But there wasn’t much point in denying it. The banging continued faster, or maybe only in more places. Maybe it came from more than one—crate? machine? At least that’s what it sounded like to the girls, who crushed their bodies against each other, trying to be small, and trying to be blind.

Lu said she didn’t really want to know. Leslie didn’t either, and that was why she let Lu cover her eyes with a sleeve, even though there wasn’t anything to see.

There was plenty to hear, from every direction all at once.

“What is that?” Leslie groaned again, her head buried in the crook of her sister’s neck. It did not occur to either of them to call out for help. Whatever was bungling and bumping its way along the ceiling was not friendly, and it was not helpful.

“Shhh—“ Lu told her, and she rocked her back and forth.

Pound, pound, pound went the noise until it was louder than the rain had ever gotten, though less rhythmic.

“Oh shit, Lu. You know what they are.”

“Be quiet.”

“They’re hands, aren’t they? Listen, do you hear them? Listen, Lu. They’re hands. But they ain’t alive anymore.”

“Shush up. Stop talking.”

Leslie lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. “I can hear them. Can’t you? Don’t you hear what they’re trying to say?”

“No, and you can’t either. Hush it, would you?” Lu tried to force her sister’s head back down but Leslie wouldn’t let it go.

“But that door is really heavy, ain’t it? They won’t be able to pull it down, I don’t think. Not unless the water gets higher, and, listen, it’s stopped raining.”

She was right. The sudden quiet threw into sharp relief the dull staccato beneath the floor where they sat.

“Be quiet, Les. For Jesus’ sake, shut up. You want them to hear you?”

“Who cares?” she said, and the eerie, knowing glare she gave to Lu made her stomach knot and sink. “Can’t you tell? They already know we’re here.”

But the door was heavy, and it held. And by the time the first hint of dawn came creeping down the Tennessee River gorge, the water was retreating its way back to the river’s bed. Though they wouldn’t open the attic door, the girls shouted out to police when they heard the sirens, and when the man with a megaphone called to them from a small, flat boat.

They were home by breakfast, but all of their mother’s worry didn’t keep the pair of them from being grounded indefinitely.

And late at night, while her little sister slept, Lu listened for the hammering of the searching hands. She never heard it again, but Leslie dreamed of it for weeks—whispering frantic prayers into her pillow between twilight and dawn.

Tell the burned-up man it was all a mistake. Tell him it was all a mistake.

2

Our Lord and Savior

Christ Adams has a typo on his social security card. I’ve seen it, because he likes to flash it around, in case anyone disbelieves him—and a lot of people do. He’s the most entertaining liar in town.

He slipped another cigarette out of the pack and pushed a lock of Day-Glo orange hair out of his face while he sucked the thing alight. We were sitting together down by the river, on the cement curbs that pass for seating along Ross’s Landing. The pier’s polished metal architecture gleamed in the sharp winter sun, but Christ wouldn’t go near it. He wouldn’t get any closer than the bank, where the terraced steps offered a fine view of the river.

“I’m taking a chance coming this close. We both are. And so are those idiots over there, pushing strollers and fishing. I’d rather scoop my eyes out with a grapefruit spoon than sit so close to the water.”

“It’s a nice day to walk around down there,” I sort of argued. “It’s only a little chilly.”

“It isn’t chilly for January.”

“It’s chilly for me?

“Whatever, Eden.” He chewed the filter end of his cigarette until it fit the yellowed groove between his teeth. He shook his head and pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders. Christ was about my height, maybe five foot ten, but I probably outweighed him by twenty or thirty pounds. He had that lean, starved look to him that comes from lots of physical activity and not enough nutrition. His was a body built by nicotine, Waffle House, and artificial sweetener.

“Where’s your skateboard?” I asked, only because I’d never before seen him without it.

He shrugged and twitched, as if the question annoyed him. “Busted. Same night as Pat went missing. I told you that part.”

“No. You haven’t told me anything yet. Since when is Pat missing?”

“Since the same night my board got busted. Besides, if I had it, the cops would’ve thrown me out as soon as we sat down. Some bullshit about defacing the steps. But it’s not our boards that tear up the steps. I don’t care what they say.”

I stretched out and crossed my feet, leaning back and pulling my sunglasses down off the top of my head. “There’s not much arguing about the graffiti, though.”

“That’s just protest. Freedom of speech. If the cops at the landing would leave us alone—”

“Then you’d find some other place to make trouble. Look, man—not today. Just say your piece and let me move along. I’ve made nice. I put down my paper and left my window seat because you had to have a word. Well, have it.”

“All right. You want the fifty-cent version? Here it is: you’d be a goddamn madwoman to move into those apartments over there.” Christ pointed across the river to the north shore, where a low-cut skyline was developing beside the river.

“What the hell? First Lu, now you. What’s wrong with them? They’re beautiful, they’re almost finished, and I’ve already put down my deposit, thank you very much. I’m moving in on the first of next month.”

He cocked his head and took a long drag. “Lu—that’s your aunt? Hell, if I were her I’d be damned happy to have you out of the house at long last.”

“She and Dave have been hinting hard for a couple of years now, nudging me towards getting my own place. But now that I’ve finally taken them up on it, all they do is argue with me about the location.”

“What’s their problem with it?”

“Lu says it’s too close to the river—that when the river floods it’ll be a muddy mess down there. But hell, the whole city clusters up against the river, or at least all the good stuff. You’d have to go all the way back to the ridges to get away from it, and that’s probably a couple of miles. Anyway, that’s what TVA is for, isn’t it? To keep the river where it’s supposed to be? And I’ll get renter’s insurance. I’ll be fine.”

He waved the cigarette at me with one hand and buttoned his jacket shut with the other. “She’s right. It’s too close to the river. I’d be worried about that too, if I were you.”

“Why? What’s so scary about the river?”

With a deep breath and a pensive squint, he answered, “It’s like being afraid of the dark, I think. I mean, you’re not really afraid of the dark—you’re afraid of the things in the dark. That’s what being afraid of the river is like. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

I whacked him with my sunglasses. “So you’re afraid of driftwood and fish, pretty much?”

“The fish in this river? Hell, yeah, they scare me. Haven’t you seen the signs?”

“I’ve seen them.” I nodded. They’re posted at regular intervals along the banks, warning people who fish there not to eat more than one of their catch a week because of the pollution levels.

He dropped his voice and crawled to a crouch in order to bring his face closer to mine. “You know it’s not the fish, Eden. You know it isn’t, as sure as I do. You’ve got to know it too.”

“Jesus, Christ. Settle down.” I pushed him back to a seated position and withdrew, trying to reestablish some personal space. He’s not a scary guy, not really—not for someone thirty years old who still wears anarchy symbols stitched to his clothes. But I’d never seen him quite so agitated. “What’s going on out here that’s got you so wound up?”

“It’s not on the news—not yet—but it will be, soon. The wrong people have been going missing, so no, it’s not on the news yet. But one of these days, one way or another, the right people are going to disappear. And then those fascist media overlords will stand up and take notice.”

“Backtrack for me, please. What are we talking about?”

“People are dying, Eden. Down by the river. Something is taking them, one at a time, here and there. Two skater kids last week. A couple of bums this week. So far, it’s just nobodies like me. But the things in the river are getting bolder, or stronger. They’re coming out earlier and earlier, not just in the middle of the night anymore.”

“All right, I’ll bite—’they’ who?”

He picked at his shoe, the one held together with duct tape. “Don’t know. If you see them, it’s too late. But they come up out of the water, I know that much. And don’t let the cops tell you that their stupid little community service campaigns are what’s keeping the kids off the landing. That’s bullshit. They’re staying away because their friends are dying.”

“Man, maybe they’re just . . . leaving. People leave here in droves. Hell, you’ve left more times than I can count. Where was it last time, California?”

“San Francisco. But I came back. These guys won’t be back. And it doesn’t matter. Not yet. Nobody important enough has been taken for the city to stand up and wonder what’s going on.”

His pack of cigarettes slid off his knee and I picked it up, tapping one loose and feeding it to him as if it might calm him down. He lit it off the edge of the one that was nearly smoked down to nothing and gulped down a chest full of tobacco, but it didn’t soothe him any.