“Can you play it for me?” I hardly recognized the high, reedy bleat of my voice.
“Hang on, I’ll try.” I heard fumbling and Derrick cursed. Slightly away from the phone he said, “Here, listen.”
Franklin’s recorded voice sounded poised, a man with no cares in the world – “I’m in town. Just arrived, and I’m curious to see what’s changed. I hope to hell they remember. She does, but it’s only a possibility, not a probability. I had such a good idea while I was away, far better than my original one. Fate is with me, brother, as you’ll soon see. And it’s a beautiful fucking thing.” Franklin chuckled and my blood congealed.
Though I knew it was an illusion sparked by my terrorized mind, all light seemed to blink from existence, plunging my body within deep, swirling water. I should have cried out, I should have turned and fled, but instead I was rendered immobile, floundering in watery gray depths.
Fate is with me, brother, as you’ll soon see –
As if from a distant shore, much too far away to reach, I heard Derrick saying, “I don’t know what it means, only that it’s something bad. You can hear how goddamn crazy he sounds.” And seconds later, “Hey, are you still there? Tish? Are you there?”
Case’s name hung suspended in my throat.
More than I’d ever known anything, I knew I had to get to him in that moment, that everything depended on it –
But a force beyond my power to control liquefied my legs and I sank to the blacktop. The cold ground seeped through my jeans. Instinctively I covered my stomach with both forearms as danger asserted itself with onrushing aggression; bile surged and I gagged. I heard Camille screaming. I heard Case yelling for me, his deep voice wild with fear, but I could not respond.
Tish! Where are you?
Where are you?!
Chapter Eleven
Jalesville, Montana - March, 2014
A ROARING FILLED MY EAR CANALS, THE OMINOUS REVER-beration of tons of water thundering over my flyspeck existence. Crushed beneath the liquid weight I huddled, sheltering my head, eyes squeezed shut in abject denial of what was happening; a part of me recognized I would never withstand such assault. My body swayed and jerked, caught in a current so far beyond my control I was no longer certain I even retained physical form or possessed an identity.
Later, the silence that followed was almost more deafening.
My eyelids parted to darkness. I blinked, lifting my chin with a slow, careful motion, black night penetrating my awareness. I lay atop gravel, curled in a compact fetal ball, clutching my shoulders in the opposite hands. Single words jabbed like small knives.
Alive.
Dry.
Quiet.
My thoughts gained form and substance.
How can I be dry when there was so much water?
Where’s Case? Where’s Camille?
Oh my God, where are they?
I lurched to all fours, pebbles rough beneath my palms and knees. Despite the dizzy undulations in my head I staggered to a standing position, seeking the only center I knew – my husband, who was mere yards away inside The Spoke. I had no idea what in the fuck had just occurred here in the parking lot but Case would make everything right again. I knew he would. He never failed to make my world right.
Thoughts were coming fast and hard now; unmerciful.
Wait a second…
I was just talking to Derrick.
He said that Franklin is Fallon Yancy.
And Fallon said –
He said –
My eyes roved across the scene before me, struggling to make sense of it; I hadn’t until this second processed the fact that the parking lot in which I stood was different than it had been earlier this evening. My phone was no longer in my hand, though I had no memory of setting it down.
What in the hell is going on?
No blacktop. No sign with a lighted arrow, announcing ‘The Spoke.’ No bright glint of bar lights or the reverberations of music being played nearby. No rows of cars and trucks, just a single green Toyota with Minnesota plates, silent beneath the streetlight. The basic structure of the wooden building housing the bar remained intact but it was silent and empty as a long-abandoned home. The windows gaped like staring eyes as I flew to the front entrance and yanked at the knob. Locked. Stunned, I turned away from the door and spied a battered For Sale sign pasted on one of the windows, ghostly in the glow of the solo streetlight.
“Case!” I shouted, jogging across the gravel to the curb lining Main Street, frantic for any sign of life, a fixed point by which to orient myself. Wild with fear, my gaze darted up and down Main, which was devoid of cars but otherwise basically the same thoroughfare I’d driven over hundreds of times; there was the single stoplight, and Nelson’s Hardware, and the law office…
I ran down the block toward the building where I had worked since last summer, breathing hard, pressing my hands to the cold windows in order to peer inside. Of course I could see nothing but darkness within the confines of the office. Seconds ticked past, along with my accelerating heart. I retreated two steps, scanning the words Al had painted on the window last August to celebrate my joining him in legal practice, gold letters in fancy script proclaiming Howe and Spicer, Attorneys at Law.
“What…”
I reached and traced a finger over the surnames, scripted in black, and which had not changed since I’d first seen them, long before I’d decided to make my stay in Jalesville a permanent one.
“Howe and James…” I whispered, releasing a sharp, disbelieving breath, spinning around to confront the deserted street. Frightened confusion blurred my vision. I placed both palms against my cold face, taking stock, seeking reality – seeking what I knew to be true. I was wearing heeled boots, fitted dress pants, and a coat, a long wool one I didn’t recognize. When I’d exited The Spoke I’d been wearing jeans, my
