prime suspect were words Cole hoped she hadn't overheard. To distract her, he'd whispered support in her ear, tilting her bonnet off kilter, as they walked out to the church steps. He took a moment now to straighten it for her before giving her his hand as she stepped into the car.
"Doctor, this can't be good for her. Tell her we should go home."
"She must decide for herself. If she does not, she may feel guilt about it later."
Cole scowled at him and fell into silence, but his thumb ceaselessly stroked the back of her hand as he held it. Trissa did not speak or look up again until they passed through the gates of the cemetery.
"Over there are the babies," she said pointing to a vale of small, identical headstones in the webbed sunshine of the trees. "I don't know why they put them all together, all alone, away from their families. I used to think it was the saddest place in the cemetery. But they're in heaven, my mother always told me, and they never knew how bad earth could be. I guess she was right."
They parked the car around a curve from the main procession and had to cross an area where several new graves had already been dug and gaped open. Fitapaldi walked behind Trissa and Cole. Cole stumbled as they passed the first of these. It was only a slight misstep, and because they walked arm in arm, it barely broke their stride.
At the second, though, the wobbliness of his legs was more pronounced. Fitapaldi must have noticed. He quickened his pace to catch up with them and provide support on Trissa's other side. Cole's skin went all clammy and beads of sweat formed on his brow. When he saw that the doctor had a firm grip on Trissa, he released his own arm and stepped away from her.
"Cole, what's wrong?" Trissa asked.
"I'm sorry. Go on without me. I'm sorry, I can't."
"Are you sick? Should we take you--"
"No. No. I'll wait for you in the car." Cole fled backpedaling unsteadily down the hill.
"What's the matter with him, Doctor?" he heard Trissa ask.
"I don't know." Fitapaldi urged her to turn toward the people gathering at the graveside. Detective Chancellor was there, arms folded, watching them. Fitapaldi led her past him, and they stood in the outer ring of mourners waiting for the service to start.
*****
The hole. The hole. And he was at the bottom of it, the damp and crumbly earth forming four walls around him. At his feet, she lay, wrapped in a quilt, and tied with rope, like a bundle ready for the laundry.
Who was she? Who was she? His fingers fumbled at the knots, trying to untie them but tangling and tightening them instead. Who was it? He had to know. He didn't want to know. He gnawed at the rope with his teeth and it disintegrated to dust, coating his tongue, choking down his throat.
Who was she? Who was she? With trembling hands he folded back the corner of the quilt reveal the face of --
"My God! My God, what's happening to me?" Cole shuddered and stumbled into the back seat of Fitapaldi's car, sprawling on his face as the vision wracked him again. He buried his eyes in the armrest, pushing it hard against his lids, trying to crowd out the hallucination with the whirling and spangled lights the pressure brought.
But it did not work. Once again the hole gaped before him. Then he was inside it with her, wanting to stay, wanting to pull the dirt in around them forever. Once again he muddled with the rope and folded back the quilt. Once again he saw her cold, white face.
"Trissa! No, oh my God, I can't do this. I can't go on like this anymore." His brain was scorched with the vividness of the visions. Trissa's face glowed white and still as the moon. "Stop. Stop. Stop." He punctuated each command with the smack of his head against the seat cushion.
"It can't be Trissa. I won't let it be. I won't." It seemed he gulped for breath through the rope dust that clogged his mouth, then as quickly as they started, the visions stopped, and he was left with only his throbbing head and his pounding heart.
He gripped the armrest and pulled himself up. Far away, up the hill, the mourners moved away from the graveside in clumps of twos and threes. He found Nicholas Brewer's cigarettes in his pocket