The countryside began to be populated, first by a house here and there, then by groups of houses, cheek by jowl, all looking like clones of one another. A blight upon the landscape is how Preach thought of these increasingly large communities sprawled like great spiders casting their evil webs, tearing down forests, leveling hills, building up valleys, making everything uniform for their drone dwellings. Preach was sickened unto his soul, and still he kept going, knowing, through Crow, he would make another stop before he came in sight of the place where Albin White stood, waiting patiently for him.

He did not dislike White; though he knew Whitman best, he knew White longer. But it was Whitman, his brother in fact if not in blood, he missed. He knew where Whitman was; he always knew where he was. They were connected as deeply as if they were twins, as if their heads had been fused at birth. The divine force that had caused this was beyond even Preach’s ken, but that was to be expected. He was connected to so much more than human beings, but this only made him aware of how much more existed that he could not reach. It was his fervent hope that one day Whitman could attain what he had not. He was generous that way, with Whitman, at least, if not anyone else. His life in the bayous had taught him to withhold most of himself, to be an enigma, and therefore to engender fear in those who came in contact with him. They all feared him—all except Whitman, who knew better. Who understood the Nature of Things.

And so while looking forward to the highway patrolman waiting for him, he also looked backward, and saw Luther St. Vincent’s death. He felt neither elation nor pity. St. Vincent’s death at that precise moment was ordained the instant he came into Preach’s orbit.

On the other hand, the highway patrolman had yet to make his appearance. Preach was driving the speed limit. Not that it would matter to the patrolman, whose job it was to flag down out-of-state motorists and give them tickets. Sometimes, Preach thought, a scam is just a scam.

Over a rise he jounced and there, on the far end of the downslope, was the highway patrol cruiser. It allowed him to pass, then turned on its flashing light and siren, took off after him. Preach didn’t need to look at the oncoming image in his rearview mirror. He slowed and pulled over onto the verge of the highway, sat still as a statue, concentrated on his breath. He could feel Crow circling back toward him from somewhere in this world’s future. He expected nothing less.

After some time, the patrolman emerged from his cruiser. He came toward Preach, one hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. The grim look on his face made Preach want to laugh.