Chapter Three Excerpt
St. Louis, Missouri
Autumn, 1896

"It's all over, Marshall! You can't stop me from taking Tess out of here any longer! We have an ally now and you won't destroy us like you did Father!"

In spite of all her shouting, Marshall wasn’t looking at Greta. He was staring as if dumbfounded at the place from which she had risen. She screamed at him, "Look at me!"

Only then did she notice the blood on his face, only then did it occur to her that he didn't hear her. She turned to see why he was staring ...

She couldn't remember opening any doors to escape from the horror. She only knew that she was running across the west lawn and that to keep running was her goal. Nothing was in her mind except that horror, until she heard someone call as clearly as if he were at her shoulder.

"Miss Roscoe!"

The first time she heard it, she didn't stop. But the voice called again, "Miss Roscoe, it's Aaron Shane!"

His cry was plaintive, as if Mr. Shane were amazed and incredibly happy to see her. The concern in it brought her to a stop. She tottered and might have fallen -the heaviness in her limbs was so great- had she not willed herself to wheel about to face him.

But Mr. Shane wasn't at her shoulder at all. He was near the west windows. She watched him move clumsily toward her, and tried to keep the horror in her mind at bay so she might think more clearly. She had no room left in her thoughts to wonder why the priest was there. It was all she could do to merely focus on his approach.

He hesitated a few feet away, as if he were afraid of what he saw. When he moved forward again, it seemed to take some effort to make his legs obey. His expression was one of awe.

"You look perfect," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "I was sure you’d be horribly ... didn’t I see ...?"

Without meaning to, Greta said it. She had to, she knew she must say it if she were to be free. "I saw myself! I saw myself lying dead at Marshall’s feet!" She reached to the left side of her face. "I was half gone, torn away ..."

And suddenly she was free. To know she was dead still left her feeling dizzy and astounded, but the fear, the horror was receding.

Mr. Shane was looking at her as if to say, poor, poor thing. "I understand," he replied, "you’ve had a terrible shock, but you’re all right."

"I'm not all right, you fool! I’m dead!" The effort of raising her voice made her swoon. Mr. Shane moved to support her, but he seemed as sluggish as she, and by the time his arms were outstretched Greta had knelt slowly onto the frosted lawn.

He followed immediately and said, "Miss Roscoe, someone has just tried to murder you, but you're very much alive. Here we are, face to face, speaking. I know you're weakened from the experience -I was just attacked myself and I can hardly control my limbs- but we must make the effort to get to the authorities right away." He glanced back at the house. "I don't know why the brutes aren't after us even now. Perhaps Mr. Fielding -"

He abruptly stopped and Greta looked in the direction of his stare. What was that ... just under the west windows? A dark shape. It seemed to be a man, sprawled and unconscious. Or dead.