David moved through Forsyth Park, past the fountain with the spouting mermen and the guy selling salvation. A homeless woman crawled from under a blooming magnolia where she'd nested for the night. Several people he didn't know told him good morning.

They were so damn friendly here. It pissed him off.

So far, David hadn't experienced the Savannah John Berendt had written about. David Gould's Savannah was a darker place, a place that had more to do with life on the streets than with life in a multimillion-dollar mansion. Not that Savannah wasn't one of the most beautiful places he'd ever seen, because it was. The city's beauty and uniqueness were directly related to the twenty-two squares designed by the founder, James Oglethorpe. Two- and three-story historic homes, with their graciously curved front steps that led to tabby sidewalks and brick streets, surrounded the silent and sheltered communal gardens canopied with Spanish moss.

Contrasting with the beauty was a darkness and mystery that saturated the Southern cityscape. A false Utopia that at once compelled and repelled.

When had the darkness started? David wondered.

Before the Civil War? Before Sherman? Or had Sherman 's visit marked the beginning?

Whatever the origins, the darkness had left the city with a strange vibe David couldn't quite put his finger on, but it felt a little like an episode of The Twilight Zone. He just kept hoping Rod Serling would step from behind a building and explain it all to him…

The sun hadn't been up long, but it was already getting muggy. And buggy.

With spring came unpleasantness. Things like sinus headaches. Mold. Wood rot. Palmetto bugs. Which were actually huge, flying cockroaches. Who was anybody kidding?

And rats.

Jesus, the rats. The city was crawling with them. His partner had assured him it wasn't always like this, that the excessive rain and demolition and construction projects had driven the rodents into some of the most touted eating establishments in the city.