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gloom of the hallway。 In the summer Ann worried about her father's health。 He had e over from Dorchester twenty years ago； but the hot； humid summers here still made him droop。 He was like some glacial plant whose fragile structure was supported by ice crystals； his hair went limp； he perspired from the dark bags beneath his eyes。 But in the winter he exuded a kind of mad vitality。
Suddenly she was sure he would be able to read her mind； or look through the mattress and see the suitcase beneath it。 He would begin to argue with her； calmly； reasonably。 But his argument would be slippery。 There would be no tail end she could grab onto so that she might argue back。 In ten minutes she would feel as if she were trying to wind up earthworms on a spoon。 In half an hour she would feel as if she were trying to drive a nail through a blob of mercury。 In an hour or two or three； he would have her talked out of the whole stupid notion。 She would not go to the Greyhound station； would not catch the all…night express to New Orleans。 She would never see Zillah again。
Simon had talked her out of so many things。
But all he said now was 〃Good evening； daughter。〃
As always； the form of address half…annoyed her and half…warmed her。 〃Hi； Simon；〃 she said。
〃Your day was。。。？〃
〃Rawther shitty。〃
He nodded and allowed himself the slant of a smile。 Ann's voice had as much of a Carolina twang as her mother's had had； but she knew it amused him when she imitated his accent。 〃As was mine。 I dissected three toads today。 There was no change in any of them。〃
Simon had taught once； so the story went； at one of the Great Universities of the World。 Ann wasn't sure where。 He hinted at Germany； France； the United Kingdom。 Now retired； he spent the days in his study trying to change the chemical position of various types of blood。 Until recently he had used his own； and sometimes hers； once Steve； drunk off his ass； had offered a sample。
But lately Simon had been getting into animals。 Ann had pitched a crying fit the day she found him cutting up the lusterless carcass of Sarah Jane； a black…and…white kitten she'd been feeding on the back steps。 Since then； as far as she knew； he had stuck to using mice from the Woolworth's in Corinth and toads he caught in the vacant lot next door。 He injected the toads with varying amounts of his own blood and sometimes with liquid LSD。 Mostly they jumped around a lot。
Over the rims of his glasses Simon looked at her oddly。 〃Were you thinking of going out tonight； Ann？〃
Involuntarily she glanced at the space beneath her bed。 The bed skirt hid the suitcase； but again she felt sure that her father could see through mere cloth； that he knew her intentions。 〃I might go down to the Yew；〃 she said。
〃You aren't going to see Steve； are you？ After the way he dishonored you？〃 She had told her father only that Steve had slapped her。 For once； with rare sensitivity； he had not pressed the issue。
〃No； Simon；〃 she said。 〃I'm not going to see Steve。〃
〃Or his peculiar friend？〃
〃Simon； Ghost isn't 〃She stopped。 There was no point saying Ghost wasn't peculiar； that wasn't what she meant anyway。 〃Ghost never did anything to me；〃 she finished。
〃I wish you wouldn't go out tonight； daughter。〃
She looked at him。 〃Are you requesting or ordering？〃
〃I have your best interests in mind；〃 he said frostily。 Ann rubbed her wrists。 At sixteen she had e home roaring drunk one night。 Simon was still drinking then too； but that didn't make him any more passionate。 He trussed her to her own bedposts with rope and kept her tied there for seven hours； until she pissed herself and begged him to forgive her stupidity。 The memory of the chafing had never quite gone away。
〃So I'm not supposed to go out tonight；〃 she said。 〃I'm supposed to stay home and wait on you。〃 Defeat welled in her。 Why did Simon have to get his way every damn time？
Maybe he didn't。
She looked up at him again； this time trying to make her eyes submissive； to wipe away the frigid hurt from his face。 〃I'm sorry； Daddy。〃 That would get him for sure。 〃Had a long day at work。 Why don't you go read the paper？ Or your library books？ I'll fix us a pot of coffee。〃
Simon was touched。 He came across the room to kiss her forehead。 She had to stop herself from flinching back； sure he would know what was up when he tasted the sweat at her hairline。 But he straightened and gave her another slanted smile。 〃You may rest；〃 he said。 〃I will make the coffee。〃
No； dammit！ That wouldn't work。 She put on her sweetest smile。 The taste of vomit rose in her throat。 〃Let me do it；〃 she said。 〃I know you want to see the paper。 There's another article about the disappearances。〃
That got him。 Simon had followed the disappearances with a weird avidity； considering it was only a Violin Road rug…rat and a couple of bums that had been killed。 Maybe be had been dissecting them； too。
As soon as Simon left the room； Ann dug through the top drawer of her dresser until she found a little plastic bottle。 She opened it and shook the contents into her cupped hand。 Several tiny pills； wafer…thin； each with a V…shaped cutout in the center。 The Valium dated back to her mother's last nervous illness。 Ann had stolen it out of the medicine cabinet a year ago。 She had taken almost all the pills on various sleepless nights； only these were left。 She hoped there was still some decal in the freezer。
〃There you go；〃 she said a few minutes later； setting a yellow ceramic mug on the arm of Simon's chair。 〃It came out a little strong； so I put in a lot of sugar。 I hope it's not too sweet。〃
〃I'm sure it will be lovely；〃 he said。
She held her breath as he took the first sip； but through the steam his face registered only tired contentment。 He might have been any father letting his daughter bring him a cup of coffee after a hard day's work。 She still felt a little sad。
An hour later she kissed his lips lightly and locked the front door behind her。 His breathing was a little irregular； and she tasted the sourness of coffee and tranquilizers on his mouth； but she would save a prayer and a curse for him when she got on the bus。 No one could stop her from going to meet her true love now。
The Greyhound took her south； frosting her to the bone with its air…conditioning adjusted for the middle of August； not for this November night。 As the bus lumbered away from the dark depot； Ann half…rose out of her seat； one hand on her suitcase； the other raised to stop the driver。 Wait； she almost said。 Wait； I went a little crazy； let me out and I'll trade in mil ticket and go back home； maybe Steve will take me back； maybe my father will wele me home。
But the bus lurched and toppled her back into her seat。 Then they were bumping across the railroad tracks that led out of Missing Mile； and she saw an omen： far down the line； at some other junction； a pair of signal lights gleaming in the night。
They were green。
Bright green。
Like the color of her lover's eyes。
Chapter 26
〃This is the best goddamn food I ever ate；〃 said Steve； digging a spoon into his third bowl of gumbo。 They hadn't had much to eat on the road。
〃Better than my cooking？〃 asked Ghost； hurt。
〃Shit； Ghost； you can't eat mung bean sprouts and tofu all the time。〃
〃That's good stuff；〃 said Ghost。 But the waitress put another bowl of gumbo in front of him； and he hunched over it； breathing the savory steam； his eyelids fluttering with pleasure。 He stirred it and spooned up a mouthful。 The flavors melted together on his tongue。 He tasted the delicate meatiness of crab and shrimp； the green sassafras tang of file； the soft blandness of okra； 〃This might be even better than soy…bean…mushroom loaf；〃 he admitted when he had swallowed。
Back outside； agreeably full of gumbo and strong chicory coffee； they dodged the tourists on Bourbon Street and turned down a shady side street whose iron balconies were festooned with lush green hanging ferns and thousands of colored Mardi Gras beads。 Soon the street turned into a narrow alley； and Ghost thought they'd gotten lost。 Instead they suddenly found themselves in the cacophony of Jackson Square； with the silvery spires of St。 Louis Cathedral looming up behind them and a panorama of portrait painters and street musicians spread before。 In the middle of it all Andrew Jackson reared up on his horse； sour…faced and pigeon…spotted； challenging the giant magnolias that surrounded the square。
Ghost couldn't recall ever seeing a map of New Orleans； but he knew the Mississippi River curved around the city in a giant crescent shape； like a cradling hand。 He could smell the water and feel its throbbing current in his nerves。 But he knew about the miasma that could sometimes hang over such a powerful body of water； especially in such lush； humid weather。 It was as if the water vapor created a palpable feeling of despair。 His grandmother had told him of a man she'd known who stood on a spot in England by the sea and heard a voice urging him to jump to his death on the rocks a hundred feet below。 Later the man found out that several suicides had occurred from that spot。 Considerin