Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

flashed on one finger. The hand with the ring went inside the fold of his robe. He brought out a long knife, its blade gleaming in the moonlight.
    The bad people gathered near, the stench of their sweat making her want to throw up. The skull ring flashed a gleaming grin. She struggled against her bonds. Why couldn't she scream?
    The bad man with the knife leaned forward and raised the blade high. He lifted his head as if to gaze imploringly into the night sky and his hood slipped backward. Four-year-old Julia looked up at the lower portion of his face revealed beneath the wedge of shadow. That mouth, that chin—
    No.
    Not him.
    Pleeezzzzzzzzzz–
    At last she could scream, and she awoke in her bed, the darkness thick around her, the sheets entwined in her limbs. She sat up, a clammy sweat on her skin.
    For a horrible moment, that face was still frozen in her mind. She fought for breath. It was all a dream, only a stupid, strange nightmare.
    Then why did two rivers of pain sluice down her abdomen?
    She ran her hands under the sheets and touched the scars.
    They were moist.
    She fumbled for the bedside lamp, nearly knocked it over before she found the switch. The light burst to life. Julia looked at her fingers.
    Only sweat.
    Not blood.
    Julia glanced instinctively at the clock then remembered it was in the trash. She lay back down and thought of soft, sunny things, the lake shore at the country club where Mitchell had taken her virginity, the little beach house at Cape Hatteras that her adoptive parents had owned, the playground at Denton Elementary where she'd been a diminutive kickball star.
    Soon she was breathing evenly. She pulled out her journal and wrote down the dream. The images of the fire and smoke and skull ring sliced into her willful focus on mundane things. She thrust all memories aside and calculated the Cardinals’ chances of moving up in the division standings the next year and their perennial search for a decent closer, centerfielder, and left-handed starting pitcher.
    Julia turned out the light. As much as she feared the dark, and the things it could harbor, she hated the thought that something outside could see her more easily than she could see it.
    Darkness won’t win. Please, God, if you’re up there, don’t let it get me.
    She couldn’t fix an image of God in her head. The pasty, stringy-haired old man with the shimmering aura that was popular in children’s Bible books was the first to emerge from the mists of drowsiness.
    That stern, paternal visage was no comfort, so she let it shift to a woman. She had no model for a female godhead, except the popular depictions of Venus, Athena, and other mythological goddesses, and their beautiful faces came off as haughty and vain instead of generous. She killed the formative image before it could sneer down at Julia in disdain. She recalled something she’d read once, probably by Nietzsche or Heidegger or one of the other renowned existentialists, that posited the theory that if God were dead, he’d have to be replaced.
    Sounds like something Dr. Forrest would say.
    The therapist’s face took over the spot that had been occupied by the gods. Dr. Forrest’s smile was benevolent, patient, and understanding. Existentialism gave no comfort in the night, but human kindness was a snug lover.
    Finally, sleep crept over her, mercifully blank, the fingers of the past receding into shadow.
    The next morning, the first thing Dr. Forrest said was, "You look exhausted."
    "Thanks, I’ve been working at it." Julia forced a smile. She felt rumpled, like a silk shirt in a sock drawer. Dr. Forrest had just started a pot of coffee. Her receptionist wasn't in, and neither was the other psychiatrist who shared the small office building.
    "Do you mind if we lock the door?" Julia asked when they were in the office.
    "I don't really think that's necessary. It's good that you are recognizing your fear, that you're not lying to yourself. But let's just risk leaving the door unlocked. Then, when we're finished and no crazed stranger has burst in, you can claim a small victory."
    Julia nodded. Dr. Forrest had elicited a lot of small victories. But Julia was ready for a big victory. The dark place inside her head felt as if it were growing, like a cold black fire that was consuming her from the inside out.
    Julia settled in her chair as Dr. Forrest closed the blinds. As she dimmed the lights, Julia said, “Do we have to be in the dark?”
    “Trust me,” Dr. Forestt