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〃Man！ I thought you were dead for sure！〃 Terry took a hit off Zach's pipe and passed it back； shaking his head； letting the fragrant smoke leak out the corners of his mouth。 〃You looked like somebody had shot you and left you lyin' there across the seat。 All that was missing was the brains on the window。〃
Zach suppressed a shudder。 He didn't think the FBI would shoot a hacker on sight； but he wasn't sure about the Secret Service。 （The NSA probably kept hackers alive for torture and interrogation later； but their jurisdiction was largely military； and military secrets had never much appealed to him。）
They were sitting on crates in the dim； cool back room of the record store； and though Zach felt an undeniable echo of Leaf and Pass Christian； Terry was obviously as straight as the day was hot。 There was no definable characteristic that told him this； the pheromones just weren't there。 It was a good thing too； Zach thought； after stewing in his own juices all morning he was sure he stank abominably。
As if to confirm this； a girl with long brown hair stuck her head through the curtain； blinked big Cleopatra eyes against the gloom； and wrinkled her nose。 〃Terry？〃
〃Back here； Vie。〃 The girl picked her way through the boxes and rolled…up posters； long gauzy skirt swishing around her ankles。 When she got closer； Zach saw that she was wearing a skintight tank top； as if to accentuate the fact that she had absolutely no breasts。 Eddy had had a phrase for strippers built like that： Nipples on a rib。
The girl leaned down to Terry。 Zach thought they were going to kiss； but instead Terry blew into her mouth a long stream of smoke； which she sucked in expertly。 Tendrils of it seeped from her narrow nostrils and curled around her head。 Terry cupped the back of her thigh through the full skirt。 〃This is my gal Victoria。 Vie； meet Zach。 He just rolled into town this morning。〃
〃Looks like we gain two for every one we lose。〃 At Terry's questioning look； she added； 〃You told me about that guy who came in Saturday。 Now him。〃
〃Yeah； so who'd we lose？〃
〃Omigod； you don't know！〃 Victoria clapped her hands over her mouth。 Zach wasn't sure； but it looked as if she might be hiding a sudden； guilty smirk。 〃That girl Rima？ The one Kinsey fired for stealing from the Yew？ She had a wreck out on the highway。 Totaled her car and broke her back。 They found cocaine all over the place。〃
〃Gee； Vie； you sound pretty upset about it。〃
〃Yeah； right。〃 From the sudden chill in the air Zach guessed that Rima had e on to Terry at some point； though if she was such a loser he doubted Terry had slept with her。 Terry seemed like that rarest of all creatures； a genuinely guileless Decent Guy。 Besides； you probably couldn't get away with much in a little town like this。
〃Well 。 。 。〃 A shadow passed over Terry's face。 He obviously felt bad about the girl； but didn't want to hurt Victoria's feelings。 〃She didn't kill anyone else？〃
Victoria shook her head； and Terry brightened a little。 Zach believed this was known as Looking on the Bright Side； also as Pulling the Wool Over Your Own Eyes。 He didn't say anything； though； the last thing he needed now was to annoy anyone。
So he loaded another bowl and sat around the back of the store with them for a while longer； listening to gossip about people he didn't know； occasionally asking a question or offering a ment； hacking the scene； making the connections； weaving himself into the net。 It was possible anywhere； though it could be a damn sight tougher than breaking into a puter。
When Terry's morning crew （one sleepy…looking teenager with a tattoo so fresh it was still bleeding） showed up； Terry and Victoria took Zach down the street for greasy grilled cheese sandwiches at the local diner。 The waitress refilled Zach's water glass with tea； and when he took a sip of it without noticing； his nerves began to crackle and fizz like a string of firecrackers。 For all of that； he felt good。 He liked this town。
After lunch Victoria had to go to work…she sorted and mended old clothes at some downtown thrift shop…and Terry offered to show Zach the local dive before he went back to the record store。 By the time they were halfway down the street； Zach was eagerly picturing the inside of a bar。 It would be calm and dark and air…conditioned； like a little pocket of nighttime in the middle of the hot afternoon。 It would be forting with the sharp scents of liquor and the grainy smell of beer on tap； lit by the soft watery glow of a Budweiser clock or a neon Dixie sign。 He might have been picturing any of a hundred bars in the French Quarter； but the Sacred Yew was like none of them； and Zach had yet to learn how difficult it was to find Dixie beer anywhere but New Orleans。
Trevor woke at the drawing table with cramped muscles； an aching head； and a painfully full bladder。 The green…tinted sunlight streaming through the studio windows made him wince and rub his eyes as he had seen Bobby do in the grip of countless bourbon hangovers。 But he hadn't had the dream of not…drawing last night。
He stood up without looking at the pages he had drawn； stumbled out of the room； back through the hall and living room； out onto the vine…shrouded porch where he stood urinating into the kudzu； squinting out at the empty road。
The day glistened in emerald splendor； grass stems and spiderwebs still bejeweled with yesterday's rain； inviting Trevor to e out and enjoy the sun awhile。 Instead he stood for a few minutes in the shelter of the porch； breathing deeply of air that did not smell like mildew or dry rot。 From the quality of the light he thought it was early afternoon。
This time twenty years ago； Momma's friends from the art class had been ing up these steps； knocking worriedly on the door； then letting themselves into the house and finding him among the bodies。 The man with the gentle hands had been picking him up； carrying him out of the carnage。 For an instant Trevor almost remembered what he had been thinking at that moment： something about the Devil。 But it eluded him。
Soon he turned and went back into the soft gloom of the house。 Without giving himself time to think about it he crossed the living room； walked a few paces down the hall； and let himself into Didi's room。
It looked smaller than he remembered； but that might have been due to the kudzu vines that had burst through the window and taken over more than half the room。 They twined up the walls； around the light fixture on the ceiling。 They trailed into the closet on Trevor's left； where he could still see a few of Didi's toys mired in the leaves； as if the kudzu had actually twined around them and lifted them off the floor。 A smiling plush octopus； a windup grandfather clock； a once…red rubber ball。 All were covered in dust； faded with time and neglect。 Twenty years never touched by a little boy's hands； a little boy's love。
The kudzu filled the left half of the room with rustling heart…shaped leaves and shifting green shadows。 The mattress sat in a clear spot to the right。 Instead of a tiny body it bore only a huge； irregular bloodstain； dark crimson and wet…looking in the center； fading to the most delicate pale brown around the edges。 Trevor noticed splotches and runners of blood on the wall above the mattress too； five or six feet up。 How many blood vessels were in the brain？ And how far could they spray when the head was crushed like a juicy grape； made to spill out the red secrets of its wine； the electric potion of its cerebral fluid； the very chemistry of its thoughts and dreams？
It's a glorious summer day； some remotely； annoyingly sane voice in his head nagged him； and here you are buried in this tomb of a house staring at the twenty…year…old deathstain of a brother you barely had time to know。
And another part of him answered； We get to the places where we need to be。
He pulled the Whirling Disc T…shirt over his head； let it fall to the floor； and stretched out on Didi's mattress。 Stale dust puffed up from the ticking as he centered his head on the bloodstain。 It was stiff and dry against his cheek； and smelled only of age； with perhaps a faint sour undertone like the memory of spoiled meat。 He nuzzled his face into the stain； spread his arms wide as if to embrace it。
From somewhere in the room came a faint popping sound； then the noise of something heavy hitting the floor。 Trevor jerked reflexively but did not look around。 He wasn't sure he wanted to see what new surprise the house had dealt him。 Not yet。 Can't you even give me a minute with Didi？ he thought。 Can't I even have that before I have to start thinking about you again？
But by now he knew he wasn't calling the shots； not many of them anyway。 He had e here to learn； and whatever was here would teach him 。 。 。 something。 He pushed himself up on his elbows and turned to look into the corner of the room from which the sound had e； over by the closet。 A small dark object lay near the edge of the kudzu； as if it had tumbled out of the vines。 The object was perhaps a foot long； half…shrouded in shadow。 Trevor tried to tell himself it could be anything。 A stick。 A stray piece of wood。
A hammer。
He got up and crossed the room； stared at it for a long moment； then leaned down and picked it up。 The stout wooden handle was scuffed and streaked with dark stains。 It felt slightly warm in his hand。 The head and claw were rusted； caked with a delicate； crumbling dry brown matter like powdery fungus； like desiccated petals。 He touched his finger to it； rubbed it against his thumb。 The scrim of matter between them felt dusty； gritty。 Pale brown； like the edges of the bloodstain。 He remembered reading somewhere that any human tissue would turn to some shade of brown eventually； given time。 It was the color of all skin； the color of waste； the color of rot。
Cause of death： blunt trauma 。 。 。
Trevor had no idea what had happened to the hammer that had killed his family； but he knew it could not have stayed in the house。 It would have been taken as evidence； photographed； probably even fitted into the holes in their skulls to prove it was indeed the murder weapon。 That was how they did things。 Yet he knew too； just as surely； that this was the same hammer。
He stood for a long time turning it over and over in his hands。 He felt a few slow tears leaking from his eyes； running into his mouth or dripping off his chin。 But he had done most of his crying last night； with Kinsey。 Now he was beginning to feel as if he were being taunted。 Here's a hammer； what can you do with it？
He didn't know yet。
But when a noise came from the living room…no scrape or creak of the house； he was already starting to get used to those； but a distinct footfall…he whirled and raised the hammer before he knew what he was doing。
And when he heard a stranger's voice； Trevor moved swiftly and silently toward the door。
〃Shit！ I better get back to the store before it pours。 Tell Zach I'll see him later if he decides to hang out。〃
Terry tipped a quick salute at Kinsey； who was on his knees ripping several weeks' worth of silver duct tape off the stage； and took his leave of the Sacred Yew。 A few minutes later Zach came out of the rest room； his face and hands freshly scrubbed； his dark eyelashes still beaded with water； settling his glasses on the narrow bridge of his nose。 〃It's raining；〃 he told Kinsey。
〃I heard。 How could you tell？〃
〃The ceiling's leaking。 I put the trash can under it。〃
Kinsey sighed； pushed his feathered hat back over his stringy hair； and kept tugging at the duct tape。
〃Did Terry leave？ I was going to ask him if he knew a place I could crash。〃
〃He'll let you have his spare bedroom if R。J。 isn't camped there。 You can sleep on my couch； too； if you'll do me a favor。 I was going to do it myself； but I need to stay here and make sure the place doesn't flood。 The landlord won't fix our pipes and sometimes a heavy rain just es right in。〃
Zach had an open Natty Boho in his hand…he'd grabbed it out of the cooler and slapped two dollars on the counter before Kinsey could card him…and looked in no great hurry to go anywhere； but he agreed readily enough。 〃Sure； I'll do