Visions in Death (In Death #19)(53)

"Skin? Is he black?"

"No... I... No, I don't think. I see his hands when he strikes at her. They're white. Glossy and white and big. Very big. He struck her in the face. There was horrible pain. Horrible, and she fell, and the pain went away. She... passed out. I think. He hit her, kept hitting her even when she was unconscious. In the face, in the body."

"'See how you like it. See how you like it.'"

Celina's eyes went glassy, the pale, pale green of the irises nearly translucent. "'Who's the boss now? Who's in charge now, you bitch?' But he stops, he stops beating her, slaps her cheeks lightly with those big hands. Bringing her around. She needs to be awake for the rest. There's such pain! I don't know, don't know if it's his or hers, there's so much pain."

"It's not your pain," Peabody said quietly and shook her head before Eve could speak. "You're a witness, and you can tell us what you see. It's not your pain."

"Not mine." Celina breathed in deep. "He tears her clothes. She can't fight, barely struggles. And when she tries to push at him, he yanks her hand away. Something in her breaks. She's confused, the way an animal's confused when it's caught in a trap. He rapes her, and it hurts. It hurts deep inside. She can't see him. It's too dark and the pain is overwhelming. She goes under again. It's safer there, there's no pain there. She doesn't feel when he kills her. Her body reacts, convulsing. And that... there's a thrill in that for him. Her death throes bring him to orgasm."

"I'm sick." Celina pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm sick. I need to—"

"Here, come on." Peabody was up, drawing Celina to her feet. "Come with me."

As Peabody helped her out of the room, Eve pushed away from the table. She walked to one of the windows, shoved it open so she could lean out. Lean out and breathe.

She understood the nausea all too well. What it was like to see, again and again. To feel, over and over. And the sickness that came with it.

She let the air, and the noise, the life of the city push it out of her again. She watched an airtram, crammed with commuters streak by, and an ad blimp hover, spewing out its announcements for sales, events, tourist packages.

Her legs felt watery yet, so she stayed where she was, listening to the click of chopper blades, the blast of horns from the street below, the rattle of an airbus.

It all teemed together, a cacophony that was a kind of music to her. A song she understood, and one that gave her a sense of place.

She was never really alone in the city. Never helpless with her badge.

Remembering pain, knowing its source, could make her stronger. It was good to know that.

Steadier, she closed the window, walked back to the table, and poured more coffee.

Some of the color had seeped back into Celina's cheeks when Peabody brought her back in. She'd fussed with her face a little—bright lip dye, eye gunk to cover the worst of the damage. Women, in Eve's opinion, could worry about the strangest things at the strangest times.

Once Celina was seated, Peabody went over to get a bottle of water.

"You're better off with this than the coffee," she said, setting it on the table.

"Yes, you're right. Thanks." She held out a hand, gave Peabody's a squeeze. "Thank you for staying with me, helping me pull myself back together."

"No problem."

"You must think me very weak," she said to Eve.

"You're wrong. I don't think anything of the kind. I... We..." she amended. "We come to them after it's done, and we see, day after day, the results of what people can do to each other. The blood, the gore, the waste. It's not easy. It should never be easy. But we don't see it happening—how it happens. We don't feel what the victim feels and have to take it in."

"Yes, you do." Celina wiped her fingers under her eyes. "You've just found a way to handle it. Now, I have to."

She steadied herself with more water.

"He undressed her after. I think. There was a part of me, by now, resisting the vision. Fighting it. But I think he took her clothes; they were torn from the rape. He carried her... Not her—damn it."

She sipped water, took three long breaths. "What I mean is she's someone else to him. He sees someone else, and he's punishing someone else. Someone who punished him. In the dark. He's afraid of the dark."

"He kills at night," Eve pointed out.

"He has to. He has to overcome it?"

"Possibly. What else?"

"I broke out of the vision. I broke out because I couldn't stand it. And I called you. I know I should have let it run its course. I might have seen something that could help. I was panicked, and I fought it until I broke out."

"We got to her, to the scene, quicker because you contacted me. We were able to preserve the scene because we were able to get there so fast. That matters."

"I hope to God it does. Are you any closer to him?"

"I think we are."

Celina closed her eyes. "Thank God. If you have anything of his, I can try to see him."

"We have the murder weapon."

Celina shook her head. "I'll try, but it's bound to be like it was before, so what I see—feel—is the act itself, and the emotions raging through it. I need something he's touched with his bare hands. Something he's worn or held to really see him, to add to what you already know."