Stain Of Guilt

For the highly successful TV show American Fugitive, forensic artist Annie Kingston agrees to draw the updated face of Bill Bland, a cunning fugitive wanted for a double murder committed twenty years ago. In studying the man and his crime, Annie knows she must descend into the mind of a killer a mind of greed, darkness . . . and death. To render Bland as he would look today, Annie must intimately learn about his traits, his health, and his personality. Just one habitual expression could alter the way his face has aged. But as she is pulled further into his world, someone wants to stop her at any cost. To protect herself and her children, Annie must complete the drawing and pray it leads to the elusive Bland’s arrest before he can get to her . . . The house felt eerie in its silence. My own breathing, the swish of my sleeve as I drew, the rasp of pencils all seemed amplified. Yet I noticed this intermittently, as if my mind surfaced from the depths to breathe, then sank once more. Down in the murky waters of concentration, I focused on Bill Bland until I could almost touch him, feel him, smell him. The longer I worked, the more close the air in the office felt, as if a woolen blanket of oppression descended from the ceiling. A strange sense stole over me, as though I and Bland were two actors on stage, our movements spotlighted, black emptiness between us. But that darkness grew smaller and smaller as the space between us shrank. I did not know if this sense was due to my emersion in Bland’s face and mind and world, or to my fear of his threatening presence. Or both. The nerves between my shoulder blades began to tingle. Help me, God. Please.