Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox owns every character you recognize. Post "Audrey Pauley", pre "The End".

Prologue

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March 30, 2002

Pawley's Island, South Carolina

The cemetary sat tucked under a canopy of cyprus trees, with wisps of Spanish moss blowing in the wind. Flowers were blooming in the swampy soil. The daffodils waved in the warm wind that blew through the crooked tombstones. They resembled rotten teeth sticking up out of the landscape and some were completely off-kilter, knocked off their bases by the hurricanes of 200 years. They were all illuminated in a sleepy light that cast rays on the ground and shadows around the ancient trees.

Midge Kiser spent most of her weekend in the small cemetary. Every March, there was another project out here to keep her busy. This year, in the spirit of patriotism, she had repainted all the Confederate grave markers. Now she was busy replacing them next to the little fluttering rebel flags that dotted the soft ground. It was getting harder to stoop over at her advanced age, but she dutifully wiped the sweat out of her eyes and kept on working.

The church that stood here was long gone, but she could remember seeing its picture in a history book. All that remained of these people were tombstones some with screwball inscriptions.

Pinckley Ripplicutt, Age 62, Dragged From a Horse, His Foot in the Stirrup 1801.

Frogs croaked. Huge butterflies wafted about, landing on the trees and tombstones. It was about the most peaceful place on earth. Midge could understand why people had wanted to be buried there. There was nothing to hear but the sea.

But there was a hum. Small planes often buzzed this part of the island. They were full of vacationers wanting to see the wilder side of things. It sort of disrupted the melancholy mood of the cemetary.

The engine sound was louder now. Midge looked up, expectantly, waiting to see the little Cessna or whatever it was cruise overhead. She shielded her eyes against the gorgeous sun but couldn't spot the plane. All the frogs stopped making noise and the butterflies were nowhere to be seen.

Just as she was about to turn around and pay some attention to another grave (Angels Spread Their Silvery Wings and Cast Me Asunder 1845) a dark shadow passed. It was accompanied by a sputtering noise. Midge stood up quickly, gasping at the huge form that was blocking the sunlight. It was shaped like a blunt cross with three bumps on its end.

It couldn't be, she thought. They never -

"Fly Easte..."

She never finished what she was saying. Something fell from the sky in a rush of air and knocked her over. She hit her head on the stone she was tending and died with a trowel in one hand and the other still pointed heavenward at whatever had crossed the sky. A butterfly landed on her outstretched hand, its yellow wings beating against the wind.