Dark Rivers of the Heart

fear.
        He pulled on his right glove again, then rubbed gently at her neck where he had touched it. Gloved, he had no concern that his fingerprints might be lifted off the body by laser technology.
        Precautions must be taken. Not every judge and juror would be able to grasp the purity of his motives.
        He closed the lid over her left eye and held it in place for a minute or so, to be sure that it would stay shut.
        "Sleep, dear lady," he said with a mixture of affection and regret, as he also closed the lid over her right eye. "No more worrying about finances, no more working late, no more stress and strife. You were too good for this world."
        It was both a sad and joyous moment. Sad, because her beauty and elegance no longer brightened the world; nevermore would her smile lift anyone's spirits; her courtesy and consideration would no longer counter the tides of barbarity washing over this troubled society. joyous, because she would never again be afraid, spill tears, know grief, feel pain.
        "Good Morning, Good Morning" gave way to the marvelously bouncy, syncopated reprise of "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," which was better than the first rendition of the song at the start of the album and which seemed a suitably upbeat celebration of Mrs.
        Bettonfield's passage to a better world.
        Roy pulled out one of the chairs from the kitchen table, sat, and removed his galoshes. He rolled up the damp and muddy legs of his trousers as well, determined to cause no more mess.
        The reprise of the album theme song was short, and by the time he got to his feet again, "A Day in the Life" had begun. That was a singularly melancholy piece, too somber to be in sync with the moment.
        He had to shut it off before it depressed him. He was a sensitive man, more vulnerable than most to the emotional effects of music, poetry, fine paintings, fiction, and the other arts.
        He found the central music system in a long wall of beautifully crafted mahogany cabinets in the study. He stopped the music and searched two drawers that were filled with compact discs. Still in the mood for the Beatles, he selected A Hard Days Night because none of the songs on that album was downbeat.
        Singing along to the title track, Roy returned to the kitchen, where he lifted Mrs. Bettonfield off the floor. She was more petite than she had seemed when he'd been talking with her through the car window. She weighed no more than a hundred and five ounds with slender wrists, a swan neck, and delicate features. Roy was deeply touched by the woman's fragility, and he bore her in his arms with more than mere care and respect, almost with reverence.
        Nudging light switches with his shoulder, he carried Penelope Bettonfield to the front of the house, upstairs, along the hallway, checking door by door until he found the master bedroom. There, he placed her gently on a chaise lounge.
        He folded back the quilted bedspread and then the bedclothes, revealing the bottom sheet. He plumped the pillows, which were in Egyptian-cotton shams trimmed with cut-work lace as lovely as any he had ever seen.
        He took off Mrs. Bettonfield's shoes and put them in her closet.
        Her feet were as small as those of a girl.
        Leaving her fully dressed, he carried Penelope to the bed and put her down on her back, with her head elevated on two pillows. He left the spread folded at the bottom of the bed, but he drew the blanket cover, blanket, and top sheet over her breasts. Her arms remained free.
        With a brush that he found in the master bathroom, he smoothed her hair.
        The Beatles were singing "If I Fell" when he began to groom her, but they were well into "I'm Happy just to Dance with You" by the time her lustrous auburn locks were perfectly arranged around her lovely face.
        After switching on the bronze floor lamp that stood beside the chaise lounge, he turned off the harsher ceiling light. Soft shadows fell across the recumbent woman, like the enfolding wings of angels who had come to carry her away from this vale of tears and into a higher land of eternal peace.
        He went to the Louis XVI vanity, removed its matching chair, and put it beside the bed. He sat next to Mrs. Bettonfield, stripped off his gloves, and took one of her hands in both of his. Her flesh was cooling but still somewhat warm.
        He couldn't linger for