A sudden flapping noise made Katie glance skyward. A dense flock of black birds—more than she’d ever seen clustered together—swooped frantically overhead. Several people paused to look up, but most kept walking, too concerned with their regular business.
Was it her imagination or did the birds seem startled?
The sudden blare of a horn erupted from the line of cars waiting to cross the Silver Bridge. The ones that had been idling hadn’t moved and more piled up behind the stalled string. It was Friday night, near rush hour as her mama called it, but she’d never seen the bridge so busy. The smell of exhaust, the flash of brake lights… Somehow it felt wrong. As if there were far too many cars and trucks for the old suspension bridge to hold.
“Excuse me, little girl.” A man’s voice cut into her thoughts, scattering them like the birds overhead.
Turning, Katie stood. The man who faced her on the sidewalk was tall and striking, with whitish-blond hair and ink-black eyes. Dressed in a black suit and black fedora hat, he appeared unaffected by the cold weather. She knew the style of hat because Wendy had a flashy red one she’d blown half a paycheck to buy. Katie had borrowed it once, though she hadn’t been brave enough to wear it out of the house.
Her gaze dropped to the stranger’s gloveless hands. It was hard to overlook fingers like that. Long and slender, the last digit of each fatter than the rest, making the tips look bulbous. A deformity of some sort. Her mama taught her it was impolite to stare, but that didn’t stop a chill from dancing up her spine. The icy cold had nothing to do with the man’s oddly shaped fingers, but an inner sense of warning that sent gooseflesh prickling down her arms.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she blurted.
“Well, now.” The man’s words were carefully modulated, tinged with an accent. He performed a slight bow, bending at the waist. “You may call me Lach. There. You see now. We are no longer strangers.” His mouth stretched in a smile, revealing perfect white teeth.
Katie took a step backward. “What do you want?”
“I am looking for Doreen Sue Lynch.”
What did he want with her mama? Sudden hope pinged through Katie’s heart. “Do you know something about Wendy?” It was hard to mask her eagerness.
Tilting his head, the man eyed her as if she were a curious puzzle. “Wendy.” He did not make the name a question, nor did he say it matter-of-factly. It seemed to Katie that he rolled it around on his tongue for fit.
“Yes, Wendy.” An edge of anger bridled her words. He had to know something about her sister, dressed the way he was, obviously an outsider and someone of authority. Why didn’t he come out and say what he knew? Was it because she was a kid and he wanted to speak with her mother?
Her gaze darted to the small sign hanging to the right of her mama’s salon—Doreen Sue’s Place. Lach looked there, too, realization dawning on his face.
“Ah. Mrs. Lynch is inside.”
“Tell me first.” She stepped into his path, blocking his entry. He had to understand how desperate she was for news of Wendy. “If you know something about Wendy, tell me. I’m her sister.”
“You misconstrue why I am here. Perhaps it would be best that I address Mrs. Lynch at another time. I did not expect her to be in a place with so many others.” He nodded to the salon.
Before Katie could reply, a boom pounded the air with the roar of a cannon. The sound was so deafening, so unexpected, she cried out in fear. Above her head, the birds shrieked raucously, clamoring to be heard above a wild chorus of car horns. Somewhere across the street a woman screamed, and another began to sob. The man in the Santa Claus suit dropped his bell and raced in the direction of the Silver Bridge.
Whirling, Katie looked for the towers of the old suspension bridge, normally visible in the gap between buildings on Main Street. She saw only empty sky. As if some giant hand had descended and squashed the bridge into the Ohio River.
“That’s not possible.” Her stomach plummeted.
Down the street, people poured from the cars lined up to cross the bridge. Most were dazed, their expressions frozen in horror. Others screamed, pointing to where the bridge had stood. Cars on Main came to a screeching stop, drivers and passengers racing for the empty space the old bridge had dominated for decades.
As if pulled by an invisible leash, Katie took three halting steps. A horrible tightness splintered through her chest. “What happened to the Silver Bridge?”
Behind her, her mama’s stylists and three customers burst from the salon. Two of the women raced past, their hair done up in curlers, plastered with bleach. By now Katie could hear the wail of sirens and the horrified screams bouncing up and down the street—“The Silver Bridge is gone! Oh my God, my God, someone please help. The Silver Bridge is gone!”
A sob built in Katie’s throat. “Mama.”
“I’m here.”
Strong arms crushed her in a protective embrace. Overcome by a heavy cloud of rose perfume, she couldn’t think past pressing her face to her mama’s chest and sobbing. “How, Mama? How?”
“I don’t know, baby.” Her mama’s voice was raspy from too many years of cigarette smoke and watered-down bourbon. Tonight it carried the added taint of tears. “All those people. All those cars.”
Katie shuddered. First Wendy, now this. How many of her classmates, neighbors, or teachers had been on the bridge when it fell? It was almost as if someone had placed a horrible curse on Point Pleasant.
Drawing back, she looked about for the strange man with the light hair, but he’d vanished somewhere in the crowd of gathering people. All that remained were the sobs and the terror of a traumatized town.
And the mad, swirling dance of hundreds of blackbirds overhead.
Chapter 1
October, 1982
Point Pleasant, West Virginia
“It’s star shit.”