“For Pete’s sake, let’s breeze,” Theta said, gathering the bloodstained dress into a ball and marching back into the decrepit, abandoned station. “Shame,” she said, looking up at the former grandeur gone to rot. But she was thinking, too, of Wai-Mei’s tragic life.
As they cleared the tunnel, a sound came from behind them: soft but steady, like heavy rain dropping down from the ceiling—one, two, three, fourfivesix, more and more. Theta chanced a glance behind her and saw the thing that was so like a man squatting in the dark, his mouth open to emit a syrupy howl. Lights winked in the long darkness. In the glow, she saw only flashes: A sharklike tooth. Pale, cracked skin. Unseeing eyes.
“Memphis,” Theta whispered.
The flashlight shook in his hand. He started to raise it, but Theta pushed his hand back down, shaking her head.
“Keep walking,” Sam said. “Up and out.”
“I hate g-ghosts,” Evie whispered. “I really, really do.”
The aged wood of the steps leading up to the passenger waiting platform creaked loudly under the weight of all four of them. Thick whispers filled the station. Above them, the mottled ceiling crawled.
Theta’s voice was whisper-thin. “What do we do now?”
Memphis grabbed her hand. “I think we run.”
Henry opened his eyes to sun. He was lying in the bottom of the rowboat, bobbing on the current. He didn’t know how long he’d been floating there; he only knew that Louis wasn’t beside him.
“Louis?” he called, sitting up. “Louis!”
He spotted Louis sitting under a weeping willow in the wide field of morning glories up on the hill.
“There you are,” Henry said, coming to sit beside him. “Been looking all over for you.”
“Looks like you found me,” Louis said, and his voice sounded hollow.
“What should we do—go out in the boat? Take Gaspard for a walk? Fish?”
“I want to tell you about the morning glories, Henri. I remembered about them. Why I don’t like them,” Louis said quietly, and Henry felt a warning deep in his gut that the dream was turning.
“It doesn’t matter,” Henry said. He didn’t want to have this conversation. All he wanted to do was float down the river, just the two of them under a portion of sun that was all theirs. “Come on. Fish are biting.”
He offered his hand, but Louis didn’t take it. “I have to tell you now, while I’m brave enough to do it.”
Henry saw that Louis wouldn’t be moved, so he sat and waited.
Louis’s words were slow, as if each one cost him. “’Member when I told you I stopped by Bonne Chance that one night, askin’ after you? Your daddy sent some men to see me. They told me to let you go. But I couldn’t do that. So they roughed me up some. It’s not like I hadn’t taken plenty o’ blows before, for bein’ different.” Louis scooped up handfuls of dirt, rubbing the grit of it between the pads of his fingertips. “But one of ’em, he hit my head mighty hard. Always thought I had a hard head, but…” Louis offered a ghost of a smile for his joke. It flickered on his lips for a second and then vanished. He looked up to the cruel blue of the sky. “I remember now, I remember…” he said, and it was with equal parts wonder and sorrow.
Inside Henry, some truth was descending like an avenging angel.
“I don’t want to be here. Let’s go down to the river, baby.” Henry pulled desperately on Louis’s arm, but Louis resisted.
“I need to tell you, cher. And you need to hear it. My head hurt something fierce. A real mal de tête. So I lay down right there on the ground to rest.” Louis plucked a purple blossom from the lush patch of flowers and twirled it in his fingers. “It was a bleed on the brain. Nothin’ to be done about it. The men come back and they found me on the ground, cold and still. And they buried me right there, under the morning glories. And that’s where I am still, cher. Where I been since you left New Orleans, a long time gone.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It is true, cher.”
“You’re here! You’re right here.”