“I think it’s amazing here,” I said. “It’s like, holy or something, you know? There’s something special about it.”

Murphy climbed out of bed, and a few second later I saw the top of her head peeking over the rail of my bunk, her eyes narrowed at me all suspicious-like.

“Why do I feel like you’re holding out on me?” she said.

I started to deny it, to lie my ass off and tell my sister that I didn’t know any more than she did, but then I saw something in the window.

It was a face, grizzled and wild-eyed, the man who had spied on me in my bedroom ever since I was a child.

It was the Hobo.

I couldn’t help it, even if I knew he was just a vision.

I screamed.

Murphy toppled backward, smacking her back hard on the floor.

“What the hell was that?” she said.

“Sorry, Murphy. I saw the Hobo again.”

Murphy sat up, rubbing her back, obviously in pain. I felt real bad about it.

“I tell you, I am so fucking sick of that fucking Hobo,” she said. “I used to have nightmares about him every night. I used to imagine I saw him all the time in our backyard, hiding in the shadows or whatever. He was the number-one terror of my entire childhood. Christ, a couple of times I even thought I saw him myself. Your visions have really fucked me up, you know that?”

“I know,” I said, slumping back in my bed. “And I’m damn sorry about it. I’m sorry I’ve been such a horrible burden to you and Mom. I’m sorry you’re stuck having to deal with me all by yourself.”

“Hey,” said Murphy, “come on, I didn’t mean it like that. I know it’s not your fault.”

“Good night, Murphy,” I said, and I rolled over to face the wall.

Murphy didn’t say anything else. I heard her get back in her bunk, and pretty soon she was snoring.

But I couldn’t sleep. I could hear the rabble of the cicadas and tree frogs and everything else that makes up the loud southern night. It was just the same as back home with Mom. The moment I shut my eyes, my mind went racing. Who was this Jeremiah person? And who were the other people on the tape, Jeremiah’s congregation? Where was his church? I still remembered Jeremiah’s voice like a song stuck in my head that would never go away unless I listened to it again.

I took the tape player out from under my covers and turned the volume about as low as it would go. I laid it on my pillow and put my ear against the speaker, and I pressed play. When I heard Jeremiah’s voice, it was as if he were whispering secrets right into my ear.

“Humankind was not meant to live alone,” he said. “Yes, I know y’all know that, or you wouldn’t be here today. No, man was not meant to live alone, nor woman either. We were meant to live together in community.”