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Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
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  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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  139. Emma L. Borden
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

Open water was much closer now. I’d covered more ground than I’d thought, and most of the rocks were behind me. I was exhausted, but I didn’t notice it any more than I noticed the cold. I only felt it; I didn’t believe it. I didn’t let it stop me. I scanned the water and the nearest rocks; she’d been moving so much faster. She must’ve gotten away from me. She must’ve made it to the water by now.

While I hunted, squinting against the night, that unearthly call continued, booming and banging, and I thought I sensed some rhythm to it. Not quite a drumbeat. Not quite a heartbeat. Something lower and not quite so fast. Some vibration, slowed down until it no longer hummed, but moaned instead.

•   •   •

(I recalled some old lesson about the music of the spheres, about monks and their chants trying to re-create the tones of the universe—to sing the song of creation. This was not that. Or else it was, and I have misunderstood everything, for my whole life.)

•   •   •

Then I saw her again.

Not a flash, but a prolonged, static moment wherein she did not move—she did not even appear to breathe—she stood like a statue, tall and beautiful as always. White as the moon, her hair as wet as mine, spilling down her shoulders and back. All of it whipped by the wind, like a flag on a pole.

I did not scream her name this time. She would not have heard a scream. I whispered instead, “Nance?”

And she turned to look at me, but I did not see her face. The wild ocean and the vivid black sky kept her shadowed, lit from behind, and blank, and again I was struck by the sensation that she was being erased in front of me. A stupid thing to feel, but there it was. That’s what I believed.

I gazed at her as if I could draw her back to me by sheer force of will.

She looked away. She did not whisper back.

She jumped. Neat as a sea lion. If she made a splash, I did not see it. I did not hear it. I heard only the ocean and the demented, incessant cry of whatever waited beneath it.

I leaped awkwardly to my feet and cast myself forward, sliding and fumbling, meeting so much resistance from the wind, the water, the rocks; but I reached the place where I’d seen her and I looked down, and saw nothing but the churning froth of the tide coming in, or going out. It was ink and inscrutable. I did not care whether it came or went.

I jumped, too.

If I couldn’t save her, then I couldn’t save anybody. And maybe it didn’t matter if I did. From exhaustion, or madness, or despair—I could not say—I threw myself into the open ocean.