the charismatic movement was slowly dying out in Georgia. He knew of active churches in Missouri and Kansas, but Ellis saw no appeal in moving North. And by that time, he’d already determined that his particular calling had little to do with preaching. The gospel could be spread by others. God had another purpose for Ellis.
After all, it was His hand that had guided Ellis here, to the swamp where he had met a blue-eyed angel that had further shown him the way.
From the moment he’d first seen her in church, he knew she was someone special. Like him, she was on a mission, and the fire that burned in her eyes that night ignited a primal lust deep inside Ellis. When he had taken up the serpent, lifting it high over his head, he could feel her eyes on him and the passion that pumped through his veins was so powerful, the experience so profound, he’d been afflicted with the aftershock for days.
That was the night it all started. That was the night when she had first approached him. That was the night Ellis Cooper had first answered his calling.
He had learned from her that evil could take any form. It could inhabit the bodies of the elderly and the infirm, could even threaten the innocent souls of children. He couldn’t allow himself to be thwarted by the package. He couldn’t afford to be weakened by the humanly concepts of guilt or conscience or remorse while evil remained afoot in the world. She knew that and so did he.
After a while, Ellis rose from the rocking chair, picked up the burlap sack and went inside the house. He opened a door off the kitchen and a dank, putrid scent rose from the bottom of the stairs.
For obvious reasons, it was rare to see a house with a basement in the swamp, but the space underneath Ellis’s kitchen had been a pleasant surprise. He had no idea what the original purpose might have been. A storm cellar maybe. A place to ride out a hurricane.
But even in dry weather, there was always standing water. It smelled of musk, rotting fish and other creatures that had wandered in and gotten trapped.
A high window at the far side of the room allowed in just enough light so that Ellis could catch glimpses of the swimming bodies and raised heads, the occasional gleam of the vipers’ catlike eyes.
He came halfway down the stairs, toeing a moccasin off the steps as he squatted and untied the burlap bag, then upended it over the water. The black body fell with a plop into the water, and for a moment, there was a scurry of movement at the foot of the stairs.
Ellis watched, as he always did, with an almost hypnotic fascination.
The sky grew darker as Evangeline headed north later that morning, and a light rain began to fall by the time she arrived at Pinehurst Manor. She pulled into the visitors’ parking area and sat for a moment, admiring the impressive facade.
Surrounded by twenty acres of dense scrub oak and pine, the hospital more closely resembled an old plantation home than a modern psychiatric facility—except, of course, for the fifteen-foot perimeter wall topped with razor wire and the guard kiosks that were stationed at regular intervals around the property.
As Evangeline studied the manicured grounds through the windshield, she saw a uniformed guard appear at the corner of the building. He waited at the edge of the parking area for her to climb out of the car.
“Detective Theroux?”
She produced her ID and he nodded. “They just called up from the gate to let us know you’d arrived. I’ll walk with you from here,” he said. “You’ll have to surrender your weapon and sign in.”
The formalities completed a few moments later, another guard led her down a long corridor and opened a door. “Betsy,” he said to the plump redhead seated behind a large desk. “Is he in?” He nodded toward a door behind the redhead’s desk. “This is Detective Theroux with the New Orleans Police Department.” He pronounced
“He’s expecting you, Detective. Right this way.” She stood and smoothed a hand over her brown skirt as she motioned for Evangeline to follow.
She was ushered into a large, pleasant office with long windows that looked out on a pretty garden of azaleas and flaming hibiscus. “Dr. Carlisle, this is Detective Theroux.”
He got up from the desk and offered his hand, then waved her to the chair across from him. He didn’t look the way Evangeline had pictured him after their brief phone conversation. For one thing, he was younger than she expected. Around thirty-five, she would guess, with longish hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed casually in jeans and an open-collar shirt, which also took her by surprise.
“So you’re here about Mary Alice Lemay.”
“That’s right. As I told you on the phone, we have reason to believe there’s a possible connection between Mary Alice and a recent homicide in New Orleans.”
“You know that she’s been incarcerated for over thirty years,” he said.
“We don’t think she was personally involved. But as I said, there could be a connection. Have you been able to verify whether or not her daughter Rebecca was also a patient here?”
“I checked the records. I won’t go into the details of her diagnosis or the treatment, but I can tell you that she was here for several months in 2005. She was admitted in June and released the following December.”
“And Mary Alice was transferred here during the evacuation.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know if she and her daughter had contact during that time?”
“That I don’t know. I only came on board last year. But I can let you talk to some of the staff who were here at that time.”
“Thanks. That could be helpful.” She paused. “Do you know if Rebecca ever comes to see her mother?”
“Oh, yes. She comes at least once a month.”
“What about her other daughter?”
“I wasn’t aware that she had another daughter.”
Evangeline reached in her bag and hauled out one of Lena Saunders’s books. She turned it over so that the author’s photograph was face up.
“You’ve never seen this woman before?”
He studied the photograph for a moment, then glanced up with a bewildered frown. “I don’t understand. Isn’t this Rebecca Lemay?”
“No, this is a picture of her sister, Ruth. They do look alike. Probably could even pass for twins. But that’s not Rebecca Lemay.”
His gaze dropped again to the book. “I’m rarely mistaken about these things. Are you sure?”
“You think this is the woman who has been coming to see Mary Alice?”
“If they look as much alike as you say, I suppose I could be wrong. But the resemblance to her sister is uncanny. Even the way she holds her head…” He studied the picture for a moment longer, then handed the book to Evangeline.
“Is it possible for me to see Mary Alice?”
“Yes, of course. But that’s about all you’ll be able to do, I’m afraid. She hasn’t spoken a word to anyone in over thirty years.”
A few minutes later, they were standing outside the door to Mary Alice’s room.
“Is she allowed out?” Evangeline asked.
“The doors in this wing are only locked at night. The patients are free to come and go in the secured areas.”
He swung open the door and stepped aside for Evangeline to enter. A woman was seated in a rocking chair in front of a barred window. She gave no indication that she was aware of their presence until Dr. Carlisle spoke to her.
“How are you today, Mary Alice?”
She turned then and the first thing that struck Evangeline was how young the woman looked. She had to be well into her fifties or early sixties, but the skin on her face was still smooth and supple, and her blue eyes—the color of hyacinths—were clear and lucid.
