The first time I saw Paris, it was a misty April morning. The kind of morning where the world fades into the distance, its usual sights and sounds softened by the haze, until you can imagine yourself all alone, with only your thoughts to keep you company.
     I was taking what I liked to think of as a morning constitutional, strolling through the park, not far from the apartment I’d been put up in. The azaleas were in bloom, their riot of pinks and other shades dimmed to a pale shadow of their usual glory, but still a lovely contrast to the gray-green shadows cast by the trees. If I’d had my pad with me, I’d have stopped and done some sketches, but for once I’d left it behind, so I could concentrate on a problem I’d been asked to help with.
     I was idly turning the thing over in my mind, pondering it from one angle and another, when she flashed past me, russet hair streaming behind her, a multicolored nylon jacket concealing the soft curves that lay beneath it, and running shoes with little flashing lights, like those you see on tots, accenting the flowing motion of her stride.
     I stopped and stared as the vision disappeared into the mist. A moment, maybe two, not long enough to make a positive identification of a suspect, but more than enough to burn her features into my memory. Even now I can see her as clearly as in that moment, the pale beauty of her face accentuated by the rosy hue her exertions lent her cheeks, the long lithe legs extending from her running shorts, and... admittedly filled in from later observation... the glories which were only hinted at by her attire.
     I spent many a moment going over her features, and imagining my first conversation with their owner, before I actually saw her again. And though in some ways she proved less than my fantasy, in almost every other way she was so much more, that I can still scarcely believe my good fortune.
     I think I mentioned that I’d been asked to help with a small problem. Or perhaps I didn’t. My memory doesn’t seem as good as it was, these days. Not that there’s anything wrong with my mind. The doctor assures me that it’s just a side effect of my medication.
     At any rate, since I was an occasional consultant for the force, I took advantage of my position to see if anyone knew who my vision was, and where I could find her. Which caused a lot of head-shaking and chuckling, and supposedly led to a considerable effort on my behalf. But as it happened, all those efforts went for naught, and it was only by chance that I met her again.
     I’d been dragged to one of those affairs that friends drag you to, to take your mind off other things — in this case, my obsession with the girl everyone else was by now convinced didn’t exist. A monstrous gathering of cretins, going through mating rituals which involved large quantities of alcohol, awkward gyrations to dismal noises supposedly related to music, and a liberal application of lies and half-truths. Needless to say, the well-intentioned members of the force who foisted this misery upon me were soon paired off with members of the opposite sex who seemed as anxious to be bedded as my companions were to accommodate them, so I was able to make an early escape, and find my way home.
     Or at least, that was my intention. But being less familiar with the area than I thought, I was soon lost, and finally sought refuge in an imposing-looking edifice which looked like it should offer suitable lodgings for the night.
     I handed my card to the man at the desk, with the exculpatory thought that as long as my friends on the force were the cause of my plight, the force might as well pay for my room, and turned to idly survey the gleaming wood and marble surfaces ornamenting the vast lobby — and to my great astonishment, saw her sitting at a table in the cocktail lounge across the way.
     She didn’t look the same, of course. Before, she’d been made up for a run in the park. Now... well, I don’t know what she was made up for, but if glamour could be personified, it wouldn’t have held a candle to the way she looked. Her hair was up in a stunning coif, and the maroon gown which clung to her figure couldn’t have done a better job of advertising what lay above or below its low-cut top. I’d thought her gorgeous before, but if I hadn’t been filled with a surge of desire which drove all other thoughts out of my mind, I’d have wondered why every man in sight wasn’t lying prostrate at her feet.
     Which was more or less where I planned to be, as fast as my feet could carry me there. So, ignoring the desk clerk’s halting questioning of my sudden disappearance, I made my way to her side.
     Now, I may be talented in some ways, but I’m not exactly a brilliant conversationalist when in the presence of a girl whose looks take my breath away. And it didn’t help that the burly fellow sitting across from her seemed to take considerable exception to my presence. So I won’t embarrass myself by repeating what passed for my end of our conversation, save to say that I managed to give her my business card, using the excuse that there was an incident in the park the other morning, and if she wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about anything she might have seen, she could contact me as shown on the card. And, miracle of miracles, having received a promise that she would do so, I stumbled back to the desk in a haze of happiness.
     I spent the rest of that night going over every moment of our conversation, reading every possible interpretation into each word, and thereby alternating between exultation and despair. As a result, I never did use the bed the force paid for, but instead called a cab, and returned to my apartment shortly after dawn. Which, as the accountant at the force pointed out, I could have done when I first went into the hotel, and saved a lot of trouble and expense. But, as I pointed out to him... Oh, yes... I see. You want to know about the girl.
     Well, I flopped onto my bed, exhausted and utterly discouraged, save for the two things I hung onto — her promise to call, and her name, which I meant to use to track her down, if she didn’t keep her promise. I know that would have been a low thing to do, but I was desperate to see her again, and it isn’t as though I had to act on the idea.
     It hardly seemed a moment later that the phone rang, and I groggily answered it, then sat bolt upright, at the sound of her voice.
     “Mr. Thompson? This is Miss Perceille. You asked me to call...”
     “Yes, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your doing so.”
     “Well, I did promise... but although I do recall seeing you in the park...”
     I missed much of what she said after that, as I was so entranced with her having remembered me — not that I should have been surprised at that, as she’d admitted the same the night before — that she’d practically finished saying that she couldn’t imagine how she could help me, when I recovered my senses.
     “Can you hold for just a moment, Miss Perceille?”
     “All right.”
     I looked at the clock. Nearly noon. Perhaps I could get her to meet me for lunch, under the pretense...
     No, that wouldn’t work. It might have been all right to use that excuse last night... necessary, even, given the fellow with her. But if there was to be any chance of anything between us, I had to be honest with her. I took a deep breath, and prayed.
     “Um... Miss Perceille?”
     “Yes?”
     “I have a confession to make, and I hope you won’t just hang up on me, but will give me a chance to explain...”
     Her voice took on a wary tone. “And that would be?”
     “When you passed me in the park the other day... well, let’s just say that you made a great impression on me, and when I saw you last night, I couldn’t help but try to talk with you.”
     “So... what you said last night was a lie? You aren’t really a police consultant?”
     “No, I am. But that isn’t why I asked you to call me. I just wanted to hear your voice again. To talk with you for a moment, and perhaps, if I were very lucky, to convince you to have lunch with me, today.”
     There was a long silence at the other end of the line.
     “Miss Perceille? Are you still there?”
     “Yes, I am. I’m just thinking...”
     “It needn’t be a long lunch. And there wouldn’t be any expectation on my part that I’d ever see you again. And if your companion objects to your coming...”
     “My companion?”
     “The fellow who was with you last night?”
     “Sergei? He’s... just a business acquaintance.”
     My heart soared. “I see. So, about my offer of lunch... is there any way I could convince you to take me up on it?”
     Well, to make a long story short, she did meet me at the deli on the corner near the park, and for the next hour I did the best I could to make her think I was the most interesting fellow in the world, and to convince her that I thought her by far the most enchanting girl in the world, and though I’m not sure how well I did with the former, she was sufficiently taken by the latter, and by the sketch I did while we talked, that she agreed to meet me again.
     That was the start of the happiest time in my life. She had a busy schedule, and of course until the case I was helping with was over, I was busy as well, so we didn’t see each other nearly as often as I’d have liked. But the moments when we were together were electric, whether just laughing and talking at some diner, or having her sit for one of the numerous studies you must have seen at my place, or making love after I finished one of them — or more and more often, even before I finished.
     I’m sure that at first, she liked me more than she loved me, but she loved being adored, and I was the crazy-in-love fellow who adored her. And I did have another thing in my favor — the two grand portraits I wanted to do of her, one dressed to the nines, as she was in the lounge that night, and the other wearing nothing but a smile. She often laughed, her eyes twinkling with merriment, and said what a great joke it would be if they ended up hanging on some museum wall, enshrining her as the greatest beauty of our age.
     What kind of joke? Well, hard as it may be to believe, she was, to use her own words, an ugly duckling as a child, and teased unmercifully by her peers. It wasn’t until after she left the small town she was born in that she became the beauty I knew.
     Yes, I know they don’t look like museum pieces at the moment. But once I’m better, and can finish them, no one who sees them will ever look at another woman in the same way again. And you must have seen my other work, so you have to admit that for an artist of my humble talent to have created such beauty, the subject must have been absolutely stunning.
     At any rate, the case I was helping with finally ended, and I asked her to stay with me, in my place upstate. She was reluctant, as she made a lot of money at her job — far more than I did, either as an artist or as a consultant — but I pointed out that aside from having more time to enjoy each other’s company, I could finish the portraits far sooner, if I had more time with her. So in the end she accepted, and we piled my sketches and things, and what little she needed into her car, and flew to what I think of as our little part of heaven.
     Those were glorious days, even better than in the city. She had become completely uninhibited around me, and usually wandered around the way I liked her best. And save for the smock I wore to paint, I took to doing the same, so we could move from work to play and back again, as the mood struck. At first, of course, play was my order of the day, but as the paintings began to take shape, I was seized with a frenzy of ambition, and toward the end, she would tire of sitting, and seduce me into abandoning my work, well before I wanted to. Not that I minded, of course. Muses are supposed to seduce you, aren’t they? Or perhaps that’s sirens... but she qualified on either count, so...
     Sorry. I do ramble on. But can you blame me? What would you have done, in the same situation? Exactly.
     I managed to keep her there for almost a month, essentially finishing the portraits, at least as far as I needed her to sit for them. I wanted her to stay till I was done, but she was a quick study, and although she knew nothing about painting when we started, by the time I’d finished the nude, she’d learned enough to realize that I didn’t need her to sit while I finished the background. And though I would need her for the drapery on the gown, she was sure I could spare her for a week or so, before she sat for that. In fact, just before we made love for the last time, she teased me about having done a full-length study in the buff, just to keep her longer.
     “Not just for that,” I replied. “As snugly as the gown fits from the waist up, I had to do a nude study, to make it look right. Perhaps a more experienced artist could have done the gown without that, but for me...”
     She laughed, a wonderful, bell-like laugh that could have lit the world with its sound. “Given the way you’ve manhandled me the last few weeks, I’d say you’re about as experienced as any artist could be.”
     “It isn’t as though you’ve objected,” I pointed out.
     She sighed, and shook her head. “No, I haven’t.” Her expression turned wistful. “We have had a wonderful time, haven’t we?”
     There was something about the way she said it that made me uneasy, but I didn’t want to spoil things, so I forced a light laugh. “You sound as if you’re saying goodbye forever, instead of for just a week or two. Don’t forget, I’ll need you back, to do the drapery from the hip down.”
     “I won’t forget; and I’m already looking forward to it. I just wish I didn’t have to leave at all.”
     “Are you sure you do? I know you make more than I do, but if you could live on love, I’ve plenty to spare, and...”
     She put a finger to my lips, and shook her head, while tears welled in her eyes. “It’s not that. If it were just that, I’d forget about the rest of the world, and just stay.”
     “Then what is it?”
     A sly gleam lit her eye, and she adopted a Russian accent. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
     I blinked. “You sound like that cartoon spy, what’s-her-name. You’re not going to try to convince me that you’re a spy, are you?” I remembered her companion from the hotel. “Or Sergei?”
     She laughed. “Sergei, a spy? Don’t you think he’d be a bit obvious?”
     I frowned. “I suppose so. Still...”
     “Bill... If you’ll make me a promise, I’ll make you one, too...”
     “That would depend on the promise.”
     “Just wait for me. Work on the paintings, relax, dream of our future. But don’t do anything else. Just wait for me.”
     “And if I promise?”
     “Then I’ll do what I can to wrap up my business affairs, and come back to you, forever and ever.”
     I cocked my head. “I don’t know... I think there would have to be some changes made, if you do that.”
     “What kind of changes?” she asked, uncertainly.
     “Well, it’s one thing to have you here as my lover, for a few weeks. But if you’re going to come to stay, I think we should get married.”
     Tears filled her eyes, and she hugged me, as hard as I think I’ve ever been hugged.
     “That would be wonderful...” she whispered. “Are you sure?”
     “As sure as I am that Paris will soon be burning.” That was corny, I know, but I liked joking about her name, and she was in flames, of a sort, before we were done.
     That afternoon, she drove back to the city, and I went back to my studio, longingly stared at her portraits for a while, then went to bed and slept for a couple of days. Then I pulled myself together, and got to work. And it’s a good thing, because I don’t know how you fellows got into my place, but I’m sure Paris would have been embarrassed to have anyone see her in the nude in both of them. She’s proud of the real nude, but she said that seeing the nude study of the other one made her feel like she could never wear that gown, ever again, because she’d feel just as naked wearing it, as she was in the picture. In fact, now that I think of it, that’s the only time I’ve ever seen her blush.
     No, that was the last time I saw Paris. I’m sure I’ll see her as soon as the doctors get in touch with her, and let her know that I’m here, but...
     No, I don’t know what happened. I remember things up till the day I found her keycard under the sofa, and decided to drive into town and surprise her, but I don’t even remember leaving the house. But the doctor says that kind of memory loss is common when you’ve had a bad accident, so I’m hopeful that once I’m better, I’ll remember most of what... hap...
     
     Thompson turned and looked at the portraits, and a troubled look came over him. “Paris...”
     The nurse turned to his visitor. “You’ll have to go now. He’s late for his medication.”
     The man nodded, and followed the doctor into the hallway. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the keening sound now coming from the room.
     “Is he always like this, when the medication wears off?”
     “Yes. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. I believe that, consciously or not, he is now facing whatever drove him to his present state.”
     The visitor looked at the monitor. Thompson was still agitated, but whatever the nurse had injected him with seemed to be having some effect, already.
     “He seemed fine, even happy, until a moment ago.”
     The doctor nodded. “He is happy, most of the time. He looks at the paintings, smiles, and rambles on about his love affair to whatever audience is available, whether real or imaginary.”
     “So what’s wrong with that?”
     “Nothing, if you want to keep him here for the rest of his life. But aside from the ethical questions involved in keeping the truth from him, there’s...”
     “The truth? I thought no one knows what happened to him.”
     The doctor eyed him warily. “Oh, I’m sure someone knows. But you can rest assured, it’s not anyone here. All we know is what we were told when he was brought here.”
     “So, what is there to tell him?”
     “That he has been here for more than a year, and he shouldn’t expect to see his girlfriend, anytime soon.”
     “And you think that will make him feel better?”
     “He will undoubtedly be dismayed and depressed at first. But once he questions the fantasy we have allowed him to maintain, that he has only been here a few days, we can help him face the demons that torture him.”
     The visitor shook his head. “I don’t know, doc. Sometimes, when you face demons, they eat you alive.”
     “I know there is a risk involved; but with modern techniques, the risk can be minimized. You’ve heard how eloquent he can be. You’ve seen the work he did. Even unfinished, it is quite remarkable. He could be a valuable member of the community, if he can be cured.”
     The man riffled through the papers the doctor had given him. “I don’t know. I’ll pass these on, along with my observations. But you aren’t to do anything, unless you receive official permission. Is that understood?”
     The doctor nodded. “Of course.”
     The visitor looked at the monitor again, and sighed. If only Sergei had put the carving knife away, instead of leaving it on the counter. If only Thompson hadn’t walked in while they were practicing self-defense. If only Svetlana had let Sergei defend himself, instead of stepping between them. If any number of things had happened differently, Sergei wouldn’t have had to bury his daughter, and Thompson would have been spared the horrors he suffered from killing his lover. He thought of the sound Thompson had made, and shivered. Demons, indeed.
     “You know, doc, I don’t think you’ll get permission to try anything new, anytime soon.”
     “But...” the doctor started to protest.
     The man turned to him. “You like your nice, cushy job here, don’t you, doc?”
     “I... well, of course I do,” the doctor replied, uneasily.
     “And you wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it, would you?”
     Beads of perspiration formed on the doctor’s forehead. “I... that is... of course not.”
     “That’s good. So if you get turned down, don’t feel too bad. After all, it’s not like you’re torturing him.” The visitor looked at the monitor again. Thompson was sleeping, a smile on his face, as peaceful as a baby. “In fact, if you think about it... if he stays as he is, he’ll always have Paris. And what could you offer him, better than that?”