him, Sonnenberg said to himself. A tormented man trying desperately to make some sense out of what has happened to him. Of what he's become. Of what he is. But you'll know the answer soon, Jared. You'll know what I know already. I have found my Chimera.
Who'd have thought it, Jared? Who would have looked for a Chimera in this . . . suburbanite, this mower of lawns and rider of trains. Who would have thought that you were three totally different men? But you are, you know.
You are only the host, but the others are there. They are there in everyone. The almost beings that float unformed within every human brain. The shadow creatures kept un-whole by the brain's own division. The stunningly different visages that are evident in the separate halves of every human face.
But in you, they became incarnate, Jared. Somehow the pieces stopped floating and like attracted like and the Chimera was formed. The horror that shattered your gentle life seems to have thrown an arc across the neuron soup inside your skull and called forth at least one of them. The primal one.
“You know,” he said distantly, “this would all be so much tidier if t here were no daughter.”
The woman's eyes blazed at him.
“No, no. Just an idle thought.” He raised a hand in ap peasement. ”I would never harm the child. But she may very well do violence to Baker's concentration. On the other hand, her death might devastate him to the point of uselessness. No, Mrs. Kreskie. I'm quite convinced that the daugh ter must be protected. And most immediately from any ex travagant behavior on the part of the bereaved Bellafonte person.”
The woman nodded.
“Bellafonte!” His expression was distant again. “Has it struck you, Mrs. Kreskie, that the judge's surname sounds remarkably like Bellerophon?”
She looked blankly at him.
“Bellerophon,” he repeated. ” ‘And Bellerophon rode Pe gasus there to find the Chimera and there did slay the beast.’ ” Sonnenberg chewed on that awhile. ”A troublesome thought,” he said at last.
Mrs. Kreskie nodded.
Ben Meister signaled a right turn onto Baker's street. He n udged Baker who was lost in thought, when the white colo nial house came into view.
“Looks like someone's been tidying up,” Meister said.
Baker sat up in his seat. The burn marks on the outside wall, which he'd dreaded seeing again, were almost gone. The charred paint had been scraped away and a coat of white primer covered all but a grayish outline. Two boxwoods and a tall juniper had been trimmed to remove all evidence of the fire. The driveway had been coated with a layer of blacktop sealer. The marks were gone where Macduff had died and where he had destroyed the face of ... Baker bit his lip. Looking away, he saw Sam Willis's ladder lying on its side against the foundation.
“You have nice neighbors,” Meister took in what must have been a
“There's nothing special about me.”
Sonnenberg smiled at him. Baker saw his eyes drift toward the moisture on his right cheek and linger there a moment before they fell.
“You don't really believe that, do you, Jared Baker?”
Sonnenberg watched him leave. He watched Baker walk slowly through the maze of the dock like a man in deep thought. He watched him climb a gangplank steepened by a falling tide toward a waiting Benjamin Meister. He heard a clatter of plastic behind him.
“What do you think?” he asked, not turning. The clatter stopped and he heard Emma Kreskie's feet shuffle to his side. They watched until they heard the growl of Meister's engine. The woman turned toward him and nodded.
”I think so too,” Sonnenberg answered. ”I think it will work this time.”
Look at him, Sonnenberg said to himself. A tormented man trying desperately to make some sense out of what has happened to him. Of what he's become. Of what he is. But you'll know the answer soon, Jared. You'll know what I know already. I have found my Chimera.
Who'd have thought it, Jared? Who would have looked for a Chimera in this . . . suburbanite, this mower of lawns and rider of trains. Who would have thought that you were three totally different men? But you are, you know.
You are only the host, but the others are there. They are there in everyone. The almost beings that float unformed within every human brain. The shadow creatures kept un-whole by the brain's own division. The stunningly different visages that are evident in the separate halves of every human face.
But in you, they became incarnate, Jared. Somehow the pieces stopped floating and like attracted like and the Chimera was formed. The horror that shattered your gentle life seems to have thrown an arc across the neuron soup inside your skull and called forth at least one of them. The primal one.
“You know,” he said distantly, “this would all be so much tidier if t here were no daughter.”
The woman's eyes blazed at him.
“No, no. Just an idle thought.” He raised a hand in ap peasement. ”I would never harm the child. But she may very well do violence to Baker's concentration. On the other hand, her death might devastate him to the point of uselessness. No, Mrs. Kreskie. I'm quite convinced that the daugh ter must be protected. And most immediately from any ex travagant behavior on the part of the bereaved Bellafonte person.”
The woman nodded.
“Bellafonte!” His expression was distant again. “Has it struck you, Mrs. Kreskie, that the judge's surname sounds remarkably like Bellerophon?”
She looked blankly at him.
“Bellerophon,” he repeated. ” ‘And Bellerophon rode Pe gasus there to find the Chimera and there did slay the beast.’ ” Sonnenberg chewed on that awhile. ”A troublesome thought,” he said at last.
Mrs. Kreskie nodded.
Ben Meister signaled a right turn onto Baker's street. He n udged Baker who was lost in thought, when the white colo nial house came into view.
“Looks like someone's been tidying up,” Meister said.
Baker sat up in his seat. The burn marks on the outside wall, which he'd dreaded seeing again, were almost gone. The charred paint had been scraped away and a coat of white primer covered all but a grayish outline. Two boxwoods and a tall juniper had been trimmed to remove all evidence of the fire. The driveway had been coated with a layer of blacktop sealer. The marks were gone where Macduff had died and where he had destroyed the face of ... Baker bit his lip. Looking away, he saw Sam Willis's ladder lying on its side against the foundation.
“You have nice neighbors,” Meister took in what must have been a
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