Jacaranda by Cherie Priest

anymore…not to me. Because when the hotel creaks and moans at night, and the shadows slip back and forth when I’m alone…when the men and women die, one by one or two by two, going to hell like animals into the ark…when I wonder why we remain at the Jacaranda, and try to imagine leaving…I think of my grandmother, throwing rocks in the dark.”
    Her throat finally closed, and her tears fell, and she would say no more.
    To the Ranger, the padre said, “I’ll explain what she told me, later.” For right that moment, from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure moving outside the far window—struggling to walk upright the wind. “Violetta…over there. Through the window, you see? That’s Sarah’s cousin Tim, isn’t it?”
    Violetta nodded. “He should come inside,” she squeaked.
    “We’ll see to him.”
    “Back into the gale?” asked Korman, even as the padre was stepping toward the doors, and the Ranger came to follow him.
    “The man outside, they say he has the mind of a child. We must bring him indoors for his own safety’s sake; and though it may be a difficult thing to do, we must tell him what’s become of his cousin.”
    Together they opened the great front doors, and closed them again—using all their weight and strength to see them fastened behind themselves. Then it was only the two men against the weather, the blowing, spinning low clouds that scrubbed the island raw.
    Tim was not so far away, only around the first corner.
    Even as tall and sturdily built as he was, the wind was hard on him—but he moved against it with determination, carrying something close to his chest and shielding it as best he could.
    “Tim!” shouted the padre.
    Tim turned to look at him, but seeing no one he recognized, he continued onward—hunched against the coming storm, step by step, alongside the building.
    Ranger Korman tried another approach. “Tim, I’m a Texas Ranger and I’m ordering you to stop where you are!” But that didn’t work either.
    “Tim, please, you need to come inside!”
    Their words were whipped around and muddled by the maelstrom, but Tim heard enough to nod, and to call back to them. “I’m going inside. You should come too.”
    “A side entrance?” asked the Ranger.
    “Apparently.”
    “Wish I’d known about it five minutes ago.”
    “As do I.”
    Another twenty yards, and yes—they were at the end of the eastern wing. Or was it the north one? Everything was turned around, even the shape of the hotel was distorted, carved, and adjusted by the whims of the sky.
    But there was a door, and Tim opened it.
    He stepped inside and held it for the Ranger and the padre to join him; and when they were all back within the Jacaranda, he forced it shut with one long arm. (The other arm was still wrapped around something he kept hidden beneath his work jacket.)
    “Tim, I am Father Rios, and this is Ranger Korman.”
    “I know,” he said.
    “Did Sarah tell you?”
    He shook his head. “No.”
    The padre didn’t ask. Instead he tried, “What were you doing out there, in this terrible weather? You should be inside, somewhere safe.”
    “I’m going to Sarah’s room. She’s dead now.”
    From behind them, Sister Eileen said, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t tell him.”
    They all turned to look at her. No one had heard her coming up behind them.
    She ignored their surprise, and added wearily, “He knocked at her door, and when I answered it, he told me she was dead. He said he had to go get something for her.”
    “I got it. Can I see her now?”
    The nun nodded, despite the uncertain glances cast her way. “You can see her, Tim. I’ve laid her out, and she’s lovely. Come and pay your last respects, and leave your gift beside her.”
    He opened his jacket to reveal a ragdoll that had been much beloved in some years past. “It was hers,” he told them. “She let me keep it, for night time. I don’t need it anymore.”
    Inside Sarah’s room, the young woman was no