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Chapter One:

Drought

Everything changed after Elijah came to Beverly.

I grew up here in Louisiana and it was my home. There are days

that I'm angry at myself for not leaving and just going to a big city

somewhere, or moving back to New Orleans. There are days that I

regret not marrying Reed who went on and made something of himself in

California amid the palm trees and Pacific Ocean beaches. And there

are days I hate myself for not being able to go to Julliard and study

music and just getting out.

But Beverly is a part of me, and I am her. It was what my

mother named me and when she died while we were living in New Orleans

my Grandfather thought it best that I move back to the town of my

name sake.

Eli had been in Beverly for all of three months when I met him.

Ray Warren owned the local gas station and repair shop and it had

been in his family as far back as Beverly had needed one. It was a

surprise to everyone when this unknown from up north brought up the

old Louisiana Mutual building over on Temper Road on the outer part

of the town proper and turned the first two floors into a garage and

repair shop. For three months just about no one saw him, and no one

was going to his shop. I'm not even sure if anyone knew he was still

in business.

It was the end of August and it was so damn hot that I felt like

I could melt if I stayed out in the sun for too long. It hadn't



rained for a month and the guys on the television were saying that it

could turn into the worst drought in some time.

It was six in the morning and the sun was already too bright and

there wasn't a cloud in the sky save for a wispy little bit of a

thing that was all alone. My Grandfather died five years before and

the only thing he could leave me was his Dodge Charger that he had

restored. I've never been much into cars, but even I can admit that

was one sexy car. Beside s the emotional value, however, it was also

a necessity of life down here. You don't have a car you're pretty

much persona non-grata because the public transit was pretty much

non-existent.

And here I was on the corner of Main and Temper and God help me

my car wouldn't start. Now like I said I don't know much about cars,

but I knew that Ray's shop wouldn't be open until eight and it was

just six-thirty right then, and I had just about no options. I work

as a dispatcher for the local Police, and I couldn't be late for a

job like that. I slammed the car door in such frustration, and

looked around. I didn't even have my cellphone on me since it was in

the next town over getting repaired. At six thirty there was just

about no one around. Realistically the Police Station is withing

walking distance, but in the heat that was pouring down like the

Devil's own furnace and me in a white shirt – well, let's just say

that I didn't want to give everyone a free show.

And there was the old Louisiana Mutual building and I remembered

what I was told about it's new occupant. I wiped the sweat off my



brow and approached slowly, hoping that someone would at least be in.

My prayers were answered as I drew closer and noticed the lights on

and the sound of machinery within. Someone was inside and working.

I looked down and unbuttoned my top two buttons to show a little

cleavage; I noticed it always made Ray give me a discount and I'm not

above turning myself into eye candy to get a good discount. I

knocked on the door, and waited. When no one answered, I knocked

again this time louder. The work stopped for a moment, then

continued on, as if he didn't believe there was someone knocking on

his doorway.

I knocked again and this time when the work stopped I shouted as

loud as I could, “Hey, is someone in there? I need some help out

there.”

I heard footsteps from inside and stepped back so the door could

open without giving me a knot on my head. The door swung open slowly

as if the person inside wasn't quite sure how to handle someone

knocking on his door.

I'm five four and if I had to guess I would say that the man who

stood on the other side of the now opened door way stood about five

ten. He was dressed in a dirty white tank top, black in several

places with grease stains, and a pair of jeans that had obviously

been lived in. I could see behind him several cars, one covered with

a tarp, and probably the biggest pick-up truck I've ever seen and I

live below the Mason-Dixon line. They caught the sunlight and shone

and vibrated.



The man who stood there sized me up and down and I hoped that

some part of him, either his heart or his loins, would give him the

motivation to help me.

“Mornin',” I started, “That's my car right there, in the

intersection, and I was hoping you could help me. It just turned off

at the red light and wouldn't start again. Is there any way you

could help me?”

He stared at me for a moment as if he were sure I had two heads.

Then slowly, as if he were remembering how to talk aloud, he spoke in

this quite, but in now way gentle voice. Surprisingly, though they

said he was from Boston he spoke the way a native son of Louisiana

does. He might have been from Boston, but he wasn't originally.

“Yeah, I don't do that. There's a gas station down the street.”

He started to close the door, but I grabbed hold of it. Likely

he could have simply forced it, but he didn't, and I'm not sure why.

“Please,” I told him. I don't like to beg, but I was desperate. “At

least let me use the phone.”

“Don't have one.” And he just stood there, as if he were having

some kind of internal monologue, and after a moment he just looked

tired. “You have somewhere to be?”

“I work at the police station. About two miles away, and it's

hot out here. I might find something, but usually people don't get

started around here until seven or seven thirty. Is there any way

you could help me?”

He sighed, looked over to my car again, and then looked a bit



intrigued. “You drive that?”

I smiled nervously, “Yeah. That's mine.”

“All right, I'll take a look. Come on in for a moment while I

get some things.”

He held the door open for me and I followed him through. I

stood in probably the biggest room I'd ever stood in. There were no

walls except what kept the outside out, and what was lode bearing.

There were four cars I could see. The truck I mentioned that was

truly massive. It was about as big as you could get without being a

tractor trailer. There was something underneath a tarp that for some

reason made me nervous to look at, as if the tarp were to protect the

world from it instead of keeping all the dirt and grease away from

getting to the paint coat. Some old car sat in the corner and I

couldn't help but feel that it was staring at me. I began to rethink

the kind of men who would spend all their time with cars. The fourth

car was something he was working on up on the lift. It looked like

an old Buick.

He got his things together quickly and came back with a tool bag

filled with things that I didn't really recognize. “I'm Eli by the

way. Short for Elijah. What's yours?”

“Name's Beverly. Same as the town.” He stared at me for a

moment then gave some kind of small smile.

“Fine then. Won't you show me to your car.” Somehow he had

become far more friendly and I wasn't entirely sure what changed.

I lead him outside and he squinted in the daylight. Quickly I



opened the door and popped the hood. Immediately it was like he

forgot about me, and started working on the engine. I stood behind

him and watched him, but he might have been doing brain surgery for

all I knew. As I said, cars weren't my thing.

He worked for all of thirty minutes without saying a word. I

didn't dare bother him after he started the morning not even able to

be polite. There's a funny thing that happens when you start

watching someone. You start noticing all those things about them

that don't get noticed on the first impression. The way his

shoulders moved as he worked, or the way he bit his lower lip as he

was concentrating. His hands worked quietly, delicately, as if he

were caressing a woman with them. And just for a moment I imagined a

man touching me like that, and I couldn't help but look at him that

way. Once you see someone like that, it's hard to look at them anyI

way else.

Then just like that he straightened up and I expected him to say

something along the lines that he couldn't help me or that I was

better off with Ray or that I was a woman and that women shouldn't

have cars like that (I had actually been told that).

Instead he simply said, “Turn it on, let's see what happens.”

I turned the key and the engine caught and felt stronger than

ever before. It sounded like a freaking choir of angels right then.

“Oh my God, you fixed it. Thank you so much!” I could lay it on

thick when I wanted to.

He smiled sheepishly, and closed the hood carefully, not like I



ever did by simply dropping it from on high. “This is a good car.

You should treat her better. It's a she, by the way. Just saying.”

I didn't even know what to say to that. “Well, uh, how much do

I owe you?”

He shrugged, “Don't worry about it. Like I said, I don't do

this sort of thing anymore. And I'm not looking to take any business

away from the station down the street.” He brushed his hand across

the hood again, but his eye caught the bass guitar in my back seat.

“You play?”

I looked back at it and nodded, “Yeah. And what do you mean you

don't to take business away from Ray? Aren't you a mechanic?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, “I have a select clientele.

The people who come to me aren't likely to go to a place like the

station down the street. So I'm not going to take any of those

customers away from him.” He shrugged and then sighed, “Anyway, I

should be going back inside.”

“Wait.” I touched his shoulder and was surprised that in this

blistering heat he could be so dry. “Look, I need to do something

for helping you. You like music?”

“Yeah. I like music fine enough.”

“I'm playing down at Rhapsody tonight with some friends and I

could get you in. You know, as a favor. Or as thanks.”

He looked far away for a moment but said, “If I can, sure. It

sounds fun.” He reached down and picked up his things. “Nice to

meet you Beverly.”



It was the end of August and it was hot as hell.



Chapter Two:

Prayer and Sin

There ain't much to do in Beverly, and in the center of town

there are two places that divide the town right down the middle. At

one end of Main Street where it meets with Elizabeth is the First

Baptist church of Evangeline County. At the other end, just before

Main meets Temper there is Rhapsody, a combination restaurant, night

club and bar. At one end everyone prayed and at the other all anyone

wanted to do was sin.

As I said, there ain't much to do in Beverly, and the town was

divided just like the street was. There were those who spent their

days praying for a way to absolve them of their sins and there were

those who spent their Sundays learning new ways to sin. I play bass

guitar in a band called Jefferson's Cross, so honey, what category do

you think I'd prefer to fall in?

I arrived at Rhapsody just after work just like always when I

had a gig. I keep a change of clothes in my car so I don't have to

go home after the police station. I had changed into a miniskirt and

a red tank top that showed off a tattoo I'd gotten shortly after my

Grandfather died. He wouldn't have approved, but likely he wouldn't

have approved of a lot of what I've done.

Ray Warren was there at a booth when I walked in, eating some

steak fries and drinking a beer. Ray and I used to date, if dating

was the word I'm looking for, which it isn't. Dating implies your

with the one you love. How does that song go? Love the one you're



with? That was Ray and me. The truth was, we barely even liked each

other but we were good for each other in other ways. Bad too, but we

both knew that going in.

He sat with Lee, and when I said that there were two types of

people in this town? Lee was the other kind. I've known Lee since I

moved back to Beverly too; he lived in the house just across from my

Grandfather's. Now he moved out into an apartment that was the size

of a closet, but he didn't seem to mind.

I walked over to the both of them and sat down next to Lee, who

like a gentleman, made room. I smiled at him sweetly. “Evenin' Lee.

Didn't expect to see you here.”

Ray grinned at me in that lewd way men do when they think

they're getting lucky, but Ray wasn't that lucky tonight. Not with

me anyway. Lee's smile was much more genuine, but he looked nervous

like he always did around women, or at least women when they're

dressed like I was just then.

“Evening Beverly. You know I had to come when I heard you were

playing here tonight.” I think Lee thought he could save my soul, or

at least safeguard it until I decided to save it myself, but I think

he really did like me. He probably liked me more than he liked to

admit, but at least I trusted his feelings were real. In a place

where I've had a person look me straight in the eye and tell me that

I was going to hell and be completely serious, his manner was

reassuring. The boy was uncomplicated. And that's hard to find on

either side of the street.



“Well that's just nice of you.” I looked across the table and

met Ray's eyes. “You know Ray, I could have used you this morning.”

“Could you?” He took a sip of his beer. “What happened? Car

trouble?”

I stole a fry from him. “Sure. But it was early and you weren't

up yet. You know that new guy? Over on Temper? I got him to fix

it. Did a right fine job too.”

He paled, and then managed to not look furious that I had gone

to someone else. I'd just completely undermined his masculinity and

I was okay with that. “You went to someone else Beverly? That's

cold.”

I just smiled at him. “He didn't even charge me anything. Talk

about weird.” I took another fry but he wasn't paying attention.

“You mind if I take a look? Just to make sure he didn't mess

anything up?”

I shrugged, and looked around. There wasn't anyone else here

yet and drinking alone sucked just as much as drinking with these

three. “Got a moment now? Before you've had one too many to drink

and you puke all over my engine.” He took another sip of his beer,

and stood up, leaving his bag on the booth seat.

“Sure. Coming Lee?” Lee shrugged and came along as well. Not

like he knew what he was looking at, but not like there was anything

else going on in Rhapsody either.

I parked my car fairly close to the door so it wasn't long

before I popped the hood. Ray wasn't looking under there a minute



before he shot up, banged his head right against it. “Mother

fucker!”

“Hey now.” Lee didn't like it when he cursed around the ladies.

I think it's sweet how he thinks I don't hear those words. I think

it's sweet how he thinks I never use them.

“Well shit Lee.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“You all right?” That was me. “Here, let me see.” I parted

his hair back and it was just scalp. He might have a bump in the

morning. “You look fine.” Lee was looking at me with, well, the

kind of look that Ray sometimes looked at me when I was with another

man. I knew Lee was sweet on me, otherwise a boy like him wouldn't

be found in Rhapsody tonight.

“Of course I'm fine. But I don't know what the hell he did with

your car. Jesus, it's a mess in there.”

I looked in, but like I said, I don't know cars. One engine

looks like another to me. Unfathomable. I crossed my arms and

shrugged, “There ain't nothing in there I know about. What's wrong

with it.”

“Well, it shouldn't be working. What the hell did he do to it?

It's a miracle this thing's running. I don't even know what this

is.” He was pointing towards the center of the engine block where

something was attached to the engine that I didn't recognize.

“Well, don't touch it. I need this car.”

“You're going to have to take it in tomorrow. I don't want you

driving around with this thing.”



See, that's what I don't like about Ray. He likes telling

people what to do instead of just suggesting it, or finessing it. He

just orders. “It drives fine Ray. When she breaks down again, I

promise you I'll bring her right to you.”

He looked like he had some fight in him, but Lee cut him off.

“Wait, you're saying the guy over on Temper Road fixed this? The guy

who brought that building?” I nodded. “Beverly, I think Ray is

right, I've been hearing bad things about that guy. I mean there's

that woman that comes in and out of there all the time.”

I laughed, “You think he might be a problem because he has a

woman who comes visiting him?”

He looked uncomfortable, “Well, no. Not just any woman. Look,

I've met her. There's something not right about her. She's missing

a thumb and she's just...she's just wrong. Brick says he always sees

her going up into those woods where Mama Rourke lives.” Mama Rourke

was an old woman who lived in the forest in an old trailer or a bus

or something. They say she practices Voodoo; when there's something

that happens that people can't explain they'll always say that Mama

Rourke did it. I'd only seen her once, this hobbled woman who walked

slowly down Main. Frankly she was a bit creepy, but she was just an

old woman.

“Well, even if that's true, I still can't have Ray taking my car

for God knows how long right now. I don't have another day off until

two weeks from now.”

I unlatched the hood, and this time, I carefully let the hood



close and lock.

Back in high school they called the three of us musical

prodigies. Jefferson always sang and his voice was like sweet honey

over a stone. It was him I met first and he introduced me to Bobby,

who played the six string and listened to BB King and Fats Domino and

Eric Clapton all day. If Bobby could drink guitar solos he would

because I swear that boy got drunk off them.

When they were looking for a drummer they found me. I played

bass, and I was probably good enough to go to school for it, but I

could never afford a school. Jefferson was the only one who could –

and did, and when he came back home, he thought we should just start

the band right back up again just like we always did.

Rhapsody was the place we played the most and it was the place

we liked the most. The lights were all turned towards the three of

us right up there on stage and the crowd was dark. There was a cold

beer that was quickly turning warm under the lights on the amp next

to me, and I took drinks between songs trying to let the bass come

out of my soul.

Back when we were in school together Jefferson liked to say that

music that you might hear in a church or on a classical CD is about

love, and the blues are about sex, but rock is about fucking. Part

of me agreed with him, but whenever I played the bass I felt like I

was trying to reach out to the hand of God.

I was on my fourth beer and nearing the end of the set when I



looked out into the crowd and there standing in the back was Elijah.

I think I was surprised to see him, but I wasn't surprised he came.

No one seemed to notice him standing in the back, and new people in

Beverly are usually found out quickly and the closest word for what

it turns into is interrogation.

It was strange seeing him in a crowd, because it didn't seem

right. Some people are social animals, but he just carried himself

like he didn't want any of these people. I tried to imagine

something like that and I just couldn't.

I played the final chord and let it just hang there in the air.

Then the applause washed over us like waves on a shoreline, pushing

us and pulling us. Jefferson spoke for us like he always did and

Bobby was already putting away the six string, cradling it like a

child in his arms. He was actually expecting his first child in

January, and I wondered if he would treat him or her with the same

amount of reverence.

Jefferson turned back to me. “That was great shit Bev. You too

Bobby. I'm soaked.” We all were. We'd played for almost an hour on

stage under those hot lights. I put my guitar back in the case and

slung it across my shoulder.

“Thanks. I'm going to see if I can find someone.” They

probably thought I meant Ray, or Lee, but I was looking for Elijah.

I went out into the crowd, and I smiled at all the thanks, and

managed to get the numbers of two guys who were from Maxiel down the

road a few miles that thought a woman who played the bass was the



sexiest thing they'd ever seen. I pocketed the numbers and moved on.

Lee found me in the crowd, “Beverly, you were great tonight.

When are you guys going to cut an album?”

I smiled at him, “Well we will eventually. We're trying to get

the money, and one day we'll play at New Orleans. Could you just

imagine that?”

He smiled at me in that shy way he always did and I tried to

look for Elijah in the crowd. If he had been here he wasn't now. I

turned my attention back towards Lee, linked my arm into his. I was

buzzed, and I wanted some company tonight, and what's the phrase?

Love the one you're with?

We started kissing in his car. Let me rephrase that. I started

kissing Lee in his car, when he offered to drive me home and I knew I

was too drunk to drive. My bass guitar came with me, because there

was no way I was going to leave that in my car over night in the

parking lot at Rhapsody. Lee put me in the passenger's side and when

he got into the driver's side I just started kissing him. We were

both drunk, me more than him, but I needed someone; I've felt like

I've always needed someone to spend the night with since my Grandad

died. You think there's a psychological mess there?

It was the first time Lee and I were hooking up, and thank God

it wasn't his first time with any woman. It didn't take much between

him and me, since we'd been flirting with the idea of hooking up for

years. Since high school.



He drove us back to his apartment, and his apartment he tried to

be real gentle but I took him hard. I'm just not that kind of girl,

but one day Lee would have made some other girl real happy. And on

so many different levels.

I was never in love with him. I think up until then I'd never

been in love with anyone. Oh, I'd loved, if you could call what I

did love. I wouldn't have. But I'd never been in love. I wasn't

with Lee either, but it was the closest I had ever come. I was

friends with him first.

That was why, when I left him at 2 in the morning, newly sober,

or at least sobering up, I was practically glowing I was so happy. I

was almost skipping.

I walked down Temper Road listening to the music in my head with

my bass guitar on my back. A real lady might have stayed in Lee's

bed till morning; but a real lady would have been dead the next day.

I was near Elijah's garage when I saw that truck of his coming

down the road like a monster, or a devil. It had this dark sound,

like an angry God, but didn't sound like a truck should. I could

barely see it, save for the two headlights that shone in the dark

night.

I almost called out until I saw who sat in the driver's seat.

It was a woman with red hair all done up. She was beautiful in her

own way, but to look at her left me feeling cold. As she passed me,

she looked in my direction and for a moment we made eye contact, and



just for a moment the universe stood still. It just stopped. And it

wasn't the drunk and it wasn't the post orgasmic lull that just

sometimes pops over you. It was as if the universe just stopped.

Then she looked away and nosed the truck into the open garage.

I didn't know her name yet, but I had just seen Elise.



Chapter Three:

Fourteen Seconds

BB King was on the radio singing about how he'd been downhearted

and I wondered just what I had done to deserve feeling this way. I

remembered Lee and how his hands felt on me the night before and God

help me I was happy. I hadn't been happy in a long time, at least

not like this. Not since my Grandfather died and left me more than

an orphan.

The clock on the side of the bed said that it was 6:30 and I

would have to get started if I wanted to make it to work on time. So

I got up and threw on some clothes, and walked into the kitchen to

start making hotcakes. I don't know what the hell was wrong with me,

it's like I fucked a boy and I just felt like a whole new person. I

never cook, and here I was, just finishing over the hot stove when

there came a knock on the door and I saw a black and white outside.

I glanced at the time, it was only seven in the morning and I

wondered just what I'd done to warrant the cops showing up at my

house this early in the morning.

Quietly I made my way to the front door and opened it. Red

Wicker stood on the other side of the screen door, shifting from one

foot to the other looking as nervous as a school girl before the

prom. He had this expression on his face like he had swallowed

something bad, and I knew whatever he was here for it wasn't likely

something I'd done. I mean, the last night what I might have done



with Lee was illegal, but it wasn't as if they would know that.

Red Wicker was the local sheriff. I knew him because I worked

for him, but the only other time he'd been out to my house was when

my Grandfather died. “Mornin' Red. Something wrong? You look

upset.”

“Morning Ma'am,” the ma'am only came out when something was

wrong. “Mind if I come in a moment?”

I opened the door and he stepped inside, his hat literally in

his hand. “Would you like to sit down? I made some hotcakes if

you'd like some.”

“No ma'am, I really don't think I could eat a single thing right

now. I'm sorry, but I have to ask you where you were last night.”

I lead him through to the kitchen where the hotcakes lay in a

stack on a plate next to the pan. I'd made too many, but the recipe

was my Grandmother's and she always did like to feed more than one.

“Well,” I told him as I started to clean the pan, “I was over at Lee

Callahan's place last night. There until two in the morning,

thereabouts, then came home.”

He had this expression on his face like he was relieved and

sorry to hear it all at once. “Well, that's what we heard too. Do

you have some time so you can come down to the station and we can

take your statement?”

I was taken aback. What the hell had happened. “Now what are

you talking about? What's happened? And you know I work over at the

station.”



He bit his lip. “Lee Callahan was attacked last night, probably

shortly after you say you left. He didn't make it. Lee's dead.”

There's no way to take something like that.

When it happens, and someone you care about in one way or the

other gets hurt, or they die, you feel personally attacked. Like

someone just steps in and rips everything you have out of you. For

fourteen seconds I just stood there and stared. For fourteen seconds

all I did was stand there and stare. It felt like an eternity; for

Red it must have felt even longer because he was the one who just

watched me.

For fourteen God damn seconds all I could do was stand there.

I went to the police station in a fog, driving my Grandfather's

car automatically, and attempting to keep it together. Lee and I had

a lot of shared history together and now it just felt empty.

It didn't take me long at the police station to realize that

they were considering me a suspect. I couldn't blame them. Lee's

next door neighbor had said that she saw me coming out of his

apartment at 2 am, and it wasn't like I was denying it.

I didn't kill Lee, but I felt sick to my stomach and I was

crying. I was actually crying. I hadn't cried in years. I hadn't

even cried when my Grandfather lay there on my kitchen floor dead of

a heart attack. Here I was in the interview room balling like I was

five years old again.

I felt vulnerable.



When I left they said that I should take some time off, since I

was a suspect, and to have a suspect working as a dispatcher sounded

like a conflict of interest. I understood.

I collected my things, and walked out into the hall in search of

sunlight and the promise of absolution from whatever sins I might

have on me. It was the middle of the day, and the floor was crowded

with people, but I saw Lee's parents right away. I'd known them for

as long as I'd known Lee. They lived across from me and I looked at

them and just saw so much sadness. No parent should have to live

through the death of their child.

But then again, no child should have to live through the death

of a parent. Sometimes the world is just fucked up that way.

I approached them carefully. You never know what to say in a

situation like this. “I'm sorry your son was murdered,” just doesn't

cut it. It's like a parody of what life is supposed to be. I walked

up to them and I looked into their eyes and I just wanted to tell

them I was sorry. For what I didn't know. I was sorry but I hadn't

done something wrong. Maybe I was just sorry.

Mrs. Callahan never let me get that far. The word stuck in my

throat and her eyes seemed to just turn black as she looked at me

with such anger, and such rage that I had never seen before. “You!”

she screamed. Screamed isn't the word. She was growling like a

monster or a beast. “You killed my son!” It sounded barely human.

She didn't sound human. She just lunged at me, grabbed me and took

me down to my knees.



She was violence impersonated and she scratched my face and neck

with her fingernails. She punched me twice in the head, and my eye

felt like it exploded. I tried to push her away, I tried to

struggle, but she just kept coming and coming and coming and coming.

I don't know what happened next. I didn't lose consciousness,

just awareness. There were police and civilians and Mr. Callahan and

it took all of them to contain this...I don't even know what to call

her at that point. She wasn't a woman. She was a creature. She was

a demon. She was still screaming in that terrible voice when they

dragged her off me, and they dragged her off out of sight into a

closed off room. Mr. Callahan looked over his shoulder and he almost

looked apologetic towards me.

Red Wicker helped me up; I was dazed, but not dizzy. I wiped my

lip and my hand came back with blood. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah Red, I'm fine. I'll be okay. I just need to

go home.”

He paused for a moment and studied me. “You know, I have to ask

this, but do you want to press charges?”

I paused for a moment. At a time like this one it sounded

ludicrous. But Red was a professional, and while a murder might test

his professional limits, he knew he had to ask. I shook my head,

“No. No I'm okay. I'm okay now. I just want to go home.”

“You should see a doctor.”

I nodded to get him off my back and I started home.



The rest of the day was spent inside. I wasn't one to spend

days inside, but there was a bruise developing around my eye and I

felt like shit. Physically, emotionally, and every other way you

could think of, I just felt like the devil had beaten me down.

I cleaned, which I just never do. I took a mop to my kitchen

floor, and remembered how Gramps would always mop every day because

this was his house and he worked for it. I looked around and all I

could think of what how fucked up I'd become. Since he died, I

hadn't changed anything. His pictures still hung on the wall, and

his curtains still hung in the windows. His bedroom was still the

master bedroom and I didn't have much occasion to go up to the top

floor since most times I just slept on the couch anyway. I was a

guest in my own home, at least that's how I felt.

So I just scrubbed and scrubbed until the kitchen shined just

how he would have liked.

It was two in the afternoon when I went outside to dump the

dirty water. It was two in the afternoon when I heard a booming like

the voice of the devil from across the street. Where Mr. and Mrs.

Callahan lived. Where Lee used to live. It took me all of four

seconds to realize that what I heard was a shotgun blast. It took me

another ten to run across the street and onto their front porch, the

door hanging open to their house like dead skin over a new wound.

Carefully, I opened the door, and what I saw there I will never

forget. Mrs. Callahan stood over the body of her husband and there

was so much blood. It was on the walls and on the floor leaking out



of his ruined chest. And she had the most frightening look on her

face I'd ever seen; so horrible it was that I didn't even see that

she held a shotgun below her chin. I didn't notice until she

screamed out at me like a woman possessed by a demon.

“Get it out of my head!” Her eyes were black, and unnaturally

so. I had noticed it before in the police station, but I hadn't

truly understood it, believing it to be an artifact of her attack

upon me.

I cried out as I tried to step towards her.

And she pulled the trigger.



Chapter Four:

Self Medication

Part of me wants to say something profound about those minutes

and hours after the suicide I witnessed. In that moment it was

everything to me, it was my entire world. I'd dealt with death

before of course. Not long ago I'd come home to see my grandfather

dead on the floor of a heart attack. Years before that I'd watched

my mother die the slow death cancer brought. But this was somehow

different. As terrible as it is, and was, I'd never experienced a

moment like that. It was pure unadulterated violence. It was

unapologetic, and Mrs. Callahan's brains were on the wall, little red

bits that I just couldn't get out of my head.

So yeah, I wish there was something profound I could say about

that moment, and everything that came after, but the reality is

there's nothing profound to say. There's no deep meaning there's no

fucking understanding. It's just murder and suicide and death and it

stays with you. And if you're not lucky it eats at you.

The police were moving in and out of the house across the street

and all I could do was sit on the front porch of my house and watch.

It didn't take long for people to start arriving to watch the show.

Some came up to me and practically begged me to tell them what I'd

seen, while offering up little platitudes about how it was such a

shame, or it was such a tragedy. Red had said that they found a

knife that matches the stab wounds on Lee and a bloody shirt in the



laundry. Mrs. Callahan had likely murdered her own boy and the next

day her husband until finally the only thing left was herself. An

entire family was dead and people were treating it like a show.

Before long there would be barbeques.

I felt sick.

I couldn't get her out of my head, she just pulled that trigger

over and over and over and over again. The police were coming and

out with things in little plastic evidence bags. Little portions of

a pair of lives. They would piece it together and come up with some

kind of explanation for why this happened. There would be doctors

and psychiatrists, and priests and they would all have these little

explanations for why this happened. Why they could find a knife with

Lee Callahan's blood on it below his now dead mother's bed. Why she

murdered her husband before taking a shotgun to herself.

I just couldn't deal with it anymore. I found blood on my shirt

where I'd run to check on Mr. Callahan and I just felt completely

soiled. I walked back into my house like an automaton and just shed

my clothes as I went. I took a shower, and I vomited, but the

memories just would not come out. I opened the drawer next to my

couch were I had little bits of chemical heaven.

I took out two little blue pills Jefferson had given me the fist

night we'd ever been on stage. Despite my sexual promiscuity and my

propensity for smoking copious amounts of weed I was not a regular

druggy.

It wasn't happiness. I know that. I'm not an idiot. It wasn't



happiness but it was better than what I was feeling and that was

enough. I felt like dancing. I felt like running. I knew I

couldn't stay in the house, not with the police next door. It just

didn't feel appropriate. Not because I was high, but because I was

trying to forget the very people they were currently taking out in

body bags.

I got into the front seat of my Charger and turned on the engine

and I just wanted to drive. That's not me; that's never been me.

I'm the kind of person who drives to go somewhere. I drive to work,

I drive to band practice, and I drive to Rhapsody and once I even

drove to New Orleans, and I always arrive in style. But I never

derived pleasure in driving just to drive. Yet here I was attempting

it while high on E trying to forget myself in the moment.

Somehow in forgetting myself in the moment I slammed head first

into the truck exiting the mysterious garage on Temper Road. It was

lucky for me that I wasn't driving quickly at the time, or I would

have done myself serious and probably permanent damage. I certainly

did permanent looking damage to the car.

What was amazing was how nothing hurt. I mean, I just crashed

my car and I just jumped right out as if I hadn't been jarred at all.

Elijah was in the driver's seat of the truck just staring at me with

this look of complete disbelief. Slowly he opened the door and

looked around as if the world had dropped a bomb on him. He looked

at the back of his car, and then at the front bumper of my car, which

had sustained a good amount of damage.



He looked back at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He

seemed furious. Maybe I should have been afraid. I barely knew him;

as far as I knew no one knew him. Maybe I should have run, but I

just tried to look concerned and I don't think I did very well.

“Well,I didn't see you backing out of your garage.” All I could

think about was how absolutely beautiful he looked. He had dark hair

– which I don't usually go for – and this simple open face. It was

like he couldn't keep whatever he was feeling from being expressed.

Still there was something dark about him, as if behind all his

expressiveness he was trying very hard not to say something.

He took a long stormy look at me, “You are drunk.”

I shook my head vigorously. “I am not drunk. It was a mistake,

I swear!”

He shook his head, “Let's get out of the street.”

I nodded and started towards my car, but he stopped me. His

touch felt like electricity going up and down my body. But in a good

way. “No, you're not getting back in that car. You're not drunk,

but you're something. And I don't want anyone driving that way.”

I wanted to put up a fight, but I just didn't have a fight in

me. I relented and gave him my keys.

Before long I was sitting in his garage once again while he was

looking at the damage to his truck. Now that I had a better look at

it I could tell what it was. Or at least what it said. It was a

Ford F-750 with upright exhaust pipes on either side of the cab.

This was the kind of thing you could move a mountain with, if you had



such an inclination.

When he was done, he considered me for a moment. “It'll survive.

You're Beverly right? The girl who saw the woman kill herself.”

I nodded, trying not to think about it, but it didn't seem to be

so bad now. It was just sort of a dull feeling, like trying to cut

yourself with a spoon.

“I heard about that. I'm sorry.” He stood around for a moment

awkwardly, and I thought about what kinds of things I could be doing

with him. Anything was better than thinking about a woman blowing

her brains out. “Can I get you some water?”

“Sure,” I told him. He walked to the back where there was an

old water fountain still built into the wall from when this place was

an office building. I felt fuzzy all over, like everything was

covered in cashmere, or wool. When he came back with a cup filled

with cold water, I took it and enjoyed the feeling of the liquid

going down my throat. It felt like the electricity from before.

Like heaven itself were trying to find it's way inside my body.

I finished the water, and when I looked back to Elijah, I didn't

see him. Instead a woman stood there; the woman I'd been warned

about. The woman I'd seen in the front seat of the truck the night

before.

Her eyes were dark, like Mrs. Callahan's before she blew the top

of her skull off. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. The world

faded out and all I could be was within those dark pools that stood

in for her eyes.



The world shut down.



Chapter Five:

Age

I woke up and it tasted like something had died in my mouth.

It smelled like polished leather, and I was cramped in the front

seat of the extended cab of Elijah's truck. He'd drugged me.

The memory came back with fear, and I barely even registered

that I was no longer in the garage amid the mechanical debris. I

just checked myself over for signs of things done to me while I was

asleep, and thank God I couldn't find anything to say I had been

touched or violated. But someone had moved me to the front seat. It

was then that I allowed myself to see the world outside.

It was no longer day, and night had fallen; I was somewhere

between sleeping and waking in more ways than one. The headlights

were on, illuminating a dirt road ahead for a dozen of yards ahead.

Likely I was in Elijah's truck, and we were stopped somewhere

along a dirt road on the outskirts of Beverly, where there used to be

farms before they brought up the land and turned it into a State

park.

I fumbled my phone out of my pocket, but the damn thing wouldn't

turn on. In my drug addled state somehow I'd forgotten to charge it.

Just add it to the long list of stupid things I'd done that day.

I opened the glove box in front of me, and found a mag light.

It was better than nothing. I armed myself with it and stepped a

couple of feet down from the truck to the dry ground. There were



dying things all over; the drought had left it's mark on the

landscape.

Once I got behind the truck the world settled into darkness and

I turned on the flashlight. Shadows moved around me in intricate

little dances sent shivers down my spine and I tried not to over

react and ignore them. The mag light shot a tight beam of light

across the landscape, dispelling the shadows and putting the world

into high contrast; it was the kind of light that makes everything

look like you're being filmed in black and white and I focused on

getting out to the road. There I might be able to flag down a

driver, or even find my way back to Beverly. But I didn't get very

far.

“Good, you're awake.” I whirled to see the woman who lived with

Elijah walk out of the shadows behind me. She didn't use a

flashlight, apparently following mine. I put the light on her and

got my first good look at her.

She was beautiful. And I mean in a drop dead gorgeous movie

star kind of way, but she wasn't attractive. She had this dark hair,

darker than anyone's I'd ever seen (though that might have been the

light) with those eyes like dark pools that I'd seen...only hours

before? It was hard having no reference point. She was dressed in a

black skirt and a burgundy blouse with the sleeves rolled up. Her

forearms were wrapped in bandages, and the thumb on her right hand

was missing.

“You drugged me.” My voice came out slowly; my throat was dry.



Certainly it didn't sound as angry as I was.

“Elijah wanted me to apologize for that. And I am sorry.” She

spoke with a French accent but understated. I'd learned French in

high school from this old Parisian woman who had this thick accent

that sounded like she was speaking french even when she wasn't. This

woman's accent was gentler though, less aggressively “French”.

“Where are we?”

“The forest. My name is Elise.”

Despite my anger I almost had to laugh. “Elise and Elijah?”

She cracked a smile. “There's someone I think you should meet.

I won't hurt you, I promise.”

She backed away out of the light and disappeared into the

forest. I didn't know whether I should run or follow this strange

woman who'd given me every reason not to trust her. Unfortunately, I

didn't have much choice. I didn't know my way around out here, and

if I got lost there was no one to help me get back home. A person

could get real lost out here among the shadows and trees; there were

miles and miles and if you didn't know what you were doing...

I sighed and followed her into the trees.

I walked about a hundred feet into trees and bramble and dirt

when I came to a clearing lit by the mag light and the harsh glow of

a fire pit. Elise was there already standing by the open flame;

there was someone else there already. It was an old woman, who

everyone called the oldest woman in Beverly. Everyone called her

Mama Rourke, and everyone knew about her but I can't say that I ever



met anyone who could say they knew her. She had dark skin that

looked like wrinkled leather in the firelight, and a full head of

silver hair that was well kept.

This was the closest thing that Beverly had to a boogeyman and

here she sat on a mat by a fire in the middle of the woods.

“This is the girl I told you about. Her name is Beverly.”

I never told her my name, but Elijah must have. Elijah was

seeming less attractive to me by the second. “Why the hell am I

here?” She might have been the boogeyman, but I learned a long time

ago not to be afraid of anyone.

“You spent time with that boy yesterday.” When she spoke you

could hear the age in her voice, like she was talking to you through

a phonograph. “His name was Lee.”

“What about Lee?”

Elise spoke, “We think we know what killed him.”

I laughed, which sounded just as bitter as I felt. “You and

everyone else now. Her mother killed him. Stabbed him with a knife

and then I watched her blow her brains out.”

The two women shared a look, “You saw her kill herself?” Mama

Rourke struggled to stand, and when she couldn't manage it on her

own, she beckoned with her hand. “Come to me girl.” I hesitated. I

wasn't afraid of her, but I wasn't stupid either. “Come here, I

won't hurt you.”

I approached slowly, passing Elise on the way. I knelt down

beside the old woman, getting dust and dirt on the knees of my jeans.



The old woman took my hand in hers, and she had this strangely strong

grip. When I was a little girl my mother had taken me to see a

Raptor show and her grip felt like what I imagined it must have been

like to have one of those birds perched on your arm. With just as

much menace too.

She manipulated my hands, and opened them, looking at the palms,

then the their backs. She peered into my face and it felt more

invasive than when I had to see the doctor. Likely she would have

been able to diagnose whatever ailed me with the inspection she was

giving me.

“You did see what killed Lee Callahan.”

“That's what I told you. I told you I saw his mother blow her

brains out all over her damn living room. What do you want from me?”

Elise knelt next to us, her knees not quite touching the ground.

When she walked she glided; the way she moved I wasn't sure she

walked on two legs or whether she flew just a few inches off the

ground. “No,” she said, “his mother caused his death, but we don't

think it's what killed him.”

“You're both crazy.”

Mama Rourke laughed again, “That may be girl. That may be. But

what we need from you, it won't hurt you even a little bit.”

Her hand vanished inside a bag to her right and she came out

with small scissors. Before I could react and pull my hand away she

spit on my hand and used the scissors deftly, cutting a nail off my

right index finger.



I resisted the urge to slap the shit out of her, and I pulled my

hands back from her, wiping them on the ground, trying to get her

saliva off of them. “What the hell?” I meant to say it loud, but it

came out somehow louder than even I had intended.

Mama Rourke chuckled a little bit. “You were with Lee, and some

of Lee is with you here still. So we're going ask Lee some

questions.”

I was speechless. This woman was fucking nuts.

Elise put her hand on my shoulder, her left hand, the one with

the thumb, and gave it a squeeze that was probably meant to reassure.

“Relax. She's been doing this a long time. But...something's about

to happen and you need to not over react.” Over react? I thought I

had stayed fairly calm thus far for the situation that I was in.

Mama Rourke's hand disappeared into the bag again and when it

came out she was grasping this little beanbag doll. Around these

parts you see them sometimes from teenagers who want to pretend

they're practicing voodoo out in the forest, but from this old woman,

I didn't know what to expect. Her hand disappeared again, this time

coming out with vials and bottles of strange liquids. Quickly she

took my nail clipping, still covered in her spit and placed it on the

dolls heart. Then, she opened the vials and anointed it with oil.

Then all she did was sit back, and wait.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh,” Elise said, “We're waiting for something happened.”

And something did happen because all of a sudden the bean bag



doll was screaming.

beverly chapters 1-5

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