There Are No Saints

“I lie on the ground, my entire body throbbing. Some of the hurts flare up—my jaw is particularly painful from its collision with the ground. The rest of me feels so heavy that I might as well be trapped inside a cement suit. I’m weighed down, compressed. For the first time, I understand why it might be a relief to allow the soul to slip from the body.”

The sensory-rich language describing Mara’s kidnapping evokes the visceral experience of trauma through specific physical details and metaphor (“cement suit”). The contrast between acute pain (“flare up”) and overwhelming heaviness illustrates two distinct but simultaneous bodily responses to extreme trauma. The final sentence employs a euphemism for death that highlights Mara’s temporary acceptance of mortality, creating tension with her later determination to survive.

“His almond-shaped eyes, the straight slashes of his brows, the line of his nose, the high cheekbones and razor-fine jaw, all relieved by the flawless curve of his lips—I’ve never seen such perfect balance. 

It’s so surreal, I think I must be hallucinating. 

Especially once he stops and stands over me. 

I’ve never seen such coldness on a human face.”

Mara’s artist’s eye catalogs Cole’s features through precise descriptive phrases that emphasize geometric qualities but also suggest violence (“straight slashes,” “line,” “razor-fine”), reflecting the motif of predator and prey. The juxtaposition between physical perfection and emotional emptiness establishes the central contradiction in Cole’s character—aesthetic perfection masking moral emptiness—as seen through Mara’s traumatized perspective.

“I’m not fucking dying here. 

I can’t feel my hands anymore, but I know they’re covered in blood. 

Blood is slippery. Almost as slippery as oil. 

I start twisting my wrists, tugging and pulling, trying to slip my hands free of the plastic ties.”

Mara’s terse, profanity-laden internal monologue creates immediacy while revealing her survival instinct in the face of trauma. The short, declarative sentences mimic her fragmented thought process under extreme duress, while the visceral imagery of using her own blood as lubricant literalizes the theme of Calculated Self-Destruction as a Strategy for Survival; Mara must worsen her injuries to escape.

“I want to watch Mara in this space. I want to see how she walks around her room, how she undresses, how she behaves when she thinks she’s alone. 

I look out her window. 

The adjoining row houses offer no line of sight into Mara’s room. But the house behind hers—the tall Georgian with the black shutters—offers a perfect view from its own attic space.”

The repetition of “I want” reinforces Cole’s entitled perspective and objectification of Mara, while the voyeuristic imagery relates to the surveillance motif. Cole’s methodical assessment of sight lines reveals his predatory calculation, demonstrating his need for control through observation. His immediate plan to buy the house with the perfect vantage point illustrates both his financial privilege and his compulsive fixation on possessing Mara.

“I feel like Peter Parker right after he gets bitten by the radioactive spider, when the onrush of super senses almost makes his brain explode. 

I can still feel the hot moisture of Josh’s breath in my ear and the patch on my arm where his fingers tickled me. 

I hear the shrill sound of Frank’s electric toothbrush and the irritating buzz of the ceiling fan in the living room.”

The pop-culture simile communicates Mara’s post-traumatic sensory hypersensitivity through a familiar reference point. The accumulation of sensory details—tactile, auditory, and thermal—creates a crescendo effect that mimics Mara’s overwhelming experience. The mundane nature of these sensations (breath, toothbrush, fan) emphasizes how trauma has transformed ordinary experiences into sources of distress, illustrating the lasting impact of violence.

“Out of all the thousands of women I’ve encountered, how did Mara catch my attention like a hook through the gills of a fish? 

It’s not because Alastor threw her in my path. 

I noticed her the first moment I saw her, when she spilled wine on her dress. She hardly flinched—just marched into the bathroom, emerging with that makeshift tie-dye that was creative, beautiful, and possessed a spirit of playfulness quite opposite to anything I could have come up with.”

Cole’s description of Mara uses fishing imagery that inverts the predator/prey motif. That Mara is the hook and Cole the fish suggests the fluid power dynamics that come to characterize their relationship, as well as Cole’s growing sense of powerlessness in the face of his obsession. At the same time, his admiration for her creative transformation of the wine-stained dress reveals his attraction to qualities he lacks—spontaneity and adaptability. This passage demonstrates Cole’s complex psychology, where appreciation and possessiveness intertwine, reflecting the theme of The Desire for Control Versus the Demands of Love.

“Thunder rolls, and the rain falls harder. It shatters across her naked skin: on her thighs, her stomach, her bare breasts, her upturned palms, her closed eyelids. It falls in her partly open mouth. 

She’s soaking it in. Feeling the delicious coolness and the tiny impact of each droplet breaking on her skin. 

Her expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure. Fully relaxed for the first time since I’ve been watching her.”

The sensory language here creates a voyeuristic tableau that embodies the motif of surveillance and watching that is central to Cole and Mara’s relationship. After the stress of Mara’s date, the rain’s intimate contact with various parts of her body represents a baptism-like ritual—a symbolic rebirth following trauma. Cole observes this but cannot participate in it, fueling his jealousy. The passage’s lush imagery contrasts sharply with Cole’s characteristically clinical perspective, signaling his growing emotional investment. Ironically, Mara appears most free precisely when under Cole’s intense surveillance, highlighting the power dynamics that drive their interaction.

“‘Cole Blackwell owns the place?’ Erin moans. ‘You’ll probably see him all the time.’

‘You wanna fuck him, too?’ Heinrich teases her. ‘Trying to get a monopoly on slutty artists?’

‘He’s a complete dick,’ Joanna says. ‘Not friendly at all.’

‘Gorgeous, though,’ says Frank.”

The roommates’ contradictory perceptions of Cole—as sexually desirable yet personally unlikeable—mirror the duality of his character and establish dramatic irony, as readers know his true nature. Their varying opinions collectively encapsulate Cole’s public persona, which serves as a mask concealing his predatory intentions. Their casual banter thus creates tonal contrast with the sinister reality of Cole’s crimes and manipulation, heightening tension. The sexual nature of their conversation also establishes Cole’s desirability, foreshadowing Mara’s attraction to him.

“The discounted rate was a fabrication, invented by me on the spot. The same with this grant. It’s all leverage to get Mara right where I want her: completely at my mercy.”

Cole’s admission reveals his calculated manipulation of both institutions and individuals to construct an elaborate trap for Mara. This passage exposes how wealth and influence function as tools of control in the art world, supporting the novel’s exploration of power dynamics. The phrase “completely at my mercy” reveals Cole’s fundamental misunderstanding of Mara’s resilience, foreshadowing her resistance to his control.

“I take the half-finished collage off the easel and rest it against the wall. 

In its place, I set the larger canvas, the one that intimidated me, the one I don’t actually have time to complete.

I pick up a bucket of dark wash and throw it against the canvas, letting it rain onto the floor.”

Mara’s rejection of her collage is a turning point in her character arc. The shift to a larger canvas symbolizes her rejection of the illusion of safety in favor of bold artistic risk-taking—a response to the trauma of her kidnapping. The language mirrors this transformation; she “rests” the collage against the wall but “throws” wash against the new canvas, suggesting calm and violence, respectively. This scene depicts Mara’s method of channeling emotional distress into artistic expression, showing how creation becomes her mechanism for reclaiming agency after violation.

“I’ve never seen myself in another person before. 

Much as Shaw desperately wants to believe we are one and the same, I’ve never felt kinship with him. Very much the opposite. 

There’s only one god in my world. I was alone in the universe. 

And now I see…a spark. 

A spark that interests me.”

Cole’s religious and cosmic language—“one god,” “alone in the universe”—reveals his self-aggrandizing self-concept, which Mara’s unexpected influence has disrupted. The recognition of a “spark” in Mara represents pivotal character development as Cole experiences connection for the first time, even as he frames that connection in self-centered terms. The contrast between Shaw and Mara reveals Cole’s capacity to distinguish between superficial similarity and genuine kinship, revealing his insight into others’ psyches and the potential for empathy. This passage unveils the existential dimension of Cole’s obsession; beyond control or possession, he seeks to understand himself through Mara’s reflection.

“I watch Cole as closely as he watches me. 

I watch while he mentors and instructs me, ripping my painting to shreds and demanding I work and rework it, making me labor constantly, continuously, perfecting it for the show. 

He’s right; that’s what fucking kills me. The things he points out, the things he tells me to change, I see them, too.”

Mara’s vigilant observation establishes mutual surveillance that subverts the expected power dynamic. The violent imagery of Cole “ripping [her] painting to shreds” connects artistic criticism to the novel’s theme of art as creation and destruction, where creative processes require demolition. Mara’s reluctant admission that Cole is right reveals their complex dynamic, as she recognizes his expertise while resisting his control. This passage demonstrates how their shared artistic vision creates a connection between them that transcends their adversarial relationship.

“A hundred eyes surround us. Cameras explode in flashes of blinding light. The air is so thick, you could slice it. 

Cole is so angry that his whole body is a live wire, a thrumming electric line. 

Our mouths meet, and the entirety of that current passes into me. 

I’m jolted awake, my brain opening like a portal into the universe. I kiss him, and I taste his mouth. I taste him. 

Not the mask, not the pretender. 

I taste the fucking animal.”

This passage employs electric imagery and short, staccato sentences to convey the intense physical connection between Mara and Cole during their first kiss. Mara’s ability to perceive Cole’s predatory nature beneath his controlled exterior establishes her unique insight into his character. The juxtaposition of the kiss’s public setting underscores this point, as what others perceive is not what Mara experiences. Meanwhile, the metaphor of Cole as a “live wire” and the kiss as an electric current portrays their relationship as dangerous yet energizing.

“I wanted you. Genuinely. Because I admire you, and you attract me. I wanted to fuck you. But you don’t tell me what to do.”

Mara employs direct, unembellished language to establish her agency within her complicated attraction to Cole. The syntactical structure creates a significant tension—three statements of desire followed by a pivotal “but” that reasserts her boundaries. This moment represents a critical junction in their power dynamic, as Mara separates attraction from (unwilling) submission. Her blunt language also contrasts with Cole’s calculated speech patterns, highlighting their different approaches to power and desire.

“Right then, right as she’s about to come, she looks directly at the camera. She stares at me like she’s looking in my eyes. Her expression is wild and defiant. 

In that moment I realize this whole thing has been a performance. 

She knew I would watch. 

She’s been fucking him for me, at me. 

To get revenge on me.”

This passage reveals Cole’s realization that Mara has weaponized his surveillance against him, transforming from an object into an orchestrator. The repetition of “for me, at me” emphasizes how Mara has inverted the power dynamic by making Cole’s voyeurism part of her performance and frames her actions as a form of targeted aggression. The moment connects to the motif of surveillance, showing how watching can create vulnerability for the watcher: Mara’s direct gaze into the camera symbolically pierces Cole’s invisibility, forcing him to acknowledge his role as the observer and shifting control in their relationship.

“I loved that piece. 

Sometimes you have to kill what you love.”

This terse declaration after Cole destroys his prized solar model encapsulates the novel’s theme of the desire for control versus the demands of love. The destruction of something precious serves as a metaphor for Cole’s approach to relationships—his need to control and ultimately destroy what affects him emotionally. This paradoxical statement reveals Cole’s fundamental belief that attachment creates vulnerability that must be eliminated, foreshadowing his later resolution to kill Mara and thus creating tension.

“I might have loved my mother. She was important to me. I wanted to be near her all the time. I’d go in her room in the morning, when she was still sleeping, and curl up on the end of her bed like a dog. I liked the smell of her perfume on the blankets and on the clothes that hung in her closet. I liked the way her voice sounded and how she laughed. But she died when I was four. So I don’t know if that would have changed as I got older. Children are always attached to their mothers.”

Cole’s rare moment of vulnerability reveals his capacity for attachment through sensory-rich details about his mother. However, the simile comparing himself to “a dog” at the foot of his mother’s bed suggests not only his devotion but also his sense that the emotional connection was degrading or dehumanizing—another indication of how much he values control over his emotions. The final sentence shifts from personal confession to universal statement, creating emotional distance and revealing Cole’s tendency to intellectualize feelings. This passage provides crucial insight into Cole’s character development, suggesting that his emotional detachment stems from early loss rather than inherent coldness.

“‘I’ve acquired you, Mara, like a painting, like a sculpture. Anyone who tries to damage what’s mine will face consequences.’

‘I’m an object to you?’

‘You’re valuable.’”

This exchange encapsulates the central tension in Cole and Mara’s relationship through its diction—“acquired,” as well as the artistic similes that objectify Mara. Rather than contradicting Mara’s accusation, Cole’s response of “You’re valuable” confirms his transactional view of relationships. The passage employs succinct dialogue to expose the fundamental incompatibility in how they view their connection: as ownership versus partnership. This moment connects to the novel’s exploration of the dehumanizing aspects of obsession, showing how Cole’s appreciation of Mara remains firmly within his collector’s mentality.

 “I drag a flat drafting table to the center of the space. I imagine Mara lying upon it…her arms and legs outspread…a spotlight trained on her naked body…

I imagine her tied down the way I’d secure any object before going to work upon it.”

Cole’s artistic imagination merges with violent fantasy as he prepares for Mara’s visit, revealing how thin the line between creation and destruction has become for him. The elliptical fragmentation creates a menacing rhythm that mirrors Cole’s methodical nature, while his comparison of Mara to a piece of art objectifies her. The image of tying her to the table foreshadows the ritualistic scene that will unfold when she arrives at his studio.

“He saw us at the party together. He’s going to take some action, leave some sign to let me know I didn’t fool him for a second. 

He must be over the fucking moon right now. His plan worked better than he ever could have dreamed. 

All he wanted was to entice me into killing Mara. He never imagined I might form an attachment to her. 

And, as difficult as it is for me to admit…that’s exactly what I’ve done.”

This moment reveals Cole’s understanding of Shaw’s machinations and his own unexpected emotional development. The internal monologue exposes the complex game between the two artists/killers, with Mara representing both an artistic canvas and an emotional catalyst. Cole’s admission—“difficult as it is for me to admit”—shows his struggle with vulnerability, directly challenging his identity as someone above human attachment.

“Two men. 

Two psychopaths. 

I stop dead where I stand. 

I’ve seen all the indications with Cole. The way he swaps personas at will. The way he uses his money and influence to manipulate people…including me. The way he doesn’t truly care about anyone or anything. 

That’s not true. He cares sometimes. He cared when he smashed that solar model.”

The stark, declarative sentences reflect Mara’s sudden epiphany about Cole and Shaw’s true natures. The author employs Mara’s immediate self-contradiction to illustrate her internal conflict—rationally recognizing Cole’s dangerous tendencies while emotionally searching for evidence of his humanity. Tellingly, the first example of the latter that she finds involves destruction, suggesting that even Cole’s capacity to “care” manifests in violent ways. This passage demonstrates Mara’s deep ambivalence about her attraction to Cole, embodying the novel’s exploration of calculated self-destruction as a strategy for survival.

“The problem is…I don’t know if I want to go back. 

Mara warps who I am. But in the moment, when I’m with her…I like it. I see things I never saw before. Feel things. Hell, I even taste things differently. 

She’s electric. I touch her, and the current runs through me. She lights me up, turns me on, fills me with energy.”

Electrical metaphors emphasize the transformative effect that Mara has on Cole, creating sensory imagery that contrasts with his typically detached perspective. Cole’s admission reveals vulnerability beneath his controlled exterior, suggesting Mara’s ability to reach past his carefully constructed persona. This passage illustrates the theme of control versus love, showing how his attachment threatens his identity yet offers unprecedented sensory and emotional awakening.

“‘These ideas of right and wrong, good and evil…who taught them to you? Your mother? She’s the worst person you know. Was it the priest at church? Your boss at work? Who decided these things?’

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

‘It’s up to you what’s good and what’s bad. This is your world, your life. You decide what to feel.’”

Cole’s philosophical questioning, interspersed with violent acts, creates a rhythmic intensity that mirrors his attempt to break down Mara’s psychological boundaries. The repetitive onomatopoeia “SMACK!” punctuates his words, emphasizing the fusion of pain and pleasure that characterizes their relationship. His rhetoric challenges conventional morality by connecting it to Mara’s abusive past, suggesting that transgression might be her path to reclaiming agency.