The Ferryman (32 page)

Father Jessup nodded slowly, studying her thoughtfully with his old man eyes. “It follows, yes. That would be logical.”

David snorted. “As if any of this is logical.”

There was silence then for a few moments. Father Charles shot an annoyed glance at him, but Father Jessup barely seemed to notice.

Janine slid to the edge of her seat and clasped her hands together on the table. For a moment, David seemed surprised that she had pulled away from him, but when she looked at him, he must have seen the intensity on her face, for he said nothing.

“Maybe he was forgotten,” she suggested.

“Forgotten?” Father Charles said doubtfully.

She nodded. “Maybe Charon was insignificant, really. What if it takes a long time for this ... deity ... to evolve. Or maybe nothing ever actually goes away. Maybe all these old gods are lying around, mostly dormant, created but forgotten, cast away like a child's toys and left to collect dust in the basement or under the bed.”

“God's basement?” David asked, a slight smile on his face.

Janine chuckled, realizing how silly it sounded. But she was on a roll. It felt right to her, all of it.

“I see your point,” Father Charles said. “Once something is manifested by God's power, it always exists, but loses prominence as faith in it withers.”

“Precisely!” Father Jessup snapped excitedly. Then, like a wayward child, he glanced across the library to make sure he had not roused the attendant. When he spoke again, his voice was far more subdued.

“Some of these entities go away, perhaps even fade to nothing, to be reabsorbed into the greater whole, though it's possible there's some sort of spiritual realm where they still exist, I suppose. But given Charon's emergence here, it's clear that at least some of them . . . linger.”

The image of the Ferryman was suddenly clear in her head. Janine closed her eyes a moment and she could see his burning black eyes, his carved marble flesh.

“He still has a purpose,” she said. Her eyes snapped open and she found them both staring at her. “He does. Like the Angel of Death or the Valkyries in Norse mythology.”

“Yes,” Father Jessup said excitedly. “Maybe there's a heaven. Maybe there's a hell. But we can all agree there's an afterlife of some kind.”

“Across the river,” Janine said.

“In ancient Greece, that was known as the netherworld. But as Catholics began to believe in heaven and hell, it would have splintered. Maybe purgatory is the ancient netherworld, the way the Greeks knew it.”

“And Charon takes people across the river ... to purgatory?” Janine asked slowly. “Which would mean that's where I was headed.”

Again, they were quiet.

Janine stood and went to the window. For several long moments, she stared out at the lengthening afternoon shadows on the yellowed lawn in front of the building.

“I have two questions,” she said quietly, as she turned to them again. “First, why me? I mean, this ancient creature found some way to get into our world just so he could ... be with me? Touch ... touch me. Just to give me these erotic dreams. I don't get it.”

David held up a hand. “That one's easy,” he said. “He fell in love with you.”

“Maybe,” Father Charles mused. “But why Janine? There have been a great many near-death experiences reported.”

“None of them talk about
him,
though,” Janine said softly. And then she remembered the words of the specter from the night before, and she knew. “Nobody ever threw the coins away before. He said that. He's been denied, but not like that. Not so completely.”

“So, what are we saying, the Ferryman liked your spunk?” David asked, incredulous. Then he softened. “Not that I blame him. And it makes a certain amount of sense. While you were talking about ... what happened to you, and the baby and all, I was thinking. Something disturbing occurred to me.

“Something
else
disturbing, I should say.”

Janine frowned and studied his face, saw pain in his eyes.

“These people I've been seeing ... the dead people from my past ... I've got to figure he brought them back.Went and found them wherever they were and somehow brought them back from the dead, back to the world. He's tormenting me. Even trying to kill me. And there's something else. The witnesses who saw the guy that killed Spencer? The description matches my grandfather.”

Janine shook her head with a frown. “But ... why?”

“This ... creature. This monster. If it loves you, maybe it thought it was doing you a favor, or maybe it thought Spencer was in the way. Why else would Themeli have run me off the road? Why did they try to kill me last night? It's the only thing that makes sense. Anyone who cares about you, anyone you might turn to, competition for your affection ... Charon wants you all to himself.”

A horrible, icy chill spread through Janine's gut, and her eyes slowly widened. Though there was no way Detective Kindzierski could have known what was really going on, David had just unconsciously echoed the policeman's words. She looked at Father Charles, hoping he would argue the point, but he nodded.

Father Jessup cleared his throat. “It does make a certain sense, if my theories about Charon are correct.”

“My mother,” Janine whispered.

“I know,” David said, and he reached out to clasp her hand firmly in his own.“But there's more to it than that. Themeli and my grandfather came after me. But if this ‘Jill' really is Maggie Russell ...”

“Annette,” Janine said slowly. “David? What do we do?”

Father Charles stood up quickly. He reached across the table and clutched his old teacher's hand. “I'm sorry, Father, but we've got to go. A friend may be in danger.”

“Go, Hugh,” Father Jessup replied fondly. Then he glanced around at them as they all rose from their chairs. “Please let me know how this all turns out. It represents everything I've believed for so very long. In the meantime, go with the knowledge that whatever you want to call Him, however you want to picture Him, God is there.

“I will pray to Him for you.”

Annette lifted her chin and let the shower spray her face. Steam swirled around her and water ran in hot streams down her body. As she stood there, Jill reached around from behind her and languorously soaped her breasts and belly with a bar of soap. Annette relished her lover's touch and arched her back. She half turned and Jill quickly kissed her, blond hair darkening with the water.

Her hands slid down Annette's belly, fingers sliding between her legs, and she gasped a tiny moan into Jill's open mouth.

The water beat a rhythmic massage down upon them and the steam swirled into a cloud above. Annette turned fully, retrieved the soap from Jill's hands, and began to return the favor, washing her lover slowly and gently, yet with a quiet, burning urgency that she had never felt before.

Not love,
she reminded herself.
Maybe. And if not ... God, who cares what it is?

Grinning, she glanced up to find Jill's eyes filled with sadness. She could not be sure in the spray from the shower, but Annette thought she might be crying. Jill held her gaze a moment, then glanced away, her beautiful mouth twisted with despair.

“Jill?” Annette asked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “Honey, what is it?” She slipped her hands behind Jill's back and gave her a little shake. “Hey.”

Jill glanced up at her briefly with an expression of such profound regret that it broke Annette's heart.

“What did I do?” Annette asked softly, unable to keep her pain out of her voice.

“You?” Jill asked, her voice cracking with bitterness. Then she shook her head, her long hair pasted in thick, wet strands on her shoulders and chest and back. “Nothing. You're ... you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me.”

Annette flinched. “I don't understand.”

At last Jill straightened up and met her gaze. She reached out and pushed her fingers through Annette's short, spiky, sodden hair. “I love you, Annette. I want to make sure you know that.”

Though her heart beat wildly at those words, and she realized that she had indeed hoped to hear them, Annette did not let them distract her. “That's a reason to be upset? Is it such a tragedy, to be in love with me?”

Again, Jill could not face her. “You have no idea.”

Annette stared at her as the spray pounded them both. All the eroticism of their shower together had dissipated, carried away on the steam or down the drain with the soapy water.

“I don't want to,” Jill whispered.

“Don't want to love me?” Annette asked, stricken by the words.

Then Jill looked up, but this time she was not looking at Annette. Rather, she stared past Annette, through the smoky glass into the bathroom beyond. Annette was confused, and more than a little distraught herself. Then she noticed the soft green glow on her lover's face.

“I don't want to,” Jill said again, her voice barely a whisper.

Slowly, Annette turned. Through the faceted glass door she could see a dark figure standing just outside the shower, some kind of green light in its hand.

“Damn you!” Jill cried out, with a shriek that sounded as if had torn up her throat.

As Annette turned back toward her, Jill grabbed her around the throat with both hands, slammed her against the tiled wall of the shower, and began to squeeze. Her hands were impossibly strong. Annette's eyes widened and the curtain of water separated her face and her lover's, even as Jill cut off her air.

Annette tried to gasp for breath, tried to call out, to scream in fury, to plead for some explanation. Her eyes darted to one side to peer out through the glass again, desperate and confused. The dark figure was gone, as was the green light.

Her vision began to dim. Multicolored spots on her eyes gave way to a momentary darkening. Oddly, her skin felt supersensitive, as though she could feel every line of grout in the tile against her back, every pinprick of water upon her chest.

She still held the soap in her hand, but it slipped from her grasp and thumped to the floor.

Jill leaned in, her face pushing through the curtain of shower spray, and Annette saw grief in her eyes. Even as Annette began to weaken, Jill pushed in farther and her lips brushed Annette's.

“I'm so sorry. I loved you,” Jill whispered.

Something inside Annette snapped. A rage swept through her unlike anything she had ever known. With whatever life remained in her, she struck out at her lover's face and arms, but she was already too weak.

Her legs gave out and she collapsed toward the glass. Jill tried to hold her up, but the water and the soap on her body made her skin slick. With one last effort, all that remained to her,Annette reached out and grabbed a fistful of Jill's long, wet hair. Jill tried to pull back, but lost her balance.

Together, in a twine of limbs, the lovers crashed through the door of the shower stall in a barrage of shattered glass. Annette's back hit the toilet but she barely felt the pain of the impact. It served to turn them around, however, and so it was Jill who landed on the glass instead of her.

Jill cried out, but she did not bleed.

Annette gasped, hot air burning her throat as she gulped it down. But weakened as she was, she felt as though she were moving underwater. She began to get to her feet, barely feeling the small pieces of glass that cut her, but Jill was upon her in an instant.

“Why do you have to make it so hard?” Jill pleaded. “I never ... I never wanted this.”

With a grunt, she struck Annette across the face. Annette's head rocked back and struck the toilet tank. Her ears began to buzz, and she thought she heard a kind of hammering somewhere.

She waited for the next blow, but it did not come.

Ears still ringing, she glanced up. Jill stood over her.Tears streamed down her cheeks and she shook her head, then gazed down at her own hands.

“No,” she said.

Her face was etched with agony, a sadness that welled up from deep inside her, that went to the bone. Trembling, Jill reached out for her face and Annette flinched.

“Oh, God, send me back already!” Jill wailed. “Nothing's worth this.”

The hammering sound came again and they both truly heard it for the first time. Then there was a thunderous, splintering bang, followed by shouts and the pounding of footfalls from the living room.Voices crying out her name.

Annette could not respond.

She did not need to.

The bathroom door was not locked. As Jill backed toward the ravaged shower stall, hot water still pouring down, steam swirling around them, obscuring the mirror with moisture, the door slammed open.

Janine stood just outside the door with David beside her. Someone else was there as well, but Annette could not really see through the steam that rushed out into the hall. Sobs began to rack her nude body, and for the first time, she truly felt the cuts on her feet and back and arms, and the pain in her throat.

“David,” Jill said. A dark look crossed her features.

“Maggie,” David replied. “Keep the fuck away from her. She's done nothing to you.”

“You fucker!” Jill ... Maggie ... shouted. “I never wanted this. It's all on you. You didn't even cry after you killed me, David!” she screamed in anguish. “You didn't even cry.”

It was a standoff, then. Nobody wanted to move. Jill did not try to attack her again, but David and Janine seemed so stunned, so horrified, that they froze there, just inside the door.

Then the figure Annette had not been able to see, out in the hall, pushed his way through into the bathroom. Father Charles was dressed in priestly garb, all in black, his white collar a spot of purity beneath a grim, stern visage. He wore a silver crucifix on a chain and held a leather-bound Bible in one hand.