staring down the barrel of a gun. He had seen that look before, because he had been the one holding the gun, and he had never forgotten that look on the other person’s face. Like he had no skin, and every nerve was exposed.
“Amy? What’s happening, Amy?” Dr. Sher said.
“Horses,” she whispered. “I hear horses and now dogs. The soul catchers are coming.”
“Who?” Dr. Sher pressed.
“I have to get back to the cellar. I see the horses by the barn and the men. The horses make clouds in the air.”
“Amy, who is there with you?”
“I can’t let them find John.”
“Amy, where are you?”
“No, not the cellar. John is there. The corn… I have to get to the corn.”
“Amy-”
“Run to the corn, make them chase me, so they won’t find John.” She began to pant, like she was out of breath. “Oh… oh! Oh, God!”
“What’s happening?”
“They caught me… they are dragging me into the barn. Amos! Where are you? Amos, help me!”
“What is-?”
“They’ve tied me to the hook and are pulling me up. My blouse, they ripped off my clothes… oh, it’s so cold. The horses are screaming.”
“Amy-”
“They’re whipping me… but I won’t tell them. I won’t tell them where John is. They want to find him and take him back. I won’t tell, I won’t tell…”
Suddenly, Amy began to cry. Dr. Sher leaned forward and put her hand over Amy’s.
“What is it, dear? Tell me.”
“Amos,” she whispered. “He is here. I can see him. I loved him, and he did this to me.”
Amy’s hands came up to cover her face as she cried. Dr. Sher pulled back, her face pale.
Amy began to gag. Louis felt Joe tense, and he looked at her. She was holding a hand over her mouth, her eyes brimming.
“What’s happening, Amy?” Dr. Sher said.
“I… can’t… breathe.”
Dr. Sher leaned forward. “Why? What’s happening to you?”
Amy hands came up, as if she were warding off a blow. “They are burying me.
Amy went limp. It was quiet.
Dr. Sher picked up Amy’s wrist to feel her pulse. She looked to Louis and Joe and nodded, mouthing, “She’s okay.”
“Amy?” Dr. Sher said softly after a few seconds.
It took a long time, but finally, a whisper. “Yes?”
“Where are you now?”
“Floating. They want me to rest now.”
“They?”
Amy didn’t answer.
The clock chimed again. Louis looked to the mantel. It was two-thirty. A soft sound made him look back at Amy. She was humming. Hugging herself, rocking gently back and forth as she lay on the settee. The humming became words.
Louis listened, not moving a muscle. He didn’t know the words, yet something about the song was familiar. Then he realized where he had heard it, or a song very much like it, once before. At his mother’s funeral back in Mississippi, the “going home,” as they had called it. A cluster of women in black softly singing his mother home as he stood apart, listening.
It was time to bring Amy out of her trance. Louis watched as Dr. Sher began to count backward from ten. “You will remember all this when you wake up, Amy, but you won’t be afraid,” Dr. Sher said.
And with that, Amy opened her eyes. She sat up, self-consciously pulling the top of her blouse closed. Her cheeks were dotted with color. Louis thought she looked like someone who had just emerged from a nap.
But Dr. Sher? She was pale, her red bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat. And Joe? She was standing over by the piano, her back to them. When had she gotten up off the sofa? Louis hadn’t even felt it.
“How do you feel, dear?” Dr. Sher asked.
It took a second or two for the doctor’s question to register. “I’m fine,” Amy said.
“Do you remember what just happened?”
Amy nodded. “I didn’t help things, did I?”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Sher asked.
“I couldn’t remember anything about Momma,” Amy said.
Dr. Sher took Amy’s hand. “That will come.”
Amy shook her head. “But I need to help. Can we try again?”
“No, dear,” Dr. Sher said. “You’ve done enough for today.”
Louis looked to Joe. She was staring at Amy. Suddenly, Amy got up and went to her. She wrapped her arms around Joe’s waist and rested her head on Joe’s chest.
Joe hesitated, then put her arms around Amy.
For a moment, Louis couldn’t decipher what he was seeing in Joe’s face. Then, suddenly, he knew what it was. He had seen the look before, on the face of his foster mother, Frances, when she found out her husband had been in love with another woman for the last thirty years. Frances’s world had shifted, because that one thing had forced her to question everything she believed to be real and solid.
Louis rose and went outside to the porch. He blinked in the bright sunlight and pulled in a breath of the crisp air. A breeze kicked up, sending the chimes tinkling. Louis focused on the spinning whirligig bird out on the lawn, thinking about Amy’s story.
As moving as it was, he knew it wasn’t real. Amy believed it was. And if he had read the look on Joe’s face correctly, so did she.
He could almost understand that her growing attachment to Amy was clouding her judgment. He had warned Shockey that his obsession with Jean had made him useless as a cop. And now Joe’s willingness to accept this past-life thing was becoming just as dangerous.
Louis turned to look in through the window. He could see Joe and Amy talking quietly. He had to find a way to prove to Joe that she was wrong.
Chapter Thirty
The hotel room suddenly had become too small. First, Joe had opened the sliding glass door, letting in the cool night air. When that didn’t work, she sent Amy to the bedroom with her new sketchbook and colored markers. Finally, Joe had asked Louis to go out and find some take-out Chinese, knowing it would take him a while.
