I asked her what she meant, and she invited me to the silent heart of that shadowed house. We sat facing each other in faded armchairs, in a shuttered room that showed too many signs of a woman living long alone.
'He is still beautiful, isn't he?' she asked. 'Did he touch you? He did, I can tell. You smell of him. Have you felt his power? He places people beneath the spell of his fertility, the spell of the satyr. You knew he was a satyr, did you? The distilled essence of everything male. A priapic satanist, a pagan. A god.'
While I was trying to form a response to this she continued. 'I tried to leave him. We were lovers for months but he frightened me. He showed me things inside myself that I couldn't bear to think about. He lived in South London then, in the great old house he used for ceremonies. I told him I'd have no more to do with him. He was very gracious. Said he was sorry I felt that way. Kissed me on the forehead as I left.' She touched the first of her scars, retracing his lips. 'When I reached home it was late and the hall lights were out. The timer wasn't working. I made my way upstairs, let myself in and boiled the kettle. Then I heard a noise in the lounge, a clanking sound. Metal on wood. Couldn't think what it was. Went in to see, but there was nothing to see.
'There was a chest of drawers against the far wall, and that's where the noise was coming from, a steady rhythmic knocking, the only sound in a silent house. It was where I kept a few tools for home repairs. Curious, I opened the drawer and a wooden-handled claw hammer flew out at me, smashing into my face. Each time I shoved it away it flew back, hammering at my eyes, my nose, my teeth. I saw it returning through a curtain of blood, over and over. Eventually I passed out. In the morning I awoke and managed to call someone. I was in hospital for nearly a month. They wired my jaw but couldn't save my eye.'
'My god, what did the police say?'
'It was just a hammer. There were no prints on it except mine. There was nobody else here, Miss Merrigan. What could the police say?'
'Who else knows about this?'
'No-one. I knew he wouldn't want me to speak of it.'
'But we have to tell someone. If he has some kind of – power – over people, he must be stopped.'
'You don't understand,' whispered Danielle, wiping her good eye with the heel of her hand. 'He refuses to see me. He ignores all my letters.'
'It sounds like you're safer if he does – '
'I still adore him. I pray for us to be together again. Why else do you think I call and write? I have no control over this awful – desire. He has left me with a thirst that can't be quenched. I worship him. That's what he wants.'
I left the poor thing shortly after that. In the dessicated garden I looked back up at the window and saw her crooked face staring down at me. I believed in darkness then. Perhaps her wounds were self-inflicted and she was simply deranged. It made no difference. Her suffering was real. I understood now. The price of the gifts Midas bestowed was slavery. Every god needs to be worshipped. And those who lapse are cast into damnation.
I couldn't just walk out of the apartment. Aside from the financial problems it would involve, those rooms represented every shred of independence I had mustered for myself. I wearily returned home to find the landing at the top of the stairs sombre and silent, but when I listened at Midas' door I could hear a faint chanting of madrigals. I dreaded to think what he was up to in there.
Two days later my ex-husband came to London to discuss the maintenance payments he had failed to keep up. When I returned from the station with him, Midas was lying in wait, standing casually outside his front door as if keeping a prearranged appointment.
'Judy's told me so much about you,' he said, extending his hand, which was shaken in puzzlement. 'She and I are neighbours but I like to think we share much more than just a landing.'
I attempted to shepherd Michael into my apartment, but Midas caught his arm. 'Before you two go off and talk business, I'd love to offer you a drink.' Michael looked at me unsurely, but I could tell that he was prepared to be swayed.
'Judy says you collect science fiction. I have quite a decent collection myself.'
His door was open. His arm was extended. His smile was wide. Michael was lured inside, and I followed like a fool. Over the next half-hour, Midas exuded so much sincerity that I nearly passed out with the strain of smiling back. The two men sat cross-legged on the floor pulling books out of racks and laughing together. Michael was completely taken in and proved reluctant to leave, even when I insisted on keeping our restaurant booking. The neighbours of serial killers never notice anything unusual. What do they see? Smiling strangers who quietly close their doors. Good citizens. Likeable men.
My personality withered beneath the force of Midas' onslaught of charisma. How could I be expected to compete? He was more believable than me, more fun to be with. All I did was moan through dinner. It didn't take a genius to see that Michael would rather have spent the remainder of the evening bonding with my neighbour. I had no allies. Midas could direct his fury at me and shield others from any awareness of it. I realised with some alarm that I had a less forceful personality than the enemy plaguing me. When Michael left, he told me I was lucky to have someone so interesting living next door, and that I should see a doctor about my depression. Perhaps I should try Prozac. I told him to mail me a cheque or I'd see him in court.
I wish we hadn't parted on bad terms. It was the last time I saw him uninjured. He shouldn't have been driving; he was way over the alcohol limit. His car ploughed into the outer lane barrier on the M2 at the Medway Bridge, a hundred feet above that black river. Midas stopped me on the landing to tell me that my ex-husband had not been wearing a seatbelt. Shocked into silence, I tried not to imagine how he knew. Michael was hospitalised. They wouldn't let me see him for days.
The last week of August was unbearable, the hottest for years. The icemaker in Ari's store broke down and all his vegetables spoiled. The days were stuck together, melting into nights. In the height of summer a London night has but five hours of darkness. Many of the clubs and bars in the area close with the rising sun. Midas' guests stayed long after that. I lay sleepless and lost in an empty hot bed, listening to the obscene laughter of the revellers on the landing. I could feel my nerves fraying further each day. The most I could ask was for Midas to leave me alone. And he did until the first Friday in September, when there was a familiar knock.
'I must talk to you,' he said quietly. 'May I come in?' I held open the door. He had lost a little weight, looked great. I felt a wreck, not up to confrontation.
'You've changed things around.'
'I had to,' I said. 'All the plants you gave me died.'
'I can't afford to lose you, you know. I've never lost anyone.'
'Oh? What about Danielle Passmore? Do I look as much of a victim as her? Did you think I'd be easier to convert?'
He showed no surprise. 'I can do so much for you, Judy, if you believe in me.'
'Oh, I believe. You're no crank, I'm sure of that. But I prefer to rely on myself.'
'Then I must make you realise your mistake.' He disclosed a clear plastic tube in his hand and snapped open the cap, allowing the milky contents to leak on to the doorframe. 'Just as my seed can bring fertility to the barren lives of others, so it can be used in other, more persuasive ways.' As soon as I realised what he had in the tube I shoved him out of the doorway. He allowed me to do so. He knew his strength. 'Let me know when you're ready to reconsider,' he called.
I had no idea what he meant until the next morning. I had taken two sleeping tablets, and groggily awoke to another cauldron-hot day. The bedroom was stifling; the window had slid shut in the night and wouldn't budge when I tried to open it. None of the lounge windows would open, either. I thought perhaps the paintwork on the sills had become sticky – until I tried the front door. The latch refused to move even a tenth of an inch. The wood had become sealed in its frame. There was no other way in or out of the apartment.