In Death 16 - Portrait in Death

something about him that made them see him as friendly, or at least unthreatening."
     
     
"They were kids. Most, at twenty, don't think anything can hurt them."
     
     
"We knew better." He stroked a fingertip over the shallow dent in her chin. "But I think you're right again. In the normal way of things, at twenty you're invulnerable. Is that something else he wants? That careless courage and innocence."
     
     
"Enough, I think, that he lets them keep it right to the end. He doesn't hurt them, mark them, rape them. He doesn't hate them for what they are. He... honors them for it."
     
     
It was good, she realized, really good to talk it out. She'd needed just this. "It's not envy, it's like appreciation. I think he loves them, in his twisted, selfish way. And that's what makes him so dangerous."
     
     
"Will you show me the portraits?"
     
     
She hesitated while he went to the AutoChef to program coffee. He should be studying the morning stock reports, monitoring any breaking news over breakfast, she thought. That was his routine. And she should be heading out to Central right now to prepare for her morning briefing.
     
     
"Sure." She said it casually before sitting down and calling up the file on the sitting room unit. "I'll have a couple of eggs, scrambled, and whatever else you're having."
     
     
"A very smooth way of ensuring I eat." He programmed breakfast, then studied the screen-the two images Eve had called up on it. "Different types entirely, aren't they? And yet, the same... vitality, I suppose."
     
     
He thought of the picture of the woman he knew to be his mother. Young, vital, alive.
     
     
"It's monsters who prey on the young," he declared.
     
     
He couldn't get the images out of his mind, even after Eve had left the house. They haunted him as he went down to make amends with Summerset. The two young people he'd never met, the mother he'd never known.
     
     
They linked together in his head, a sad and sorrowful portrait gallery. Then another joined him, and he saw Marlena in his mind's eye. Summerset's lovely young daughter. She'd been little more than a child when the monsters had taken her, Roarke thought.
     
     
Because of him.
     
     
His mother, Summerset's daughter, both dead because of him.
     
     
He stepped through the open door of Summerset's quarters. In the living area PA Spence was running a hand scanner over the skin cast to check the knitting of bone.
     
     
The wall screen played one of the morning newscasts. Summerset sat, drinking coffee, watching the news, and ignoring the PA as she cheerfully detailed the progress of his injuries.
     
     
"Coming right along," she chirped. "Excellent progress, particularly for a man of your age. You're going to be up and around on your own again in no time, no time at all."
     
     
"Madam, I would be up and around on my own now if you'd go away."
     
     
She clucked her tongue. "We'll just get a reading of your blood pressure and pulse for the chart. Bound to be elevated since you insisted on drinking that coffee. Black as pitch. You know perfectly well you'd do better with a nice herbal tonic."
     
     
"With you nattering in my ear I may take to starting my day with vodka. And I can take my own vital signs."
     
     
"I'll take your vital signs. And I want no trouble from you today about your vitamin boost."
     
     
"If you come near me with that syringe, you'll find it deposited in one of your own orifices."
     
     
"Excuse me." Though he'd have preferred to slink away unnoticed, Roarke stepped inside. "Sorry to interrupt. I need Summerset for a few moments, if you'd excuse us."
     
     
"I'm not quite finished. I need to update his chart, and he needs his booster."
     
     
"Ah, well." Roarke slid his hands into his pockets. "You look better today."
     
     
"I'm quite well, considering."
     
     
And angry with me, Roarke noted. "I wonder if some fresh air might be in order. Why don't I take you out through the gardens for a bit, before the day heats up."
     
     
"That's a fine idea," Spence said before Summerset could answer. And she whipped the pressure syringe from behind her back, had it pressed against his biceps and administered before he could blink. "Nothing like a nice turn around the garden to put roses in your cheeks. No more than thirty minutes," she said to Roarke. "It'll be time for his physical therapy."
     
     
"I'll have him back for it." He started to step behind Summerset's chair.
     
     
"I can navigate this