I close my eyes, almost afraid to hear the end of the story.

“You sure you want to hear this, baby?”

“Yes.”

“When Dr. Kirkland got there, Jesse and the other men put him in a truck and carried him round to Big Leon’s house.”

“Who’s Big Leon?”

“One of the men on the island. He spent twenty years on Angola Farm. Jesse showed Leon the pictures and told him what Dr. Kirkland had done. Then he told Leon, ”˜You can have him for two hours. Just don’t mark him up none.‘“

“Oh, my God.”

As Pearlie nods, her eyes glow with fierce knowledge. “Two hours later, they went back and got him. Then they did what that Billy Neal was gonna do to you and me.”

“What?”

“Tied him to the steering wheel of his car and ran it off the bridge.”

“Jesus.”

“After a while, one of them swum down and took the rope off Dr. Kirkland’s hands.” Pearlie is watching me closely, waiting to see my reaction. “You said you wanted to know.”

“Did you see Grandpapa at all during any of this?”

“No. All I know is what Jesse told me.”

My mind is filled with one question. “Did he beg for his life at the end?”

“No, baby. He cursed them till his head went under the water. Wasn’t nothing gentle left in that old man. He’ll curse the devil hisself when he gets to hell.”

I suddenly feel exhausted.

“What you gonna do now?” Pearlie asks.

“I don’t know. Wait for my wound to heal, I guess. The bullet wound, I mean. The other could take my whole life.”

“I meant about the house. Malmaison.”

“What do you mean?”

Pearlie shrugs. “Well, it’s gonna be yours now.”

“What?”

“I thought you knew. Dr. Kirkland always said Miss Gwen couldn’t take care of her own self, much less the wealth she was born into. That’s why Billy Neal hated you so bad. You gonna get just about everything.”

Her words take some time to register. I have no idea what might be included in my grandfather’s estate, but it’s bound to be enormous.

“So, what you gonna do?”

“Sell it all,” I say.

Pearlie makes an uncertain sound. “The island, too?”

“Why not? I don’t ever want to see it again.”

“If you sell that island, the people down there won’t have nowhere to go. You own it all, the houses and everything. They just rent.”

For a few moments, images of the island rush through my head. But the pain that comes with them is too much to bear. “They can have it, Pearlie. The whole damn thing. It’s theirs anyway.”

“Do you mean that? That island’s worth a piece of money.”

“I couldn’t care less. I’ll have the lawyers draw up papers first thing. You and Jesse work out fair shares for everybody. Except for Louise Butler.”

Pearlie’s back stiffens. “What about her?”

“Louise gets the lodge.”

Pearlie gasps. “The big house? You’re not serious. Those women down there hate Louise.”

“It’s her house, Pearlie. As of today.”

The old woman makes several noises I cannot interpret. Then she says, “I guess you know what you’re doing.”

“For the first time, I think I do. Do you see Michael? I’m ready to go.”

“We don’t need no Michael. I can push this chair good as any man.”

She steps behind the wheelchair and takes the handles in her firm grip. As she turns me around, I catch a last glimpse of the river, vast and majestic under the shadows of the rain. The water down there will soon flow past DeSalle Island, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and finally into the Gulf of Mexico. Where I’ll be then, I don’t know. But the chain of misery forged through the generations of my family has finally been broken.

By me.

That’s about as good a start as I can imagine.

Pearlie pushes me back toward the lane, where Michael’s Expedition waits. As we approach, Michael gets out and waves. I lay one hand on my stomach and close my eyes. I’m not touching the wounded place, but a spot lower down. I don’t need a drink now. I don’t need anything. But for the first time in my life, I feel truly free to choose what I want.

“It’s going to be different for you,” I whisper, rubbing my tummy in a slow circle. “Your mama knows what love is.”

First and foremost, I thank the women and men who spoke frankly to me about private matters. For obvious reasons I will not name them here. Accounts of childhood sexual abuse are difficult to deal with, even on the written page. To recount personal experiences is nothing short of heroic. Few crime victims face the battles that those who as adults begin to recall childhood sexual abuse must fight. Far too often, family members and the general public refuse to believe their claims, even in the face of corroborative evidence. None of us wants to think about the harrowing crimes that innocent children suffer in their own homes. But we owe everyone who has such memories a fair hearing. Please don’t ignore any child or adult who claims that she-or he-has been sexually abused. Listen, and contact a professional. Do not wait. Do not ignore your instincts. If you need more information about child abuse, visit http://www.gregiles.com.

As with all of my novels, I relied upon the knowledge of experts to add verisimilitude to this story. I warmly thank all of these people for their contributions:

Police expertise: O’Neil DeNoux, former homicide detective and a great writer in his own right.

Dental expertise: Dr. Carrie Iles.

Medical expertise: Dr. Jerry W. Iles, Dr. Michael Bourland, Dr. Tom Carey, Dr. Geoff Flattman, Dr. Andrew Martin.

Natchez City Cemetery: Don Estes, Maypop, Martin Anderson.

Mortuary science: Charles Laird, Dickey Laird.

Miscellaneous: Nancy Hungerford, Jane Hargrove, George Ward, Clint Pomeroy, Tammye Hoover, Lisa Bunch.

Early readers: Ed Stackler, Mike Henry, Betty Iles, Carrie Iles, Ann Paradise.

Special thanks to Geoff Iles, without whose invaluable help these books would be much less than they are.

Special thanks to Selah Saterstrom, for permission to quote from her hypnotic work, The Pink Institution.

Special thanks to Kim Barker, who first saw the blood on the wall. She’s a wonderful writer with a great imagination. I’m glad she likes laughter better than fear. Woo-hoo!

All mistakes are mine.

Greg Iles is the author of nine bestselling novels, including The Footprints of God, Sleep No More, Dead Sleep, The Quiet Game, and 24 Hours (released by Sony Pictures as Trapped). He lives in Natchez, Mississippi.