During them he would entertain himself as anyone might on a holiday. He would travel, explore, eat fine meals. He might ski or scuba dive, or simply sit under an umbrella on a lovely beach and while away the time reading and drinking mai tais.

He would plan, he would prepare, he would make arrangements.

By the time he went back to work, he was refreshed and eager.

As he was now, he thought as he readied his tools. More, so much more…with his latest dormant period had come the understanding of his own destiny. So he’d gone back to his roots. And there, where he had first seriously plied his trade, he would re-form and remake connections before the curtain came down.

It added so many interesting layers, he mused, as he tested the edge on an antique switchblade with a horn handle he’d purchased while touring Italy. He turned the steel blade to the light, admired it. Circa nineteen fifty-three, he thought.

It was a classic for a reason.

He enjoyed using tools from long ago, though he also employed more modern pieces. The laser, for instance-so very excellent for applying the element of heat.

There must be a variety-sharp, dull, cold, heat-a series of elements in various forms, in various cycles. It took a great deal of skill, and patience and concentration to spin those cycles out to the absolute zenith of his partner’s aptitude.

Then, and only then, would he complete the project and know he’d done his best work.

This one had been an excellent choice. He could congratulate himself on that. For three days and four nights, she’d survived-and there was life in her yet. It was so satisfying.

He’d started out slowly, naturally. It was vital, absolutely vital, to build and build and build to that ultimate crescendo.

He knew, as a master of his craft knew such things, that they were approaching that peak.

“Music on,” he ordered, then stood, eyes closed as he absorbed the opening strains of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly.