Shattered Mirror (Eve Duncan #23)(18)
She held her breath and her fingers started to move on the clay.
That’s right. Don’t start out too fast.
Sensitivity.
Delicacy.
The clay was cool. It would get warmer as she worked with it.
It was getting warmer now as her fingers moved faster.
Time to stop thinking.
Help me, Sylvie.
Faster. Her fingers smoothed, molded.
See, I told you it would come, Sylvie.
Her fingers were moving of their own volition now.
Ears. Generic. She had no idea whether they had long lobes or had stuck out.
Smooth.
Mold.
Mouth. She knew the width, but not the shape. She made the lips closed and without expression. She’d come back later if Sylvie came through for her.
Smooth.
Mold.
Fill in.
Eyes. Terribly difficult. Study the shape and angle of the orbits. The size of the eyeballs was all pretty much the same. She could make them protruding, deep-set, or somewhere in between. The angle of the orbits and the bony ridge above would help her decide. They were ready for work, but not now.
They were always the clincher as far as she was concerned, and she saved them for last.
Nose. Not too long. Delicate.
More smoothing along those cheekbones.
Smooth.
Fill in.
Build up a little more around the mouth, there’s a major muscle under there.
Smooth.
Mold.
Almost ready to let loose.
Check those measurements one more time.
Nose width. Okay.
Nose projection. Okay.
Bring the top lip down, it’s usually thinner than the bottom lip.
Deepen those cheekbones. Why?
Just do it.
Smooth.
Mold.
This is it, Sylvie.
Tell me.
Yes.
Her hands were working feverishly now.
More shaping to the nostrils.
The jaw wasn’t quite right.
Change it.
Smooth.
Mold.
Fill in.
Don’t look at the face.
Just do what she was supposed to do.
The eyes now.
The shape, the tilt.
Now the other one.
Are we almost finished, Sylvie?
Smooth.
Mold.
Fill in.
Almost through. I can feel it.
Her hands flew over Sylvie’s face.
Smooth.
Mold.
Done!
She sat back and tried to catch her breath.
Don’t look at Sylvie right now.
Get her eye case and choose the eyes.
She gazed down at the glittering glass orbs. She almost always chose brown because that was the most common color.
She placed the brown eyes in the orbital cavities.
Not right …
Okay. That was purely a personal and creative choice. She’d leave it for right now and come back to it later. It was dangerous to stray too far from what was common when you were trying to ID a subject and bring them home. She and Sylvie had gotten this far together, and she wasn’t going to do anything that would tip the balance and—
She inhaled sharply.
She was looking at the finished reconstruction for the first time.
Good Lord, Sylvie. Why would anyone do that to you?
She reached out and gently touched the high cheekbone, then the mouth. Sometime during that reconstruction she had parted those lips. Sylvie appeared much more vulnerable and alive than with them tightly closed.
Vulnerable. Yes, that was the overwhelming affect Eve was receiving as she looked at the reconstruction. Beauty and wistfulness and vulnerability.
But weren’t all of her reconstructions vulnerable? All victims, all prey of the monsters in their midst. Why was the idea of what had been done to this woman making her ache with sorrow? It didn’t really matter why, Eve thought wearily. She was tired and on edge and emotional, but the important thing was that she had done her job.
“Welcome back, Sylvie,” she murmured as she got to her feet. She arched her back to rid it of stiffness. “I told you that he wouldn’t get away with doing that to you. Now we just have to do the computer photos…” She turned off her work light over the pedestal. “But that can wait until tomorrow…”
A few moments later, she had shed her clothes and was slipping naked into bed beside Joe.
His arms were immediately around her. “You’re finished?”
“I think so. Except for the final photos.” She nestled her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder. “I just don’t feel … finished. I want to do … something for her.”
“We will. As soon as you give me the photos, I’ll shoot them through every database I can access.”
“I know. And we’ll ask the TV stations to run the photo, too. We’ll do everything possible to ID her.” She was silent. “I’m just afraid nothing will help, and whoever did that to her will get away with it. I promised her he wouldn’t.”
“Well, then, we’ll have to make sure you keep that promise.” He brushed his lips on her temple. “But not tonight. You’re tired, and she’ll forgive you if you get a good night’s sleep.”
“I’m not that tired.” She suddenly turned over in his arms. He was warm and strong, and she could feel the love like a living force between them. She wanted to forget that aching sadness she’d felt when she’d looked at the final reconstruction. “Unless you are.”