I pick up the crumpled pages and spread them on the old, scarred wooden table, once a door, now propped on sawhorses. I read the story for a fourth time, noting the mistakes, wondering where the joke of a reporter got his “facts.” Had the police intentionally duped him? Or was it a case of sloppy journalism, not even decent sensationalism? Where the hell was the editor, demanding more information, forcing the story of the prostitute’s death onto page one?

No one is professional anymore.

That’s the problem with this country! A pervasive lack of integrity to one’s job.

Page three isn’t acceptable.

Things will have to change.

I’m so irritated I actually see red in the eyes of Ipana, his toothy smile seeming to mock me from his position high on the wall. “They’re morons,” I tell him. “Cretins!” My skin itching with disgust, I flip through the pages and notice the moon riding high in the sky, shining a glimmer of silver light through the tiny window. I close my eyes and listen to the soft, sure cadence of her voice.

“This is Dr. Sam,” she says easily. “Take care of yourself, New Orleans. Good night to you all and God bless. Remember, no matter what your troubles are today, there is always tomorrow.”

A pause.

I wait, hearing the sound of water lapping at the poles supporting this cabin. A fish jumps.

Then: “Sweet dreams,” she says, her voice vibrant and soulful over the radio waves as the music swells behind her in her signature signoff.

I feel the corners of my lips twitch into a grin.

Sweet dreams?

Unlikely.

Is there “always tomorrow”?

I really don’t think so.

In fact, I’m going to prove it.

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 44

The nightmare came again.

Late at night, as determined as Satan’s henchmen, it returned.

On silent footsteps, slipping into Val’s subconscious, the looming, malicious beast appeared, black and tall, a silvery snake coiling through its hands.

The serpent’s forked tongue flicked in and out, vibrating as it tested the air, its reptilian eyes sheathed with opaque lenses, the pits in its arrow-shaped head seeming to pulse with the cold blood that slid through its veins.

“You’re on the lisssst,” the viper hissed evilly, eyes unblinking. “There is no esssscape!” And it hung closer, slithering through its master’s talonlike hands, coiling in the air, hanging so close to Val’s face that she could feel its hot breath.

Frozen, she couldn’t move, couldn’t bat the evil head away. It seemed to smile, showing a near-white mouth and fangs that dripped with pearly drops of venom.

“Val, no—watch out!” Camille warned her, and Val caught a glimpse of something black, a wraith, rushing past, a cold breath of air in its wake.

Wait! Camille wait for me! she mouthed, but the words remained unformed over her tongue.