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Christ’s voice whispered hard over the connection, and into my voicemail box.

“I found Ann Alice’s body. Not in the old furniture place, but up in the undersides. I wouldn’t have recognized her except for the old Smurfette tattoo on her wrist. You can barely see it anymore. She’s . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what could’ve done this to her. But nobody cares. ”

He’d hung up then. The callback number was one I didn’t recognize, probably a payphone. He must have called overnight, when I had the phone turned off. He must be in trouble, or he wouldn’t bother.

I knew what he meant by “undersides. ” Lots of us downtown people knew about the undersides—the place where the city’s water runoff drains down into the Tennessee River. You have to know where it is to find it, but if you know how to find it, it’s plenty big enough to climb up inside. Some people talk about it like it’s the Underground, down in Atlanta. But it isn’t. It’s just some water runoff tunnels and a few hollow places underneath the city where there used to be roads.

But the rain.

I looked out the window and it was still coming down as determined as ever.

It made me think of Christ in his ratty clothes and taped-together shoes, sloshing knee-deep up into the undersides and standing there, in the low, cement-domed rooms with Ann Alice’s mortal remains floating and stinking.

I knew better than to wonder if Christ had called the police. Of course he hadn’t. I readied my thumb to dial 911, and thought better of it. What would I say? And would anyone believe me?

If it was flooded down there like I imagined it must be, would they even send anyone looking for her—even if they believed me?

Another possibility made me close the phone and slip it back into my pocket. It was entirely possible that Christ had moved her himself. I wondered what he’d do with her if he did. I wondered where he would put her.

Although fully twelve hours had passed since I dropped the Malachi bomb, Lu and Dave were eating breakfast on the back porch, still discussing the finer points of my idiocy and working out their future reactions to Malachi. I didn’t want to bother them. I left them a note on the fridge saying I was going downtown and to call my cell if they needed me.

Once I got into the car I called my old friend Jamie, who hadn’t seen Christ in several days and didn’t know what he was doing.

“What’s going on?” he asked, and I tried to give him the fifty-cent version.

“You’ve heard him fussing about missing friends, right?”

“Monsters down by the river? I’ve heard about it. But he went running off after the last poetry slam and no one’s seen him since. I just assumed he was being a drama queen. ”

I was concentrating on getting down the mountain without killing myself in the storm or I might have rolled my eyes. “You’d know it when you saw it, wouldn’t you, darling?”

“But of course. We know our kind. Look, he does this once in a while. You know him. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Frankly, I’m not sure why you’re bothering to call around about it. Since when does Christ have any cred with you?”

“Since I think he might be telling the truth. ”

“Really?”

“Just this once,” I said. “Try to contain your astonishment. ”

“My heart is doing poundy things in my chest. Could this be the seventh seal? Is Armageddon upon us?”

“You never know. Listen, where are you right now?”

“Now? I’m at home with Becca. Why?”

“I’m on my way downtown. I think Christ is in some kind of trouble—or, if he isn’t yet, he’s gonna be. So I’m headed down to Greyfriar’s. It’s always a good spot to start looking for people. I’ll be down there soon. ”

“No you won’t,” he said with his own special kind of nonchalance.

“Yes I will. I’m sliding down the mountain right now. Would you believe this rain?”

“Sure I’d believe it—but you’re not going to get far. You’ll never make it over the river. They’ve started shutting the bridges down. The river’s rising, cutie. TVA sucks ass, in case you didn’t know. ”

“What?”

“Look out of your windshield. It’s raining, not just diddling around anymore. It’s been going on for days, and there’s some problem up at the dam. They’re trying to keep people off the bridges. ”

“Then Christ is definitely in trouble. I think he’s down at the undersides. ” I lost traction then and had to drop the phone into the passenger’s seat while I regained control of the Death Nugget. “Hang on a second,” I said, and I hoped he heard me.