The Ghost of a Chance (25 page)

You won’t listen, but stay away from the
cabin.
 
You and Alis both.

With a groan, I remember Catherine’s words, and
foreboding weighs me down until my legs give away beneath me.
 
But Alis catches me—as surely and quickly as
she’s probably caught dozens of falling patients—and we don’t even pause, have
no breath to speak, but I squeeze her hand harder as we run, our bodies whipped
on all sides by hostile branches.

We follow no path and trip on dozens of roots, but I
know these woods, and I try to determine the wisest course, the one Jason won’t
think of, won’t follow.
 
But the truth
is that there’s nowhere to go, to hide, besides the cabin.
 
We could lurk in the dark, kneel behind
trees, and hope that he never stalks us down.
 
But we’re defenseless in the dark, and in the cabin there are
knives.
 
There’s glass.
 
There’s heavy furniture.

There’s a lock on the door.

Gasping for breath but running as hard as ever, Alis
glances at me, her face open and determined.
 
When she speaks, it’s as if she’s responding to my thoughts.
 
"I know what Catherine said," she
pants, "but it’s our best chance."

"I can’t figure out any other way."

"The police are coming.
 
Surely they’re coming…
 
I had to hang up, but—"

"To the cabin, then."
 
I squeeze her hand, astonished by our
circumstances.
 
It hardly feels
real.
 
How can this be real?
 
Only minutes ago, Alis and I were mad with
passion for each other…

Now we’re being hunted by a man mad with rage.

Alis puts on some speed, pulling me along beside
her.
 
"God, my lungs hurt,"
she gasps.

"Not much further.
 
Look—you can see the roof between those trees ahead."

"Oh!" Alis stumbles, dragging me down with
her, and we struggle to rise from the soft, slushy earth.

Thunk.

"No, he couldn’t—How could he—We ran so
fast!"
 
Alis leans hard against me,
weak with fear, her eyes pale beneath the moonlight.
 
"Darcy—"

Thunk.

The sound is unmistakable: that steel beam banging
against tree trunks.

He’s not far off.

"Hurry."
 
We fly to our feet, fly over the distance between us and the cabin, and
when we round the building and fling ourselves toward the door…

There is no door.

It’s been removed.

"
He
did this!" I spit,
cursing.
 
"Well, whatever—come
on!"

We dash into the cabin—Portia and her kittens are
nowhere in sight—and hurl ourselves into the freezing bedroom, slamming the
door.

"Is there a lock?" Alis’ face shines with
tears as her hands smack at the doorframe, searching blindly for a latch.

"No.
 
Help me move the bed."

With our last reserves of strength, the two of us
grunt and shove until the queen-size bed budges, screeching painfully over the
uneven floorboards.
 
We push the heavy
oak construction up against the door headboard first.
 
And then we crawl onto the bed together, holding one another,
holding our breath.

"Darcy," Alis whispers against my
collar.
 
"Darcy, if anything
happens to me, I just want you to know how sorry I am.
 
This is all my fault—"

I kiss her so hard that she falls backward onto the
pillows, her hands clutching my hair, her legs wrapping around my waist.
 
"Never think that, Alis.
 
Never.
 
This has nothing to do with you."

"But—"

"Jason is a grown-up—of a sort—and he’s made
his own decisions.
 
Only
he
is
responsible for what’s happening here tonight."

"But if you weren’t with me, you’d be
safe.
 
You’d be—"

"Miserable."
 
I kiss her neck.
 
"Lost."
 
My lips follow
the curve of her collarbones…
 
"Hopeless."
 
Again, our mouths crash together, even as
tears splash from our eyes.
 

"Oh, Darcy, I’ll never forgive myself if he
hurts you!"

I nibble at her lip and then kiss her closed lids,
her long eyelashes tickling my face.
 
"I promised you, didn’t I?
 
He’s not going to hurt either one of us.
 
Now, we need weapons."
 
I take her hands and draw her up; we both slide off of the bed.
 
"Look for anything sharp or heavy or
pointed.
 
Anything we could use to
defend ourselves until the police get here."

"Maybe they’re here already.
 
Maybe we’re safe.
 
Maybe they’ve already caught him—"

Thunk.

Alis whimpers and begins to move in slow circles
around the room, pausing to pick up objects from the dressing table.

I turn to the bureau and root through the drawers,
cursing myself for failing to grab a knife from the kitchen before we
barricaded ourselves in.
 
There’s
nothing weapon-like here.
 
Catherine’s
drawers are full of softness—wigs and scarves and colorful cardigans.
 
Reams of paper.
 
Nothing hard, nothing with an edge.
 
Nothing to keep us safe.
 

You won’t listen, but stay away from the cabin…

Alis approaches me with a silver-handled hairbrush
in one hand and a bottle of perfume clutched in the other, face grim.
 
"It’s all I could—"

Clang.

We jump.
 
Alis drops the perfume bottle, and glass shatters all over the
floor.
 
I bend over to sweep up the two
largest shards, pressing one of them into Alis’ hand.
 
"Use it, Alis, if you have to."

"I will."

I cough, gagging on the overpowering scent of the
perfume spilled at our feet.
 
Lilacs and
violets.
 
Catherine…

When you need me—remember this, Darcy—I will be
there.
 
Please don’t be afraid.

But I am afraid.
 

And Alis—despite that firm set to her jaw, despite
the naked hatred for her husband in her achingly blue eyes—is weeping,
terrified, trembling.

She’s afraid for me.
 

I’m afraid for her.

And now we hear footsteps in the cabin.

"Alis Bluuuuue, where are you?"

"Oh, God…"
 
At the sound of Jason’s voice, just beyond the bedroom door, Alis
doubles over as if she’s going to be sick.
 
I wrap my arms around her, urging her to take deep breaths, to hold onto
her shard of glass and onto me, because I’ll always be beside her.

"Always, Alis."

She clings to my arm.

"Alis Bluuue!
 
Don’t be shy, shy girl.
 
Don’t be
shy with
me.
"

Slam.

The door rattles as the beam collides with it, but
the bed doesn’t move, not an inch, and, seeing that, Alis slowly straightens,
gazing deeply into my eyes.
 
Her voice
is distressingly monotone when she speaks: "Catherine was right.
 
We shouldn’t have come here.
 
We’re trapped now.
 
Eventually, he’ll get in."

"The bed’s too heavy, Alis."

Slam.

But this time, the bed does move, ever so slightly,
jarred by Jason’s relentless battering.
 
I watch in horror as the door begins to crack open; an icy wind seeps in
through the narrow gap.

Slam.
 
Slam.
 
Slam.

I hiss, "Come on.
 
Push!"
 

We position ourselves at the foot of the bed, trying
to jam it back against the door, but Jason’s assault is neverending, and we
begin to lose ground.
 
We can’t keep up
with his mad advance.

"The window," I whisper, grunting, shoving
my full weight against the bed.
 
"Go out the window, Alis."

"No.
 
I
won’t leave you."

"I’ll follow right behind."

She narrows her eyes at me, even as she winces,
fighting off Jason’s slams with her back to the bed.
 
"I know you, Darcy.
 
You’ll try to stop him.
 
You’ll
try to save me, even if you have to make a martyr of yourself."

"I can’t let you get hurt—"

"And I can’t let
you
get
hurt."
 
Her voice is authoritative,
the stern nurse now; her long nails scratch my wrist as she reaches for my
hand.
 
"I say we go together.
 
On three.
 
Are you ready?"

Swallowing, my body so sore that it aches to blink
my eyes, I nod and whisper softly, "One."

Alis takes a deep breath, rising up fully, drawing
me up with her.
 
"Two."

And then together, hand in hand, we say,
"Three," and we spring away from the bed, crossing the short distance
to the single small window in the bedroom wall.
 
I swing the curtains to the side and shove the window open before
punching out the flimsy screen.
 
"You first."

"Darcy—"

"Let me be chivalrous, Alis," I say,
fatigue making my words sound hoarse and broken.
 
"Just this once."

She groans, but a worried smile flickers over her
lips as she crawls awkwardly through the opening, headfirst.
 
I help hoist her lower half, holding her
legs until they’re over the sill and all the way through.
 
Lightning fast, she springs to her feet,
panting, and sticks her head and arms back through to tug at me.
 
"Now hurry, hurry!" she whispers,
teeth chattering, and pulls with all of her strength, her hands shoved beneath
my armpits and then, as my torso emerges into the icy air, clinging to my belt
loops.
 

There’s the sound of wood splintering behind me, but
I don’t look back.
 
Neither of us looks
back.
 
There isn’t time, and nothing
would be achieved by knowing whether or not Jason has busted down the door, has
gotten into the room.
 
We can’t stop
him.
 
We can only run now.
 
We can only try to outrun him.

I press my hands flat against the outside walls of
the cabin and force myself fully out of the window, falling in an untidy heap
onto the soft, snowy ground.
 
I try to
rise, but then my vision blurs, head spinning in a nauseating, dizzy
whirl.
 
My whole body tingles.
 
"Something’s…wrong.
 
Alis…"

But it’s so lovely to sit, to not move, to not
flee…
 
My limbs, reluctant at first,
begin to relax, still tingling, cushioned by the cold, pillow-like earth.
 

No.

Wait.

Something nags at me, distantly, but I ignore it,
must ignore it—because I’m tired.
 
I
should lie down.

The thought comes warmly and insistently, like a
whisper in my ear: I should lie down.

With a sigh, I begin to lower my head to the
snow.
 
My hot cheek welcomes the
stinging chill.

But I leave my eyes open, because they refuse to
close.

Alis is staring down at me with an expression of
pure panic, saying something urgently, gesturing toward the trees at her
back.
 
I can’t hear her, not at
all.
 
I watch her mouth shape soundless
words and shift my head, blinking—bemused, confused and exhausted.

Then I feel her.

She’s here.

"She’s here," I try to tell Alis, but my
jaw is fixed; my mouth doesn’t move.
 
I
try again, uselessly: "Catherine’s here.
 
Catherine’s here."

Catherine.
 

She’s all around me.
 
She’s in the air.
 
She
is
the air.
 
I smell her, feel her,
reach for her with my mind…

And she blows through me—no, moves
into
me,
as she did before, when she used my own hands to soothe my grief, and to type
her play.
 

She comes quickly and shockingly, her spirit flushed
into my flesh like water in a glass, and I know now why she wanted me to lie
down, why she urged me to lower myself to the ground, because I spasm—as Alis
did during the séance—when Catherine weaves her soul with mine: two shining
ribbons wound together, indistinguishable, inseparable.
 

It’s agonizing; it’s miraculous.
 
We have never been so close.
 
I have never been so close with anyone.
 
I never imagined it, never knew this
surrender
…
 

"—are you sick?
 
What should I—I don’t know what to do.
 
I won’t leave you.
 
Can
you stand?
 
Do you need help?
 
What’s—"

Alis’ voice, high with fright, filters into my
consciousness, but above it, above all other sounds, Catherine’s words
reverberate loudly within my head:
I’m here now, Darcy.
 
Forgive me for startling you.
 
But I’ll protect you, and her.
 
This is why I’ve stayed with you, my
darling.
 
This is the moment; it’s come
at last.