The Ghost of a Chance (26 page)

I can’t respond; my mouth and my voice are no longer
my own.
 
But I feel Catherine’s
assurance, her intensity, her love, infuse all that I am with a warm sense of
calm.
 
When she rises, I rise with her,
floating indistinctly, looking out at the world through the eyes of a ghost.

Catherine moves toward Alis, reaching for her hand
with my hand, but Alis, her eyes too blue in this world of black and white,
takes a small step backward, clutching at her necklace uncertainly.

"You aren’t…"

"No," Catherine says in her soft, lilting
voice, smiling.
 
"But of course you
would recognize the change.
 
You love
her so much."

Swallowing, Alis nods her head faintly.
 
"Is Darcy all right?"

"She’s fine.
 
She’s here, with me."

"Then why—"

"Alis, I’ve seen far beyond this moment.
 
I’ve seen the outcome of this night, what
happens without my interference, and I can’t permit it.
 
You’re both too tired, and he’s too wild
with rage."

"The police—"

"Are on their way, but there’s a fallen tree
blocking the road, and by the time they move it, by the time they get
here…"

Alis is as pale as the snow.
 
"What?" she breathes, shivering,
terror shadowing her gaze.
 
"What
will happen?"

Catherine closes the space between herself and Alis
and grasps Alis’ hand firmly.
 
I can
feel Alis’ hand, too—cold, so cold—and long to warm her skin with my fingers,
to take her into my arms, to press my lips to her dark, loose hair…

"I’ll never tell you that," Catherine says
simply, and now she does embrace Alis, though the shorter woman is tense,
uncomfortable in her/my arms.
 
When
Catherine draws back, she tilts down her chin and speaks quickly: "Now, don’t
scream, Alis.
 
Jason is about to leave
the cabin.
 
He intends to break the
bedroom window to get at you, but when he sees that you’ve escaped, he’s going
to chase after us.
 
We have to run now,
all right?
 
Fast.
 
As fast as you can.
 
He will follow.
 
He’ll shriek and taunt and slash at the air with that beam in his
hands.
 
But don’t let his fear tactics
slow you down.
 
We have to be
faster."

"Faster," Alis says, nodding, speaking the
word reverently, like a prayer.
 
"Okay.
 
I’ll run fast.
 
I’ll do my best."

"No," Catherine says, brushing the hair
back from Alis’ forehead and smiling down at her fondly.
 
"You’ve got to do better than your
best, Alis," she whispers.
 
"You’ve got to
fly
."

There’s a
clang
behind us, then, and
Catherine and Alis whirl around to see Jason stumbling out of the cabin,
banging his beam upon tree trunks, his hair a wild, snow-flecked mass, his
shirt untucked and torn at the shoulder.
 
He wields the beam like a sword, slashing at the air, the branches, and
then he turns and cracks the beam against the front window of the cabin.
 
The glass breaks with a sickening sound—too
brittle, like fractured bones.
 
He
breaks the window beside that one, too, grinning grotesquely.
 
"Alis Bluuue, I’m coming for you!"

He doesn’t look our way, doesn’t see us yet, and
when Catherine hisses, "
Fly
," into Alis’ ear, there is no
hesitation: we take off like rockets, set ablaze by fear and an unconquerable
will to survive.

I have no control over my body, but I still feel my
legs’ desperate movement, still feel Alis’ hand, clammy, holding on so tightly,
as she struggles to keep pace with Catherine, who never trips, never stumbles
and always catches Alis at the precise moment she begins to lose her footing.

 
"I’ve
seen all of this before," Catherine breathes, panting, our lungs aching in
the bracing cold.
 
One of her hands is
gripping Alis’ hand, while the other squeezes Alis’ elbow, to hold her up
should she begin to fall.
 
"It’s so
odd, to experience it at last."

I run with them, moving my phantom legs, taking
phantom gasps, feeling helpless and powerful all at once, because Catherine’s
energy is like electricity in my veins—crackling, inexhaustible.

Is there where I would have fallen?
I wonder,
as we bound over a branch astride our path.
 
Is there where we would have stumbled, had Catherine not arrived?

"Oh, God…" Alis whimpers, daring a glance
over her shoulder and faltering until Catherine steadies her with cool words
and firm hands.

He’s coming.

The clanging of his beam against the trees rings out
like a death knell behind us—but not far enough behind us.
 
We’ve had a head start, but his madness has
given him a rush of superhuman adrenaline.
 
I can only imagine how heavy that beam in his hands must be, but, when
Catherine peers over our shoulder at him, I see that he carries the large piece
of metal aloft as if it’s as light as a baseball bat, and swings it as if it
is, too, cracking branches with a head-rattling jangle.

"Oh, God," Alis moans again, and she leans
a little against Catherine now, drawing strength from her strength, as we
continue running between the trees.

It’s then that I realize what we’re running toward.

No,
I think at Catherine, panic stilling my
phantom heart.
 
Not
there.

But Catherine, again, soothes me with the golden
comfort of her love.
 
This is where
it ends, darling,
she tells me, her voice as gentle as a kiss to my
cheek.
 
I’ve seen it, Darcy.
 
I’ve seen this path, and it’s the only way
to save you both.
 
Trust
me.

I do.

But I thought we were running for the house, running
toward the safety of doors and walls and, eventually, the protection of the
police.
 

Instead we’re pointed for The Rock.
 
We’re aiming for the place that absorbed
Catherine’s last breath, the place where she died.

If I had eyes, I would weep.

"Aww, look at the cute little lesbos, holding
hands," Jason mock-sings, his voice ragged and edged with spite.
 
He’s right behind us: when he arcs his beam
wildly through the air, we feel its movement, a shift in temperature.
 
"You know, I hate to come between you
two.
 
I feel just
awful
about
it.
 
I know you’re so in
looooove.
 
But, well—that’s my wife, and what my
wife really needs is a
man
to keep her in line.
 
I mean, look what happens when she makes her
own decisions!
 
She loses it, starts
thinking she’d rather be with a
woman
than
me
!
 
Cuckoo!
 
Alis Blue is
cuckoo
!"

"Shut up, Jason!" Alis screams, though
Catherine squeezes her hand tightly, urging her not to respond to his jibes.

A thousand fires ignite within me, and a thousand
words burn on the tip of my tongue, but I’m only a passenger in this body; I
can’t spit at that monster.
 
I can’t
fling my fists at his face.
 
I want to
hurl my body at him.
 
I want to make him
hurt like he hurt Alis.
 
I want to—

And you would have, darling.
 
You would have fought him, stopped him.
 
Saved her.
 

But then she would have lost you…just as you lost
me.

White.
 
My
vision goes white as the cold truth of Catherine’s words penetrates the deepest
recesses of my soul.

I would have died?
I ask her plainly, but she
doesn’t respond, only washes me in love again, and then there’s no time for
more words, for questions, because The Rock looms before us, and Alis and
Catherine begin to scrabble up its smooth, snowy sides.

"Are you sure we should do this?" Alis
asks in a quavering voice, her feet sliding, though Catherine catches her with
an arm encircled securely around her waist.

"I’m certain.
 
When we get to the top, Alis, just stay behind me.
 
It’s almost over now."

Almost over.
 
The finality of those words chills me; I weave more tightly with
Catherine’s soul, greedy for her nearness.

At last, Catherine and Alis stand at the summit of
The Rock, Catherine breathing hard, determined, her fists balled at her sides,
while Alis stands behind her, one hand resting upon Catherine’s shoulder, her
eyes wide and round, watery circles of blue.

"I love you, Darcy," Alis whispers into my
ear, then, standing on tiptoes at Catherine’s back.

I love you, too.

"So
stupid
!" Jason straightens at
the top of the boulder, his beam scraping on the snow-covered rock at his feet.
 
"I thought you were a librarian, Miss
Hoity-Toity.
 
I thought you had some
brains.
"
 
Catherine flinches as he leans forward to
tap—hard—at our temple with two fingers.
 
"But then you get yourself trapped all the way up here?
 
You run up
here
, where all I’ve got
to do is
tap
"—again, he jabs at us with two fingers, the tips
digging painfully into our shoulder—"you to push you over the edge?"

"Don’t you
touch
her, Jason!" Alis
screams, and she begins to move around Catherine, fury blazing in her huge, streaming
eyes, but Catherine catches her wrist gently and gives her a meaningful
look.
 
With a barely suppressed groan,
Alis steps back behind Catherine, though I can sense the heat of her unspent
anger hissing in the frigid air.

"You’re
dead,
" Jason tells Catherine,
then, leaning forward so that his nose is inches from ours.
 
"I’ve dreamed of this moment.
 
I’ve waited for it.
 
It was all I could think about.
 
And now it’s here."

"Yes," Catherine says coolly, unmoved and
unmoving.
 
"It is."

"So, here’s the thing."
 
Jason hefts his beam up so that he’s
balancing it across both of his hands.
 
"You stole my wife away from me.
 
In my book, that’s unforgivable.
 
Especially since you’re—you know, a
dyke.
"

Catherine laughs softly.
 
"Are you trying to impress me with your vocabulary
skills?"

"Shut up!"
 
Jason grasps the beam tightly now, holding it vertically, its
silver reflecting sharply in his bloodshot eyes.
 
"Who gave you permission to talk?"

"Sorry.
 
Should I have raised my hand?"

"I’m warning you…"

"Considering you’ve already threatened to kill
me, I don’t see what purpose a
warning
could serve.
 
You’re going to kill me, anyway, right?
 
So what difference will anything I say to
you make in the end?"

He watches Catherine curiously, squinting as if he’s
trying very hard to interpret her meaning.
 
"That’s right," he finally growls, staring at the beam and
drawing in a deep breath.
 
"There’s
nothing you can do to stop me.
 
Nothing
anyone can do."

"I know."
 
Catherine moves her left arm slightly, motioning for Alis to back
up.
 
"So, let’s get this over with,
shall we?"

Again, Jason squints, confused.
 
"Yeah," he grunts, shifting his
legs into a lunging position, holding the beam at the level of his shoulder,
like a tennis racket.
 
"Let’s do
it."

Catherine is afraid now, worried; I can feel her
emotions as if they are my own.
 
And
it’s my turn to encourage her, to fill her up with love.

I trust you.
 
I believe in you.
 
Thank you.

I love you
, she tells me, and then Jason
swings the beam in a wide arc, aimed for our head.
 

"Duck, Alis!" Catherine screams, as she
ducks herself, deftly sliding to the right to avoid the deadly blow.
 
But Jason recovers from his miss in an
instant and is already swinging again—and again—and again.
 
Every time, Catherine predicts his next
move, steps out of the way at the perfect moment, though her/my heart beats
like a stampede inside our chest.

She’s sweating now, despite the cold, and Jason is
grimacing, his teeth bared with frustration.
 
"Stop
moving
!" he yells, cursing her, aiming now for her
feet, trying to sweep her to the ground.
 
But she jumps over the beam and races around to the other side of The
Rock, where Alis stands sobbing.

"You’re making my wife
cry
!" Jason
roars, his eyes black with fatal intention.
 

This is it,
Catherine tells me.
 
Be happy, Darcy.