Yes, it was regrettable, but it had to be, for Billy had taken obsessively to Sam's idea of murdering and mutilating this beautiful girl, even though Sam had said it half-jokingly. Regrettable to have to turn this angelically beautiful girl into a lump of rotting meat. But it was useless trying to talk Billy out of killing her. He already had a buyer for the "snuff" film, for which he hoped to make a handsome sum, and his hatred for Clete seemed to have been wholly transferred to DesirЋe as an outlet for his grief over his acne-scarred brother, whom Sam had never really liked anyway.

Shifting his gaze from the weeping blonde girl in the backseat, he looked at the smooth, aquiline profile of his old friend. There was no hope of deterring Billy from his plans to vent in anger on DesirЋe, for the horrible murder of his brother had done something to twist his feverish mind. He was obsessed with Clete and revenge and spoke of little else, except when speaking of DesirЋe as a vehicle for his revenge. There was little doubt that DesirЋe was doomed to breathe her last today in the old, unoccupied Pace mansion where the whole convoluted tale had begun with Nancy Pace's dog rape just a few months previously.

The car sped up in its approach to the Pace house and Billy braked sharply, throwing the car into a little sideways slide as it came to a stop before the veranda.

"He's here?" DesirЋe blurted, unaffected by the incongruity of Mark's being here injured in a car accident with no cars in sight. Throwing open the door, she jumped out, pivoted toward Billy and quickly searched his face with her limpid, blue eyes. "Mr. Jones, is this where he is?"

Billy was getting out, but without waiting for his answer DesirЋe mounted the steps two at a time.