"Most people think Maggie is short for Margaret, but it isn't. I've always been Maggie."
"It's a good name. It means pearl, did you know?"
"Yes."
"Hollis means lives by the holly trees. What kind of name is that for a grown woman?" She shook her head, adding abruptly, "Dumb subject. And trivial. Sorry, I don't mean to waste your time."
"You aren't, Hollis. I'm glad you called us."
"Us." She nodded as though a private thought had been confirmed. "So you do consider yourself one of the cops, huh?"
"I guess so."
"It can't be a fun job, listening to horrible stories about… man's inhumanity to man."
"No, that part of it isn't fun."
"Why do you do it?"
Maggie studied the other woman, noting the stiff posture, the hands still bearing faint scratches and fading bruises gripping the arms of the chair tensely. Slowly she said, "I… have a knack. I listen to disparate details and manage to put them together to form a picture. A face."
Hollis tilted her head slightly. "Yes, but why do you do it? Were you a victim once?"
"No."
"Somebody you cared about?"
Maggie almost shook her head, then remembered Hollis couldn't see her. It was an odd surprise; she could almost feel a gaze, feel attention fixed on her so completely that it was as if the other woman could see her. "No," she murmured, answering the question even as she wondered if what she felt was her imagination-or something more.
"Is it pity?"
If Hollis was expecting a swift denial, she didn't get it. Calmly Maggie said, "I imagine that's part of it. Pity, sympathy, whatever you want to call it."
Hollis smiled. "You're honest. Good."
"I try to be."
A little laugh escaped Hollis. "And truthful enough to know it isn't always possible to be completely honest with other people."
"A lesson sadly learned."
"Life is full of them." Abruptly, Hollis said, "I know I'm the fourth victim. I remember reading in the newspapers that the first two were dead."
"Yes."
"But he didn't leave them dead. They died later."
"Laura Hughes died of her injuries. Christina Walsh killed herself about a month after she was attacked."
"Did either of them have kids?"
"No."
"What about the third woman?"
"She has a little boy."
"I hadn't even decided if I wanted kids. Now it's a decision I don't have to worry about anymore."
Maggie didn't offer platitudes. Instead, she asked, "Is that the worst of it for you? That there won't be any children of your own?"
"I don't know." Her lips moved again in that small, brief smile. "I guess it might depend on whether the transplant was a success. The doctor's confident, but… I don't know what you learned in art school, but one of the things they taught us is that the eyes, like the spine, are hardwired into the brain. That's why there hasn't been a successful transplant before now. They can transplant corneas, of course, but not the eyeball-or at least that's conventional medical wisdom. My doctor intends to become a pioneer."
"You'll be one too," Maggie reminded her.
"I'm not so sure I want to be. But I do want to see again, so I signed the papers. Any chance is better than none, right?"
"I'd say so."
"Yeah. But nobody really knows what might happen. My body doesn't seem to be rejecting the eyes, but the odds against them working the way they're supposed to are pretty long. The funny thing is…"
"What?"
She drew a little breath. "They say when you lose a limb, you get phantom sensations-that you still feel the limb attached to you, moving. Hurting."
"I've heard that."
"I asked my doctor if it was the same way with eyes. I don't think he quite got what I meant until I asked him if I should be able to move them. Because that's the kind of sensations I feel, that the eyes are moving under the bandages, behind my eyelids. Like now, when I think about looking toward the door… I can feel them move."
"What did your doctor say?"
"That it was probably phantom sensations, there hadn't been time for the muscles and nerves to heal. That was just after the operation, so I guess he was right. But it still feels the same to me, those sensations."
"When will they take the bandages off?"
"Another week or so. Until then, all I can do is sit here… and wait. I never was very good at waiting."
"Is that why you called us?"
"Maybe. If I could do anything to help them catch that… monster… then I want to do it." She paused and swallowed hard. "At least, that was the plan. Now I'm not so sure I can talk about it yet. I'm sorry, but-"
"Hollis, it's all right. You have to do this in your own time and way. Look, why don't I come back tomorrow, and we'll talk again. We'll talk about anything you want for as long as you want. Until you're ready."
"If you don't mind."
"I don't. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, okay?"
"Thank you, Maggie."
Hollis didn't move after the door closed behind her visitor. She turned her face back toward the window, thinking vaguely that if she'd been back in New England she might have felt the sunlight on her face even in November. But the nurses had told her it was a typical Seattle day, overcast and dreary, with no sunlight to be had. They hadn't understood why she'd wanted to sit by the window anyway.
You should have talked to her, Hollis.
"I did talk to her."
I told you that you could trust her.
She laughed under her breath. "I don't even know if I can trust you."
You know.
"All I know is that I'm creeping out the nursing staff by talking to someone who isn't there."
I'm here. And you know I'm real.
Hollis turned her head so that she faced the chair across from her own. "If I could see, would I see you?"
Perhaps.
"And perhaps not. I think I'll make up my own mind who to trust, if it's all the same to you, figment."
Make up your mind soon, Hollis. We're running out of time.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I couldn't push her," Maggie said. "I can't push her. We just have to wait until she's ready to talk about it."
"And when will that be?" John asked. He sat back to allow the waitress to serve their coffee, wondering if Maggie had suggested this coffee shop across from the hospital because she liked it or because she wanted to spend as little time with him as possible.
"My guess is a few days. She's coping better than I expected, maybe because she has the hope of seeing again. But her emotional condition is still… very fragile."
"Did you ask her how she knew to ask for you by name?"
"No. I didn't want to ask anything that might have been interpreted as… suspicious." "Bad for the rapport?" "That's one way of putting it. If I can't establish a strong bond of trust, then she won't confide in me. Especially as long as she can't see."
John didn't lack imagination, and it was not difficult for him to at least try to understand the terror of being suddenly locked away in darkness, especially as it applied to dealing with others. "No visual clues," he said slowly. "We use our eyes so much when it comes to weighing other people and judging the worth of what they tell us."
A little surprised, Maggie said, "Exactly."
He smiled but didn't comment on her surprise. "So you didn't learn how she knew about you. Anything else? Do you think she saw anything before he blinded her?"