
##4040250 The old woman peered past the red geraniums in her deep front window at the ? gure lingering in the moon-white snow at the gate . In the gloom of the late winter afternoon , Hennie Comfort did not recognize the woman , who stood like a curious bird , her head cocked to one side as she looked at the fence , then the front door , and back at the fence again . Hennie watched , thinking it odd that anyone would wait there , mute as the snow itself . Why would a body stand in the cold when she could come inside by the stove ? <p> Hennie had gone to the window to read her letter in the winter light , because the heavy snow had weighted down the wires , causing the electric to go out . It was too dark inside now to read , although Hennie knew the words would n't be any different from what they were when she read the letter at the post of ? ce that morning . <p> For years , Mae had urged her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , she 'd made it plain that if Hennie insisted on another winter on the earth 's backbone , Mae would come to Middle Swan herself and pack up her mother and take her below , to Fort Madison on the eastern edge of Iowa . Mae was a loving daughter , but she was as stubborn as Hennie . " You can spend your summers in Middle Swan , Mom , but I insist that from now on , you live with us during the winters . What if you slipped on the ice and broke your leg ? You could freeze to death before somebody found you . " <p> Mae was right , Hennie admitted to herself . If she fell , the snow would cover her up , and nobody would know where she was until she melted out in the spring . It was foolhardy for a person as old as she was to stay another winter on the Swan River . Besides , it was sel ? sh of her to let Mae worry , and Hennie was always sensible of the feelings of others @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the Mississippi . <p> Hennie set the letter on the table and returned to the window to look at the woman , covered now in white ? akes . She 'd be frozen solid as a fence post if she did n't move soon . So the old woman opened the door and walked into the snow in her stout shoes , her hands tucked into her sleeves . " Hello to you , " she called . <p> The stranger looked up , startled , a little frightened . She was a new-made woman , not much more than a girl , and Hennie had never seen her before . " Oh ! " the stranger said , clasping and unclasping her bare hands , which despite the poor light , Hennie could see were red and chapped . " I do n't mean to be nosy , but I was wondering how much ? " <p> " How much for what ? " <p> " A prayer . " The girl tightened the triangle of plaid wool scarf that covered her head before she thrust her hands into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ confused for a moment , and then realizing what had confounded the girl , she laughed . " That sign 's been there so long , I forget about it . " <p> " It says , Prayers for Sale . I 'm asking how much do you charge , and is it more if you 're in need than if you 're wanting just a little favor ? Do sinners pay more than the righteous ? And what if the Lord does n't answer ? Do you get your money back ? " The girl asked all this in a rush , as if she did n't want to forget any of the questions she had pondered as she stood frozen- still in the cold . <p> " That sign 's older than God 's old dog . " <p> " How come you to sell prayers ? " <p> " I do n't . " <p> " The sign says so . I 've seen it three times now . I came back because of it , " the girl persisted . " I can pay , if that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ " <p> Hennie chuckled . " That sign 's a story . I 'll tell it to you if you 'll come inside . " <p> " I 've got a nickel . Is that enough for a prayer ? " <p> " Lordy , are you needing one ? No money will buy a prayer , I tell you , but I 'll give you one for free , if you 're in need of it . " Hennie put her arms tight around herself to squeeze out the cold , for she had gone into the storm without her coat . <p> " I need it . I do . " <p> " Just you come inside then and tell me why . " <p> " I ca n't . I 've got to get home and ? x Dick 's supper . But I 'd be obliged to you if you 'd say a prayer -- a prayer for Sweet Baby Ef ? e , sweet baby that was , that is . Maybe you could ask that wherever she is , she 's not taken with the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ -- but just any words will do . " <p> " I 'll ask it , " Hennie said , turning and gesturing toward the house , but the girl would n't follow . Instead , she took a step backward . <p> " I thank you , " she said , carefully laying her nickel on the crosspiece of the fence . Then she turned and ? ed . Rubbing her arms now against the cold , Hennie watched until the little thing disappeared into the storm . Then she picked up the ? ve-cent piece and went inside , placing the coin in a mite box that she kept for Bonnie Harvey to take to church . Hennie herself did n't attend ser vices , had n't in a long time . <p> As she sat down in a kitchen chair , Hennie picked up the letter , but instead of holding it up to the window to read again , she pondered the young girl . Something about her was familiar , although Hennie was sure she 'd never seen her before . It might have been the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was from the South . Or perhaps it was because the girl was new in Middle Swan and appeared to be not a day older than Hennie herself when she 'd arrived long years before . <p> Hennie looked out the window again , but there was no sign of the girl returning , no sign that she 'd even been there , in fact . The old woman wondered why the girl wanted a prayer ; she seemed to have a powerful desire for one . Well , Hennie knew the need for prayer in her life , and she would do what she could . So slowly , she knelt on her old knees beside the chair , clasped her hands together , and asked God to keep Sweet Baby Ef ? e warm . Then she mumbled , " Now , Lord , there 's a girl , a poor girl , by the looks of her , that 's needing your help -- and maybe mine , too . I 'd like it right well if you could tell me what to do . " She paused @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you 'd ? nd a way short of dying to keep me from moving in with Mae . " <p> <p> <p> Excerpted from Prayers for Sale by Sandra Dallas <p> <p> Copyright 2009 by Sandra Dallas <p> <p> Published in 2009 by St. Martins ' 
##4040251 1 <p> The girl kept half-turning in the back seat to stare out the rear window of the cab , as though she were being chased across Buffalo to the hospital . It made Pete Sawicki as nervous as she was . He kept flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror , but all the way to the hospital he saw trucks , people driving station wagons to the supermarket , kids throwing baseballs beside empty streets -- nothing at all that was suspicious except her . He pulled up to the emergency room entrance and got out of his cab to open her door . <p> She had a pretty face . She was very young , maybe even jailbait , with long light brown hair , eyes that looked gray-green , full lips that seemed to pout as she concentrated on getting out of the back seat of the cab . Pete held his hand out to help her , but she deflected his attention with a look that went past him as though he were gone already . Usually somebody who wanted a cab ride @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She stood and once again her belly showed , stood out from her body under the loose shirt . It was none of his business , but Pete could n't help seeing the pregnancy as tragic in somebody her age . How could it not be ? <p> " How much ? " she said , her hand already moving into her purse . <p> " Eight bucks . " <p> She frowned . " It ca n't be . " <p> He pretended to look inside at the meter , and chuckled to himself . " You 're right . It 's twelve . " He took the fifteen dollars she handed him . " Thanks . And thanks for noticing that . " He stepped around the cab to his door , watched her walking to the emergency room , and waited until he saw the glass doors slide open to admit her and then close . He got back into the cab , reached into his pocket , took out a ten-dollar bill to pay for the rest of her fare , and put it into the cashbox @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ supposed he would head out to the airport and take a place in the line there . It was still early in the day and flights from the west would start coming in soon . <p> AT THE RECEPTION DESK the woman in the uniform told the girl to sit and wait , but the triage nurse came out only a couple of minutes later and brought her into an office . The nurse said , " If you 've got to be in the emergency room , you picked a good time . Beginning in the late afternoon , things get pretty hectic . " The girl recited the symptoms as well as she could remember them , and then she had to answer the nurse 's questions . Some were the obvious ones anyone would ask a pregnant woman , and some seemed to be all-purpose questions for emergency rooms . If you answered yes to any of them , you would belong in a hospital . <p> When the nurse started to stand , the girl said abruptly , " Do you happen to know a woman named @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . I may have heard the name . Why ? " <p> " Oh , it 's not important . Somebody I know told me if I was in this hospital I should say hello for her . " <p> " It 's a big hospital . I 'm going to have you wait in an examining room . A doctor will be in to see you shortly . " <p> The girl sat on the narrow bed in the small white room to wait for the doctor . She felt stupid , humiliated . Why would anybody ask her to say hello to somebody in an emergency room ? Her mistake made her more nervous . She looked at the complicated telephone mounted on the wall . It made no sound , but she could see colored lights along the top , some steady and others blinking -- green , red , and yellow . She stood and looked at it more closely . Maybe she could find the right button to make an announcement over the hospital 's public-address system . She had a professional-sounding telephone voice . If @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , " Jane Whitefield , please report to the emergency room . Jane Whitefield , there is a patient to see you in the emergency room . " It would be a huge risk , because they might throw her out or even have her arrested , but she had to do something . <p> The girl stepped closer and looked for labels on the buttons , then heard a woman 's voice talking , growing louder as the woman came up the hall . The girl turned away from the phone and heard the swish of fabric as the woman stepped into the room . The woman was brown-skinned , about forty years old , and seemed to be from the Middle East or Asia . She wore a starched white coat with a gold name tag . " Christine ? " <p> " Yes . " <p> " I 'm Dr. Depredha . Are you in pain ? Are you having cramps now ? " <p> " Once in a while they come back . " <p> " Bleeding ? " <p> " I think it stopped . " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her stethoscope and pressed it against Christine 's neck for a few seconds . " All right . Let 's get you undressed and I 'll give you a brief exam , so we 'll know more . " She opened a drawer , took out a package , and tore it open . Christine could see it was a gown . " You can put this on , and I 'll be back in a minute . " She started out , pulling the door after her . <p> " Doctor ? " <p> " Yes ? " <p> " Do you know a woman named Jane Whitefield ? " <p> " Sounds familiar . Is she a doctor ? " <p> " I do n't know . Someone I know said I might run into her here . " <p> One of Dr. Depredha 's perfect curved eyebrows gave an eloquent upward twitch that conveyed sympathy , apology , and yet , a businesslike urgency . " I have n't been here long . I 'll be back . " She went out and closed the door . <p> @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more and more panicky . Sweat dampened her shirt and nausea was coming on . She had come so far , and she was so frightened . Now that she was here , the place seemed to be a lot of blank , unknowing faces and closed doors , and she had no idea how long she would be safe here . She fought the impulse to step out the door and run , and began to undress . This was the plan she had chosen . She had to carry it through and give it a chance to work . If she could n't find Jane Whitefield , at least maybe she could stay here long enough to rest . <p> DR . DEPREDHA HURRIED OUT to the reception area and spotted the big security officer near the doors to the parking lot . As she stepped toward him she saw his head turn , his dark , intelligent eyes see her , and his black face smile down at her . " Mr. Mathews . " <p> " Dr. Depredha . What can I do for you ? " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that he always brought with him . He was about six feet seven and weighed , by her estimate , two hundred and eighty pounds , but his manner made him seem like a doting uncle . <p> She had to speak quickly and just above a whisper . " I just got a patient , a pregnant female who listed her age as twenty . She 's showing signs of extreme anxiety . She 's afraid . Genuinely frightened . " <p> " Do you need help with her ? " <p> " Not with her . She 's perfectly docile . But I have a feeling about this . She acts as though she were being chased . Do you understand ? " <p> He nodded . " What does she look like ? " <p> " Caucasian , brown hair , light eyes . Looks younger than twenty . Her name is Christine . The triage nurse noted that she arrived alone in a taxi . " <p> " I saw her . All right , Doctor , " said Mr. Mathews . " I 'll begin watching @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ <p> " Thank you , Mr. Mathews . " She turned and hurried back through the automatic doors that led to the examining rooms . <p> Officer Stanley Mathews stepped to the outer doors of the emergency room and looked out . He was n't quite sure what he was looking for -- an angry parent or brother , an abusive boyfriend , or even some female rival with a gun in her purse . Dr. Depredha was n't some flighty , overprotected woman who imagined danger . Before she had come to this country she had been in a couple of wars , doing battlefield patch-up jobs while incoming mortar rounds thumped inside the perimeter near enough to bounce the instruments on the table . He 'd seen a bit of that sort of thing himself . If she felt uneasy , he felt uneasy . He pushed open the double doors with both hands and stepped outside to see who might have pulled into the parking lot since he 'd last looked . Some people had seen enough terror and misery in their lives so they seemed to develop @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feel it . <p> JANE MCKINNON SURVEYED the room from the doorway . Tonight the hospital cafeteria had been not only decorated but disguised , the windows covered with long drapes and the ceiling hung with clusters of hundreds of white Japanese lanterns of different sizes . The benefit seemed to be going smoothly . People were moving away from the hors d'oeuvre tables and circulating instead of knotting up near the food and drink . The conversation was loud and continuous . The band had arrived , set up , and done sound checks during the late afternoon , so that when the music started it would be tolerable . As Jane moved in among the guests , her tall , erect shape and the light blue evening dress that set off the dark skin and black hair she had inherited from her father made people turn to watch her for a moment . The intense blue eyes she 'd inherited from her mother acknowledged them and moved on . <p> " Jane ! " <p> A man 's voice , too close , coming from above her head . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in hands-face-body in the first fraction of a second . It was only Gary Wanamaker , the hospital 's director of development . The muscles in her arms and back relaxed , and she managed a smile . Her knees straightened from the preparatory flex that the long evening dress had hidden from view . For some reason she had n't recognized the voice . She was jumpy tonight , abnormally alert . <p> Copyright 2009 by Thomas Perry <p> All rights reserved . No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means , electronic or mechanical , including photocopy , recording , or any information storage and retrieval system , without permission in writing from the publisher . <p> Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be submitted online at www.harcourt.com/contact or mailed to the following address : Permissions Department , Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company , 6277 Sea Harbor Drive , Orlando , Florida 32887-6777 . <p> <br> Continues ... 
##4040252 I 've always wondered what people felt in the final few hours of their lives . Did they know something terrible was about to occur ? Sense imminent tragedy , hold their loved ones close ? Or is it one of those things that simply happens ? The mother of four , tucking her kids into bed , worrying about the morning car pool , the laundry she still has n't done , and the funny noise the furnace is making again , only to catch an eerie creak coming from down the hall . Or the teenage girl , dreaming about her Saturday shopping date with her BFF , only to open her eyes and discover she 's no longer alone in her room . Or the father , bolting awake , thinking , What the fuck ? right before the hammer catches him between the eyes . <br> In the last six hours of the world as I know it , I feed Ree dinner . Kraft Macaroni & Cheese , topped with pieces of turkey dog . I slice up an apple . She eats @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ red peel . I tell her the skin holds all the nutrients . She rolls her eyes -- four going on fourteen . We already fight over clothing -- she likes short skirts , her father and I prefer long dresses , she wants a bikini , we insist she wear a one-piece . I figure it 's only a matter of weeks before she demands the keys to the car . <br> Afterward Ree wants to go " treasure hunting " in the attic . I tell her it 's bath time . Shower , actually . We share the old claw-foot tub in the upstairs bath , as we 've been doing since she was a baby . Ree lathers up two Barbies and one princess rubber duckie . I lather up her . By the time we 're done , we both smell like lavender and the entire black-and-white checkered bathroom is smothered with steam . <br> I like the post-shower ritual . We wrap up in giant towels , then make a beeline down the chilly hallway to the Big Bed in Jason 's and my room @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ arms cocooned , but toes sticking out , lightly touching . Our orange tabby cat , Mr. Smith , jumps on the bed , and peers down at us with his big golden eyes , long tail twitching . <br> " What was your favorite part of today ? " I ask my daughter . <br> Ree crinkles her nose . " I do n't remember . " <br> Mr. Smith moves away from us , finding a nice comfy spot by the headboard , and begins to groom . He knows what 's coming next . <br> " My favorite part was coming home from school and getting a big hug . " I 'm a teacher . It 's Wednesday . Wednesday I get home around four , Jason departs at five . Ree is used to the drill by now . Daddy is daytime , Mommy is nighttime . We did n't want strangers raising our child and we 've gotten our wish . <br> " Can I watch a movie ? " Ree asks . Is always asking . She 'd live with the DVD player if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I answer lightly . " Tell me about school . " <br> " A short movie , " she counters . Then offers , triumphantly , " Veggie Tales ! " <br> " No movie , " I repeat , untucking an arm long enough to tickle her under the chin . It 's nearly eight o'clock and I know she 's tired and willful . I 'd like to avoid a full tantrum this close to bedtime . " Now tell me about school . What 'd you have for snack ? " <br> She frees her own arms and tickles me under my chin . " Carrots ! " <br> " Oh yeah ? " More tickling , behind her ear . " Who brought them ? " <br> " Heidi ! " <br> She 's trying for my armpits . I deftly block the move . " Art or music ? " <br> " Music ! " <br> " Singing or instrument ? " <br> " Guitar ! " <br> She 's got the towel off and pounces on me , tickling anyplace she can find with fast @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the end-of-the-day collapse . I manage to fend her off , rolling laughing off the edge of the bed . I land with a thump on the hardwood floor , which makes her giggle harder and Mr. Smith yowl in protest . He scampers out of the room , impatient now for the completion of our evening ritual . <br> I find a long T-shirt for me , and an Ariel nightgown for her . We brush our teeth together , side by side in front of the oval mirror . Ree likes the synchronized spit . Two stories , one song , and half a Broadway show later , I finally have her tucked into bed with Lil ' Bunny clutched in her hands and Mr. Smith curled up next to her feet . <br> Eight-thirty . Our little house is officially my own . I take up roost at the kitchen counter . Sip tea , grade papers , keep my back to the computer so I wo n't be tempted . The cat clock Jason got Ree one Christmas meows on the hour . The sound echoes through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than it really is . <br> My feet are cold . It 's March in New England , the days still chilly . I should put on socks but I do n't feel like getting up . <br> Nine-fifteen , I make my rounds . Bolt lock on the back door , check the wooden posts jammed into each window frame . Finally , the double bolt on the steel front door . We live in South Boston , in a modest , middle-class neighborhood with tree-lined streets and family-friendly parks . Lots of kids , lots of white picket fences . <br> I check the locks and reinforce the windows anyway . Both Jason and I have our reasons . <br> Then I 'm standing at the computer again , hands itching by my side . Telling myself it 's time to go to bed . Warning myself not to take a seat . Thinking I 'm probably going to do it anyway . Just for a minute . Check a few e-mails . What can it hurt ? <br> At the last moment , I find willpower I did @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ instead . Another family policy : The computer must be turned off before going to bed . <br> A computer is a portal , you know , an entry point into your home . Or maybe you do n't know . <br> Soon enough , you 'll understand . <br> Ten o'clock , I leave the kitchen light on for Jason . He has n't called , so apparently it 's a busy night . That 's okay , I tell myself . Busy is busy . It seems we go longer in silence all the time . These things happen . Especially when you have a small child . <br> I think of February vacation again . The family getaway that was either the best or the worst thing that happened to us , given your point of view . I want to understand it . Make some sense of my husband , of myself . There are things that once done ca n't be undone , things that once said ca n't be unsaid . <br> I ca n't fix any of it tonight . In fact , I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ weeks , which has been starting to fill me with more and more dread . Once , I honestly believed love alone could heal all wounds . Now I know better . <br> At the top of the stairs , I pause outside Ree 's door for my final good-night check . I carefully crack open the door and peer in . Mr. Smith 's golden eyes gaze back at me . He does n't get up , and I ca n't blame him : It 's a cozy scene , Ree curled in a ball under the pink-and-green flowered covers , sucking her thumb , a tousle of dark curls peeking up from above the sheets . She looks small again , like the baby I swear I had only yesterday , yet somehow it 's four years later and she dresses herself and feeds herself and keeps us informed of all the opinions she has on life . <br> I think I love her . <br> I think love is not an adequate word to express the emotion I feel in my chest . <br> I close the door @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , slipping beneath the blue-and-green wedding quilt . <br> The door is cracked for Ree . The hallway light on for Jason . <br> The evening ritual is complete . All is as it should be . <br> I lie on my side , pillow between my knees , hand splayed on my hip . I am staring at everything and nothing at all . I am thinking that I am tired , and that I 've screwed up and that I wish Jason was home and yet I am grateful that he is gone , and that I 've got to figure out something except I have no idea what . <br> I love my child . I love my husband . <br> I am an idiot . <br> And I remember something , something I have not thought about for months now . The fragment is not so much a memory as it is a scent : rose petals , crushed , decaying , simmering outside my bedroom window in the Georgia heat . While Mama 's voice floats down the darkened hall , " I know something you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Shhh , shhh , shhh , " I whisper now . My hand curves around my stomach and I think too much of things I have spent most of my life trying to forget . <br> " Shhh , shhh , shhh , " I try again . <br> And then , a sound from the base of the stairs . . . <br> In the last moments of the world as I know it , I wish I could tell you I heard an owl hoot out in the darkness . Or saw a black cat leap over the fence . Or felt the hairs tingle on the nape of my neck . <br> I wish I could tell you I saw the danger , that I put up one helluva fight . After all , I , of all people , should understand just how easily love can turn to hate , desire to obsession . I , of all people , should have seen it coming . <br> But I did n't . I honestly did n't . <br> And God help me , when his face materialized @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was that he was just as handsome now as when we first met , and that I still wished I could trace the line of his jaw , run my fingers through the waves of his hair . . . . <br> Then I thought , looking at what was down at his side , that I must n't scream . I must protect my daughter , my precious daughter still sleeping down the hall . <br> He stepped into the room . Raised both of his arms . <br> I swear to you I did n't make a sound . <br> Continues ... 
##4040253 The Coming <p> After eight months spent in the obscurity of our mother 's womb , my brother , Shiva , and I came into the world in the late afternoon of the twentieth of September in the year of grace 1954 . We took our first breaths at an elevation of eight thousand feet in the thin air of Addis Ababa , capital city of Ethiopia . The miracle of our birth took place in Missing Hospital 's Operating Theater 3 , the very room where our mother , Sister Mary Joseph Praise , spent most of her working hours , and in which she had been most fulfilled . <p> When our mother , a nun of the Diocesan Carmelite Order of Madras , unexpectedly went into labor that September morning , the big rain in Ethiopia had ended , its rattle on the corrugated tin roofs of Missing ceasing abruptly like a chatterbox cut off in midsentence . Over night , in that hushed silence , the meskel flowers bloomed , turning the hillsides of Addis Ababa into gold . In the meadows around Missing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ brilliant carpet now swept right up to the paved threshold of the hospital , holding forth the promise of something more substantial than cricket , croquet , or shuttlecock . <p> Missing sat on a verdant rise , the irregular cluster of whitewashed one- and two-story buildings looking as if they were pushed up from the ground in the same geologic rumble that created the Entoto Mountains . Troughlike flower beds , fed by the runoff from the roof gutters , surrounded the squat buildings like a moat . Matron Hirst 's roses overtook the walls , the crimson blooms framing every window and reaching to the roof . So fertile was that loamy soil that Matron-Missing Hospital 's wise and sensible leader-cautioned us against stepping into it barefoot lest we sprout new toes . <p> Five trails flanked by shoulder-high bushes ran away from the main hospital buildings like spokes of a wheel , leading to five thatched-roof bungalows that were all but hidden by copse , by hedgerows , by wild eucalyptus and pine . It was Matron 's intent that Missing resemble an arboretum , or a corner @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Africa , she used to walk as a young nun ) , or Eden before the Fall . <p> Missing was really Mission Hospital , a word that on the Ethiopian tongue came out with a hiss so it sounded like " Missing . " A clerk in the Ministry of Health who was a fresh high-school graduate had typed out the missing hospital on the license , a phonetically correct spelling as far as he was concerned . A reporter for the Ethiopian Herald perpetuated this misspelling . When Matron Hirst had approached the clerk in the ministry to correct this , he pulled out his original typescript . " See for yourself , madam . Quod erat demonstrandum it is Missing , " he said , as if he 'd proved Pythagoras 's theorem , the sun 's central position in the solar system , the roundness of the earth , and Missing 's precise location at its imagined corner . And so Missing it was . <p> Not a cry or a groan escaped from Sister Mary Joseph Praise while in the throes of her cataclysmic labor . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Operating Theater 3 , the oversize autoclave ( donated by the Lutheran church in Zurich ) bellowed and wept for my mother while its scalding steam sterilized the surgical instruments and towels that would be used on her . After all , it was in the corner of the autoclave room , right next to that stainless-steel behemoth , that my mother kept a sanctuary for herself during the seven years she spent at Missing before our rude arrival . Her one-piece desk-and-chair , rescued from a defunct mission school , and bearing the gouged frustration of many a pupil , faced the wall . Her white cardigan , which I am told she often slipped over her shoulders when she was between operations , lay over the back of the chair . <p> On the plaster above the desk my mother had tacked up a calendar print of Bernini 's famous sculpture of St. Teresa of Avila . The figure of St. Teresa lies limp , as if in a faint , her lips parted in ecstasy , her eyes unfocused , lids half closed . On either side of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . With a faint smile and a body more muscular than befits his youthful face , a boy angel stands over the saintly , voluptuous sister . The fingertips of his left hand lift the edge of the cloth covering her bosom . In his right hand he holds an arrow as delicately as a violinist holds a bow . <p> Why this picture ? Why St. Teresa , Mother ? <p> As a little boy of four , I took myself away to this windowless room to study the image . Courage alone could not get me past that heavy door , but my sense that she was there , my obsession to know the nun who was my mother , gave me strength . I sat next to the autoclave which rumbled and hissed like a waking dragon , as if the hammering of my heart had roused the beast . Gradually , as I sat at my mother 's desk , a peace would come over me , a sense of communion with her . <p> I learned later that no one had dared remove her cardigan from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a sacred object . But for a four-year-old , everything is sacred and ordinary . I pulled that Cuticura-scented garment around my shoulders . I rimmed the dried-out inkpot with my nail , tracing a path her fingers had taken . Gazing up at the calendar print just as she must have while sitting there in that windowless room , I was transfixed by that image . Years later , I learned that St. Teresa 's recurrent vision of the angel was called the transverberation , which the dictionary said was the soul " inflamed " by the love of God , and the heart " pierced " by divine love ; the metaphors of her faith were also the metaphors of medicine . At four years of age , I did n't need words like " transverberation " to feel reverence for that image . Without photographs of her to go by , I could n't help but imagine that the woman in the picture was my mother , threatened and about to be ravished by the spear-wielding boy-angel . " When are you coming , Mama ? " I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tile . When are you coming ? <p> I would whisper my answer : " By God ! " That was all I had to go by : Dr. Ghosh 's declaration the time I 'd first wandered in there and he 'd come looking for me and had stared at the picture of St. Teresa over my shoulders ; he lifted me in his strong arms and said in that voice of his that was every bit a match for the autoclave : " She is CUM-MING , by God ! " <p> Forty-six and four years have passed since my birth , and miraculously I have the opportunity to return to that room . I find I am too large for that chair now , and the cardigan sits atop my shoulders like the lace amice of a priest . But chair , cardigan , and calendar print of transverberation are still there . I , Marion Stone , have changed , but little else has . Being in that unaltered room propels a thumbing back through time and memory . The unfading print of Bernini 's statue of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what my mother tacked up ) seems to demand this . I am forced to render some order to the events of my life , to say it began here , and then because of this , that happened , and this is how the end connects to the beginning , and so here I am . <p> We come unbidden into this life , and if we are lucky we find a purpose beyond starvation , misery , and early death which , lest we forget , is the common lot . I grew up and I found my purpose and it was to become a physician . My intent was n't to save the world as much as to heal myself . <p> Few doctors will admit this , certainly not young ones , but subconsciously , in entering the profession , we must believe that ministering to others will heal our woundedness . And it can . But it can also deepen the wound . <p> I chose the specialty of surgery because of Matron , that steady presence during my boyhood and adolescence . " What is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said when I went to her for advice on the darkest day of the first half of my life . I squirmed . How easily Matron probed the gap between ambition and expediency . " Why must I do what is hardest ? " <p> " Because , Marion , you are an instrument of God . Do n't leave the instrument sitting in its case , my son . Play ! Leave no part of your instrument unexplored . Why settle for ' Three Blind Mice ' when you can play the ' Gloria ' ? " <p> How unfair of Matron to evoke that soaring chorale which always made me feel that I stood with every mortal creature looking up to the heavens in dumb wonder . She understood my unformed character . <p> " But , Matron , I ca n't dream of playing Bach , the ' Gloria ' ... , " I said under my breath . I 'd never played a string or wind instrument . I could n't read music . <p> " No , Marion , " she said , her gaze soft @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my cheeks . " No , not Bach 's ' Gloria . ' Yours ! Your ' Gloria ' lives within you . The greatest sin is not finding it , ignoring what God made possible in you . " <p> I was temperamentally better suited to a cognitive discipline , to an introspective field-internal medicine , or perhaps psychiatry . The sight of the operating theater made me sweat . The idea of holding a scalpel caused coils to form in my belly . ( It still does . ) Surgery was the most difficult thing I could imagine . <p> And so I became a surgeon . <p> Thirty years later , I am not known for speed , or daring , or technical genius . Call me steady , call me plodding ; say I adopt the style and technique that suits the patient and the particular situation and I 'll consider that high praise . I take heart from my fellow physicians who come to me when they themselves must suffer the knife . They know that Marion Stone will be as involved after the surgery as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for surgical aphorisms such as " When in doubt , cut it out " or " Why wait when you can operate " other than for how reliably they reveal the shallowest intellects in our field . My father , for whose skills as a surgeon I have the deepest respect , says , " The operation with the best outcome is the one you decide not to do . " Knowing when not to operate , knowing when I am in over my head , knowing when to call for the assistance of a surgeon of my father 's caliber-that kind of talent , that kind of " brilliance , " goes unheralded . <p> On one occasion with a patient in grave peril , I begged my father to operate . He stood silent at the bedside , his fingers lingering on the patient 's pulse long after he had registered the heart rate , as if he needed the touch of skin , the thready signal in the radial artery to catalyze his decision . In his taut expression I saw complete concentration . I imagined I could @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I saw the shimmer of tears in his eyes . With utmost care he weighed one option against another . At last , he shook his head , and turned away . <p> I followed . " Dr. Stone , " I said , using his title though I longed to cry out , Father ! " An operation is his only chance , " I said . In my heart I knew the chance was infinitesimally small , and the first whiff of anesthesia might end it all . My father put his hand on my shoulder . He spoke to me gently , as if to a junior colleague rather than his son . " Marion , remember the Eleventh Commandment , " he said . " Thou shall not operate on the day of a patient 's death . " <p> I remember his words on full-moon nights in Addis Ababa when knives are flashing and rocks and bullets are flying , and when I feel as if I am standing in an abattoir and not in Operating Theater 3 , my skin flecked with the grist and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ n't always know the answers before you operate . One operates in the now . Later , the retrospectoscope , that handy tool of the wags and pundits , the conveners of the farce we call M&M-morbidity and mortality conference-will pronounce your decision right or wrong . Life , too , is like that . You live it forward , but understand it backward . It is only when you stop and look to the rear that you see the corpse caught under your wheel . <p> Now , in my fiftieth year , I venerate the sight of the abdomen or chest laid open . I 'm ashamed of our human capacity to hurt and maim one another , to desecrate the body . Yet it allows me to see the cabalistic harmony of heart peeking out behind lung , of liver and spleen consulting each other under the dome of the diaphragm-these things leave me speechless . My fingers " run the bowel " looking for holes that a blade or bullet might have created , coil after glistening coil , twenty-three feet of it compacted into such a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fingers like this in the African night would by now reach the Cape of Good Hope , and I have yet to see the serpent 's head . But I do see the ordinary miracles under skin and rib and muscle , visions concealed from their owner . Is there a greater privilege on earth ? <p> At such moments I remember to thank my twin brother , Shiva-Dr . Shiva Praise Stone-to seek him out , to find his reflection in the glass panel that separates the two operating theaters , and to nod my thanks because he allows me to be what I am today . A surgeon . According to Shiva , life is in the end about fixing holes . Shiva did n't speak in metaphors . Fixing holes is precisely what he did . Still , it 's an apt metaphor for our profession . But there 's another kind of hole , and that is the wound that divides family . Sometimes this wound occurs at the moment of birth , sometimes it happens later . We are all fixing what is broken . It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much unfinished for the next generation . <p> Born in Africa , living in exile in America , then returning at last to Africa , I am proof that geography is destiny . Destiny has brought me back to the precise coordinates of my birth , to the very same operating theater where I was born . My gloved hands share the space above the table in Operating Theater 3 that my mother and father 's hands once occupied . <p> Some nights the crickets cry zaa-zee , zaa-zee , thousands of them drowning out the coughs and grunts of the hyenas in the hillsides . Suddenly , nature turns quiet . It is as if roll call is over and it is time now in the darkness to find your mate and retreat . In the ensuing vacuum of silence , I hear the high-pitched humming of the stars and I feel exultant , thankful for my insignificant place in the galaxy . It is at such times that I feel my indebtedness to Shiva . <p> Twin brothers , we slept in the same bed till our teens , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . We outgrew that intimacy , but I still long for it , for the proximity of his skull . When I wake to the gift of yet another sunrise , my first thought is to rouse him and say , I owe you the sight of morning . <p> What I owe Shiva most is this : to tell the story . It is one my mother , Sister Mary Joseph Praise , did not reveal and my fearless father , Thomas Stone , ran from , and which I had to piece together . Only the telling can heal the rift that separates my brother and me . Yes , I have infinite faith in the craft of surgery , but no surgeon can heal the kind of wound that divides two brothers . Where silk and steel fail , story must succeed . To begin at the beginning ... <p> ( Continues ... ) <p> 
##4040254 Follow <br> Once a year there was a knock at the door . Two times , then nothing . No one else heard , only me . Even when I was a baby in my cradle . My mother did n't hear . My father did n't hear . My sisters continued sleeping . But the cat looked up . <br> When I was old enough I opened the door . There she was . A lady wearing a gray coat . She had a branch from a hawthorn tree , the one that grew outside my window . She spoke , but I did n't know her language . A big wind had come up and the door slammed shut . When I opened it again , she was gone . <br> But I knew what she wanted . <br> Me . <br> The one word I 'd understood was daughter . <br> I asked my mother to tell me about the day I was born . She could n't remember . I asked my father . He had no idea . My sisters were too young @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gray lady next came , I asked the same question . I could tell from the look on her face . She knew the answer . She went down to the marsh , where the tall reeds grew , where the river began . I ran to keep up . She slipped into the water , all gray and murky . She waited for me to follow . I did n't think twice . I took off my boots . The water was cold . I went under fast . <br> It was April in New York City and from the window of their room at the Plaza Hotel everything looked bright and green . The Story sisters were sharing a room on the evening of their grandparents ' fiftieth anniversary party . Their mother trusted them completely . They were not the sort of teenagers who would steal from the minibar only to wind up drunk in the hallway , sprawled out on the carpet or nodding off in a doorway , embarrassing themselves and their families . They would never hang out the window to wave away cigarette smoke @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were diligent , beautiful girls , well behaved , thoughtful . Most people were charmed to discover that the girls had a private , shared language . It was lovely to hear , musical . When they spoke to each other , they sounded like birds . <br> The eldest girl was Elisabeth , called Elv , now fifteen . Meg was only a year younger , and Claire had just turned twelve . Each had long dark hair and pale eyes , a startling combination . Elv was a disciplined dancer , the most beautiful in many people 's opinions , the one who had invented the Story sisters ' secret world . Meg was a great reader and was never without a book ; while walking to school she often had one open in her hands , so engrossed she would sometimes trip while navigating familiar streets . Claire was diligent , kindhearted , never one to shirk chores . Her bed was made before her sisters opened their sleepy eyes . She raked the lawn and watered the garden and always went to sleep on time . All @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be proud to claim as their own . But when the girls ' mother came upon them chattering away in that language no one else could understand , when she spied maps and graphs that meant nothing to her , that defined another world , her daughters made her think of clouds , something far away and inaccessible . <br> Annie and the girls ' father had divorced four years earlier , the summer of the gypsy moths when all of the trees in their yard were bare , the leaves chewed by caterpillars . You could hear crunching in the night . You could see silvery cocoon webbing in porch rafters and strung across stop signs . People said there were bound to be hard times ahead for the Storys . Alan was a high school principal , his schedule too full for many visits . He 'd been the one who 'd wanted out of the marriage , and after the split he 'd all but disappeared . At the age of forty-seven , he 'd become a ladies ' man , or maybe it was simply that there @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ game . Suddenly he was in demand . There was another woman in the background during the breakup . She 'd quickly been replaced by a second girlfriend the Story sisters had yet to meet . But so far there had been no great disasters despite the divorce and all of the possible minefields that accompanied adolescence . Annie and her daughters still lived in the same house in North Point Harbor , where a big hawthorn tree grew outside the girls ' bedroom window . People said it had been there before Long Island was settled and that it was the oldest tree for miles around . In the summertime much of the Storys ' yard was taken up with a large garden filled with rows of tomato plants . There was a stone birdbath at the center and a latticework trellis that was heavy with climbing sweet peas and tremulous , prickly cucumber vines . The Story sisters could have had small separate bedrooms on the first floor , but they chose to share the attic . They preferred one another 's company to rooms of their own . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ conspiratorially to each other in that secret vocabulary of theirs , she felt left out in some deep , hurtful way . Her oldest girl sat up in the hawthorn tree late at night ; she said she was looking at stars , but she was there even on cloudy nights , her black hair even blacker against the sky . Annie was certain that people who said daughters were easy had never had girls of their own . <br> Today the Story sisters were all in blue . Teal and azure and sapphire . They liked to wear similar clothes and confuse people as to who was who . Usually they wore jeans and T-shirts , but this was a special occasion . They adored their grandmother Natalia , whom they called Ama , a name Elv had bestowed upon her as a toddler . Their ama was Russian and elegant and wonderful . She 'd fallen in love with their grandfather in France . Although the Rosens lived on Eighty- ninth Street , they kept their apartment where Natalia had lived as a young woman in the Marais district @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and as far as the Story sisters were concerned , it was the most wonderful spot in the world . <br> Annie and the girls visited once a year . They were infatuated with Paris . They had dreams of long days filled with creamy light and meals that lasted long into the hazy blur of evening . They loved French ice cream and the glasses of blue-white milk . They studied beautiful women and tried to imitate the way they walked , the way they tied their scarves so prettily . They always traveled to France for spring vacation . The chestnut tree in the courtyard was in bloom then , with its scented white flowers . <br> The Plaza was probably the second-best place in the world . Annie went to the girls ' room to find her daughters clustered around the window , gazing at the horse-drawn carriages down below . From a certain point of view the sisters looked like women , tall and beautiful and poised , but they were still children in many ways , the younger girls especially . Meg said that when she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ carriages . She would wear a white dress and carry a hundred roses . The girls ' secret world was called Arnelle . Arnish for rose was minta . It was the single word Annie understood . Alana me sora minta , Meg was saying . Roses wherever you looked . <br> " How can you think about that now ? " Elv gestured out the window . She was easily outraged and hated mistreatment of any sort . " Those carriage horses are malnourished , " she informed her sister . <br> Elv had always been an animal fanatic . Years ago she 'd found a rabbit , mortally wounded by a lawn mower 's blades , left to bleed to death in the velvety grass of the Weinsteins ' lawn . She 'd tried her best to nurse it to health , but in the end the rabbit had died in a shoebox , covered up with a doll 's blanket . Afterward she and Meg and Claire had held a funeral , burying the shoebox beneath the back porch , but Elv had been inconsolable . If we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ voice , she 'd whispered to her sisters , then who will ? She tried to do exactly that . She left out seeds for the mourning doves , opened cans of tuna fish for stray cats , set out packets of sugar for the garden moths . She had begged for a dog , but her mother had neither the time nor the patience for a pet . Annie was n't about to disrupt their home life . She had no desire to add another personality to the mix , not even that of a terrier or a spaniel . <br> Elv was wearing the darkest of the dresses , a deep sapphire , the one her sisters coveted . They wanted to be everything she was and traipsed after her faithfully . The younger girls were rapt as she ranted on about the carriage horses . " They 're made to ride around without food or water all day long . They 're worked until they 're nothing but skin and bones . " <br> " Skin and bones " was a favorite phrase of Elv 's . It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had created was a faery realm where women had wings and it was possible to read thoughts . Arnelle was everything the human world was not . Speech was unnecessary , treachery out of the question . It was a world where no one could take you by surprise or tell you a mouthful of lies . You could see someone 's heart through his chest and know if he was a goblin , a mortal , or a true hero . You could divine a word 's essence by a halo of color -- red was false , white was true , yellow was the foulest of lies . There were no ropes to tie you , no iron bars , no stale bread , no one to shut and lock the door . <br> Elv had begun to whisper Arnelle stories to her sisters during the bad summer when she was eleven . It was hot that August ; the grass had turned brown . In other years summer had been Elv 's favorite season -- no school , long days , the bay only a bicycle ride away @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ all she 'd wanted was to lock herself away with her sisters . They hid in their mother 's garden , beneath the trailing pea vines . The tomato plants were veiled by a glinting canopy of bottle-green leaves . The younger girls were eight and ten . They did n't know there were demons on earth , and Elv did n't have the heart to tell them . She brushed the leaves out of her sisters ' hair . She would never let anyone hurt them . The worst had already happened , and she was still alive . She could n't even say the words <br> for what had happened , not even to Claire , who 'd been with her that day , who 'd managed to get away because Elv had implored her to run . <br> When she first started to tell her sisters stories , she asked for them to close their eyes and pretend they were in the otherworld . It was easy , she said . Just let go of this world . They 'd been stolen by mortals , she whispered , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their magic by the charms humans used against faeries : bread , metal , rope . The younger girls did n't complain when their clothes became dusted with dark earth as they lay in the garden , although Meg , always so tidy , stood in the shower afterward and soaped herself clean . In the real world , Elv confided , there were pins , spindles , beasts , fur , claws . It was a fairy tale in reverse . The good and the kind lived in the otherworld , down twisted lanes , in the woods where trout lilies grew . True evil could be found walking down Nightingale Lane . That 's where it happened . <br> They were coming home from the bay . Meg had been sick so she 'd stayed home . It was just the two of them . When the man in the car told Claire to get in the backseat , she did . She recognized him from school . He was one of the teachers . She was wearing her bathing suit . It was about to rain and she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ started driving away before her sister got into the car . Elv ran alongside and banged on the car door , yelling for him to let her sister out . He stopped long enough to grab her and drag her inside , too . He stepped on the gas , still holding on to Elv . " Reunina lee , " Elv said . It was the first time she spoke Arnish . The words came to her as if by magic . By magic , Claire understood . I came to rescue you . <br> At the next stop sign , Claire opened the door and ran . <br> Arnelle was so deep under the ground you had to descend more than a thousand steps . There were three sisters there , Elv had told Claire . They were beautiful and loyal , with pale eyes and long , black hair . <br> " Like us , " Claire always said , delighted . <br> If they concentrated , if they closed their eyes , they could always find their way back to the otherworld . It was beneath the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tree in Paris . Two doorways no one else could get past . No one could hurt you there or tear you into pieces . No one could put a curse on you or lock you away . Once you went down the underground stairs and went through the gate there were roses even when snow fell in the real world , when the drifts were three feet deep . <br> Most people were seized by the urgency of Elv 's stories , and her sisters were no exception . At school , classmates gathered round her at lunchtime . She never spoke about Arnelle to anyone but her dear sisters , but that did n't mean she did n't have stories to tell . For her school friends she had tales of life on earth , stories of demons she did n't want her sisters to hear . A demon usually said three words to put a curse on you . He cut you three times with a knife . Elv could see what the rest of them never could . She had " the sight , " she said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ math classes . She scared the hell out of some of them and told others exactly what they wanted to hear . Even in Paris when she went to visit her grandparents , the city was filled with demons . They prowled the streets and watched you as you slept . They came in through the window like black insects drawn to the light . They put a hand over your mouth , kept your head under water if you screamed . They came to get you if you ever dared tell and turned you to ash with one touch . <br> Each day , the number of girls who gathered around Elv in the cafeteria increased . They circled around to hear her intoxicating tales , told with utter conviction . Demons wore black coats and thick- soled boots . The worst sort of goblin was the kind that could eat you alive . Just a kiss , miss . Just a bite . <br> Continues ... 
##4040256 ONE <p> I could smell him -- or rather the booze on his breath -- before he even opened the door , but my sense of smell is pretty good , probably better than yours . The key scratched against the lock , finally found the slot . The door opened and in , with a little stumble , came Bernie Little , founder and part owner ( his ex-wife , Leda , walked off with the rest ) of the Little Detective Agency . I 'd seen him look worse , but not often . <p> He mustered a weak smile . " Hey , Chet . " <p> I raised my tail and let it thump down on the rug , just so , sending a message . <p> " I 'm a little late , sorry . Need to go out ? " <p> Why would that be ? Just because my back teeth were floating ? But then I thought , What the hell , the poor guy , and I went over and pressed my head against the side of his leg . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in , the way I like . Bliss . How about a little more , down the back of the neck ? I hunched my shoulders a bit , giving him the idea . Ah , nice . Very nice . <p> We went outside , me and Bernie . There were three trees out front , my favorite being a big shady one just perfect for napping under . I lifted my leg against it . Wow . Had n't realized I was that close to desperation . The night filled with splashing sounds and I zoned out a little , listening to them . I managed to stop the flow -- not easy -- and save some for dampening the rock at the end of the driveway and the wooden fence that separated our property from old man Heydrich 's next door , plus a squirt or two between the slats . Only doing my job , but do n't get me started on old man Heydrich . <p> Bernie was gazing up at the sky . A beautiful night -- soft breeze , lots of stars , lights @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A new tennis ball on the lawn . I went over and sniffed it . Not one of mine , not anyone 's I knew . <p> " Wan na play fetch ? " <p> I pawed the thing . How did it get here ? Cooped up all day , but I 'd kept an ear cocked ; except for when I dozed off , of course . <p> " Bring it here , Chet . " <p> I did n't want to , not with this stranger 's smell on it . <p> " Come on . " <p> But I never said no to Bernie . I gave the ball a lick or two , making it mine , then took it over to Bernie and dropped it at his feet . Bernie reared back and threw the ball up the canyon road . <p> " Uh-oh -- where 'd it go ? " <p> Where 'd it go ? He really could n't see it ? That never failed to surprise me , how poorly he saw after the sun went down . I tore after the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plain sight , got my back feet way forward and sprang , totally airborne , snaring it on the short hop , the way I like , then wheeling around in one skidding motion and racing full speed , head low , ears flattened by the wind I was making , and dropped it at Bernie 's feet , putting on the brakes at the last moment . If you know something more fun than this , let me in on the secret . <p> " Got it on the short hop ? Could n't tell from here . " <p> I wagged my tail , that quick one-two wag meaning yes , not the over-the-top one that wags itself and can mean lots of things , some of which I 'm not too clear on myself . <p> " Nice . " He picked up the ball and was rearing back again when a car came slowly down the street and stopped in front of us . <p> The window slid down and a woman leaned out . " Is this thirteen-three-oh-nine ? " <p> Bernie nodded . <p> " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ " <p> " You found him . " <p> She opened the door , started to get out , then saw me . " Is the dog all right ? " <p> Bernie stiffened . I felt it ; he was standing right beside me . " Depends what you mean . " <p> " You know , is he safe , does he bite ? I 'm not that comfortable around dogs . " <p> " He wo n't bite you . " <p> Of course I would n't . But the idea was planted in my head , for sure . I could tell by all the saliva suddenly pooling in my mouth . <p> " Thanks . You never know about dogs . " <p> Bernie said something under his breath , too low for even me to hear ; but I knew I liked it , whatever it was . <p> She got out of the car , a tall woman with long fair hair and a smell of flowers and lemons , plus a trace of another smell that reminded me of what happens only sometimes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be like , having it turned on all the time ? Probably drive you crazy . I glanced at Bernie , watching her , patting his hair into place . Oh , Bernie . <p> " I 'm not sure where to begin . Nothing like this has ever happened to me . " <p> " Nothing like what ? " <p> She wrung her hands . Hands are the weirdest things about humans , and the best : you can find out just about everything you need to know by watching them . " I live over on El Presidente . " She waved vaguely . <p> El Presidente : Was that the one where the sewer pipes were still going in ? I was bad on street names -- except our own , Mesquite Road -- but why not ? I did n't need them to find my way . <p> " My name 's Cynthia Chambliss . I work with a woman youhelped . " <p> " Who ? " <p> " Angela DiPesto . " <p> Mercy . I remembered endless nights parked in front of motels @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , me and Bernie , never even accepted any in the old days . But now we were having cash-flow problems , as Bernie put it . The truth was , I did n't really know what " cash-flow problems " meant , but whatever they were , they woke Bernie in the night , made him get up and pace around , sometimes lighting a cigarette , even though he 'd worked so hard to stop . <p> Bernie did n't commit to anything about Angela DiPesto , just gave one of those little nods of his . Bernie was a great nodder . He had several different nods I could think of off the top of my head , all very readable once you knew what to look for . This particular nod meant : strike one . <p> " The fact is , Angie spoke of you highly -- how you stuck it to that creep of a husband . " She gave herself a little shake . I can do that way , way better . " So when this happened , and you being practically in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ . " She rocked back and forth slightly , the way humans do when they 're very nervous . <p> " When what happened ? " <p> " This thing with Madison . She 's disappeared . " <p> " Madison is your daughter ? " <p> " Did n't I say that ? Sorry . I 'm just so upset , I do n't know what I 'm ... " <p> Her eyes glistened up . This was always pretty interesting , the crying thing ; not the sound -- I could relate to that -- but the waterworks , as Bernie called them , especially when Leda was on the producing end . They get upset , humans , and then water comes out of their eyes , especially the women . What is that all about ? Bernie gazed down at the ground , shuffled his feet ; he did n't have a handle on it , either , although I 'd once seen water seeping out of his own eyes , namely the day Leda had packed up all Charlie 's things . Charlie was their kid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Leda except for visits . We missed him , me and Bernie . <p> This woman -- Cynthia ? Chambliss ? whatever her name was -- the truth is , I have trouble catching names at first , sometimes miss other things , too , unless I have a real good view of the speaker 's face -- took a tissue from a little bag she carried and dabbed at her eyes . " Sorry . " <p> " Nothing to be sorry for . How long has Madison been missing ? " <p> The woman started to answer , but at that moment I heard something rustling in the bushes on the far side of the driveway . The next thing I knew , I was in the bushes myself , sniffing around , maybe even digging , but only the littlest bit . Some kind of smell was in the air , frog or toad , or ... uh-oh : snake . I did n't like snakes , did n't like them at -- <p> " Chet ? You 're not digging in there , are you ? " @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to Bernie . Oops -- my tail was down , tucked back in a guilty manner . I stuck it right up , high and innocent . <p> " Good boy . " He patted my head . Thump thump . Ah . <p> The woman was tapping her foot on the ground . " So you 're saying you wo n't help me ? " <p> Bernie took a deep breath . His eyes looked tired . The booze was wearing off . He 'd be sleepy very soon . I was feeling a bit sleepy myself . Plus a little taste of something might be nice . Were there any of those rawhide chew strips left in the top drawer by the kitchen sink , the ones with that Southwestern flav -- <p> " That 's not exactly what I said . Your daughter did n't come home from school today . That makes her gone , what , not yet eight hours ? The police wo n't even open a missing-persons file till a full day 's gone by . " <p> Eight hours I had trouble with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from when the sun rose over the hills behind the garage to when it went down behind the hills on the other side . <p> " But you 're not the police . " <p> " True , and we do n't always agree , but I agree on this . You say Madison 's a sophomore in high school ? So she 's what ? Sixteen ? " <p> " Fifteen . She 's in the gifted program . " <p> " In my experience , fifteen-year olds sometimes forget to call home , especially when they 're doing something impulsive , like going to the movies , or hanging out , or partying from time to time . " <p> " It 's a school night . " <p> " Even on school nights . " <p> " I told you -- she 's gifted . " <p> " So was Billie Holiday . " <p> " I 'm sorry ? " The woman looked confused ; the confused human face is almost as ugly as the angry one . I did n't get the Billie Holiday thing , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ -- this singer Bernie listened to , especially when he was in one of his brooding moods . <p> But even if no one got what he was talking about , Bernie seemed pleased with himself , like he 'd scored some point . I could tell by the smile that crossed his face , a little one , quickly gone . " Tell you what . If you do n't hear from her by morning , give me a call . " He held out his card . <p> She gave the card a hostile look , did n't touch it . " By morning ? Seventy-six percent of disappearances are solved in the first twelve hours , or they 're not ... " Her eyes got wet again , and her voice sounded like something was choking her throat . " ... solved at all . " <p> " Where 'd you hear that ? " <p> " I did n't hear it . I looked it up on the Internet before I drove over . What you do n't seem to understand is that Madison has never done @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wo n't help , you can recommend someone who will . " <p> Recommend another agency ? Had this ever happened before ? I could n't read the look on Bernie 's face at all . <p> " If it 's money you 're worried about , I 'm prepared to pay whatever you charge , plus a big bonus the moment you find her . " She reached into her bag , pulled out a roll , peeled off some bills . " How 's five hundred in advance ? " <p> Bernie 's eyes shifted over to the money and stayed there , his face now readable to anyone from any distance , his mind on cash flow . " I 'd like to see her room first . " When Bernie caved , he did it quickly and all at once . I 'd seen it with Leda a thousand times . <p> Cynthia handed over the money . " Follow me . " <p> Bernie stuffed the bills deep in his pocket . I ran over to our car -- an old Porsche convertible , the body @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ coat of paint -- and jumped over the passenger-side door and into my seat . <p> " Hey . Did you see what your dog just did ? " <p> Bernie nodded , the proud , confident nod , my favorite . " They call him Chet the Jet . " Well , Bernie does , anyway , although not often . <p> A coyote shrieked in the canyon , not far from the back of the house . I 'd have to deal with that later . I no longer felt tired at all . And Bernie , turning the key in the ignition , looked the same : rarin ' to go . We thrived on work , me and Bernie . <p> Copyright 2009 by Spencer Quinn <br> Continues ... 
##4040257 The dream began with the sound of wings . In retrospect I realize I <br> should have known that was a bad sign , what with the Raven <br> Mockers being set loose and all , but in my dream it was just background <br> noise , kinda like a fan whirring or the TV turned on to the <br> QVC . In my dream I was standing in the middle of a beautiful meadow . <br> It was night , but there was an enormous full moon hovering just <br> above the trees that framed the meadow . It cast a silver blue light <br> strong enough to throw shadows and made everything look like it <br> was underwater , an impression that was strengthened by the gentle <br> breeze blowing the soft grasses against my bare legs in sweeps and <br> whirls like waves lapping sweetly against a shore . That same wind was <br> lifting my thick dark hair from my naked shoulders and it felt like silk <br> floating against my skin . Bare legs ? Naked shoulders ? I looked down and let @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a <br> seriously short buckskin minidress . The top of it was cut in a wide <br> V , front and back , so that it hung off my shoulders , leaving lots of <br> skin visible . The dress itself was amazing . It was white and decorated <br> with fringe , feathers , and shells and seemed to glow in the moonlight . <br> All over it was beaded with intricate designs that were impossibly <br> beautiful . My imagination is so darn cool ! The dress tickled a memory , but I ignored it . I did n't want to think <br> too hard -- I was dreaming ! Instead of pondering dTja vu moments I <br> danced gracefully through the meadow , wondering if Zac Efron or <br> even Johnny Depp was going to suddenly appear and flirt outrageously <br> with me . <br> I peeked around as I twirled and swayed with the wind and thought <br> I saw the shadows flicker and move oddly within the massive trees . I <br> stopped and was trying to squint so I could get a closer look at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me and my weird dreams , I 'd <br> created bottles of brown pop hanging from the limbs like bizarre fruit , <br> just waiting for me to pick them . That 's when he appeared . At the edge of the meadow , just inside the shadows of the trees , a <br> shape materialized . I could see his body because the moonlight <br> caught the smooth , naked lines of his skin . Naked ? I stopped . Had my imagination lost its mind ? I was n't really up <br> to frolicking around a meadow with a naked guy , even if he was the <br> amazingly mysterious Mr. Johnny Depp . " You hesitate , my love ? " At the sound of his voice a shiver passed through my body , and <br> terrible , mocking laughter whispered through the leaves of the trees . <br> " Who are you ? " I was glad that my dream voice did n't betray the <br> fear I was feeling . His laughter was as deep and beautiful as his voice , and as frightening . <br> @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it drifted almost <br> visible in the air around me . " Do you pretend you do not know me ? " His voice brushed against my body , making the little hairs on my <br> arms stand up . " Yeah , I know you . I made you up . This is my dream . You 're a mixture <br> of Zac and Johnny . " I hesitated , peering at him . I spoke nonchalantly <br> even though my heart was beating like crazy because it was <br> already obvious this guy was not a mixture of those two actors . " Well , <br> maybe you 're Superman or Prince Charming , " I said , reaching for <br> anything but the truth . " I am no figment of your imagination . You know me . Your soul knows <br> me . " I had n't moved my feet , but my body was slowly being drawn toward <br> him , like his voice was pulling me . I reached him and looked <br> up and up . . . It was Kalona . I 'd @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I <br> just had n't wanted to admit it to myself . How could I have dreamed <br> him ? Nightmare -- this had to be a nightmare and not a dream . His body was naked , but it was n't completely substantial . His <br> form wavered and shifted in time with the caressing breeze . Behind <br> him , in the dark green shadows of the trees , I could see the ghostly <br> shapes of his children , the Raven Mockers , as they clung to the limbs <br> with the hands and feet of men and stared at me with men 's eyes <br> from the mutated faces of birds . <br> " Do you still claim not to know me ? " His eyes were dark -- a starless sky . They seemed the most substantial <br> thing about him . That and his liquid voice . Even though this <br> is a nightmare , it 's still mine . I can just wake up ! I want to wake up ! I <br> want to wake up ! But I did n't . I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was . He 'd built <br> this dream , this dark , nightmare meadow , and somehow brought me <br> there , closing the door to reality behind us . " What do you want ? " I said the words quickly so he could n't hear <br> my voice shaking . " You know what I want , my love . I want you . " " I am not your love . " " Of course you are . " He moved this time , stepping so close to me <br> that I could feel the chill that came from his unsubstantial body . " My <br> A-ya . " A-ya had been the name of the maiden the Cherokee Wise Womenhad created to trap him centuries ago . Panic spiked through me . " I 'm <br> not A-ya ! " " You command the elements , " his voice was a caress , awful and <br> wonderful , compelling and terrifying . " Gifts from my Goddess , " I said . " Once before you commanded the elements . You were made from <br> them . @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stirred and lifted . <br> Beating forward softly , they enfolded me in a spectral embrace that <br> was cold as frost . " No ! You must have me mixed up with someone else . I 'm not A-ya . " " You 're wrong , my love . I feel her within you . " His wings pressed against my body , drawing me closer to him . <br> Even though his physical form was only semi-substantial , I could <br> feel him . His wings were soft . Winter cold against the warmth of <br> my dreaming self . The outline of his body was frigid mist . It burned <br> my skin , sending electric currents through me , heating me with a desire <br> I did n't want to feel but was powerless to resist . His laugh was seductive . I wanted to drown in it . I leaned forward , <br> closing my eyes and gasping aloud as the chill of his spirit brushed <br> against my breasts , sending shooting sensations that were painful <br> but deliciously erotic to places in my body @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ You like the pain . It brings you pleasure . " His wings got more insistent , <br> his body harder and colder and more passionately painful as <br> it pressed against mine . " Surrender to me . " His voice , already beautiful , <br> was unimaginably seductive as he became aroused . " I spent centuries <br> in your arms . This time our joining will be controlled by me , and <br> you will revel in the plea sure I can bring you . Throw off the shackles of <br> your distant goddess and come to me . Be my love , truly , in body as well <br> as soul and I will give you the world ! " The meaning of his words penetrated through the haze of pain and <br> pleasure like sunlight burning away dew . I found my will again , and <br> stumbled out of the embrace of his wings . Tendrils of icy black smoke <br> snaked around my body , clinging . . . touching . . . caressing . . . I shook myself like a pissed cat @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my body . " No ! I 'm not your love . I 'm not A-ya . And <br> I 'll never turn my back on Nyx ! " When I spoke Nyx 's name , the nightmare shattered . <br> I sat straight up in bed , shaking and gasping . Stevie Rae was sleeping <br> soundly beside me , but Nala was wide awake . She was growling <br> softly . Her back was arched , her body was totally puffed up , and she <br> was staring slit- eyed at the air above me . " Ah , hell ! " I shrieked and bounded off the bed , spinning around <br> and looking up , expecting to see Kalona hovering like a giant batbird <br> over us . Nothing . There was nothing there . I grabbed Nala and sat on the bed . With trembling hands I petted <br> her over and over . " It was just a bad dream . . . it was just a bad <br> dream . . . it was just a bad dream , " I told her , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was real , and somehow he was able to reach me through <br> my dreams . Copyright 2009 by P.C. Cast + Kristin Cast . All rights reserved . <br> Continues ... 