Violets are Blue

I wandered out to the sunporch. Rosie the Cat was asleep on Nana's rocker. She yawned when she saw me but didn't get up to rub against my legs. I had been away too long.

"Traitor," I said to Rosie. I went over and scratched her neck, and she was okay with it.

I heard footsteps on the front porch. I walked to the foyer and opened the front door. Light of my life.

Ja

"Very fu

They ran into my arms, and it felt so good. I was home, and there was no place like it. And then I had a thought I didn't want to have: Did the Mastermind know that I was here? Was our house safe anymore?

Chapter 37

At its best, life can be so simple and good. As it should be. On Saturday morning, Nana and I packed up the kids and we headed over to their favorite place in all of Washington, the huge and wonderful and occasionally elevating Smithsonian complex. We were all in agreement that the Smithsonian, or "Smitty," as Ja

The only issue was where to go once we got there.

Since Nana would be there for only a few hours with little Alex, we let her pick the day's first stop.

"Let me guess," Ja

Nana Mama shook a finger at Ja

Shocked that Nana isn't the creature of habit you thought she was?"

Damon piped up. "Nana wants to see the history of black photographers. I heard about it at our school. They got cool black cowboy pictures. Isn't that right, Nana?"

"And much, much more," said Nana. "You'll see, Damon. You'll be proud and amazed, and maybe stimulated to take a few more photographs than you do. You too, Ja

So we went to the Arts and Industries Building first, and it was very good, as it always is. Inside, the dull roar of air-conditioning and the cries of a gospel album mixed nicely. We saw the black cowboys, and also a lot of exceptional photos from the Harlem Renaissance.

We stood in front of a twelve-foot photo of ambitious-looking black men in suits, ties, and top hats taken from a bird's-eye view. A stu

"If I saw that scene on the street," Ja

After Arts and Industries we appeased Ja

But even Ja

After we had studied several of the aeronautic miracles, Damon insisted we catch Mission to Miron the IMAX screen at the Langley Theater.

"I'm going to outer space one day," he a

"I have news," Ja

In honor of Nana, we stopped at the Museum of African Art, and the kids got a kick out of the masks and ceremonial clothes, but especially the old currency exhibit — cowrie shells, bracelets, and rings. It was incredibly quiet inside, spacious, colorful, cool as could be. The last stop of the day was to see the Dinosaur Hall at the Museum of Natural History. But then both Ja

"You're in luck," Ja

Finally, at around six, we crossed Madison Drive to the Mall. The kids were quiet, tired, and hungry by then — and so was I. We ate a picnic supper under spreading shade trees at the foot of the Capitol.

It was the best day I'd had in weeks.

No calls from anybody.

Chapter 38

As he had done so many times before, probably a dozen times by now, the Mastermind watched Alex Cross and his family.

Love equals hate, he thought. What an incredible equation, but so true, absolutely true. It made the world go round, and that was a lesson Alex Cross needed to learn. Christ, he was such a fucking optimist. It was infuriating.

If anyone had cared enough to study hispast carefully they would have discovered the keys to everything that had happened so far. His personal crime and murder spree was one of the most daring in history. It had lasted for over twenty-eight years. He could count the mistakes he'd made on one hand. The keys were right there for anybody to see:

Narcissistic personality disorder.

That's where it all began. That's where it would end.

A grandiose sense of self-importance.

That was him, all right.

Expects to be recognized as superiorwithout commensurate achievements.

Preoccupied with fantasies of unlimitedsuccess, power, brilliance, or ideal love.

Interpersonally exploitive.

Yes, indeed. He lived for it.

Lacks empathy.

To put it mildly.

But please note, Dr. Cross and others who might wish to study the long and winding trail — this is a personality disorder. There is no psychosis involved. I am an organized, even obsessive, thinker. I can work out elaborate plots that serve my need to compete, criticize, and control. The three C's. I am rarely impulsive.

Questions you should be asking about me:

Are my parents alive? Answer: Yes and no.

Was I ever married? Answer: Yes.

Any siblings? Answer: Oh, absolutely. Nota bene.

If I'm married, do I have any children? Answer: Two genuine American beauties. Isaw that movie, by the way. Loved Kevin Spacey. Adored him.

And am I attractive, or physically flawed in some minor way? Answer: Yes and yes!

Now, do the homework! Draw the love and the hate triangles in my life, Dr. You're inthe triangles, of course. So is your family — Nana, Damon, Ja

So unravel it, before it's too late for both of us. Not to mention everybody you care about in the world.

I'm right outside your house on Fifth Street, and it would be so easy to barge inside right now. It would have been easy to kill you and the family at the Smithsonian, the "Smitty," as your daughter calls it.

But that would be too easy, too small, and, as I've been trying to tell you...

The phone in the Mastermind's hand was ringing, calling, reaching out to touch somebody. He patiently let it continue.

Finally, Cross picked up.