Nevermore: A Novel of Love, Loss, & Edgar Allan Poe Read Online Free PDF Page A

– a sure sign of a man more used to spirits than sobriety.   An odd way for a man of the law to behave.
    He dragged Anita through the door, and slammed it closed behind him.   Lenore tried, again, to cry out.   She moved as if to follow, but the world shifted once again, and she found herself suddenly inside the room.   She had not moved, but the world shifted, and she was there.
    Anita lay sprawled across the bed.   Thigpen stood over her, leering.   In one hand he held a flask.   With the other, he began to unbutton his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal a chest matted with thick, dark hair.   His face – the same face from the image she'd drawn – was dark and filled with lust.   He tipped back the flask.
    "Take off your clothes, girl," he said.   "Take them off now, or I will be forced to do it for you.   I assure you, I will enjoy that, if it is necessary, but they will come off."
    Anita was crying.   Her hair was a mess, and she looked like a crumpled flower.   She wore a long, dark skirt, and a white blouse.   She gripped the bottom of the blouse, sliding it slowly up.   Thigpen stood, wavering from side to side, and watching.   He tipped the flask again, took a long drink, and must have emptied it, because he tossed it aside.   He staggered toward the bed, reached for the next button on his shirt, and tried to take another step forward.
    The alcohol was stronger than he'd imagined, or perhaps he'd just been too far gone to notice.   As he neared the bed, his feet became tangled.   He fell toward the bed so quickly that Anita had to scramble aside, falling to the floor, to avoid having him land on her.   She scrambled across the rough planks until she came up against the wall, then she turned back, hands flat on the floor, ready to press up and run.
    There was no need.   Thigpen had fallen face-flat on the bed.   He was not moving, and after a long moment, deep snores filled the air.   Anita sat very still, drawing one hand up to her breast.   She listened…but there was nothing.   Very slowly, she pressed off the floor and stood.   She crossed the room to the door at a run, turned, and stopped with her hand on the doorknob.
    She hesitated then, but Thigpen did not move.   With soft cry, she opened the door and fled into the night, not looking back.
    Lenore thought that the vision would end then – but what happened surprised her.   The vision shifted.   Instead of returning her to her mind, and her work, the lighting changed.   When Anita fled the room, it had been very dark outside the door.   Moments later, at least it seemed moments, sunlight filtered in through the crack where the girl had left the door ajar, and through the window across the room.   She saw motes of dust floating in the air, and in the distance she heard a cock's crow.
    Heavy steps sounded on the wood outside.   The door was already open, and someone pushed it wide, roughly.   Sunlight poured in, but Thigpen did not move.
    "Abraham Thigpen!" a voice called loudly.
    Thigpen still didn't stir.   A man walked through the doorway, surveyed the room, and scowled.   He was tall and blonde, with a wide-brimmed hat and a shiny gold badge on the lapel of his jacket.   He glared down at the prone body, still deep in drunken sleep, then crossed the room and kicked the foot of the bed hard enough to shake the wall.
    "Thigpen!" he said, voice booming.   "Get up."
    Thigpen rolled over then, put a hand to his eyes to shield them from the glare of sunlight from the door.
    "Wha…who are…"
    The man kicked the bed again.
    "I said, get up," the man repeated.
    Thigpen sobered in an instant, scrambled up the bed and against the headboard, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.
    "What do you want?   Get out of my room."
    "Not likely, friend," the man said.   "You're going to want to get up, unless you want to be shot in your bed and create a scandal."
    Thigpen grew silent.   He threw his legs over the side of the bed,