crusades ever came forward, they would only be able to articulate one singular thing about him: ugliness . And as he had witnessed many times in this world, ugly was not a rare commodity.
The man squirted the saline solution into his dead eye and returned the bottle to his pocket before moving on.
Inside the managerâs office, a quick survey revealed no videotape or digital recorder for the security cameras. Instead, a coiled mass of black USB cables snaked down from holes drilled in the ceiling and into an eight-port hub. The octopus hub, in turn, was plugged into the back of a squat mini-tower computer nestled under the desk.
The man hit the power switch on the PC and waited for it to boot. Within a few seconds, a monitor flickered to life and the Windows icon appeared. The man waited patiently while the computer ran its checks and balances. When the floating Windows icon finally disappeared, it was replaced by a flashing security sign. The sign asked for a finger to be placed on a print scanner. To one side of the keyboard, a flat plastic pad, no larger than a credit card, pulsed with a soft red glow.
The man would have smiled if his skin had allowed it.
Scrounging around the office, he picked up a roll of transparent tape and a pencil sharpener. With strong hands, he broke open the sharpener and dumped a thin layer of graphite dust onto the shiny curved surface of the computer mouse. The fine dust clung to the oily swirls and sworls left over from the ownerâs hand. He blew the excess away with a gentle puff from the side of his mouth.
The man tore off a tiny strip of tape, placed it over a clean, dark print of the mouse-clicking index finger and placed the tape on the scanner. He covered the tape and scanner bed with the back of a plain white business card to turn light escaping transparent into readable opaque.
After hitting the Enter button, the scanner read the lifted print without a single hiccup, and the computerâs welcome screen appeared.
From there it was a simple job to locate the digitally encoded video files for the rear entrance camera and find the time-coded entry. A double-click opened the tiny movie while a tap on the spacebar made it fill the screen.
The man watched in passive silence as the large sedan mowed down the screaming woman. She had simply stood there, not believing her husband could possibly do what the man told him to. She hadnât known just how convincing the man could be.
After the car sped away, the man watched as Sally entered the alley from the mortuary. She had grown into a beautiful woman with the inherited shock white hair of her father and the mystical green eyes of her mother. The straight razor looked cumbersome and silly in her small, delicate hand, but the man was pleased that she possessed a fighting spirit.
When Sally crossed to the discarded woman, the man tensed and leaned forward to peer even deeper into the monitor. The scene was darker than he had hoped, the funeral homeâs security lights focused too narrowly to encompass all of the body, but there was enough ambient spillage to read the cosmeticianâs body language.
The man watched Sally reach out and touch the body.
Sally froze. Her body became as rigid as a statue, and the man wished he could see her eyes, but the cameraâs resolution was too low and the light too dim.
The moment finished too quickly as the heavyset leather-clad punk broke Sallyâs trance, but the man felt a stirring deep in his soul.
Had she seen?
She must have.
But could she understand what she saw without the interpreter?
He lifted his cellphone and dialed.
The phone was answered on the second ring.
âYes?â An older manâs voice. Alert and awake.
âIâve found her.â
âAre you sure this time, Aedan?â
âItâs her,â he said confidently. âIt has to be.â
The phone was covered and Aedan heard whispered voices conferring.
After a few moments,
The man squirted the saline solution into his dead eye and returned the bottle to his pocket before moving on.
Inside the managerâs office, a quick survey revealed no videotape or digital recorder for the security cameras. Instead, a coiled mass of black USB cables snaked down from holes drilled in the ceiling and into an eight-port hub. The octopus hub, in turn, was plugged into the back of a squat mini-tower computer nestled under the desk.
The man hit the power switch on the PC and waited for it to boot. Within a few seconds, a monitor flickered to life and the Windows icon appeared. The man waited patiently while the computer ran its checks and balances. When the floating Windows icon finally disappeared, it was replaced by a flashing security sign. The sign asked for a finger to be placed on a print scanner. To one side of the keyboard, a flat plastic pad, no larger than a credit card, pulsed with a soft red glow.
The man would have smiled if his skin had allowed it.
Scrounging around the office, he picked up a roll of transparent tape and a pencil sharpener. With strong hands, he broke open the sharpener and dumped a thin layer of graphite dust onto the shiny curved surface of the computer mouse. The fine dust clung to the oily swirls and sworls left over from the ownerâs hand. He blew the excess away with a gentle puff from the side of his mouth.
The man tore off a tiny strip of tape, placed it over a clean, dark print of the mouse-clicking index finger and placed the tape on the scanner. He covered the tape and scanner bed with the back of a plain white business card to turn light escaping transparent into readable opaque.
After hitting the Enter button, the scanner read the lifted print without a single hiccup, and the computerâs welcome screen appeared.
From there it was a simple job to locate the digitally encoded video files for the rear entrance camera and find the time-coded entry. A double-click opened the tiny movie while a tap on the spacebar made it fill the screen.
The man watched in passive silence as the large sedan mowed down the screaming woman. She had simply stood there, not believing her husband could possibly do what the man told him to. She hadnât known just how convincing the man could be.
After the car sped away, the man watched as Sally entered the alley from the mortuary. She had grown into a beautiful woman with the inherited shock white hair of her father and the mystical green eyes of her mother. The straight razor looked cumbersome and silly in her small, delicate hand, but the man was pleased that she possessed a fighting spirit.
When Sally crossed to the discarded woman, the man tensed and leaned forward to peer even deeper into the monitor. The scene was darker than he had hoped, the funeral homeâs security lights focused too narrowly to encompass all of the body, but there was enough ambient spillage to read the cosmeticianâs body language.
The man watched Sally reach out and touch the body.
Sally froze. Her body became as rigid as a statue, and the man wished he could see her eyes, but the cameraâs resolution was too low and the light too dim.
The moment finished too quickly as the heavyset leather-clad punk broke Sallyâs trance, but the man felt a stirring deep in his soul.
Had she seen?
She must have.
But could she understand what she saw without the interpreter?
He lifted his cellphone and dialed.
The phone was answered on the second ring.
âYes?â An older manâs voice. Alert and awake.
âIâve found her.â
âAre you sure this time, Aedan?â
âItâs her,â he said confidently. âIt has to be.â
The phone was covered and Aedan heard whispered voices conferring.
After a few moments,
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