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Voices. Laughter. All headed toward the square.
    “Hey Paul!” A man waved toward the cruiser.
    The officer waved back. Then the cruiser’s siren burst out a short wail, scattering those milling in the middle of the street like birds from an approaching cat.
    Slinking down in her seat, feeling like an oddity on display, she followed in the wake of the patrol car. After another block, the crowd thinned to couples and families, all walking on the edge of the road, heading toward town. Cars filled the front parking lots of the closed hardware and farm and feed store.
    Another left turn onto Irby Street. Mature trees, single family houses, small front yards, and potential quietness. Spanish moss hung in thick clumps like gray lace draped across the arms of Victorian ladies. She lifted her face, welcoming the warm air, so unlike the biting chill of Cleveland. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
    Two more blocks and a right turn onto Cashua. The houses were large, ornate, and appeared well cared for. Sidewalks separated the yards from the road, some flanked by wrought-iron fences. Dark leaves of magnolia trees stood in contrast to the white and pink flowers adorning camellia bushes. At one house, yellow and orange mums in ceramic pots graced the steps leading to the front door.
    Officer Paul pulled into the drive of a large brick house with a wide front porch. The pulsing lights from the cruiser cast a surreal glow, as though all was not exactly as seen.
    The knot in the pit of Lillian’s stomach tightened and she swallowed against the acid that rose in her throat.
    Three men were on the porch, all staring at her. Coated in blue, they appeared bloodless and monster-like.
    If I step out of the car, there will be no turning back. God, what should I do?
    Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be back in Cleveland.

4
    Icy fingers skated up and down Roger’s spine and he shivered with anticipation. Finally, the moment had come. When man manipulated what should be, life had a way of normalizing itself. Justice created by the social norms of a few eventually collapsed under the weight of the many. He was here to correct a failure, a hero of the common man.
    Officer Studler jogged to the car and leaned into the window. When the man stood again, a wide grin spanned his face.
    Roger gritted his teeth. No one had a bigger mouth than Paul Studler.
    “Hey!” the officer shouted as he headed back toward his vehicle. “Brought y’all a guest.” The man’s slow southern drawl pulled at Roger’s nerves.
    Bill leaned across the wooden railing. “Why the escort?”
    “Saved her from a traffic jam at the square. Sweet Potato Festival. Roads are closed.” Officer Studler climbed back into the cruiser, turned off the lights, and drove the car behind the house where the drive ended at a small alley.
    Standing by the swing, Roger wiped his palms on his pants.
    Bill ambled to the porch stairs and stopped.
    Ted continued out into the yard, his back stiff, arms rigid at his sides.
    The car door opened.
    Roger held his breath.
    As though on cue, the sun, in a last show of power, streaked the graying horizon with orange and bathed the woman in gold.
    Roger stared at the false goddess. Just as the sun would set, so would Lillian fade from existence. Would she remember him? He didn’t think so, or he wouldn’t be there. Two years ago he had stayed in the background, and with the beard…still, his heart raced. This would be the final test.
    As Lillian and Ted approached the porch, the woman’s steps slowed. Ted’s words were swept away before they could reach his starving ears.
    She was different somehow. Wrinkling his brow, forcing memories that he had thought he would never forget, he resurrected the Lillian of the past, the woman who had been able to hold groups captive by the power of her personality. This Lillian, the one standing in the yard, seemed faded by comparison, like a dowdy twin, edgy, unsure of herself.
    His mind