Killington (or rather, this man who felt like Killington) circled Mary like a clever tiger. “I suppose your friend back in County Kerry had perfectly normal hands, did she?”

She quavered, not acting, “Oh, indeed, perfectly normal hands. And she’d not be the same as the girl I just saw in that panorama you’ve set up. My friend, she’d be my age now, sir.”

“And what might the name of your little friend have been, my pet? You can’t have any objection to telling me.”

“Well, sir, I…”

“Answer me!” His big rough hands grabbed Mary’s jaw. Giles knew she smelt his deathly breath.

Mary helplessly answered, “Theophania, sir. Her name was Theophania.”

“Thee-oh-phaaaa-nia,” Killington caressed the name. “A name which the fools of the middle ages transmogrified to ‘Tiffany,’ now isn’t that amusing. Like the maker of those lampshades besotted fools love so well, eh now?”

Killington had learned something which he should not have been allowed to learn. He had known Doree was important but not why. Just as when he had known “desert” but not that the desert was in Arizona, if without knowing exactly where or when it had been taken, he’d seen a picture.

Giles had never struck another living person, let alone someone as big as Killington, but he made up his mind to attack now, while the man’s back was turned. He knew nothing about fighting. His hand made a fist, he told himself, knuckles white. Quick as one-two-three he rabbit-punched the big man between the ribs of his back, aiming for the kidneys. The big man sank to his knees…

But from behind all of them, in the Arizona desert, came a thick, blood-gushing thud, like someone had slapped a side of meat on a counter. Voices screamed, Oh My God! He fell out of the sky…

Killington, crazed, face twisted with pain, turned slowly.

A crushed and lifeless body lay by the side of the pool, arms and legs still moving feebly in death. A fine mist of blood sprayed onto the trees, the people who were scrambling away from where the man had fallen. Giles had just time to think that he’d seen a version of that face somewhere, an older, more filled-out version of the man who twitched into stillness.

“Missed him, after all that,” Killington whispered. “Distracted me and I missed him.” In another moment he would turn to face them, face deadly as poison ice.

Giles shaped Ed’s knobby hand into as sharp a fist as he could manage, shifted on his feet to put some body mass behind his swing (at least he knew that much) and aimed for the back of the big man’s suit.

His hand sank into flesh and bunched cloth. It was a clumsy blow, bad as in a dream where you strike at the monster and nothing happens. The big man sank to his knees, he begged. He did feel rib bones…

His blow did not sink Killington to the floor but when he turned slowly his teeth were clenched in pain: he was not invulnerable. Giles, still shaking inside, expecting to be killed, brought up his fist against Killington’s chin. Sharp pain lanced through his knuckles as he connected and Killington grunted. But it was only when Mary kicked the knees out from under him that he went down with a thud and smacked his head on the floor.

Giles and Mary stood panting and staring at each other. They were in each other’s arms before either of them knew it: Robby Baker had taken over and Mary in this story was his ex-wife. Their passion flared into a lover’s kiss and then Giles wrenched himself back.

He sank to his knees beside Killington, gasping with exertion and emotion. Mary had smelled like home and comfort. He was a little boy playing with Hot Wheels and longing for a James Bond car and his mother held him when he scabbed up his knee and cried. But he had nearly kissed her like a yucky grownup! That was wrong, it was sick!

Killington moved and his mother shocked Giles again by kicking him in the side of the head with her sensible lab shoes. He groaned and his eyes flickered closed again.

“Stand, my lamb.” Her arms pulled him up. He flushed with shame that he’d tried to kiss her but either she didn’t remember it or she was another character now. Her eyes blazed at him as she said, “We’ve got to leave this place as quickly as possible. Is anything visible on me?”

He shook his head and looked her over. “Your hair is mussed and your clothes are ruffled…”

“We’ll go out as Ed and his helpless, but heartily ashamed trollop. Anyone who sees will think only of that. And you, a stor, let me see your knuckles…” She took her hand in his and he longed for her to kiss it and make it all better. She looked up, her eyes met his. “Bruised but not bloodied. My little man.” And then she did brush the throbbing place with her lips. “All better now, eh?”

Giles swallowed a lump. “All so much better. Let’s go. Once we get you out of the building, I think I know what you have to do.” There was no time but oh, how he longed to ask her about Tiffany.

“Let’s get there, then. Put that mongrel arm around me, love.”

He stood, reluctantly (feeling Robby’s enthusiasm) wrapped his arm around his mother, marveling that he was taller than she was. He wondered if they should try to kill the big man but he knew he could never do that.