Thank you all for your support! I feel so lucky to have you all, and to be able to talk to you when I have the opportunity to reply to the comments.

I feel we are building a nice little "Rhett needs to pay" community and I'm up for it!

I hope you will like this chapter.

.

Chapter 28

Good and bad, right and wrong are things defined by society, and the good society of Atlanta certainly knew it. They held these words like weapons and gave them to those who deserved it. Though one might wonder at time if memory wasn't failing them a little.

Scarlett O'Hara, once reviled by all, was now the symbol of corrupted innocence. Who would have thought? They remembered her in her green dress and her still youthful face, and how she was then abducted by that Scallawag, that devil Rhett Butler. They remembered how he had tempted her, again and again, isolating her little by little from the good society, and encouraging her to that infame masculine business with the mills. They remembered how he had married her so quickly after the death of her husband and that it was he who introduced her to others like him and Carpetbaggers, and to that cursed Bullock.

Most hadn't liked her when she was alive. Some had thought her a fast piece of baggage, ignorant and improper. Yet, under these words, it had been mostly jealousy, envy at her spirited ways, at the facts that she seemed to succeed where even some men seemed to fail. But also at her enduring charms, that magnetism that left no one untouched.

But now, with her death, how easy it was now to see the qualities she had been bestowed! The good society saw in her a way to keep their women and girls on a good path. Look at Scarlett O'Hara, they said. Look what a good girl she had been, and how the Devil had corrupted her, abused her so! But look how, strong with the support and the qualities the Old South had given her, she had managed to put on a last fight, with that womanly care of the orphanage! Be good, girl, they said. Stay on the good path, listen to your elders. Be like these good women around you, demure and submissive to their men, good men of the South.

How seductive Rhett Butler had been. The seduction of Lucifer, trying to tempt these good people of the South with that malicious smile on his face! Most of the good society now remembered they had not believed a word of what he had said, that they knew from the first meeting that he was the worst man on earth. They remembered his words about the Cause, how he jeered at their hopes. How he had used the Cause and worked with the Yankees for money. And how vulgar it had been to use that poor girl Bonnie in his schemes! Like the devil, he fed on innocence, and laughed at their miseries, while trying to make them kneel.

But the South would not kneel to him now. He had shown his true colors and now there was no turning back.

Yet, good as the society was, some decided to give him one last chance.

Decidedly, there had been something of angels and demons surrounding the couple Butler. No matter what, the devil was in place, for sure. And it began a few days after the funerals. The first week, it seemed as if Rhett Butler was doing the right thing, keeping up with his Scarlett's work by opening the orphanage, named after that saint Melanie Wilkes, hiring trustworthy housekeepers and governesses. Bravely, some members of the good society of Atlanta tried to overcome their terrible impressions of the man, especially after these terrifying curses and the destroying of the coffin. He was, after all, a man, and even the blackest sheep had somehow to be brought back to the herd.

At first, the Mother Superior had been violently refusing to give out her post. That children went to intend the funerals of a benefactor after the whorehouse was taken down, alright. But relinquish her role with the children, and the power it gave her, was not something she had been prepared to. She had spat and cursed, and demanded the help of the good ladies who had been tempted to provide it for her… Until one day, she stopped and, pale like a ghost, she accepted to give up on the children. Some people that knew her then pretended she had seen at night the ghost of the late Scarlett O'Hara, bright with a divine halo, urging her to close the orphanage in favor of the new one, and to lead a pilgrimage in honor of Mary Magdelene. Impressed with such a vision, the Mother Superior had seen the sins in her life overpowering her, making her see the light.

Hearing it, Rhett Butler raised an eyebrow and his jaw tightened, according to observers, and he said a jeering 'No, she didn't.'

It was strange, the way he talked about Scarlett these days, as if she was still alive, at his side. As if she was just on a vacation, and would come back soon.

Then he commissioned a statue for the orphanage, in memory of his wife.

It was an imposing thing, with an incredible likeness to the real one carved in marble. Scarlett O'Hara in that green, nostalgic dress. The image of the South, what it had been, the peacefulness of that way of life.

People had seen how pale he had been, how he had looked at it as if suddenly realizing she was not there, and almost felt pity for him, for he looked broken, and maybe then in his grief, he would maybe forget some of their unpaid debts. Or erase them, in memory of his late wife. That day at least gave some hope for it.

Yet, a strangeness also was at foot, and people realized it when the next day, a police officer told quite the horrifying tale. Escorting Mr. Butler to the ruins of his former house, he had seen the man break down, then freezing, a terrible expression on his face. "Have you heard?" He had said. Have you heard?"

Then, he had wandered hopelessly in the ruins, calling his wife's name, repeating he had heard her whispering his name. He had been relentless in his quest, and when the officer had tried to reason with him, the man had almost hit him.

Kindly, the good people thought it would be good to ask employees in the asylum to keep a watch on him. Dear India Wilkes had been most vocal about it, and people had been touched by her solicitude when Rhett Butler had been the one to send her own poor, gentle brother to the harshest and poorly kept institute for disabled men, with vulgar employees coming to take him once he set a foot out of the police station.

The next day, he remembered all the debts every one of them had with him and came to collect them. That was when his evil nature jumped back, and he injured the memory of poor Scarlett by calling them hypocrites, unfeeling, and opportunists using the loss of her for their interest.

Late, and against her husband's wishes that she waited for the scandals to calm down, Suellen Benteen came to get back the home he had stolen from her. Yet, when she came out of his room, she was yellow with fear, trembling all over, and the injustice was not settled. She would then tell India Wilkes of her unfortunes, how Butler's eyes had been aflame, like those of a madman. How she had been molested out of the house, how the marks on her writs were the proofs of it.

Now, no one doubted he had been the one to set up the fire in the house, and killed his wife in the process, and used poor Ashley to cover his crime. Most likely, the poor lamb knew of it, because she had changed her will, and most likely under duress, had given him all she had. That's what India Wilkes said, and with the addition of that poor Suellen, they had tried to obtain justice. To no avail. The devil had his web and was vicious like a spider. It seemed he could get everything he wanted.

But not the children. Thank God, the poor little ones had been spared the misery of staying with that man.

Yet, no one really knew what to make of them (and let's not talk about these orphans that stayed with them, that disappeared when it was mentioned they'd go back to the orphanage! How ungrateful!). After all, it seemed poor Scarlett forgot to mention it in her will. Or maybe it was because, afraid as she was of her husband who had abused and beaten her, she trusted the good society of Atlanta to take care of them. Henry Hamilton offered to shelter Wade, as his great-uncle, referring to the memory of his nephew. What a good man he was, and so affectionate with the boy.

Yet, stayed Ella Lorena Kennedy, the child of Frank Kennedy, and this poor man had no family left. Suellen Benteen, sister of Scarlett and Frank's former intended, had been thought of as a caregiver. Yet, it seemed it was like putting salt over a bleeding wound, and the poor woman could not even bear to look at the child without thinking of the wrong that had been done to her. Furthermore, she and her husband were still in search of a house, the injustice of her situation not having been dealt with. So why imposing her the child?

So then the girl waited in Henry Hamilton's house, with her brother. Yet, the poor gentleman did not seem quite at ease with her. It was a sad child, without charms, and he did not like girls anyway. Wade was sad too, yet being a boy and being grown-up, he was calm and did not make a fuss. And how endearing he was, taking care of his sister, comforting her, hugging her! For the ladies, it was relieving to see, but for Henry Hamilton, it might be an unfortunate diversion from his studies.

Yet, it seemed at one time, the sadness that radiated from the children was lightened up by the hiring of a former servant of theirs. The girl was named Pansy, and she fancied reading them a story from a newspaper. It was about a girl with a French name and silly adventures that would have been better handled by a man, and who then escaped with a pirate from prison before they were separated by villains who wanted their money. And then it seemed the girl wanted to get back to her friends and family, but yet couldn't for some obscure reasons. About a peacock or an oak, apparently.

What a ludicrous tale. Yet, the children seemed particularly curious about it, asked questions after questions. And Henry Hamilton was quite uneasy with this, not knowing if it was proper for Wade to interest himself on silly stories like that.

Pansy was fired after a few days. The woman was insolent anyway.

And it was decided that Ella would go to a boarding school.

As for Rhett Butler... Who knew what that man was about to do?

...

It was a starless night Rhett had chosen for the ritual. Fitting, simple, almost poetic.

He had tried rationality. It hadn't worked. Now, he intended to try if irrationality might suit him better.

And with that, he had decided to begin with that soothsayer, who had troubled Scarlett so (and him too, though he wouldn't admit to it). What had she said to him? Oh, yes:

You, mister, are your worst enemy. There are shadows in your past and your heart, and a cold grip that prevents you from living as freely as you would wish. You wear a mask so often you don't even know when it's on," Scarlett couldn't help but snigger at this, her hand hiding the wide opening of her mouth, though the rest of it made her stiffen and she missed his amused grin. "You think secrecy is the best way to play, but it's a wild card, the one you want. I see many who'd like to catch her. Some for charms, some for harm. Some for spite. Some for comfort. She might easily be caught in a bigger wind than expected if you don't pay attention. Keep her close, be true to her and she'll be true to you. But if you don't, if you play with her blindly, you might lose it all. Life is no gamble, sir.

Clever, actually clever. Just the right words that hit home and that could ring true no matter which event could happen.

And yet, what if it was true? What if there was indeed a way of knowing the future, a magic linking the dead to the living?

The idea had come in the few hours after that damn fire and had settled more deeply than he would have thought in his mind.

He needed her back. No matter what, he needed her back. And he would do anything for that. He would chase her down to the underworld if need be.

After all, there was maybe a truth behind all these legends and stories about ghosts. And if there was a truth, he had to investigate it. Oh no, Scarlett could not just escape him like that. He told her, he had told her that he would forgive her everything, but not the taking of her own life.

So he tracked down the circus that had settled in Marietta and hired the woman for a little séance.

With a cynicism that was his own, he told himself that he was quite out of the fashion from the Continent. It was not really original. After all, it was said Victor Hugo and his fellow writers liked to gather together to call out the spirits. And Percy Shelley and his friends, maybe. And, well, there had been the scams of these Davenport brothers, and Rhett, satisfyingly skeptical as he was, would have delighted in seeing how the fraud was organized. It was after all a way to make money, and Rhett had always been interested in all the ways, dirty or clean.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The Mausoleum, he thought. Yes, it had been a true mausoleum. He had put his love in it, thought he had buried it in it.

And now it was for Scarlett a crypt she likely did not escape.

The aching irony wasn't lost for him. Rhett felt a pang where his heart should be, but dismissed it.

Chairs and a table were settled among the ruins of the house, a farcical sight on what should have stayed a tragic landscape.

And soon the actors of this comedy settled.

He had invited who wanted to join it, for why not? He needed company in this misery. Hostile or not. Maybe more hostile than not, for it would give him a reason to fight and release this anger that was in him.

The gypsy arrived, and some curious, even India Wilkes who had a vicious glint in her eyes. Certainly, she wanted to prove him a madman. She had already tried. Or if an answer was given, she would find a way to point him as a murderer. She did not just want Twelve Oaks back. She wanted revenge, and not only revenge on himself. On Scarlett, on the world for destroying her world. And after everything that had been done, Rhett did not find it in him to be the better man. Such antagonism most likely tempted the most sadistic part of himself, and he wanted now to destroy every bit of ruins of the place, and to make her see.

Whatever price she had paid for that, Rhett had certainly paid more.

Not to mention his ploy was working quite nicely, and he did not see any reason to stop it now. Soon, he would have the heads of the ones who wanted to speculate on Tara. Someone other than Ashley Wilkes had put explosives around the house, and he had his clear ideas who might have. Oh, he couldn't wait to have him in his clutches...

His fingers tapped on the table furiously. It was taking too long.

He had promised his guests a spectacle, and he intended to give it.

"Come on, Scarlett," He cursed. " I know you can't wait to punish me. Haunt me, you insufferable harpy, I'm waiting!"

"Mr. Butler…" The gypsy said softly.

"Go on, go on!" He seethed, leaning back onto his chair. "Let's end that masquerade."

Damn Scarlett. Damn that gypsy. Damn him for wanting to believe it.

For a moment, there was nothing more. The woman rolled her eyes in a way that felt somehow familiar. Where had he seen that, before? Ah, yes. Pansy. That insolent servant, a friend of Scarlett. An idea came to him. What if they were linked? What if somehow they knew something of his wife? What if there was something he was missing?

He observed her with a frown as the Ouija board was put on the table. The gypsy let out a deep breath, almost visible with the freshness of the night. She closed her black eyes and gestured him to put his fingers with hers on the wooden triangle. India Wilkes joined, and Rhett could see the unsubtle mechanisms of her mind that were working quickly, maliciously. And then there was that of a black man, one he did not know of, had not remarked before. A guest of the gypsy, maybe.

"Spirit, are you there?"

A sudden gush of wind almost made the papers gathered for the secretary fly. The flame of the candle flickered and Rhett waited, very much aware of the alertness of every one of his nerves.

Then, the planchette moved, swiftly, as if lifted by an unknown force. Rhett, surprised, almost took back his hand, but then examined each one of the persons present.

The letters were gathered and formed almost a sentence.

"MAMA GONE."

He blinked. The black man frowned and India froze, yet, a hint of a triumphant smile came. Some went closer to the table, for the excitement was about to begin.

"Who's that ?" Rhett asked urgently.

The planchette moved.

"DADDY."

Rhett blanched. He felt the cold all over him, the numbness settling over all of his body.

"Bonnie ?" He whispered, a haggard expression on his face.

Bonnie, his Bonnie, with blue ribbons on her hair, her blue eyes gleaming with love at him. Bonnie dead, Bonnie that he had never thought he would talk to her again through such a thing, and that Miss Melly once told him that if he allowed her to be buried, she'd be happy, she'd be in heaven, wherever it was…

What the hell was she doing here?

Slowly, the planchette moved again.

"LOVE YOU DADDY"

He felt something wet on his face, but he couldn't focus on another thing than these letters.

"WAKE UP"

Then it began to go faster and faster, as if the spirit was becoming more and more agitated. The gypsy's eyes rolled in their orbits, almost white to the observers and she began to chant something Rhett could not understand. Around them, people were fidgeting uneasily, for it felt all true, all too nightmarish even for their wish to see something interesting.

"CHEST. MAMA SCARED. MAMA GONE"

"It's too fast!" The one who was writing down the letters complained. "I can't keep all of this up!"

"GIANT GOOD GIANT SHADOW MAN HERE FRIEND MAMA GONE MAMA GONE"

The words went on and on, always the same, and some cried with pain as it seemed it wouldn't stop.

Filled with overpowering helplessness, Rhett raised abruptly and with a snarl pushed the table. It felt back with a bang and the light went out.

"GET OUT!" He screamed. "ALL OF YOU!"

They all stared at him, horrified. All but that woman, who was only looking at him with pity in her eyes.

There was one missing though.

He watched all of them go, even India who looked back one last time before following the others. He caught the gypsy before she left the scene.

"You. You stay."

He gestured her to follow him, then led her to the former stables.

He examined her, but the woman did not even blink. She looked calm, as if she just went out of a tea party, and that unsettled him.

"What game are you playing?" He hissed.

"I play no game," She replied quietly, her hands gathered in front of her. "What game are you playing?"

He cursed and stamped his foot, a deep feeling of frustration rushing through his veins. He stared at the distance, recalling. Then sighed.

"I never thought I would talk one day to Bonnie," He said. "True or false… Thank you."

Seeing that 'daddy', and the feelings attached to it had had a soothing effect on him, and he understood now why people paid millions to hear these words. Daddy, I love you. A confirmation of feelings that brought comfort to the grieving.

The woman nodded. "I only did my work. I only served as a canal to the spirits that were here."

So she truly believed in it, uh? He shook his head. Now was not the time to question the beliefs of others.

He felt unrest, and doubts nagging at him.

"So, she's not at peace?"

"No, she's not. Just like many others."

His hands clenched and he wanted to cry, yet he refrained from it. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Anger was acceptable. A brief moment of superstition, why not? But this? No. No. It couldn't be!

He bit his lower lip.

"What did you say to my wife?... That day at the circus?"

The old gypsy looked at him closely.

"That fire was in her future. And that death might be the only way out."

His shoulders fell. He felt as if someone had knocked him over.

The woman said nothing, and he asked nothing more. He nodded, then went back to the Hotel and drank, hoping for oblivion. Or death, maybe. Whatever could help. Everything but the memories that were nagging him.

Forget it all. Oh, yes, it would be sweet...

Forget the days with Scarlett, the hope, the love. The passion of their embraces, the power they had on the other.

A power that was still there. A presence, a feeling that was bringing him slowly to his knees.

Somehow, he still lived with that presence every day. Sometimes it took the form of the scent of her perfume in the morning, flowery and earthy on the pillow beside him.

Sometimes, it was the shape of her shadow that he thought he'd seen near his bedside, watching over him. The sensation of a touch, a kiss maybe, light and sweet on his forehead, as if to soothe the wrinkles that had settled there.

That fire, and the loss that followed… He took another sip.

It had broken a rhythm in his life he had been unaware of, left a hole so deep he thought his heart had been ripped from his body. And now, he was barely half alive, hoping for something he knew seemed impossible, and that was contrary to his usually pragmatic mind.

"Oh, Scarlett…"

He said it, and then the tears could not be stopped. But, drunk as he was, he was not aware of it. His misplaced, mannish pride was forgotten, leaving only the grief.

There was no ritual here, in this room, but the plea he could utter himself. The apology, the love he was searching for, it was all here, like a river that he had tried to stop with a solid dam. And now, in his drunken state, the dam could not hold it all, and it was flowing free.

"I've been a fool, taking you for granted, when I should have shown you how deep my love runs. I have wanted for so long for you to love me, and when you did, fool that I was, I did as if it was my due, and that you'll stay that way without me having to give anything in return… I was afraid of you, of myself, and I gave myself excuses not to let you in… But I want you in! Oh, my baby, I do want you!"

It hurt in his chest, like a knife stabbing on his lungs, his belly, and his heart. He was left agonizing, begging for mercy.

"Please… Don't leave me alone with a bleeding heart and an unfinished story…"

He paused, blinked. The wind was chilling his nose and cheeks, whistling a broken song through the curtains of the opened window.

A sad laugh came to him. "Was that what you felt, Scarlett, when I left? Is it a way to take revenge on me? Well, you've succeeded… I've tried everything. I've tried to find you, in every corner I could. I've tried to raise you high, an icon that they did not deserve. I've tried to hate you, and I'm sure I almost did. But forget you? How can I? You are with me, but I cannot touch you! I hear you, but I cannot see you! It is a feeling, stuck on my bones, telling me I should be by your side, but how can I when I cannot find you?"

He leaned back, joined his hands almost in prayer, his bright eyes on the ceiling.

"I've learned my lesson… Now, come back… Come back, my darling…. I'll do anything…"

Yet no one answered him.

So he crouched back and gathered all the darkness around him like a blanket.

Days came and went, always the same to Rhett Butler. Or, at least, to the shell of a man he had become.

There were moments when he seemed aware of the slumber he was in, moments when he deeply hated himself, when he cursed at the world. When he screamed for Scarlett to come back to him.

These moments were the worst. So he drank some more.

She had said he always left her. Oh, no, he wouldn't think of the words she had said that morning. They were already deeply carved into him, and he had read them too many times.

Yes, he would leave. It would be his final leave. He would not go back. He could not.

He went to the station and waited. His eyes were on the rails, filled with a dangerous light. He felt the wind on his face, a chill that made him feel nothing for he already felt the cold inside.

Would he feel more alive, like that? He wondered. One step too much, and it'd be over. A coward's move, certainly. At least, that was how he had seen it, when he was young and careless. Yet, if he could see her again…

How far could he go to follow her? That question had once been terrifying for him. But now, he knew the answer. And this time, he did not fear.

"Uncle Rhett!"

Unwillingly, his head turned and he looked, crossing green orbs that glinted back at him, ears catching the sounds of hurried footsteps running towards him.

Oh no, not these eyes!

Yet, when he looked back, he was faced with relief, mixed with a little disappointment that he managed not to show. It was not the exact shape, nor the exact same shade. It was not as deep, not as mischievous. No golden fishes lurking in there, just the innocence of a child.

It was Scarlett's girl, their… No. Not their.

What was she doing there?

She fell, but caught herself to his legs, which she hugged in a frantic embrace.

"Don't let me go back," She whispered tearfully. "Don't let me…"

Trembling, he pushed her off him, keeping her at bay with his hands.

He couldn't. No, he had no right of it.

Yet, the girl relented.

"They're going to send me to a boarding school!" She cried. "They said that when it'd be a perfect lady, I would be allowed to come back. But I don't want to go! And I don't want to be like them! They are not nice, and they don't like me! They're not like… Aunt Melly! And Mama… oh, I want Mama back! Why don't you find her?"

He stared at her with dull eyes.

"Why didn't you want us?" She insisted with tears gathering at the end of her clear lashes, soon to be falling down her cheeks.

A hand was put on her shoulder.

"Come on, Ella, it's no use." Scarlett's boy. Their… No, he wouldn't think about that.

Yet, Scarlett's daughter struggled under her brother's grip. And in these eyes, he recognized the same expression of despair he had seen in her mother, the day he announced her coldly at the jail that she had done everything for nothing. The same attempt to grasp some hope, to fight back the helplessness before it ate her.

No, don't look at me with these eyes, he wanted to cry. All, but not that.

"Aunt Sue said you were a bad man, that you… But you didn't! No, you didn't! And mama…."

"Come on, Ella, go to your place," Wade hushed.

"But… Billy! Caroline! They are still at Tara, with Prissy! And my cat… They wouldn't let me take my cat! They said they would send Billy and Caroline away!"

"Come on, child," Henry Hamilton berated as he joined them, a disapproving frown on his face. He was red from running after the children, surprised at such an effrontery when minutes ago, they were blissfully silent. With a gesture, he indicated his servant to take care of the girl, who struggled against his grip, still crying for him. Rhett stayed silent, stone cold. Numb.

"Mr. Butler," Henry bowed slightly in a wary salute. He felt a sudden surge of guilt coming to him, yet he knew what he had done was right. The custody was on his desk. He was safe. That man could do nothing against him, he did not know anything. And, seeing him, he certainly wasn't able to. Still, the feeling did not disappear. With a snap, he turned towards his nephew, who was pale, radiating with nervous energy. "Wade, boy, come with me."

"A moment, Uncle," Scarlett's boy said with a firmness that surprised his kin by blood, but not Rhett. "I need to say my goodbye."

Henry Hamilton hesitated. Yet, something in him, an understanding maybe, was stirred by the resolution in the boy. He nodded, satisfied to have a little man for a nephew, which would make it easier. He did not know how to act with children, so this was very fine with him. He nodded, then let them alone, while staring at them in a distance.

Rhett felt uneasiness in him, the surging of a feeling when he wanted blankness and silence.

A question raised in him, but he did not dare to ponder on it. It was too painful and then… Hadn't Scarlett trusted him? Hadn't she said so in her letter? Then why…

No, he couldn't let the boy talk. He did not want to hear it.

"Wade…" He tried.

The boy's hand clenched, his eyes filled with anger and sorrow.

"You promised us… you promised me! You've said… for what it meant to be, there will always be a way… "

"Wade, I can't…"

"You've told me you'd stay with us! And you know Mother would have wanted us to stay together, and for us to be with you!"

He looked closely at Rhett, at that shell of a man, at the moment devoid of the malice people had attributed to him. He had known for a long time that his stepfather was not the nicest of men when he was unhappy. Yet, when he was, how good the moments had been, how generous, how inspiring, and caring he was! Wade had the image of a strong man, one able to do anything for the ones he loved.

That image had suffered when he left his mother, and time and time again made her unhappy. It had put Wade in the position of the man of the house, a place he had taken in his worry for his mother, and because somehow it gave him the impression he was in control of a situation he did not understand. Yet when Uncle Rhett had returned, there had been hope, strong hope.

And now, what was there to seek, with everyone so far from each other, Mother gone, her husband giving up on them? What would happen to Ella, that Aunt Sue refused to keep, saying she had no place left and that Uncle Henry said with uneasiness that it would be better for her to go to a boarding school? What would happen to him, and how would he be able to keep up with his Mother's wishes while being so restrained and uncertain?

There was no certainty to be found in that man, and that was what unsettled Wade the most.

He feared to hope again and be disappointed.

Once again, he would have to work on his own.

He was a man, now, and he was his Mother's son. He would make her proud.

"Your promises mean nothing, ser. Goodbye."

With the words of a boy, Rhett felt a crack in him, like a mirror breaking. His vision blurred at the brown coat of the child as he turned away.

At a distance, the train gave out his last siren. Siren, like those he heard when the house went on fire… Scarlett…

A voice raised, that of the little girl he was leaving behind.

"DADDY!"

A piece of his heart awakened. He turned his head.

Yet, it was too late. The train had already departed. Wade and his great-uncle were gone.

At least, it seemed so. A dim, thin light came back to his eyes, and he turned back.