“What is he?” What has he made you, he didn’t ask.

“Something old. Something fey. He found me first, after the priest was gone. Before the search party came. He offered so many things, but he couldn’t bring me back to life, so I said I wanted the priest for myself. I knew the town wouldn’t do anything to him. The church protects its own.” She turned Eugene’s hand over between hers to trace the lines of his palm. “He tied my spirit to the bayou so that even after I was buried, I’d stay behind, and he promised that when I grew strong enough, I could do everything I wanted. And now I have.”

“It’s been seventeen years.”

“Time doesn’t mean as much when you’re already dead.” She dropped his hand and he tucked it against his chest like the wing of a wounded bird, his fingers aching from the cold. “When the priest first started paying attention to me, Johnny wanted to raze the whole town then and there. But I said no. I didn't understand what was so dangerous about a man making eyes at me. And then, later, I thought I could do things right. I thought someone would help me."

"They said it wasn't right to spread rumors about a priest," Eugene echoed from a lifetime ago.

"I should've let him kill that priest the first time he laid a hand on me. But I was scared, and anyway, Johnny wasn't as strong then. He'd been tied to my family for so long . . . Now, he can do whatever he wants. Be seen by anybody. Me getting killed was probably the best thing that ever happened to him.

"But back then, killing somebody would've taken a lot out of him. He got upset anyway, when I said no. He went away, just for a few days. He'd been gone that long before. I don't know if the priest could tell that I was missing something, but that was when he took things further. He did things to me then that would've got him killed on the spot, whether I told Johnny to or not. Then, after— After he killed me, I wanted to do him in myself. I needed to.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eugene whispered.

"I saw you watching from the doorway. You knew he was hurting me, but you ran away and left me there. You said you went to find help, but you never told anybody what you saw. Not the whole truth of it. You went around talking about exorcisms when you should've been talking about rape. Are you sorry for that?"

"I didn't see that," Eugene stammered. "I saw Father Latimer there with the cross, talking about temptation and wickedness—"

With a snap of her teeth, Mary Beth lunged forward, catching Eugene's hand and dragging him close. When she raised her other hand to cover his eyes, his vision exploded in memories. He was back in the church, twelve years old and clinging to the doorframe, watching frozen as Father Latimer crowded Mary Beth against the wall, his fingers leaving bands of bruises on her arms as he grunted like an animal, his back heaving with effort. The cross lay on the floor by his feet, discarded like garbage. Terrified, Eugene tried to tear himself away from the scene, not wanting to see what happened next—