The gate opened and the fog lifted on Library Square. The wooded clearing of the Slip was absent, but its giant tree lay at the foot of the clock tower. Her mother’s statue stood at its uprooted base. Air-turned roots gave it the look of the many-armed Hindu god, Shiva the Destroyer. A suitable comparison. Beth Cavanagh had destroyed four lives, including her own.

Bara crossed the square and knelt at her mother’s marble feet. The sound of weeping continued. The statue was motionless and its face peaceful. Bara lay her head on those stone feet and cried alongside … until the first shadow passed. They were no longer alone. Hundreds of other statues had joined them in the square. Stone faces were wracked with anguish. Limbs twisted into unnatural angles. Bodies were rendered and bent. A life-sized, tortured chess set stood arrayed under the shadow of the clock tower.

The sound of weeping increased. The first drop fell and landed on her hand. No, not tears. Blood. The vacant marble eyes of Beth Cavanagh wept blood. It kept coming, running down a stone cheek and breast and tracing jagged rivers over the folds of a stone dress. Bara stood and backed away and met with another statue. This statue wept too. Blood dripped from the canine tooth of a mouth opened in torment. The wind picked up then. The blood took to the air and formed suspended rivulets, weaving and twisting around the limbs and torsos of the statues.

Beginning at her feet, flowing ribbons entwined and bound. There was no running as the blood worked its way up her legs and into her midsection. She brought her arms up to protect her face. They too were immobilized. Her mouth opened to scream and the red invaded in torrents. The scream morphed into the tone of an electronic bell.

***