The Shadow Hunter

which worried her because she knew it was an act.
    Rummaging in the cabinet, she became aware of her deficiencies as a hostess, at least in these temporary quarters. She lacked napkins, china, glassware, and metal utensils, as well as any beverages other than bottled water.
    “I’m afraid we’ll have to dine picnic style,” she told him. “Styrofoam plates, plastic cups and forks, paper towels as placemats and napkins. And if you want anything to drink besides water, you’ll have to grab it from your fridge. Sorry.”
    “Water’s fine with me.”
    “I’ll try a little of the pork and chicken if you don’t mind.” She spooned the meals onto the plates. “I’m not a strict vegetarian. And why don’t you take a little of the broccoli?” If he had tampered with the veggie portion, he might find a way to decline the offer.
    “That’ll be great,” Hickle answered calmly.
    Maybe the food was okay, then. She sat next to him on the sofa, balancing the picnic plate in her lap. For a few minutes there was nothing to say. Ordinarily Abby was a skilled mechanic when it came to fixing a stalled conversation. She knew how to lubricate the gears and recharge the battery and get things moving again. Tonight her mind seemed frozen. She knew why. She was not in control of this encounter. She was not the only one keeping secrets this time.
    She ate the meat dishes exclusively until she saw Hickle sampling the veggie meal. He seemed to have no reservations about eating it. She saw him chew and swallow. Her fear of poisoning receded. Even so, she wasn’t very hungry.
    “Anything on TV?” Hickle asked.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You watch it much?”
    “A little.”
    “Like what?”
    “Nothing special. Sometimes one of those magazine shows, you know, like
Dateline
.” She had never watched
Dateline
in her life, but she had the impression that it was on nearly every night, so it must be popular. “How about you? You have any favorite shows?”
    He hesitated. “I like to watch the local news.”
    She was almost sure he was studying her reaction. She played it cool, showing a slight frown of distaste. “The news? Isn’t that depressing?”
    “I think it’s good to, uh, stay informed—you know, about the community.”
    Yes, she thought, you’re very civic-minded. “But there’s so much crime.”
    “Crime is part of life. Without people who break the rules, where would we be?”
    “The Garden of Eden?”
    “Maybe, but what’s the point of living in paradise if you’re not really living? Know what I mean?”
    She speared a chunk of broccoli with her plastic fork. “Tell me.”
    “Okay, here’s the thing. Adam and Eve were only going through the motions, see. They were content to just exist. They didn’t strive for anything. They never sought out their—well, their destiny.”
    “Do you believe in destiny?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “What is destiny, do you think?”
    “Destiny…” Hickle drew a slow, thoughtful breath. “Destiny is like what happened with Dante and Beatrice. You know that story?”
    “Not really.”
    “Dante became a great poet, but his destiny was set when he was nine. That was when he saw a girl from afar, a girl his own age. Her name was Beatrice. He fell in love, dedicated his life to her. Years later, when he was in his forties and Beatrice was dead, he wrote an epic poem in tribute to her. She lives on through his art. She was his destiny, I think—even though they were never lovers, never even friends. Still, she was meant for him, and finally she was his, not in life, but in death.”
    “I see,” Abby said softly.
    He must have heard doubt in her tone. “You don’t agree with me, do you? You don’t think it’s destiny?”
    “I think…” Abby calculated the risk of honesty, then looked directly at him. “I think it sounds like a kind of madness, Raymond.”
    He stiffened but forced himself to smile. “The kind of madness that breaks all the rules,” he said evenly. “So I guess we’re back where we started.”
    “Crime, you mean.” Abby looked away, breaking eye contact. It was not good to challenge him. “Where there’s crime, there’s usually punishment.”
    “Some people aren’t afraid of punishment.”
    “Maybe they should be.”
    He was silent, pensive. She forced herself to eat another few bites of her dinner. It had been a gamble to raise the issue of punishment. She had no idea how he would react. With violence, maybe, or simply by