Ida Mae stumbled into the kitchen, careful not to wake Papa or Milan, as she climbed the back stairs. If I’m lucky, I can pour a bath and bandage my wounds and be in bed before eleven, she thought. In the oval mirror above the washstand, she surveyed the damage. Blood was still oozing from the cut on her lip, and her left cheek had started to swell. The pain she felt between her legs and in her rectum sent her reeling. Down, down she fell, into a sea of darkness.

Theodore Belcher flinched when he heard the creaking of the back door. Must be Milan coming in after a spell of sitting enjoying the night air, as he called it.

Milan was awakened from a light sleep by the noise in the kitchen. Just as he was about to dismiss it as Mr. Belcher’s night raid on the icebox, he heard footsteps on the stairway. He glanced at the baby ben clock he kept on the chiffonier, it was nine forty and Ida Mae was just getting in. It was gon’ be trouble if Mr. Belcher woke up, cause he don’ told her a thousand times, don’t be out late with all these crazy crackers going nuts. Milan went to make sure Ida Mae was alright, he was not prepared for what he saw upon entering the room. She was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He called to her and got not response; he patted her hands and got not response. Milan panicked. He trembled and then let out a howl, like an injured, trapped animal. By the time he got his senses back, Mr. Belcher was out of bed and wheeling himself toward the stairs. “What is it, what’s happened?” he asked.

“I don’t rightly know, but Ida Mae gon’ be needing a doctor.” Milan gently placed her on the divan and went out to start the truck. After he placed her in the front seat, he returned to the house and gathered up Mr. Belcher’s chair and positioned him in the bed of the truck.

Bonus: Excerpt from the sequel, Ida Mae: The Saga Continues

Ida Mae’s left hand was thrashing about wildly in search of her ruler, while she massaged her chest with her right hand. Oh, there won’t be enough time she thought. Her bed was made, the room swept, the plants watered. The pain that had started in her left arm had traveled up and was now closing in on her chest like a vise-grip. The ringing in her ears had started last night.

At first she had thought it was the dinner bell, or the wind chimes, maybe even the telephone. No, these were the death bells. She’d heard of them long ago from Milan. She had already lived four lifetimes, surely ten more minutes would be granted, she knew she was one of God’s favorites. Now, here’s the ruler—now everything can be properly done.