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Anyway, he said, shrugging, it never happened. That was the summer Brian ran into the road and got killed. There was a reception at his house after the funeral, and his mother said I could go up to his room and take something, if I wanted. As a souvenir, you know. And I did want to! You bet I did! I took his geometry notebook, so nobody would go leafing through it and come across his plans for The Great Castle Rock Shoot-Out and Fuck Party. Thats what he called it, you know.

Bob laughed ruefully.

If I was a religious fella, Id say God saved me from myself. And who knows if there isnt Something some Fate that has its own plan for us.

And this Fates plan for you was for you to torture and kill women? Darcy asked. She couldnt help herself.

He looked at her reproachfully. They were snoots, he said, and raised a teacherly finger. Also, it wasnt me. It was Beadie who did that stuff-and I say did for a reason, Darce. I say did instead of does because all of thats behind me now.

Bob-your friend BD is dead. Hes been dead for almost forty years. You must know that. I mean, on some level you must.

He tossed his hands in the air: a gesture of good-natured surrender. Do you want to call it guilt-avoidance? Thats what a shrink would call it, I suppose, and its fine if you do. But Darcy, listen! He leaned forward and pressed a finger to her forehead, between her eyebrows. Listen and get this through your head. It was Brian. He infected me with well, certain ideas, lets say that. Some ideas, once you get them in your head, you cant unthink them. You cant

Put the toothpaste back in the tube?

He clapped his hands together, almost making her scream. Thats it exactly! You cant put the toothpaste back in the tube. Brian was dead, but the ideas were alive. Those ideas-getting women, doing whatever to them, whatever crazy idea came into your head-they became his ghost.

His eyes shifted upward and to the left when he said this. She had read somewhere that this meant the person who was talking was telling a conscious lie. But did it matter if he was? Or which one of them he was lying to? She thought not.

I wont go into the details, he said. Its nothing for a sweetheart like you to hear, and like it or not-I know you dont right now-youre still my sweetheart. But you have to know I fought it. For seven years I fought it, but those ideas-Brians ideas-kept growing inside my head. Until finally I said to myself, Ill try it once, just to get it out of my head. To get him out of my head. If I get caught, I get caught-at least Ill stop thinking about it. Wondering about it. What it would be like.

Youre telling me it was a male exploration, she said dully.

Well, yes. I suppose you could say that.

Or like trying a joint just to see what all the shouting was about.

He shrugged modestly, boyishly. Kinda.

It wasnt an exploration, Bobby. It wasnt trying a joint. It was taking a womans life.

She had seen no guilt or shame, absolutely none-he appeared incapable of those things, it seemed the circuit-breaker that controlled them had been fried, perhaps even before birth-but now he gave her a sulky, put-upon look. A teenagers you-dont-understand-me look.

Darcy, they were snoots.

She wanted a glass of water, but she was afraid to get up and go into the bathroom. She was afraid he would stop her, and what would come after that? What then?

Besides, he resumed, I didnt think Id get caught. Not if I was careful and made a plan. Not a half-baked and horny-fourteen-year-old boys plan, you know, but a realistic one. And I realized something else, too. I couldnt do it myself. Even if I didnt screw up out of nervousness, I might out of guilt. Because I was one of the good guys. Thats how I saw myself, and believe it or not, I still do. And I have the proof, dont I? A good home, a good wife, two beautiful children who are all grown up and starting their own lives. And I give back to the community. Thats why I took the Town Treasurers job for two years, gratis. Thats why I work with Vinnie Eschler every year to put on the Halloween blood drive.

You should have asked Marjorie Duvall to give, Darcy thought. She was A-positive.

Then, puffing out his chest slightly-a man nailing down his argument with one final, irrefutable point-he said: Thats what the Cub Scouts are about. You thought Id quit when Donnie went on to Boy Scouts, I know you did. Only I didnt. Because its not just about him, and never was. Its about the community. Its about giving back.

Then give Marjorie Duvall back her life. Or Stacey Moore. Or Robert Shaverstone.

That last one got through; he winced as if she had struck him. The boy was an accident. He wasnt supposed to be there.

But you being there wasnt an accident?

It wasnt me, he said, then added the ultimate surreal absurdity. Im no adulterer. It was BD. Its always BD. It was his fault for putting those ideas in my head in the first place. I never would have thought of them on my own. I signed my notes to the police with his name just to make that clear. Of course I changed the spelling, because I sometimes called him BD back when I first told you about him. You might not remember that, but I did.

She was impressed by the obsessive lengths hed gone to. No wonder he hadnt been caught. If she hadnt stubbed her toe on that damned carton None of them had any relation to me or my business. Either of my businesses. That would be very bad. Very dangerous. But I travel a lot, and I keep my eyes open. BD-the BD inside-he does, too. We watch out for the snooty ones. You can always tell. They wear their skirts too high and show their bra straps on purpose. They entice men. That Stacey Moore, for instance. You read about her, Im sure. Married, but that didnt keep her from brushing her titties against me. She worked as a waitress in a coffee shop-the Sunnyside in Waterville. I used to go up there to Micklesons Coins, remember? You even went with me a couple of times, when Pets was at Colby. This was before George Mickleson died and his son sold off all the stock so he could go to New Zealand or somewhere. That woman was all over me, Darce! Always asking me if I wanted a warm-up on my coffee and saying stuff like how bout those Red Sox, bending over, rubbing her titties on my shoulder, trying her best to get me hard. Which she did, I admit it, Im a man with a mans needs, and although you never turned me away or said no well, rarely Im a man with a mans needs and Ive always been highly sexed. Some women sense that and like to play on it. It gets them off.

He was looking down at his lap with dark, musing eyes. Then something else occurred to him and his head jerked up. His thinning hair flew, then settled back.

Always smiling! Red lipstick and always smiling! Well, I recognize smiles like that. Most men do. Ha-ha, I know you want it, I can smell it on you, but this little rubs all youre going to get, so deal with it. I could! I could deal with it! But not BD, not him.

He shook his head slowly.

There are lots of women like that. Its easy to get their names. Then you can trace them down on the Internet. Theres a lot of information if you know how to look for it, and accountants know how. Ive done that oh, dozens of times. Maybe even a hundred. You could call it a hobby, I guess. You could say I collect information as well as coins. Usually it comes to nothing. But sometimes BD will say, Shes the one you want to follow through on, Bobby. That one right there. Well make the plan together, and when the time comes, you just let me take over. And thats what I do.

He took her hand, and folded her limp and chilly fingers into his.

You think Im crazy. I can see it in your eyes. But Im not, honey. Its BD whos crazy or Beadie, if you like his for-the-public name better. By the way, if you read the stories in the paper, you know I purposely put a lot of misspellings in my notes to the police. I even misspell the addresses. I keep a list of misspellings in my wallet so that Ill always do it the same way. Its misdirection. I want them to think Beadies dumb-illiterate, anyway-and they do. Because theyre dumb. Ive only been questioned a single time, years ago, and that was as a witness, about two weeks after BD killed the Moore woman. An old guy with a limp, semi-retired. Told me to give him a call if I remembered anything. I said I would. That was pretty rich.

He chuckled soundlessly, as he sometimes did when they were watching Modern Family or Two and a Half Men. It was a way of laughing that had, until tonight, always heightened her own amusement.

You want to know something, Darce? If they caught me dead to rights, Id admit it-at least I guess I would, I dont think anybody knows a hundred percent for sure what theyd do in a situation like that-but I couldnt give them much of a confession. Because I dont remember much about the actual well acts. Beadie does them, and I kind of I dont know go unconscious. Get amnesia. Some damn thing.

Oh, you liar. You remember everything. Its in your eyes, its even in the way your mouth turns down at the corners.

And now everythings in Darcellens hands. He raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed the back of it, as if to emphasize this point. You know that old punchline, the one that goes, I could tell you, but then Id have to kill you? That doesnt apply here. I could never kill you. Everything I do, everything Ive built modest as it would look to some people, I guess Ive done and built for you. For the kids too, of course, but mostly for you. You walked into my life, and do you know what happened?

You stopped, she said.

He broke into a radiant grin. For over twenty years!

Sixteen, she thought but didnt say.

For most of those years, when we were raising the kids and struggling to get the coin business off the ground-although that was mostly you-I was racing around New England doing taxes and setting up foundations-

You were the one who made it work, she said, and was a little shocked by what she heard in her voice: calmness and warmth. You were the one with the expertise.

He looked almost touched enough to start crying again, and when he spoke his voice was husky. Thank you, hon. It means the world to hear you say that. You saved me, you know. In more ways than one.

He cleared his throat.

For a dozen years, BD never made a peep. I thought he was gone. I honestly did. But then he came back. Like a ghost. He seemed to consider this, then nodded his head very slowly. Thats what he is. A ghost, a bad one. He started pointing out women when I was traveling. Look at that one, she wants to make sure you see her nipples, but if you touched them shed call the police and then laugh with her friends when they took you away. Look at that one, licking her lips with her tongue, she knows youd like her to put it in your mouth and she knows you know she never will. Look at that one, showing off her panties when she gets out of her car, and if you think thats an accident, youre an idiot. Shes just one more snoot who thinks shell never get what she deserves.

He stopped, his eyes once more dark and downcast. In them was the Bobby who had successfully evaded her for twenty-seven years. The one he was trying to pass off as a ghost.

When I started to have those urges, I fought them. There are magazines certain magazines I bought them before we got married, and I thought if I did that again or certain sites on the Internet I thought I could I dont know substitute fantasy for reality, I guess youd say but once youve tried the real thing, fantasy isnt worth a damn.

He was talking, Darcy thought, like a man who had fallen in love with some expensive delicacy. Caviar. Truffles. Belgian chocolates.

But the point is, I stopped. For all those years, I stopped. And I could stop again, Darcy. This time for good. If theres a chance for us. If you could forgive me and just turn the page. He looked at her, earnest and wet-eyed. Is it possible you could do that?

She thought of a woman buried in a snowdrift, her naked legs exposed by the careless swipe of a passing plow-some mothers daughter, once the apple of some fathers eye as she danced clumsily across a grammar-school stage in a pink tutu. She thought of a mother and son discovered in a freezing creek, their hair rippling in the black, ice-edged water. She thought of the woman with her head in the corn.

Id have to think about it, she said, very carefully.

He grasped her by the upper arms and leaned toward her. She had to force herself not to flinch, and to meet his eyes. They were his eyes and they werent. Maybe theres something to that ghost business after all, she thought.

This isnt one of those movies where the psycho husband chases his screaming wife all around the house. If you decide to go to the police and turn me in, I wont lift a finger to stop you. But I know youve thought about what it would do to the kids. You wouldnt be the woman I married if you hadnt thought about that. What you might not have thought about is what it would do to you. Nobody would believe that you were married to me all these years and never knew or at least suspected. Youd have to move away and live on what savings there are, because Ive always been the breadwinner, and a man cant win bread when hes in jail. You might not even be able to get at what there is, because of the civil suits. And of course the kids-

Stop it, dont talk about them when you talk about this, dont you ever.

He nodded humbly, still holding lightly to her forearms. I beat BD once-I beat him for twenty years-

Sixteen, she thought again. Sixteen, and you know it.

-and I can beat him again. With your help, Darce. With your help I can do anything. Even if he were to come back in another twenty years, so what? Big deal! Id be seventy-three. Hard to go snoot-hunting when youre shuffling around in a walker! He laughed cheerily at this absurd image, then sobered again. But-now listen to me carefully-if I were ever to backslide, even one single time, Id kill myself. The kids would never know, theyd never have to be touched by that that, you know, stigma because Id make it look like an accident but youd know. And youd know why. So what do you say? Can we put this behind us?