Authors: Fredric M. Ham
Dead River
Dead River
A Novel
Fredric M. Ham
iUniverse, Inc.
New York Bloomington
Dead River
A Novel
Copyright © 2010 Fredric M. Ham
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-1-4502-0271-8 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-4502-0273-2 (cloth)
ISBN: 978-1-4502-0272-5 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010903735
Printed in the United States of America
iUniverse rev. date: 3/24/10
For my wife, Emily,
who is always there …
Contents
1
NEVER BEFORE HAD Magee, Mississippi, seen such an event. It was 1989, the city’s centennial, and the city fathers decided to celebrate with a full weekend of festivities. There would be a children’s carnival on Saturday and Sunday after church, a pie-eating contest Saturday afternoon, a rock-and-roll band from Jackson Saturday night, and a dunk-the-mayor booth both Saturday and Sunday.
All of the activities would take place at Prichard Park. The park was tucked away on the north side of town in a small forest of large trees covered with kudzu. Behind the park the crystal-clear water of Cherry Creek trickled over loose rocks nestled in the creek bed and moistened the moss that covered the gently sloping banks on both sides.
The band and their roadies had made their appearance in town early Saturday afternoon and began setting up their equipment. Jebavy Hardware and Lumber had donated the wood and labor for the stage and built it on the knoll at the back of the park. Guitar amplifiers were arranged on the stage, microphone stands planted, and the PA system checked several times. Most of the local teenagers ignored the children’s carnival and gathered around the stage area. None of them had ever seen such a sight: men with earrings and women dressed like men. The teens laughed and poked at each other, occasionally glancing toward the stage at the strange but alluring people weaving various cords and cables, sometimes mouthing a check and a test over the PA system.
Night fell and the band moaned and wailed. They blared out a rendition of Guns N’ Roses’ “Move to the City,” and the crowd waggled and rocked. Some danced, some clapped to keep beat, and others just watched, mesmerized by the bright lights, the cry of the guitars, and the pounding of the drums. The clamor filled the heavy, humid air and could be heard miles away. There was bedlam in Magee, and no way to hear the cries of one young girl.
