Sunday, June 18, 1995
A slight breeze caressed the Spanish moss draped over the limbs of the live oak trees—majestic portraits of southern charm—holding secrets of the past tightly embedded in every vein of their massive frames. Oh, the stories they could tell. A voice echoed brazenly through the forest walls.
“Come out, come out wherever you are.”
The salty air was oddly silent, yet noticeably dense. As the late-afternoon sky set in motion its dark descent, the billowy softness of the pure white clouds shifted against the backdrop of the periwinkle-blue sky, causing fragmented glimpses of the sun poking through the clouds. Staring long enough, the mind could take hold and contort the images into characters as if watching a movie, but in a flash these clouds contorted the mind into a new scene, forever in motion and constantly twisting the narrative. Audra knew her narrative was about to become twisted.
“I know you’re here.”
The screech of cicadas came from every direction as they started up their early-evening songs of the South, intermittent with katydids in a much higher staccato-style pitch, frogs croaking to the beat. As if silently orchestrated, birds harmonized their ballads to make magic. It was a classic June afternoon in Charleston, South Carolina, known for its relentlessly humid subtropical climate, and yet for Audra, this day would be anything but typical. She had to carry
forward, somehow. Think, Audra, think, she told herself, and breathe, for God’s sake! Every second counted. From here on, every decision would have a life-altering effect. As an introvert, acting impulsively was as uncomfortable to her as orbiting the moon.
Today all her senses were elevated, her nose first detecting the rotting flesh of a dead animal nearby, its odious stink compounding by the potent smell of jasmine, which by itself is a beautiful aroma, unless commingling with the foul stench of death. Her eyes feasted on the scene before her to force the scent from her mind, but Audra’s nostrils couldn’t escape the wicked unpleasantness.
“Come on. This is ridiculous. Where are you?”
She shuffled forward and grabbed onto the weathered porch railing, stumbling with each step. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her drenched clothes stuck to her body, the material creasing and pinching her skin when she moved, its restriction only adding to her sensation of constraint. Droplets of briny sweat would land on her upper lip unnoticed. Every so often, a piece of the paint flaked off the porch railing and stuck itself to her wet skin. Pieces of her thick, shoulder-length brunette hair glued itself to her face, and when she raised a hand to swipe the stray strands from her skin, the saturated hair resisted leaving the flawless complexion.
The cawing from a trio of black crows jerked Audra back to reality as they flew past her, their tone first eerily piercing but eventually softening as they glided into the periphery, then disappeared entirely from view. Their departure left behind the sound of her heart beating madly in her chest. Each thump sent a chilling echo throughout her.
Why did everything have a sensation of being so exaggerated? She wanted to scream. And yet . . . there was still a drive in her pushing her forward . . . to get to the finish line. Like the sensation on a roller coaster as it creeps ever so slowly to the top . . . click clack . . . click clack . . . click clack. Finally, it reaches the top, and for a moment, is suspended in an odd weightlessness, with no way of turning back. You are now relying on the metal bar lying across your lap to keep you tucked in place, preventing an escape, forcing on, and providing a false sense of security. And as it crosses the threshold, the coaster picks up momentum, and that sinking feeling in your stomach begins an uncomfortable dance. The weightlessness is amplified until everything catches up. Then the nervous laughter begins, and you embrace the triumph of conquering the beast. The lines become blurred between normal excitement and what is deep-seated agony.
She spotted her twin sister, Abby, now, less than 100 yards away, but Abby couldn’t see her. She was fiercely looking for her, though, and now mad as a rabid dog, screaming out into the swamp to an audience of no one.
“I know you’re there, Audra. Come out, and let’s talk about this. Grow up and face me for once in your life. Come on, Audra. Stop this.”
Audra felt conflicted. How was she going to protect herself? Everything was rushing forward like a dam that had broken. She needed to settle down, to think clearly. But the panic wouldn’t let go. The horrible panic. Oh, how she hated that word. She was sick of its grip on her, of its being in charge of her life knowing that panic held the cards for what the day would bring. She was so sick of it all. What a strange existence. Maybe death was the best end.
At only thirty-three years old, Audra didn’t want to deal with this, to experience this kind of torment. A ripple of strength overcame her, and Audra knew what she needed to do. She needed to finish the ride. She turned around and gasped as a voice broke against her stillness so close she could feel the warmth of the breath.
“Hello, sister. It’s been a while.”
