-Prologue-

Ray had heard it said that fire cleanses all. He almost smiled at the thought as he gazed across the ferry’s wake at the tall, thin plume of smoke that rose from James Island behind him. It was mildly ironic that the last man to say those words to him was- well, on the receiving end of those flames.

If fire was indeed the ultimate cleanser, Ray hoped dearly that it could cleanse more than the physical presence of the house he had left, and could wipe out the deep and long-rooted evil that dwelt there. Indeed, he wished that it could wipe the memory of his time there from his mind. Something gnawed him, though, in the pit of his belly. Was this finished?

There was no answer forthcoming from the foam of the wake, so Ray finally tore his eyes from the retreating island and returned to the row of automobiles parked on the deck of the ferry. At the head of the line of cars sat his dusty, dirty Jeep Cherokee. It didn’t occur to him that he was leaving James Island much the same as he had arrived- unsure of his future, and with nothing more in his possession than the beat-up SUV, and a few boxes of odds and ends that he had managed to hastily pack. In fact, this cool summer morning was much the same as the morning he had arrived in early spring.

One thing had changed though- Ray. He was a different man than the broken individual who arrived some months before. Though he had no idea what lay in store for him, it no longer troubled him in the same way uncertainty had bothered him before. He had been through quite a bit in his time at James Island. He learned a great deal about himself there.

At the head of the ferry, he could see the approaching shoreline with the ferry landing about a half-mile away. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and brought it to his lips. That was another change- he was smoking again. But he didn’t really care. It was such a small thing in comparison to what he had seen. Lung cancer didn’t exactly appeal to him, but in comparison to the events of the past months, it was not altogether the worst way to face death. At least it was a demon that could be faced, one that could be measured.

Death. The word reverberated inside his head as he took the cigarette from his mouth and studied it in the morning sunlight outside his car. He thought for a moment of putting it back in his shirt pocket rather than lighting it. Was he ready to face death at all? Before last spring, he would have answered resoundingly “Yes.” But, again, he had changed a great deal. Ray Castus was a different man. As he had so often the past few weeks, his thoughts turned back to that spring morning when he had first seen James Island from the deck of this very ferry. It seemed so long ago.