It was a lot more wooded on this side of the bayou—wooded and snarled with overgrown vines and dead trees. If it hadn't been for the pathway, Olivia would have given up and turned back, but as it was, she kept doggedly on, following its intricate twists and turns through a gloomy maze of tangled trunks and broken limbs. After another fifteen minutes, she slowed down and again reconsidered turning back. She tried to catch a glimpse of sky through the clotted branches overhead, tried to see just how dark the sky had really grown since she'd come into the forest. This time she made up her mind to leave, when suddenly the trees began to thin and a hazy clearing came into view.
Olivia paused, her eyes making a quick, thorough search of the enclosure, and then she stepped out into it, quietly amazed. Rising up out of the weeds was a Small whitewashed building with a steepled roof—its heavy wooden door sagging sideways in its arched entrance. Close behind it huge trees dripped their moss over the rooftop, and from one shuttered win-
dow, a patch of light glimmered through from the other side.
"A church," Olivia whispered, for standing there in the mist, the little building seemed only a continuation of her dream upon the bayou. As she went cautiously up to the door and put her hands against it, she half expected the whole scene to evaporate beneath her fingertips.
The wood was damp and very warped. She gave a tentative push but nothing happened. Gritting her teeth, she put her shoulder to the center and heard a slow, reluctant groan as it gave beneath her weight and began to swing inward.
The first thing she saw was a blaze of light—orange and yellow and blue fire throbbing at the end of a long black tunnel, filling the darkness with a wall of flame. As Olivia shielded her eyes against its glittering brightness, the darkness seemed to shift itself around her and change shape, and she realized she was looking down the center aisle of the church, facing an altar covered with candles. Glancing to either side, she saw lines of wooden pews, eerily vacant, though the flickering shadows made it seem as if ghostly faithful bowed their heads and stirred in silent prayer. Fascinated, she started forward, her eyes riveted on the candles, her heart quickening. There was a strange aroma in the air—sweet yet cloying—as if flowers and incense could not quite mask the odor of something dank and unpleasant. The peculiar smell filled the little church, and as Olivia reached the altar, her head swam with it, making her dizzy.
There is no God, Olivia — if there was, He would have saved me, but He didn t save me, He didn 't come and He didn't care and that's why I'm going to save
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you, to keep you perfect and pretty and oh so special . . . I'll save you from them, Olivia, just listen to Mama now, I'll save you my pretty girl . . .
"Mama?" Olivia whispered.
The sound of her own voice frightened her, brought her back sharply to the present. She stared hard at the candles and she remembered how once she had gone into a church, gone into a church when Mama didn't know, to try to find out who God was and why Mama hated Him so much, as much as she hated Grandmother . . . And she remembered the soft, pulsing echo of words she couldn't understand, and the cool stone bowls of holy water ... the crosses and sweet-smelling smoke . . . statues looking down benignly from their niches . . .
And there was a statue here, too, not a little ways from the altar, and as Olivia stared at its sharp silhouette, a trick of the light caused its shadow to move across the floor, across the boards, toward her feet.
A candle, she thought suddenly, I'll light a candle for that statue —for it seemed to her in that cold empty church that the statue must be some lonely, forgotten saint stuck far back there alone, away from the light and the translucent beauty. And as she bent forward to pick one up, there was the faintest stirring of air at her back, and the church door swung shut with a groan.
Gasping, Olivia swung around, her eyes scanning the vast cavernous emptiness.
Candlelight crept between the pews and down the side aisles, dancing upon black shuttered windows, teasing into corners too far away to be seen.
Unsettled, she turned back to the altar and reached
again for a candle. . . raising her eyes to the statue . . .
Seeing only an empty space . . .
"You shouldn't be here," the voice said behind her.
And as Olivia froze in terror, the statue pulled itself back into the shadows along the wall and melted into the darkness.
up into his shadowy face. Then his movements slowed •.. stopped. He stared at the floor, then his eyes settled softly upon hers.
"You still shouldn't have come here." He moved away and started back up the aisle. Olivia stood there feeling confused and foolish. After a moment, she turned toward the door, but Jesse's voice stopped her. j
"Don't go," he said quietly.
Olivia turned back in surprise. She couldn't see him anymore, but his voice seemed to be very near the I altar.
"I didn't mean to upset you." Olivia followed the sound, but it had faded into nothingness. "It's just that so much has happened at the house today. Terrible things—things I don't understand."
The silence stretched on and on. The shadows flickered uneasily, as if he had moved away again, back even farther beyond the candlelight.
"What kinds of things?" he mumbled at last, and it was almost a hollow sound, Olivia thought, an empty sound, and very tired.
"In the room upstairs," she began. "The nursery. It's supposed to be locked, only I've been in it before. And this morning there was—" She broke off, determined to control the shaking in her voice. She took a deep breath and proceeded calmly. "There was blood all over the floor. It almost looked like someone had been .. . killed in there."
She waited for Jesse to say something. When he didn't, she closed her eyes and went on with the memory.
"I had the feeling someone was hiding in that room—I'm almost positive I heard voices, but it was very dark. No one believed me when I tried to tell them about it." She sighed and pressed a hand to her
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forehead. "Later on when I went back again, I heard Skyler and Mathilde in the nursery. I couldn't hear everything, but it sounded like they were having a terrible argument. I didn't want to listen, but I couldn't help it. . ."
Olivia's voice trailed away. She was angry at herself, angry for being afraid, angry for having come here in the first place. Jesse wasn't saying a word, just letting her go on and on and make a fool of herself—he was probably upset with her, for eavesdropping, for having a wild imagination, for not minding her own business—
"Don't be afraid," Jesse said quietly. "Go on."
She ran one hand hastily over her eyes. She forced steadiness back into her voice.
"I hid. Skyler ran past me, and when I looked out again, there was blood all over the gallery. I found Mathilde in the nursery. She was . . ." Olivia stopped again, took another deep breath. "Covered with blood. She was almost laughing at me, saying things that didn't make any sense, and she wouldn't let me help her. I think she was really hurt."
Olivia stared into the shadows. Jesse said nothing, and this time she couldn't keep the quivering out of her voice.
"I think Skyler hurt her. I think Skyler did something horrible to her. And I think there's something horrible going on in that house."
She gazed at the floor, at the shadow patterns pulsing around her feet. For a split second it was as if all the candle flames paused together in midair, then flickered wildly together in the exact same rhythm, in the exact same rhythm as her own heartbeat. She pressed a hand to her chest and looked up again, searching the darkness, seeing nothing.
Richie Tankeisley Cusick
"Jesse?" she called fearfully.
"Yes. I'm here."
He was at her back, and Olivia hadn't known it. Now she swung around with a gasp, and he caught her hands in both of his. His face looked eerily pale in the distorted light, his eyes even larger, his body still bathed in the swimming shadows.
"Olivia ..." he began, a
nd his voice was cautious, yet very firm. "Olivia, whatever happened between Skyler and Mathilde is no concern of yours. They're always hurting each other. It's one of the things they do best."
"But she was bleeding! I know what I saw—"
"You saw something, and I believe you. But maybe it was Skyler who was hurt—and then, when they fought—" Jesse broke off abruptly and slid his fingers beneath her chin. "What happened to your face?"
And Olivia remembered then, remembered how Mathilde had attacked her that morning, the woman's razor-sharp nails slicing across her cheeks.
She turned out of his reach and heard him sigh.
"Mathilde," he said flatly.
"It doesn't hurt," she mumbled. "I hardly feel it at all."
"The point is," Jesse began, but Olivia cut him off.
"The point is, that there was so much blood. I know what you're saying, Jesse, and maybe you're right. Maybe they fought and Mathilde attacked Skyler— but there was so much blood! And that still doesn't explain that horrible mess I saw there on the floor in the first place."
"It could have been anything," Jesse reasoned. "It could have been some kind of animal. Yoly or Helen could have killed a rat up there and hadn't cleaned it up yet."
"Killed it how?" Olivia asked, dismayed. "Jesse, it looked like skin to me. And flesh. And blood. Human, not rat—"
"It was nothing." Jesse's hands were on her shoulders now, forcing her gently back to look at him. "Olivia, listen to me. You . . . you can't go around suspecting everything you see. You can't go around talking about.. . about visions and feelings and suspicions ..."
He looked up toward the ceiling. His voice seemed different somehow, panicky just below the surface of soothing calm. As Olivia stared at him, he seemed to gather himself together, and his fingers tightened on her shoulders.
"I've told you before. This family is different. Eccentric and . . . and strange to outsiders. And fiercely protective of their privacy. Please don't go around inventing things to be afraid of—"
"But I'm not inventing them." Olivia searched his eyes pleadingly. "I didn't invent the things I saw—the things I heard. You said yourself that you'd heard something in the cemetery before—"
He gazed back at her, a sad smile flickering over his lips. "Yes."
"Then were you lying to me? Did you invent that just to make me feel better?"
"No. No, I wasn't lying. But I would never have told anyone else."
"But if it's true—"
"That's not the point." He hesitated, as if not quite sure how to explain. "Sometimes I hear things that others don't hear. .. feel things that others don't feel." Sadness touched his smile again and shone from his deep dark eyes. "I suppose it's a gift in some ways. But you see . . ." He leaned closer, his voice low and
urgent. "It can also be a curse. When you sense things that make you afraid. When you perceive things that make you unhappy." He sighed then, and his body seemed to sag. "I learned a long, long time ago . . . things don't have to be seen to be real."
Olivia gazed back at him, caught in the spell of his eyes. His body was close, and throbbing shadows enclosed them more tightly, wrapping them in deep silence. At last Jesse seemed to rouse himself, and his voice was so low that Olivia had to strain to hear.
"You seem to have this gift, too. But whether it's a blessing or a curse, it has no use for you here. If they feel they're being watched, they may . . . want to get rid of you."
Send me away! After I've come so far, after I've lived in the house, walked the grounds, touched my grandmother's hand . . .
"I won't say anything," Olivia murmured.
"Olivia," Jesse sighed, "why did you ever come here?"
She shook her head slowly. She glanced away and stared at one long wooden pew.
Because I'm a Devereaux . . . because I belong.
"Because I needed work," she said. "Because I don't have anywhere else to go."
"You should go." Jesse sounded dismayed. "The world is a very big place, I hear. Especially for someone as .. . beautiful as you are."
"I'm not beautiful," Olivia replied, almost defensively.
"On the contrary, I'm very good at recognizing beautiful things."
She could feel herself blushing in the darkness. She turned and lowered herself into one of the pews,
staying near the aisle. Jesse moved away from her and leaned back against the wall. She could see his restless, shadowy movements and the dim profile of his face.
"How long have you worked here?" she asked quietly.
"A long time."
Olivia peered hard into the darkness where he hid. She could sense him melting back deeper into the gloom.
"Did you ever live at the house?"
"I have lived there. At times."
"So where do you live now?"
"Here."
"In this place?"
He laughed softly. "Don't sound so surprised. It happens to be a very nice place to live."
"It is a church then." She nodded to herself. "But—"
"There's a room at the back," he broke in, anticipating her next question. "And yes, it is a church. Most plantations had their own churches. This one's not in such good shape anymore, but I still think it's beautiful. It makes me feel safe somehow." He hesitated. "It comforts me."
"And you're all alone back here," Olivia said.
There was a soft rustling. She could see his shadow shifting along the wall.
"One learns to live with solitude. It's not really so terrible as you might think."
"Oh, but I don't think it's terrible. Not at all." Hazy images drifted back to her . . . the attic . . . the long, blessed intervals of undisturbed peace . . .
"Then you've spent a lot of time alone," Jesse said.
"I've always been alone."
Richie Tankeisley Cusick
She leaned forward and rested her head on the top of the pew in front of her. The wood was rough and dusty, but it felt cool and strong against her skin.
"Mama used to lock me in the attic. For one reason or another. But I didn't mind, really. Because of the way things were. I don't even know how long I was up there last... I lost all track of time ..."
She had been talking to herself more than to him, mumbling under her breath, getting it all straight in her mind, letting it all out in a rush of relief. As her last word trailed away, she heard the echo of her own voice in the quiet, and she stopped, confused at what she'd done.
"Olivia . . ." Jesse whispered, but she sat up again and started talking quickly before he could say anything more.
"And you're never afraid? Way back here in the woods? With a bayou between you and everyone else? You're never afraid being back here in the dark?"
She saw a slight movement in the shadows. She could imagine him shaking his head.
"What do I have to be afraid of?"
She thought he laughed. She couldn't be sure.
Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the walls of the little church, shivering straight through to the ground. The candles sputtered wildly. Jesse's shadow slid along the wall and danced upon the altar.
"You'd better leave," he said softly. "Before it starts raining again. It's a long walk back to the house."
"I don't mind the rain. And I'm sorry I ran away last night."
She hadn't known she was going to say it. When the words came out, Olivia heard them as though they'd come from someone else, and her lips parted in surprise. She saw Jesse reach slowly for a candle . . .
hold it against the flame of another . . . place it carefully in an empty spot.
"I'm sorry, too." His voice was hushed. "I shouldn't have asked so many questions. I just wanted to . . . know you better."
Without warning tears misted Olivia's eyes. She brushed them quickly away.
"I've never liked people knowing me. I've never let people know me."
Stand up, Olivia, take off your dress now, let the nice man know you better . . .
"Because," Jesse
said slowly, "then they'd know how to hurt you."
The tears swelled again. Shadows and candles and Jesse ran together in one shining blur. Jesse moved once more back into the darkness.
"I know about hurt, Olivia," he said quietly. "Being hurt by others . . . and hurting others you love . . . however unintentionally."
Olivia shook her head. "You don't seem like you could ever hurt anyone. You seem so . . . kind."
"Thank you for that." A smile touched his voice. "I try to be. Even in the . . . worst... of circumstances."
Another clap of thunder sounded. The building shook dangerously, as if it would collapse around them at any second.
"Really." Jesse moved again and started toward her down the aisle. "You should leave now before it starts to storm. I'll go back with you and take you across."
"No, that's not necessary. I can find my way."
She looked up, strangely reluctant to go. He stood at her side and offered his hand to help her up. It felt cold when she touched it, and his skin seemed peculiarly clammy.
"Jesse, are you all right?" she asked.
"Yes, of course. Come now. The thunder's getting worse."
He took her elbow and steered her toward the door, but his grip felt weak. Olivia peered into his face, but his eyes stayed straight ahead, and he wouldn't look back at her. She was almost certain she could feel him trembling, and as he reached for the door, she hesitated.
"Jesse, are you sure—"
"Please. We must hurry." He seemed agitated somehow, and she shook her head at him firmly.
"No, I can find my way back perfectly all right. You stay here and keep dry."
This time his eyes settled on her face. They were even bigger in the shadows, curiously devoid of light. He nodded and smiled at her, and Olivia reached up and laid her hand gently against his check.
"Thank you," she said.
Her fingertips trailed over his lips. She felt the slight, soft pressure of his mouth as he kissed her hand. He turned away and started back up the darkened aisle.
"Jesse," she began, and then, "Jesse—what's wrong!"
Alarmed, she saw him come to an abrupt halt, his body rigid, one hand groping at his chest.
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