Shame

accurate, but the map bothers some people. They don’t like their world changed.”
    “That’s understandable. Most people don’t like being told that down is up.”
    “But that’s not what the map represents. It only shows a picture of the world in another way.”
    “It’s not as simple as that. I once interviewed a concentration-camp survivor. She told me she was haunted by one particular war picture. In my mind’s eye I expected the photo to be some horrible scene of carnage, but it wasn’t that at all: the picture was of Hitler happily playing with his dogs. As far as this woman was concerned, Hitler was the devil, and playing with dogs wasn’t something thedevil did. She had a hard time reconciling the happy, smiling face in the picture with all the atrocities Hitler perpetrated.”
    Gray Parker’s picture often bothered Elizabeth in the same way, but she never admitted that. Maybe she was attracted to contradictions. Most of her books had centered on such: the Eagle Scout driven to murder; the beauty queen becoming as ugly inside as she was pretty outside. Milton had shown the way: fallen angels always made for a compelling read.
    They both turned to their food. Elizabeth took small sips of her soup. Though swallowing still hurt, the pleasure of eating was worth the pain.
    Lola noticed the exacting way she was eating. “Did you think you were going to die?” she asked.
    Elizabeth touched her scarf. Lola wasn’t the only one in disguise. “Yes.”
    “And did your life pass before your eyes?”
    “Yes and no. I remember some fleeting images, and I remember feeling some regrets, but mostly what I felt was anger and terror. I wasn’t as brave as I would have liked. But I was stubborn. I just didn’t want to die like that.”
    “How do you want to die?”
    “Not prematurely.”
    “Maybe you picked the wrong line of work.”
    “I’ve considered that.”
    “What are we going to do?”
    “Regarding what?”
    “Caleb. We have to find a way to help him.”
    “At this point I hope he’ll help himself by surrendering to the police.”
    “He’s not going to do that. He doesn’t trust the police. And he doesn’t expect anything better than a lynch-mob mentality from the public.”
    “If he contacts me, I can’t encourage him to continue being a fugitive. He’s deluding himself if he thinks he can get to the bottom of all this by himself.”
    “He managed to save a girl’s life tonight.”
    “We don’t know that.”
    “I think we do.”
    “Let’s assume you’re right. What are we supposed to do? Unless he contacts us, we can’t do anything. He has all my numbers.”
    Elizabeth suddenly frowned.
    “What is it?”
    “Someone else has one of my numbers. I was duped today by a message left for me. The caller spoke in a whisper and identified himself as Caleb. I wanted to hear from Caleb so much that I believed him.”
    “He knew your weakness.”
    “Weakness?”
    “The caller. The killer. He knew how to push your buttons. It’s possible he knows you.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “The way he manipulated you. And his having your telephone number.”
    “I keep thinking there was something familiar about him,” said Elizabeth, “something in his voice. Maybe Caleb’s right. Maybe the answer is in my old Shame files, in the past.”
    “But whose past?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Remember my map. It’s all in the way you look at things. Caleb might not be the only target here.”
    “You’re not very reassuring.”
    “Don’t blame the messenger.”
    They both put down their forks, hungry no more.
    “Let’s go look for Caleb tonight,” said Lola.
    “Look for him where?”
    “He doesn’t have a car. He has to be hiding somewhere near that sorority.”
    “I hope he has a good hiding place then, because half the police department is out there. Patrol cars are everywhere. And short of using a bullhorn, I don’t know how we’d signal him.”
    Lola reluctantly nodded. “I better go home then. Maybe he’s trying to call me right now. I’m going to borrow a friend’s phone, and I’m going to go sit by it. But if tomorrow comes, and I haven’t heard from him, then bright and early I’m going out on a manhunt.”

27

    J UNIOR HAD SURPRISED him. For the moment, Feral couldn’t lay any more stones on him. But just for the moment. The pressing would continue. In America’s history, only one man had ever been pressed to death. That was a pity. Feral couldn’t