Melinda ran from the road. She weaved through trees and rocks, following the light of a fire and the chanting of voices. She stayed as low as she could and still move quickly. She finally reached the gathering. She sank to her knees as she spotted a small child’s body covered in white lace. The fire hungrily devoured the timbers of the girl’s funeral pyre. Its flames reached up to caress her tiny frame.

Too late. It was done. The rhythmic tones of the hundreds gathered filled the night. The sickening scent of burned flesh unnervingly mixed with a smell of campfires. The group spoke in unison.

We offer this body to you dear Lord. We commit her to the fire. Burn away our sin though her purification. Let her sacrifice bring life to the land.

The young girl wasn’t in pain as the fire consumed her body. Her death had come with near gentleness. They had given her Demerol to relax her as well a celebratory glass of wine. Then as the blessing was uttered her throat was slit. She’d met death fast and sure.

Melinda felt the joy and celebration of those gathered. It sickened her. One of the chanters apparently had felt her eyes upon him and spotted her lurking beside the tree. He let out a cry of alarm and all moved to make their way towards her.

**********

Melinda bolted up in bed from the dream. She took stock of her situation, calmed herself despite the lingering trails of fear still clinging to her. She was safe. At home. In Challis.

Challis was a community where everyone knew their neighbor’s secrets—from drinking problems, love interests, along with every other trivial piece of personal information. What the thousand residents of the high desert Idaho town lacked in interesting culture and entertainment, they made up for by keeping busy with gossip. The rumor mill churned in full operation through the corner meetings and telephone lines of the ranching and mining town, even though timber mill had shut down years ago.

But a week ago, the small girl with hazel eyes and auburn hair whose favorite color was pink had abandoned her bicycle on North 1st Street not far from the elementary school and vanished. The search party planned to disperse tonight. They would continue with the expected chaotic, random searches from time to time. Her mother would withdraw from the public eye after a few teary-eyed appearances on the local television affiliates. The outside world would forget without raising another question after weeks of articles with the lead “Still no sign of Kimberly Whitworth on the dusty streets of Challis.”

In the meantime the Custer County Sheriff’s Department kept an eye on Melinda Collins. Her habit of raising eyebrows with her nosiness had caused some slight concern. She had no desire to follow the town’s conventions. She knew she had enemies, but she considered it nothing beyond the usual price paid for being a journalist who wrote the truth which some would rather not see in black and white. Even if it was only in a tiny paper like The Challis Messenger.

Challis had become Melinda’s home two years before. Fresh out of college, she was looking to focus her love of writing. Though her parents attempted to dissuade her from the dream of making a living as a writer, the hunger had persisted. She’d blanketed the country around her, hitting the newspapers looking for a job. As she had driven the mountain roads from Boise to the high desert of Challis for her interview at the paper she now called home, she had felt a strange peace and connection. The pines reached for the sky, while the Salmon River rushed below her. Instinctively she had understood this was where she was meant to be. It would be a new beginning, a chance to leave the memories of her life in Boise behind and find herself again. Digging through the rubble within her, the achingly slow process of reconstruction had begun with a handshake in the blazing July sun as she accepted the job. With that moment she left the past with memories of a failed marriage and the man she grudgingly had to admit she was still crazy about deep down despite all of the hard times they’d had.

Though many liked her, others watched her with mistrust. She was too quiet. Kept too much to herself. She didn’t go to any church as far as they could tell. She was hardly seen at local events unless she had a notebook and camera in hand. She asked many questions, but rarely answered them. She had a knack of getting people to talk about themselves instead of focusing on her. Since most people loved to have others listen to them, it usually didn’t take much. Besides having the necessary gift for a being a reporter, she also annoyed the local gossips who wanted to be able to say some juicy tidbit about her, but couldn’t find one. They did make comments about her being into strange new age things upon seeing the rose quartz crystal she frequently wore.

Pete Phillips, a local deputy, was happy she remained ignorant. In being her unassuming self, she didn’t watch her words, cover her tracks, or act with any sense of paranoia which would have made his duty more troublesome. For now she was unwittingly acting exactly they hoped and expected. He’d been on duty for nearly five hours. Occasionally he’d take a break from watching Melinda and would just listen as he drove or sat in a pull-out on Highway 93 drinking a Coke.

The temperature was touching 80 degrees, and he could only guess at the temperature in his unairconditioned truck. The sweat trickled down his forehead and his back, as he listened absently to the clacking of Mel’s fingers on her keyboard. He reminded himself once again that he needed to start taking advantage of the local gym, appropriately named The Sweat Shop. His blonde hair began to darken with the sweat. He glanced down at his stomach protruding over his belt and sighed. Pete was a large man in all measures. He stood six-foot-three and weighed in well over two-hundred pounds. Long ago he’d come to scorn the hot days of late summer, which were brutally uncomfortable for him.

His attention was jerked back to the radio through which he was listening to Melinda’s activities. The phone rang somewhere in the office, but her fingers never broke their rhythm. After a few more spurts of dancing fingertips, there was silence.

Melinda finished the article on the ending of the search for Kimberly and e-mailed it to her editor for review. She told everyone good evening, got in her car and headed down Main Street. Pete pulled in behind her. He could hear her singing, her voice slightly muffled with the mike attached to her purse apparently laying face down in the seat beside her.

Children piled on the street from the Middle School. They were laughing, letting their guard down after a day of lectures, tests and forced silence. She paused while a crossing guard ferried teenagers across the street. He then returned to his corner, waving her through the intersection. She waved back to the old man who then tipped his red baseball cap to her. Coming from Boise it still wasn’t quite natural to wave to people she didn’t know. But it was custom here. There were no strangers.

Melinda drove the route which Kimberly would normally have taken. Down the three blocks of Main Street, turning left at the intersection of Highway 93, then up a dirt side street on her left to the park. She got out of her car and entered the Challis City Park.

A solitary girl swung on the swing set. A group of twelve men and attended to their personal searches as they looked around the bushes and equipment of the park. The girl squealed with delight as she pumped her legs still chubby with baby fat and rose far above the ground. Her long blonde hair and simple white dress blew with the wind she generated. Her feet reached for sky as she tilted back to go even higher. No adult paid attention to the girl as far as Melinda could see. No protective mother called the child to her side. No father ruffled her hair as he smiled at her.

Melinda went over and sat down on the swing beside the frantic swinger. She rocked back and forth, staring at the clouds playing a silent shape naming game. She was busy putting flags on an imaginary castle when she felt a tap on her arm. She turned to see the little girl staring at her with interest.

“Why aren’t you swinging?” the girl said. Her white teeth made just slightly imperfect with the vacancy of a recently lost tooth.

“I don’t know. Just sitting here thinking I guess,” she told the girl.

“About what?”

“A lot of things…Mostly Kimmie,” Melinda said.

“She’s okay,” said the little girl without a pause for thought.

“What makes you say that?” asked Melinda.

“I just know is all. Momma told me.”

Mel smiled. She couldn’t argue with that logic. A parent’s word was a kind of sacred vow to a child, a command obeyed without doubt or question. The simple faith in a parent bestowing a few words that set the world back on its proper axis. Melinda barely remembered the feeling of security and peace.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked her.

“Melinda. What’s yours?”

“Nellie Miller.”

“That’s a very pretty name, Nellie.”

The girl looked about to answer when loud shouts sounded from behind them. Melinda swung around to see a man holding a small backpack. As he turned it she could see a figure of Barney graced the pink backpack’s front. Melinda got up from the swing and joined the group congregating around the man. He led them to the fence line of the elementary school where he’d found it beside some bushes. As she scanned the area, there didn’t appear to be any other useful evidence. No broken branches or trampled grass caused by a struggle. No swatches ripped from clothing. No blood.

Melinda questioned the man, who she knew as Bill Wilson, asking him how he came about the discovery.

“I was just walking, around, looking for anything like the Sheriff told us to. I’d grabbed a stick and was just kinda beating back the bushes to see if anything was in there hidden, and I hit it,” said Bill. He trembled with the slight manifestation of Parkinson’s. He looked at her directly with his bright blue eyes, still alive and twinkling with life despite his gray hair and white beard which betrayed his age.

“Didn’t anyone come out here before? It’s so close to the school,” said Melinda.

“I guess not,” he said. “Or they just must have passed it by accident.”

“Can I look inside?”

“Sure, guess so,” he said. He extended his arm, then drew it back.

Melinda noticed Bill looking over her shoulder, as he pulled the pack away. Beside her Sheriff Tom Felton appeared. He wore his usual black hat to cover the growing bald spot spreading through the remnants of his brown hair. His green eyes showed a forced politeness behind his gold wire-rim glasses. He took the pack from Bill and deposited it in a clear bag. He pulled a pen from his brown Custer County Sheriff’s Department shirt and wrote something across the tag.

“Sorry, Mel. It’s evidence,” said Tom.

“When are you going to release a list of what you find inside?”

“Probably in a few days, I don’t know,” he said with his usual avoidance at giving a direct answer. “We’ll have to dust everything, see if there are any good prints. State will have to do all of the lab work. It’ll take a few weeks before anything comes back.”

Of course he knew no matches to anyone unusual would come back. The only prints would be from him, Bill who had found the pack, Kimmie and her family. Tom smiled. He could see Melinda biting her lip, deep in thought, trying to think of a way to force more answers. Then her face relaxed as she failed for the moment.

“I’ll drop by the office tomorrow to see what you’ve got so far,” said Melinda. She frowned at his smile and turned on her heel. She knew it would take a dozen visits and phone calls before they finally told her the slightest detail. Most likely he would just tell her nothing could be said because it could hinder the investigation. She made her way to her car. As she did, she noticed the blonde girl she’d been talking to earlier was gone. She briefly hoped the girl had made it home safely.

Melinda drove to her place snarling inside, dialoguing in her mind all the things she would like to say to Tom. She also cursed herself for letting him frustrate her at all. He had that smug smile that seemed to say how little he thought of her.

Just a jerk with power, packing a gun, she thought. A man who many of the older folks in the town recalled being a Hellion, drinking it up on the weekends and some school nights, too. He’d met his first wife, Kate, in high school. They married shortly after graduation. The bride was rumored to be eating for two at the time. The divorce followed three years later after having two children. Their girl and boy lived in Arizona with Kate. He rarely saw them. Melinda also silently wondered if some kind of abuse had played into the picture, too. There were the standard rumors of womanizing, but she believed he had a bit of dark side that was the more likely explanation for the split.

The staff at The Challis Messenger had been amazed that Tom had won the county election the year before by such a wide margin. Everyone they knew had voted for his opponent, but the citizens in the other towns within the county had carried Tom to victory in a kind of protest to the sheriff at the time. Still mumbling with frustration she entered her apartment.

**********

“Don’t tell that little wench a thing,” said Tom to Pete as Melinda pulled away. “And pass that along to everyone else. I don’t need her getting too curious. Everything goes through me okay?”

“Sure, Tom,” he answered.

“Make sure that Dave stays on her hard tomorrow morning.”

Pete nodded.

Tom got in his car and drove out to the Challis Hot Springs. In the bed and breakfast, a large group had gathered. He was late. They looked at him with expectation. He took his time removing his coat and walking to front of the group.

“Sorry I’m late. Bill Wilson located Kimberly’s pack tonight. I had to make sure everything was taken care of appropriately. We’re pretty much on schedule where we should be. The newspaper will publish an article tomorrow on the search being called off. I assumed Mel will hit me up hard for any information she can and at least add a little paragraph on the pack being found.”

“What are you going to tell her?” asked Dick Robinson, the owner of the Challis Hot Springs. He looked like a short-haired, clean-shaven Santa Clause. His white hair was neatly cropped and perfectly in place. He had broad cheeks that wore a healthy bloom. His stomach rolled out over his blue jeans, filling his white dress shirt.

“I’m not telling her a thing. At least not for a while. I’ll tell her some school books and supplies were in the pack and no unusual prints were found later on. That should shut her down. Sound agreeable to everyone?” asked Tom.

“Sound good, Tom,” said Ted Woods, a county commissioner.

“How is Kimberly doing, Ann?” Tom asked Ann Macy, a doctor at the local health clinic.

“She’s doing just fine. Eating well. She’d quite excited about everything. I think she’s happy she was selected,” said Ann. “She’s a little restless. Wishes it wouldn’t be so long till she is delivered. Her mother’s been preparing her, helping her pass the time, teaching her the importance of patience.”

“We’re all anxious. We’ve got one more night folks. We all should be readying ourselves. There is a lot to do. I want everyone to check in with his or her groups. Make sure everything is set. We want the ritual to proceed smoothly. It’s vital,” said Tom.

The crowd mumbled their approval. They broke into groups to discuss their various purposes. Tom smiled.

**********

Melinda drew the curtains of her apartment, and sat down on the floor of her living room. She spread out a large white cotton cloth in front of her. Behind it she placed a silver candle and lit it. Beside that rested a white censure holding a piece of charcoal. She held the briquette to the candle’s flame and once ignited she rested it back in the in the censure. Upon the charcoal she placed myrrh, which instantly filled the air with its scent.

She inhaled deeply, took in the dancing candlelight and the comforting smell of the incense. She felt at ease. There was a peace that settled upon her when she was able to act truly as a Wiccan, as a Witch. She removed the rose quartz crystal from her neck, smiling as she wondered how much gossip the piece of jewelry inspired and how much more would have been created if she’d worn the pentacle she placed around her neck out in public. Her religion was one reason she kept to herself. It was too easy to nearly slip and make a comment about healing herbs when someone was sick, or how to perform a money spell when she saw someone struggling to pay a bill. It was such a normal part of her; she had to keep herself a little on guard to avoid potential danger. But she still used her gifts, whether she told those around her about it or not.

She took the deck of tarot cards from their box and rested them before her. Picking up a piece of notebook paper filled with the scrawl of child’s hand, she folded it in the golden candlelight and placed it upon the cards. She had acquired Kimberly’s poem from her second grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson, that afternoon. She had told the teacher that she might wish to use the poem in a future article. The teacher had turned over the crumpled and Koolaid-stained paper to her with a smile.

Breathing deeply she closed her eyes. She quieted her mind by focusing on her breath. Her hands slightly began to tingle as she envisioned blue energy emanating from them. She formed a picture of Kimberly in her mind. The short-bobbed auburn hair, skin tanned from being outdoors and miles of bike riding, brown eyes deep with intelligence and feeling.

She picked up the cards, shuffling them in her hands, then began to lay them out in a favorite spread as she held the focused her thoughts on Kimberly. Once done laying out the seven cards, she began to evaluate them, trying to make sense of their meaning.

In Kimberly’s immediate past rested the Moon. The image was that of a woman lost in a dream, one in which she seemed to rise about the world. The card carried a meaning of not dreading danger, but walking along courageously.

The present was filled by the Star. Kimberly felt loved and nurtured, free of fear and sorrow as she was guided along her present course by someone she loved and trusted. Melinda’s face creased with confusion as she took in the image in Kimberly’s future. The World. Accepting mortality after having fulfilled a purpose. She moved through the other cards and finally came to the card showing the final result of Kimberly’s current path. Death. The female on the card wore a white gown and was crowned in golden leaves, but through the translucence of her skirt appeared a skull. The card usually only meant a transformation, spiritual growth, but on occasion it was to be taken at face value.

Melinda grew more and more uneasy as she stared at the cards. She had two very strong impressions. One that Kimberly was close by and another that she would be in great danger if things weren’t done to intervene soon. Melinda closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply again. She began go through a relaxation technique which would put her in a deep state of meditation. Perhaps in focusing more she could find the key to help Kimberly.

In her mind she pictured herself going down a staircase, further and further down the steps towards a doorway. When she opened the door, the scene turned to that of a beach. She began walking down it, aware of the warmth of the sand and the crashing of the waves. She heard laughter from behind her. She turned to see the blonde girl she’d seen earlier in the day at the park.

“Nellie?” she couldn’t understand why she would be in her visions.

“You won’t be able to save her. I know you want to. But you can’t.”

Melinda stared at the girl, incredulously. “There has to be a way,” she said.

“You can try. It’s in your nature to, but she is meant to go on. Just like I was.”

“Like you were? What are you talking about, Nellie?”

“I was the first. She’ll be the last.”

It made no sense to Melinda. She brought herself out of the meditative state. When she opened her eyes, they drifted down to a card she hadn’t paid attention to before. The Empress, the mother. She looked at the clock. The red digits read 10:00. Too, late tonight, she thought to herself and resolved to see Mary tomorrow as soon as she could.

**********

In the shadows of the night, we awake the secret of life. Deliver us as we deliver this child unto you.

Mary kissed Kimberly on the head. The final kiss goodnight. No more chances to cup her daughter’s hands in hers and offer a prayer to heaven. No more nights she could sneak into her daughter’s room to watch her peacefully sleep, her eyes fluttering with dreams.

Mary pulled the cover around Kimberly’s shoulders, cocooning the child with warmth, with protection. The room was part of an unfinished basement. Gray concrete walls rested unadorned by paint or wooden coverings. There were no windows, and the room was illuminated by a lamp resting on a table beside the old twin bed. Some toys were scattered where Kimberly had left them after playing that day. Mary would have to return to her own home soon, but she spent every minute she could at her friend Cheryl Twitchell’s home where they had put Kimberly up until the ritual.

“Are you sad, Mom?” asked Kimberly.

Mary pushed a smile across her face. “Of course not, sweetie-girl. I’m fine. You get some rest now,” she said.

“I’ll try. But it’s hard sleeping here. I wish I could be home,” said Kimberly.

“I’m sorry, babe. I know. But I already told you why we can’t let you be home right now. Remember?” said Mary. Her fingers cupped Kimberly’s face. She had always been amazed how much Kimberly resembled her. They had the same brown eyes and auburn hair. Mary had often seen pictures of herself at various ages and the likeness was amazing as Kimberly passed through those same stages. The song of genes resonated through the years, building in a crescendo as its bridge formed families. History made its mark on the present, the future, like a little scar that never goes away.

“Yeah,” Kimberly said, shaking Mary from her thoughts. “I remember. We don’t want people to know about me going on. They might not like it, because they don’t understand.”

“That’s right,” she answered. Just like she was supposed to. “Now you get some sleep. You have a lot of big things to do soon.”

“Okay, Mom. Good night,” she said, closing her eyes. Mary turned off the light. Sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, she watched her daughter drift off. The moment held the same sense of awe she’d had watching her daughter as a newborn. That power of creation. Man and woman twined to create a new life. Such a basic thing, such an amazing thing.

Kimberly’s chest rose with a soft, calm rhythm. She was untarnished by the hate of the world, still beautifully innocent. She’d not know physical love as an adult, never get her heart broken, and never find the one who would complete it. The last line in her story would be written before those days.

In the moonlight, the sound of crickets filtering in through the windows, Mary wept. She told her daughter good-bye in that moment. And she cursed God for writing a poem instead of a novel for her daughter’s life.

**********

Kimberly dreamed. Before her mind’s eye images flashed. She stood on the bridge staring down at the waters of the Salmon River. Though calmed by summer days evaporating the floodwaters of spring, the white caps marked the force of the river as it struck rocks and plunged into the unseen holes.

Soon she would be burned. Her ashes given to the winds, the land and the river. The remnants of her physical life would meld with these elements to ensure a fruitful harvest for those she left behind. Her mother had whispered in her ear, “Through your life, you ensure ours. You are the chosen one this generation. You ensure there will be another.”

As she stared down at the dream waters, Kimberly could barely control her urge to leap. It was not borne of a wish for death but of rebirth. She would be in the steak barbecued at a feast, the rains which brought the waters passing their lips. They would speak of her to their children as her mother had done with her. Speaking the names of boys and girls who gave up this realm in a sacred ceremony.

The words, the tales were never to be shared with an outsider. Those who moved in following the booms of the mines would either leave at the mine’s bust with the families they brought with them, or if they had fallen in love and were allowed to marry into one of the families, they would not leave Challis again on any permanent basis. They, too, were told the stories of Challis. Of its beginning and the struggle for survival. Of the first sacrifice to the latest.

The ritual took place every twenty years. It had begun with the founding family who had dedicated a daughter to the earth. The fields of hay lay quiet. Black soil mixed with gray bedrock. It was a lovely autumn day. The leaves were catching fire, igniting with red and golds. Kimberly could see the leaves whirl through the dirt stress, playing about the people’s feet as they walked. They wore the costumes of some other time. One she was far too young to remember. But something was showing her.

The first girl was six years old. Kimberly was sure she recalled this girl’s name from her mother’s stories. Yes, Nellie Miller. That was it. Tiny, her ribs showed after a long illness. She and her family suffered hunger after an unproductive harvest. The rains had been sparse. Crops burned in the summer heat. The family became grateful for the occasional kill of an elk or deer. But it never lasted long enough. The memory of venison melted away nearly as fast as the taste in your mouth. Hunger and sickness filled the Village of Challis. Though people shared all they had to help others, they still suffered. Kimberly thought the blonde girl must have been pretty in better times, before she’d gotten ill.

Backs glistened with sweat, growing brown under the August sun. One more attempt to find a buried bounty in the earth. They told themselves the next year surely would be better such cruelty would not be allowed to last another year by a loving God. He would bless them with the next harvest. The earth would grow. A lush green would cover the harsh high mountain desert as last. It had to be.

This child as she slept, attempting to recovery her strength, had a dream one night. She saw herself dressed in a simple white gown. Her hair was crowed with wheat and the autumn’s final flowers. She was surrounded by the people of the village. Like one mass they moved through the streets and off into the forest. They came upon a wooden platform, surrounded by timbers. A table laid decked with a long white cloth. Wine and crackers and a knife with a long blade rested upon it. There they stopped. The reverend blessed her, all heads bowed in prayer. She ate of the body of Christ and drank his blood. The reverend kissed her forehead, and then he took the knife and reached down cutting her throat.

Mary watched her daughter slightly twitch. She wondered what she was seeing in her dreams. She wouldn’t wake her though. The question could remain unanswered for a while. She rested her head on the bed beside Kimberly’s and gave into exhaustion.

**********

The knock came unexpectedly, but even more shocking was the face before her when Mary opened the door.

“Hello, Mary,” said Melinda. Relief flooded over her. She had come the house several times during the day, and Mary hadn’t answered.

“Hello, Mel,” she answered, keeping her voice even. She made no gesture to grant Melinda entrance into her home.

“I’m very sorry to disturb you. I normally wouldn’t just drop in. But I didn’t think there’d be another way I’d be able to talk with you,” said Melinda.

Mary made no answer. Mel was correct. She would not have said yes to an interview in person or over the phone. Sensing the silence, Melinda said, “Can we please talk?”

“I don’t have anything to say, Mel. I’m sorry. I’m just not up to it right now,” she said, beginning to close the door. Melinda’s hand blocked the movement.

“Mary, believe me. I wouldn’t be here if I saw another way. I need to tell you something. This is not about the paper or an interview. It’s about Kimberly,” Melinda said.

Mary paused, stopped her pressure on the door. “What about her?” she asked.

“I think she’s still near here. She’s okay for now, but I think something bad could happen to her soon. She could die if we don’t find her.”

Mary felt a shiver go down her spine. “You came here to tell me that? What exactly do you think you know?” she said. Then for effect, she added, “Where’s Kimberly? Who has her?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. But it is someone close to her. Someone she loves and trusts. I don’t even believe Kimberly knows she should be scared,” said Melinda. She searched Mary’s face for a reaction. She needed to get through to her. “Mary please, let me in. Let’s talk. I’ll tell you why I’m here, what I’ve seen. Maybe we can help each other. Maybe we can find Kim in time.”

Mary looked at her evaluating her options. Seeing no good ones, she opened the door. “Come in,” she said.

Melinda entered and took a seat on the white couch. The room was large and airy. It had a crisp newness to it. Fine furniture, freshly painted white walls. Perfectly dusted, vacuumed and clean. Mary settled into a lounge chair beside her.

“Okay. Say what you have to say, Melinda.”

Melinda took a breath, searching for where to begin. It would all seem absurd if she took the wrong approach. And she had no idea how to gauge how accepting Mary would be of what she had to say. She became aware of Mary’s eyes fixed on her, waiting expectantly. “A lot of what I am about to say could seem very weird to you – it would to most people. But I need you to keep an open mind and just listen to me. Okay?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“I use tarot cards sometimes. I seem to have some kind of gift with them. They allow me to see into a person’s life, their possible future. It doesn’t always work, but sometimes I feel a very strong connection to a person and I know I’m seeing into their life. I can tell what is going to happen with them, unless they change their course.”

Mary made no response. She just nodded. Inwardly she fought shaking. She didn’t want to know what Melinda was about to say. She could tell from what from her earlier words that Melinda was correct. She had seen what Kimberly was going through and was about to go through.

Melinda described the reading. She’d seen Kimberly approaching a dangerous time with no fear, but rather courage. She was being guided by many around her, feeling very loved and nurtured. She felt pleasure and joi de vivre, a sense of success after passing some kind of test. But the future was not so bright. She’d have to accept mortality. Melinda described how’d seen the image of a girl dressed in a white gown, crowned with leaves mixed with an image of a skull.

“You seem to be the key, Mary. The card that suggests how to change the future outcome if it’s bad is the Empress–the mother. It’s you.”

Mary got up went to the window, staring out. Her hand went her mouth. She couldn’t believe it. How on earth could this girl know so much. She had no idea how to respond. Just last night she was holding her daughter, trying to not think about what laid ahead. Now Melinda had reminded her. Painted a picture so clearly in her mind, the images were unshakable.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I know this must sound bizarre,” said Melinda.

“No,” said Mary. “Actually it doesn’t.”

All of the dark stories kept secret were let loose as though Melinda carried the non-judgment and forgiveness of a priest. Once she had divulged the location on the outskirts of town, on the edge of the Salmon-Challis National Forest, where Kimberly would spend her final moments, Melinda bolted from the house. As she got in the car, she noticed that she’d left her purse on the passenger seat and was grateful for one thing in Challis—the low theft rate.

She stopped at her office only long enough to put in a call to the Idaho Bureau of Investigation, though she doubted there was a chance they would get there to stop what about to happen. They could perhaps help see that justice was carried out later. The agent she spoke with gave her assurances they would be there as quickly as possible. She told him Kimberly didn’t have three hours, but to make their way to the town anyhow. She also gave him several numbers to her family members in case he couldn’t reach her in another fashion later on.

The sun was setting as she navigated the dirt road. Finally, she reached the spot Mary had described. She ran from the road, cutting through the trees, feeling the small brush move against her legs. She grew aware of voices in the distance and could make out the orange glow of the fire. Finally, the voices became louder and she could see the large mass of people gathered.

She searched the large wooden structure for a sign of Kimberly, with relief she found the platform vacant. Then she spotted Kimberly being drawn forth from the center of the crowd and gently pushed before Tom Felton, who donned a white robe. Melinda was frozen for a moment as she watched him place a wafer in the child’s mouth and then give Kimberly a drink of wine. The dreams she’d been having melded with reality, throwing her off guard.

Then she saw Tom reach for the knife that rested on the table beside him. Melinda screamed. Tom met her eyes, as did everyone else.

“Don’t do this,” Melinda pleaded.

“You don’t belong here, Mel,” said Tom. A group of people began to move in towards her.

Two men held her, and she was handcuffed and gagged. She struggled and screamed, shaking her head. The men held her check.

“Let us continue,” Tom said, returning focus back to Kimberly. He said a quiet blessing which was echoed by the group.

He raised the blade for the final blow.

A shot rang out and the back of Tom’s head opened up. Blood splattered Kimberly’s shocked face.

“Enough. You can’t have her,” Mary said to the stunned crowd, stepping forth from the trees. “I’ll do my damnedest to kill everyone of you if even make a move to stop me from taking her.”

**********

Two weeks later, Melinda sat on the rock of her new home in Oregon. The waves crashing not far off from her. She sat with a notepad in her hand. It was filled with poems, musings on her day, story ideas.

The Idaho Bureau of Investigation agents continued to question the local citizens. Melinda had left the next morning, but she’d return to testify as a witness in the case. And she kept a promise she’d made after her dreams to the little girl who died in those nightmares. She’d tell the story of that night, the history, the rituals.

She could still hear the voices. We add another chapter to our town’s tale. Another symbol of our faith in the old ways.

Filled with vivid memories, she let the pen flow in her hand.