the writer asked. The question had been the grizzly in the room from the very beginning. It slept restless off in the corner, always holding that tension that it could rouse and become something deadly. Christian wondered why the killer had ever agreed to have his story told, wondered if it had been Church’s innocent ploy in finding yet another victim. That it had been his face the killer spotted that had been crowned in white radiance. He was willing to risk the danger so that he could learn all he could of Church. He told himself it was going to be a good book, and that it had been his calling to become a conduit for a famous killer’s rants. But he had to concede there was more to it. He couldn’t deny his own keen interest in every aspect of Gabriel Church’s life. He told himself it was intellectual curiosity or that true crime stories had always interested him or his major in Psychology had been the root to his fascination. They were all lies he told himself so he wouldn’t question the face staring back at him from his bathroom mirror.
