Chapter One

Cora raised her hand to shield her eyes, squinting into the waning light of the evening sun. The blue sky had faded to shades of orange and yellow tinged with pink, heralding the coming of night. In the distance, Gal’s slender frame was silhouetted against the changing light, growing larger as she strode toward the house, limbs gangly and awkward as they had been since the first day she had come to care for Cora twelve years ago. She waved wildly in Cora’s direction and sped up.

“Hey, Miss Cora, how you this evening? Your legs feeling some better?”

Cora tried to smile, the right side of her mouth drooping downward as only the left side moved, making her words come out slow and mangled.

“Some,” she managed, then looked up at Gal standing in the dirt yard beneath the porch and shrugged her good shoulder. Gal stepped back, not pushing for further conversation.

Aggravation ground against her spirit as Cora’s thoughts fired rapidly, stalling between her broken brain and mouth. She watched Gal take the two steps in one, even move and come up behind her wheelchair. She straightened the heavy shawl around Cora’s shoulders to fight the chill that permeated her body, checked to ensure both of Cora’s feet were secure on the footrests, removed the brake, and spun her around to take her into the house.

Cora leaned forward, her eyes darting quickly around the room, checking for the wisps of floating spirits. Exhaling softly, she realized that only the living inhabited the space for the moment. Realizing that Gal had been talking almost nonstop for a few minutes, she cocked her head to the side and began to listen. She raised her eyebrow to indicate that Gal needed to start again.

“You ain’t never gon’ guess who I done seen back up in Rayville, Miss Cora.” She waited for a breath, then answered herself. “Miss Fannie, you know the one what had that little boy everybody used to talk about some years back?”

Cora’s left eye bulged, and her bent forelimb, resting on the arm of the wheelchair, jerked. Her hand flew up to cover her heart, and her mouth formed a startled half circle. Gal continued talking, oblivious to her distress.

“Yes, ma’m, there her was, strutting down Main like she ain’t never left here. I wonder where she been at. You know, I always was thinking that boy of hers had something to do with them dogs being let loose on Miss Baby Doll even if cain’t nobody proves it.” She stopped and stared into the air in front of her. “And I bet all I got he had something to do with that woman what stabbed Miss Baby Doll.”

Cora flinched. It had never occurred to her that Gal had any insight into her mistress’s death. But then, she had never asked her. She alone knew the truth that Gal seemed to have intuited for herself. Cora searched the ceiling, waiting for Baby Doll to appear, then shuddering in relief when she did not.

“Anyway, Miss Hattie in the general store say she back up in that same old shack she used to live in. I wonder what make her come back here. God know if I ever gets out of here, I ain’t never coming back.” She laughed and pushed Cora’s chair to its usual spot near the window, facing into the room.

Gal turned on the radio, moving the knob back and forth until she found a strong signal broadcasting her favorite soap opera. She smiled at Cora and clapped her hands in delight.

“Ma Perkins coming on. I loves her. Don’t you, Miss Cora?” Gal giggled, dropping down on the sofa across from Cora, her conversation about Fannie forgotten, evaporating as she lost herself in the daytime drama. “She always know just what to do.”

Cora grunted, her dismissal of Ma Perkins’s homespun wisdom lost in the garbled tangle of her tongue. She felt shivers running through her body, jangling her nerves and making her good leg and hand tremble simultaneously with enough force to shake the Afghan free of her shoulders. She stared down at it, wondering if Gal would notice.

A flicker of light in the corner nearest the door caught her attention, and she began to moan, drool dripping from her open mouth. She wished desperately she could rise from this wretched chair and confront what was coming on her own two feet, standing tall and strong.

The light resolved itself into shapes and sounds. More than thirty women now flitted in and out of the room, wailing, moaning, and screaming out their rage and despair. They were the steady stream of tragedy that had stained her days and nights until they had abruptly ceased a year ago. Now, they arrayed themselves around her again, eyes staring accusingly and boring into her.

Cora felt her heart race, slamming against her ribs, and she groaned again. So much time had passed since some new lost soul drifted in—time when she had continued to do her penance for her failure, her mind trapped in the remnants of this shattered body. Time that she allowed herself to believe that something had stopped Clyde, praying desperately that death had claimed his darkened soul.

Then last night, she had seen him in her dreams again. Her disembodied form floated, reminding her of the out-of-body experiences that had plagued her for as long as she could recall. In the beginning, they had frightened her, feeling like death, until Mi had explained them. She said they allowed her spirit to travel. Anchored in this body, she welcomed them as she felt her limbs become firm and powerful, functioning as they had before she was caught in this hellishness between existences.

She felt herself drifting down in a familiar clearing, her eyes adjusting to the murky twilight around her. A tingle ran down her spine as she felt the toes of her bare feet dig into the soil, her body solidifying further. She extended her hands upward over her head and stretched, a smile blossoming on her face. Inhaling, she breathed in the scent of the woods around her and listened to the sounds of birds and insects swirling in the air.

Breathing in deeply, she stopped, a new scent assaulting her nostrils. She followed it, and it became stronger, leading her forward. It was him . . . Clyde, slowly moving as he stalked through the woods. His arms filled with the burden of the body he carried, the head and arms hanging toward the ground, the lifeless eyes staring upward. She noticed that his legs had grown stronger and straighter, if not longer.

She watched him. His body stiffened, and he glanced backward over his shoulder, cringing at the aura of light that hid her from him. After a moment, he proceeded forward again, whistling. Studying his aura and how he moved, Cora realized she was not seeing the present but a shadow of Clyde’s past playing in a dark loop.

As her spirit rose, separating her from her form, a thrill ran through her. This time, she saw Clyde huddled in the long grass again, his body hugging itself the way it had when he was young. But now, a bright aura surrounded him, encapsulating him and the darkness. He sat, unaware of her presence. She felt the light returning to her. They were small increments, and for the time being, she remained helpless, unable to do anything but observe him.

Cora fell back against her chair and pounded her closed fist on the arm of the wheelchair. No, he wasn’t dead, and whatever had caused him to cease killing and give them a respite was over. For the first time in a year, she felt Clyde stirring. The darkness was gathering in him again. She would meet it. She would not let it win.