Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Sandra Marton

  "...take these things into the storeroom while you finish up here, Mary. Try not to mess up anythin' for the two minutes I'm gone, would you please?"

  Kathryn chewed on her lip. Ada would be gone for two minutes?

  Oh, what the hell!

  She snatched up a pair of Adidas in a size that didn't look as if they'd fit either a midget or a giant, plucked a pair of all-terrain sandals from the next table, and headed for the counter.

  Mary, who was still kneeling amidst the boxes, looked up. She wasn't smiling anymore.

  "Miss Ada will be right out," she said.

  Kathryn flicked the tip of her tongue over her lips.

  "Yes, but I'm afraid I'm in an awful hurry."

  The girl shot a glance towards the back of the store. "I suppose I could go and get her, if you insist."

  "Oh, there's no reason to bother her," Kathryn said quickly. "Why don't you just ring this stuff up yourself?"

  "I don't think Miss Ada would—"

  "Miss Ada will probably praise you for keeping a customer happy."

  Mary hesitated.

  "Well, if you don't want to wait on me, I can always leave these things and maybe come back later." The girl didn't move. "Then again, maybe not," Kathryn said, crossing her fingers and telling her conscience to stop its muttering.

  Mary sighed. "Well," she said slowly, "in that case, I suppose..."

  "Terrific." Kathryn gave her a big smile, reached out and snagged the black and white bikini and its matching sarong from the rack. "You're doing the right thing, Mary, you'll see."

  Minutes later, she dashed out of the shop carrying an armload of parcels. Just a few more stops before she headed home.

  Home, to Matthew.

  * * *

  The VW was just pulling away as Ada came hurrying out of the storeroom.

  "Well now, Kathryn..." Her beaming smile faded. "Where's Miss Russell?"

  Mary cleared her throat. "Gone."

  "Gone?" Ada plumped her hands on her ample hips and fixed the hapless girl with a stony glare. "What did you do to offend her, you useless child?"

  "Nothin'," Mary said quickly. "Oh, nothin' at all, ma'am. She said that if I didn't ring up her order right away, she'd leave. It was a big order, Miss Ada, I didn't think you'd want to lose it, all that clothin' and shoes and things."

  Ada cocked her head. "Shoes? Men's shoes?"

  "Yes ma'am. It was all men's things, Men's jeans and shorts, shirts and socks and a belt, too."

  "Everythin' bought for a man? Are you sure?"

  Mary thought for a minute. "Well, not everythin'. The lady bought that bikini, too, the one with the skirt? The really expensive one?" She drew a breath. "Did I do the right thing?"

  Ada waved her hand. "Yes," she said absently, "you did the right thing." A minute passed. Then she picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Elvira? Elvira, the strangest thing just happened..."

  * * *

  Kathryn gunned the VW up the drive at Charon's Crossing and brought it to a bone-jolting stop.

  She'd spent most of the trip home thinking about Matthew's reaction to all the wonderful things she'd bought. Clothes. Magazines. A couple of terrific books that showed how planes flew and computers worked. And the best thing of all, the Sony TV set, sitting safely boxed on the rear seat.

  She only wished she'd thought of it days ago, of how simple it was going to be to share her world with Matthew. He was fascinated by everything she took for granted, from something as simple as the shower to something as complex as her portable computer which she'd plugged in and showed him last night. And his mind was so quick... he absorbed whatever she told him, then tossed out endless, complex questions in his quest for more information.

  But she'd grown up a child of the millennium, accepting miracles like nuclear energy and space travel as everyday reality. The answers she gave him were often superficial. Not that Matthew ever complained. Still, it was easy to see that he yearned for more information about this strange, new world.

  Kathryn gathered up an armful of packages, grabbed a couple of magazines from the top of the stack—Discovery, with a wonderful cover shot of the latest spacewalk—and PC World, with the new IBM portable computer splashed across its face—and hurried up the steps. She juggled the stuff in her arms, struggling to work a hand free so she could open the door.

  "Matthew?" she called as it swung open. "I'm home."

  The magazines slid to the floor as she dumped her parcels on the hall table.

  "Matthew?"

  The rooms that opened off the foyer were all empty. In the kitchen, the note she'd left him hours ago still lay on the table, one end waving lazily in the breeze coming through the open window, the other neatly pinned by the sugar bowl.

  Kathryn went to the steps.

  "Matthew? Are you upstairs?" Smiling happily, she trotted up the staircase, automatically detouring around the cold spot, and headed for the bedroom. "You lazy thing," she said, laughing, "are you still...?"

  No. He wasn't. The bed was neatly made, looking as if no one had slept in it. The room itself was empty.

  "Matthew?" she said uneasily.

  Where was he?

  Somewhere nearby, she told herself, somewhere safe.

  Her heart clenched.

  Why would she even think such a thing? Of course he was near, and safe.

  She turned and retraced her steps, pausing at the top of the stairs.

  "Matthew," she said sternly, "answer me! Where are you?"

  The answering voice, sly and soft as a cat's whisker, breathed into the heavy silence.

  He's in the attic, Catherine, it whispered, why don't you come and find him?

  Terror flooded through her like a wave of nausea. She spun around and stared down the hallway. A cold, milky vapor was oozing down the attic steps.

  Come along, Catherine. He's waiting.

  Kathryn made a soft, whimpering sound. Slowly, as if in a dream, she walked to the steps. At the bottom she stopped and looked up.

  The door to the attic, though still bolted shut, quivered with a grotesque light that shone eerily through the white mist. The door was pulsing, swelling on its hinges, straining like the fevered heartbeat of some great beast.

  Kathryn wanted to scream, but no sound would come from her throat. She moistened her lips, parted them and croaked out Matthew's name.

  Catherine, sweet Catherine. It is he who you want now, is it? Well, then, mount the steps and come to me, here in the attic, and you will be with him, I promise you.

  Her hand trembled, but she reached out and clasped the banister. It was frigid beneath the brush of her fingers.

  One step.

  Two.

  Another...

  "Kathryn!"

  This time, she did scream. But it was Matthew's arms that had closed tightly around her, Matthew who drew her roughly from the stairs and down to the landing.

  "Matthew," she sobbed, "oh, Matthew, thank God!"

  He held her, his heart pounding wildly against hers.

  "Are you all right?"

  She nodded and sniffed damply against his chest. Dimly, her mind registered that he wasn't wearing a shirt, that his skin smelled of sun and roses and sweat.

  "I thought," she whispered, "oh, I thought..."

  "Kathryn." He put her from him, holding her at arm's length, and his tone became commanding. "You are to leave Charon's Crossing."

  "No! Not without you."

  "Do you hear me? Run until you're outside the gate and it is shut behind you."

  "I won't do it! Not without—"

  "Dammit to hell, don't argue!" He spun her around, put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her. "bet out of this abomination of a house, off the land that surrounds it, and do it now. Damn your eyes, woman! This isn't subject to discussion. You are to get out of here and not turn back, no matter what happens, no matter what you hear or think you hear. Is that clear?"

  "Matthew, what are you going to do?"


  Soft laughter oozed from above them.

  Yes, Matthew. What are you going to do? Are you going to face me, or are you too cowardly to confront someone again who is so obviously, in all respects, your better?

  Matthew smiled grimly and looked up at the swollen door, pulsing with evil like an obscene, blood-engorged leech.

  "It will be a pleasure to kill you again, Waring!"

  "No!" Kathryn's voice was shrill with terror. "Matthew, please, I beg you..."

  He caught her and kissed her hard on her parted lips.

  "Go," he said, and he slipped from her hands, a sudden whirl of silver, streaking up towards the loathsome, swelling door. Kathryn cried out as a lipless mouth opened in the pulsing mass, stretching wider and wider.

  "Matthew," she screamed...

  The gaping mouth clamped shut.

  And then there was only silence.

  * * *

  Matthew had ordered her to leave, but where would she go if he couldn't be there, too?

  Kathryn stumbled back, her breathing ragged. Her legs wouldn't support her. She reached back, groping for the wall. Her hands found its cold, clammy surface and slowly, leaning against it, she sank down to the floor.

  She waited. She had no idea how much time passed. All her senses were focused on the door while her imagination focused on what might be happening behind it.

  She heard things, or thought she did. Distant sounds. The ring of steel. A man's voice, strident with the challenge of rage.

  Then, when her fear had driven her almost to the edge of sanity, the door began to change. The grotesque light brightened, then flickered, then began to dim. The sickening pulsing motion lessened, then stopped.

  At last, the door was just a door and when it was, the mist lifted, dissipating like fog over the sea. Sweet, clean air swept over the landing. Kathryn dragged it deep into her lungs. Then she rose to her feet, legs trembling, eyes still locked on the attic.

  "Matthew," she whispered, "oh my love, please, please..."

  A sob burst from her throat as he materialized before her. There was a cut high on his cheek, another on his bare shoulder, but he was whole and real and she flew towards him and hurled herself into his waiting arms. He held her tight, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her trembling mouth while he thought of what might have happened to her, and the more he thought, the more his rage grew until he suddenly thrust her from him and glared into her flushed face while his fingers bit deep into her shoulders.

  "What in hell are you doing here?" he growled. "I told you to leave this place."

  Kathryn smiled through her tears. "I know."

  "You know. But you chose to disobey."

  "Matthew..."

  "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what you were doing on the attic stairs in the first place."

  "I was looking for you." She reached out, her hand seeking his face, but he jerked his head back.

  "You know the attic is a place of evil, dammit!"

  "Yes, but Waring said—"

  "Dammit, Kathryn, where is your head?"

  Kathryn's chin lifted. "Stop shouting at me, Matthew. I know you're upset."

  Upset? Hell, no. He wasn't upset. He was close to crazy, thinking of what could have happened to her if he hadn't sensed Waring's evil presence, if he hadn't gotten here in time.

  Christ, he couldn't dwell on that, not if he wanted to keep from punching his fist through the wall.

  It was simpler to let his anger out where it belonged, on Kathryn. She was impossible, a headstrong, disobedient female, and if she was an example of what women were like today, by God, it was just as well he wasn't a twentieth-century man!

  "Matthew, if you'd just listen—"

  "I? Listen?" His mouth tightened, his eyes went from green to a dark and dangerous ebony. "Why should I do what you will not, madam?"

  "Don't madam me, Matthew. I'm trying to explain. I was worried about you. I didn't know where you'd gone."

  "Where in hell could I have gone? Answer me that."

  "I don't know. That's just the point, isn't it? So I went upstairs and you weren't there and—"

  "Of course I wasn't! I was out back," he said tightly, letting her go and stabbing a forefinger into the center of her chest for punctuation. "I was in the fucking garden, fixing the fucking rose trellis because the fucking storm had almost—"

  "Don't you yell at me!" Kathryn slapped the offending finger aside. Her cheeks glowed with angry color. "And don't use that language. I don't like it."

  "She doesn't like it." Matthew threw out his arms. "She doesn't bloody like my bloody lang—"

  "You bastard!" she hissed, banging her fist against his chest. "You heartless, thoughtless, self-centered, arrogant bastard! Don't you hear what I'm telling you? I heard that—that thing, that godawful whisper saying you were in the attic and... and..."

  Her voice wobbled and broke. She made a strangled sound and started to turn away but Matthew caught her, dragged her into his arms, and kissed her. She fought against him, trying to tear her mouth from his, to slap his face, but he was relentless, his hands sweeping over her, his teeth nipping, hard, at her mouth until she groaned, fisted her hands in his hair, and kissed him with all the love and despair in her heart.

  "I thought I'd lost you," she sobbed against his mouth.

  "Never," he said thickly, knowing even in his blind passion, in his need for her, that "never" was not a word meant for them.

  "If you hadn't come in time..." She shuddered. "How did you know?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I sensed Waring's presence. I only knew that you needed me, that I had to come to you."

  "He said you were in the attic, Matthew. I thought he'd hurt you, or—or—" She shuddered again, closed her eyes tight, and buried her face against his throat. "What happened up there?"

  Matthew made a sound that was not quite a laugh.

  "I wish to God I knew."

  "Is he... is he...?"

  "It was like a stage set, Kathryn. Waring, or whatever remained of him, was standing in the middle of the attic, holding a sword."

  "A sword?" she said in disbelief.

  "Aye."

  "What did he look like? That time I saw him he was so—so horrible..."

  "He looked like Waring," Matthew lied. What was the point in telling her that the Thing he'd fought had to have been even more hideous than her memory of it? Or that it had whispered of what it would do to her once it had dealt with him?

  "He wounded you." She touched her fingers gently to the cut on his face and then on his shoulder.

  "The wounds are nothing, sweetheart. I've given myself worse nicks while shaving." He drew her close and pressed his lips to her hair. "I was the one who delivered the telling blows."

  "But you had no weapon."

  "I had these." He held his hands up between them, "A sword can't hurt you once you get past its point and inside its arc. It's just a matter of being quick enough. A man can kill with his hands, Kathryn, if he knows how."

  Kathryn's eyes widened. "You killed him?"

  "I destroyed him, aye. He went down hard, turned transparent as glass, and disappeared."

  She gave a long, shuddering sigh and went back into his arms.

  "We're free of him, then," she whispered.

  Were they? Matthew wasn't so sure. It didn't seem reasonable that you could kill a man twice, especially if he wasn't a man at all but a specter when you killed him the second time.

  But he wasn't about to say any of that to Kathryn. Why frighten her when there was no need? He was certain—as certain as he could be, at any rate—that even if Waring were going to return, it would take time for him to gather enough strength to make it happen. By then, Kathryn would be safely back in New York. She would be gone from Charon's Crossing, gone from being a part of this twisted unholy world of his.

  He thought of everything that had happened, not just now but in the past, the mistakes he would pay for through the eternity that stretched ahead of him, that Kathryn w
ould pay for, as well, despite her innocence in this nightmare. Pain, despair, anguish... a hundred different emotions closed around his heart and he knew that there was only one thing that could drive them all away.

  "Kathryn," he said in a rasping whisper.

  She fell back against the wall under his weight, her hands already tearing at his trousers as his tore at her clothing. He knew he was being rough, that he might be hurting her, but he couldn't have stopped what he was doing if the sun had taken that moment to fall from the sky.

  And she wouldn't have let him. She was as wild as he, sobbing his name, fisting her hands in his hair, sinking her sharp white teeth into the soft flesh of his lip.

  "Now," she said, "now..."

  He lifted her and drove into her hard and fast, impaling her on his swollen sex. She was hot and wet and she cried out and convulsed around him almost immediately.

  "Kathryn," he said brokenly, "Kathryn, my love..."

  She kissed him, her black hair hanging like a silken curtain about both their faces, her legs wrapped tight around his hips, and Matthew clenched his teeth, threw back his head and exploded like white-hot lightning into the sweet, satin warmth of the woman he loved.

  Chapter 18

  Kathryn sat cross-legged in the center of the four-poster bed, watching Matthew as he tried on the clothing she'd bought him.

  She'd guessed right about the sizes. The shorts and jeans fit him perfectly, as did the T-shirts. Right now, he was wearing only a pair of sandals and the Levi's, and doing things for them she was certain no other man could. They rode low on his hips, showing off his flat, hard-muscled belly, hinting at the power of his sex that lay cupped within the soft denim.

  "The jeans look great," she said happily. "Here. Try on this last shirt."

  She snatched up the shirt she'd been saving and tossed it to him. He caught it, held it out, and looked at her as if she'd gone crazy.

  "Good God," he breathed, "what were you thinking?"

  She looked at the shirt, then at him. "Don't you like it?"

  "Like it?" he said. "Like it? Kathryn, love, a gift's a lovely thing, but this must have cost you a fortune!"

  Kathryn gave a little laugh, uncrossed her legs and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Actually, it was the least expensive of the lot. Come on, let me see you in it."