He rolled the body from one side to the other, checking the back and buttocks. "No lividity."

He let the body drop to the previous position.

In the adjoining scrub room, he rummaged through the cabinets until he found a stethoscope.

Back in the autopsy suite, feeling foolish and glad nobody else was around, he turned off the downdraft fan and placed the stethoscope against the dead man's chest.

Was that something? A faint sound? A gentle lub… lubl Or was it his own heart beating frantically in his head?

He pulled the stethoscope from his ears, then began another search, finally finding what he was looking for. A mirror. Round, eight inches in diameter. With a paper towel he rubbed it clean, making sure there were no smudges or fingerprints on the glass. Then he held it to the dead man's mouth and nose.

Primitive but effective.

Keeping an eye on the clock, he waited a full minute before lifting it away.

On the surface of the mirror was a small cloud of condensation-a cloud that gradually vanished as John stared at it in horror and disbelief.

This couldn't be happening.

Not again.

Chapter 2

In the Savannah Historic District, Elise Sandburg pulled orange juice and milk from the dark refrigerator while lightning flashed and thunder rattled the windows of her old Victorian house.

"I was going to make French toast." She closed the refrigerator door with her elbow and placed the cartons on the antique table where a hurricane candle burned in front of her thirteen-year-old daughter.

Audrey stared straight ahead with bleary eyes, her shoulder-length curly auburn hair tangled from sleep.

"Guess we'll have to settle for cold cereal," her mother said. "A substation was hit, which means we might not have any power until tomorrow."