The Astral (26 page)

She had never contemplated what an intimate act murder might be: to feel with a shock of pain and invasion his knife tear into her belly. She put her hand down and felt the warm blood thawing its numbness. To have this man of all men thrusting into her....

And, in a burst of light as fierce as any she had yet experienced, she understood finally, clearly, why she had been sent back, what it was that only she could do. Not to trap him, not to kill him, not even to imprison him. It was this moment, and she, and she alone, who could set him free. And herself as well, by doing so.

The snow became a vortex into which she was falling, falling, down, down, down...she must say it before she vanished: “I forgive you,” she whispered.

This time, it was true.

* * * *

She sagged in his arms, eyes closing, lips parting on a final breath.

Christ, he had killed her. His head swam. What if she really had been...? She'd said something as she died—what?
I forgive you
. That was it, that was what she'd said. Something surged through him, like an electric current.

In a distance, as if miles away, he heard car doors slamming, someone shouting. He looked up, and there was a frizzy haired woman with a gun, some kind of cop, and two guys, the boyfriend and another one he didn't recognize.

He'd killed her.
Jesus, Paterson, you are crazy
. He let her fall, dropped the knife with her, reached to his waistband for the gun, and held it out in front of him, aiming it at the redhead.

* * * *

Suddenly, Catherine was out of the way, sinking to the ground in a river of red, and Paterson was in the clear. “Catherine,” Jack yelled and ran toward her.

Paterson ignored the man charging toward him. From somewhere a gun appeared in his hand. He lifted it and aimed it straight at Chang.

Behind her, Chang heard Conners hit the ground on the run.
I hope I get another chance to jump your bones, you cute little bastard
, she thought. She steadied the Glock, sighted carefully—best shot in her class at the bureau—and fired. A crimson stain blossomed like a rose in the middle of Paterson's forehead and he dropped to one knee. The gun slipped from his fingers and he collapsed in a heap in the bloody snow, one arm falling across Catherine as if to comfort her.

EPILOGUE

She was there, in the light again, just as before. She sensed familiar spirits waiting for her somewhere ahead, felt herself weightless, free of pain and care, flying into the light.

And again, someone separated herself from the whiteness and moved toward her. Catherine squinted, and felt her heart turn over.

“Mommy,” a voice that seemed to be within her cried.

“Becky?” she asked, thrilled beyond all meaning. “Becky, it's really you?”

She remembered then what Gabronski had said about her guardian spirit: without sex, without age. And knew who had been guiding her all along.

They embraced. Even without a physical self she could sense the arms encircling her, knew that she held her daughter to her breast once again, knew that her tears flowed.

“My darling, I'll never let you go again,” Catherine vowed. “We will be together forever.”

After a moment, Becky seemed to retreat from her slightly. “No, you must go back.”

“No, no, I can't, I won't,” Catherine cried and reached out, trying to grab her daughter back to her, but Becky was receding. “Don't leave me, Becky, don't go.”

“You must go back,” her voice growing fainter. “You must take care of my baby sister. But I will be with you always, my love will never leave you, or yours leave me.”

“Becky,” Catherine sobbed again. The silvery glow was swirling, eddying about her. A drop of light, turned liquid, fell upon her cheek. She opened her eyes, and found herself lying in the snow, in Jack's arms.

Beyond him, from a far, far distance, someone shouted, “They're on their way.”

“Catherine, hold on,” Jack sobbed, kissing her brow, “Don't leave me again, darling, I couldn't bear it.”

Her lips parted, and she found the breath to whisper, faintly, “I'm here.” She closed her eyes, and felt another of his tears fall upon her cheek.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

V. J. Banis
is the critically acclaimed author (“the master's touch in storytelling...”—
Publishers Weekly
) of more than 200 published books and numerous short stories in a career spanning nearly a half century. A native of Ohio and a longtime Californian, he lives and writes now in West Virginia's beautiful Blue Ridge.

You can visit him at
http://www.vjbanis.com

BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY VICTOR J. BANIS

The Astral; or, Till the Day I Die: A Novel of Psychic Projection

Avalon

Charms, Spells, and Curses for the Millions

Color Him Gay: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C.A.M.P.

The Curse of Bloodstone: A Gothic Novel of Terror

Darkwater

The Devil's Dance

Drag Thing; or, The Strange Tale of Jackle and Hyde

The Earth and All It Holds

The Gay Dogs: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C.A.M.P.

The Gay Haunt

The Glass House

The Glass Painting: A Gothic Tale of Horror

Goodbye, My Lover

The Greek Boy

The Green Rolling Hills: Writings from West Virginia
(editor)

Kenny's Back

Life and Other Passing Moments: A Collection of Short Writings

The Lion's Gate

Moon Garden

The Pot Thickens: Recipes from the Kitchens of Writers and Editors
(editor)

San Antone

The Second Tijuana Bible Reader
(editor)

Spine Intact, Some Creases: Remembrances of a Paperback Writer

Stranger at the Door

The Sword and the Rose: An Historical Novel

This Splendid Earth

The Tijuana Bible Reader
(editor)

The WATERCRESS File: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C.A.M.P.

A Westward Love: An Historical Romance

The Wolves of Craywood: A Novel of Terror

The Why Not