Page 28

2020 Juliana, Georgia

Madge Beatty sat in the circle of three girls on the floor of the dark bedroom. The bedroom was on the second floor of the abandoned house where they’d been staying. The girls’ eyes were closed, hands crossed and clasped. A candle burned in the center of their circle, casting irregular shadows against their faces. All three had dreadlocks and wore clothes they’d scavenged from the Goodwill or Salvation Army. All three smelled like earth and sweat and smoke.

They chanted for the children and the women buried in the mine. They wailed and asked the dead to reveal themselves. To speak. To finally reveal the story of how they had been murdered. And then Wren started to sing, that same old hymn she was so obsessed with.

Madge was really getting sick of that fucking song. It never worked. Even after Wren supposedly found Davenport’s directions to the gold mine, they hadn’t been able to locate it, much less access it. And she was sick of hearing about the dreams Wren and Boo Dalzell kept having. Dreams of mythical creatures with wings and horns and blood-soaked talons. She had them, too—but she knew a drug-induced dream when she saw one.

The podcast idea had basically fizzled, the fun people had dipped, and Madge couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked on her art. All she ever did was smoke weed and chant for the spirits. And listen to Wren sing that goddamn song.

We shall meet, but we shall miss him. There will be one vacant chair . . .

Madge scrambled up, ran out of the room, and down the stairs. She burst out the front door of the house and onto the weedy gravel drive, panting and pacing, happy to be out of that dark, stinking room. She was done with it all—the dreaming, the chanting, the singing. She and Wren were never going to get any real answers about this pathetic, sad little town. There was not going to be a hit podcast on HBO or Serial or whatever. The project was dead.

And now they were having to deal with this stupid virus. Even when she did get a minute away from this depressing haunted house, there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Downtown Juliana had turned into a fucking ghost town, shops and restaurants closed, people cowering at home. And then the cherry on top of the shit sundae—Wren had gotten a death threat.

Hands on her hips, Madge walked in circles and sucked the cool country air into her lungs. She didn’t feel great, to be honest. She hadn’t been sleeping well, not since she’d come to Juliana. Her head hurt constantly, and now her throat felt scratchy, too. She massaged her temples. Maybe it didn’t matter, whatever happened to those women and children all those years ago. Maybe there were just some mysteries that were meant to stay unsolved.

And frankly, she really was getting tired of living this way, pretending to be a nomad with no ties. She actually had a family. She had money. She could go back to New York, move right back into her loft in Brooklyn. Sleep on her massive, king-sized, pillow-top mattress and eat at whatever restaurant was still serving, even if it was outside between plastic dividers. She could call her old hairstylist to come over and shave her head, and then she could go down to Soho and buy a whole new wardrobe at Anine Bing or Rachel Comey or Marni. Fuck her art and fuck the sins of the past. She wanted a future.

She saw a man standing several yards away from her in the gravel drive in the center of a pale spill of moonlight. She froze. There was a truck parked behind him, a dog hanging out the open window. She hadn’t even seen him drive up. He must’ve been here when she came outside.

“Jesus,” Madge said. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “No harm intended.”

She pointed at him. “Jamie, right? I know you. You own the antique shop. You’re married to Emma.”

She’d met Emma Cleburne at the Food Lion out on Route 140. Emma was from Washington, D. C. They’d bonded over the meager selection and dubious freshness of the produce section. They’d laughed about the accents around Juliana and everyone’s obsession with grits. Emma had said she was a lawyer, Madge remembered.

“Was married,” said Jamie Cleburne. “Emma left me a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.” He hesitated. “I was out taking a drive, to be honest. Clearing my head. I used to come out here all the time to think. Well, before you all moved in.”

“Okay. Well. I better—” She had already turned back toward the house and started walking. For some reason, her heart was pounding, and she could tell that the man was following her. She looked over her shoulder. “I just want to go back to my friends,” she said, breathless.

He was beside her now and took hold of her arm. “Wait.”

She stopped, still breathing hard, and looked down at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry.” He removed his hand.

She could’ve run, but she didn’t. He was definitely the best-looking man in Juliana. And his wife had ditched him. He was distraught. She saw that now that he was close to her.

“Would you . . .” he asked. “Could I possibly convince you to take a ride with me?”

“What?”

Her eyes met his. He seemed completely disarming. Even nervous.

“Sorry. I’m so bad at this. Forgive me. It’s just that you . . . I’ve seen you around with Wren and the Dalzell girls and . . .” He seemed flustered. “God, I’m really, really bad at this.”

“At what?”

He looked into her eyes. “Asking a girl out.”

“So, you didn’t actually come out here to clear your head.”

“No, not really.”

She relaxed. Smiled at him. He really was cute.

“Look. I just wanted to introduce myself, that’s all. Jamie. Jamie Cleburne.” He extended his hand.

She held hers up and away, just out of reach.

“Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting,” he said. “No shaking.”

“Madge Beatty,” she said.

“Madge.” He smiled at her, a warm smile. A pretty sexy smile, now that she thought about it. He lifted his chin to the house. “Sorry we got off to a bad start. You all are trying to find out what happened in the gold mine, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widened. “You know about that? I can’t . . .” She took a few steps closer to him. “I didn’t think anyone knew about it.”

He nodded. “A few of us in town do, yes. The Minettes, the Dalzells, my family.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Huh. That’s interesting. The Dalzells I’ve met don’t seem to know shit.”

“Their father would’ve told them eventually, if they’d just been patient. We all learn in time. The story. I’ll take you to the site, if you want. Tell you what actually happened.”

“You know how it happened?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe it . . .” She thought for a moment. “I should go back and get Wren and Boo. They would really love to hear this.”

“No, please.” In the dark, Jamie’s eyes were large and soft. “Just you and me first, okay? It was your ancestor, right, who was one of them? Who escaped and went up north?”

She nodded. “How do you know that?”

“Small town. People talk.” He took her hand, and this time she let him. “Let me show you where they all died, Madge. How the sacrifice was made. We’ll show the others later.”

“I may be sick,” she said. “The virus. I may have it. I have a sore throat.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “It can’t hurt me. It can’t hurt any of us in Juliana.”

She only had a second to consider how strange a statement that was before he moved closer to her.

“Come on,” he urged in a gentle voice. “Ever, my dog, can be our chaperone.”

She looked over at the truck. The dog, a chocolate Lab, pricked up her ears. Maybe they had their podcast after all.