I’m thinking of Alis.
Alis, who waits for me inside.
Alis, with her startling eyes and her peculiar, healing touch.
Alis, who loves me.
Alis, who I love—so much so that I feel giddy, drunk. Careless.
Scrape.
Surprised by the sound, I tear my eyes from the sky and gaze out toward the forest, where the bare branches rattle lightly in the wind. It was only the trees, I think, though I know I should investigate it, know I should make certain.
But Alis…
"Come in now, Darcy. You’ll freeze out there!"
My eyes squint, then soften, at the dear sight of Alis leaning against the doorframe, beckoning me to hurry to her.
So I do—I hurry.
I run, pebbles grinding beneath my boots, the porch boards creaking in protest to my hasty pace. I run until Alis is standing right before me, but I don’t stop, not even then; I catch myself against her, fitting my arms around her waist, trailing my hands up her back to tug at her hair, and I press my mouth to her mouth, tasting her sweetness—at last, at last…
"Oh, never stop," she breathes.
"I won’t. I can’t."
Entwined, we stumble indoors, and I kick the door shut behind us, greedy and grateful for these kisses, but they aren’t enough, not for either of us.
"Upstairs," Alis sighs, her teeth teasing at my mouth.
"Yes." I press against her, steer her toward the steps. But then: "No!" I groan, kissing her deeply. "The candles. We haven’t blown them out. Come on."
Alis groans, too, but she clings to my hand, lets me draw her into the flickering dining room. Then she pushes me against the wall, her mouth hard, desperate, tongue flicking against mine. "God, Darcy, I want you so much… I’ve never felt like this before."
I caress her neck with my lips and then draw back from her, aching. "Help me, quickly." We turn to face the candles, burnt down to stubs now, leaking hot wax onto the tabletop, and begin to blow the flames away. We meet at the center of the table and extinguish the last candle together, plunging ourselves, with a breath, into darkness.
For a second, perhaps two, neither of us moves, torturing one another with our untouching nearness.
Then we collide, grappling in the cold black room for hands, for arms, for hips, for lips. Alis leans against the table, and I lift her so that she’s sitting upon it, her legs straddling my waist. Then I press against her, my arms encircling her back, my mouth roving from her mouth to her neck, her bared shoulder, lower…
Scrape.
Alis straightens, gasping, her lips softly grazing mine. "What was that?"
"Nothing. The trees." I kiss her mouth, though my heartbeat quickens, urging me to pause, to listen. I curse it, kissing Alis harder.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
"Darcy, I don’t think—"
"I know." I sigh with frustration, tilting forward to rest my head on her shoulder.
She strokes my hair for a moment and then sighs, too. "I’m calling the police."
"Okay. I’ll come with you."
"No." Alis presses her hand to my chest, then slips her fingers beneath my shirt, taunting me, though her eyes are stern. "Wait here."
"Uhhh…sure," I whisper, holding her hand until she moves out of reach, passing through the swinging door into the lightless kitchen. I stand awkwardly in her absence, uncertain how to fold my arms or even breathe without her kisses to sustain me. Frustrated, I pull out a chair and sink down, letting my head roll back on my shoulders, but that only brings my exposed neck to mind, and the memory of Alis’ lips kissing me there…
So I sit up straighter, my languid eyes drawn to the closed curtains. I had meant to tell Alis about the stars, about how beautiful they look tonight. But then Alis’ voice, speaking in a low tone with someone on the phone in the kitchen, wafts beneath the door, and I rise, as if by a summoning. I move to the curtain, abruptly sobered. More than likely, that sound is only the trees, but…
My fingers grasp the edges of the drapes and, in one unthinking, tense moment, I swing both of the panels to the sides—and confront the ugly red face of Jason Baker, contorted with anger, teeth bared. He grins viciously at me and lifts in his hand what must have caused the scraping we heard: a two-foot steel beam. It gleams like water beneath the starlight, but its edges are sharp enough to slice.
I take all of this in in the space of a single breath, though I’m not breathing. I’m screaming. "Alis! Alis!"
She bumps the kitchen door open with her hip, phone poised against her ear, hurrying over to me with an expression of terror. "Darcy, what—"
"He’s here. Outside." I point toward the window, curtained again, and Alis’ eyes are dark blue moons. "We have to—Oh, God! I didn’t lock the front door. Did you?"
She drops the phone to the floor and begins to run into the entryway, but I grab her hand, yanking her back, because I can hear that deadly beam scraping over the porch. It will only be a matter of moments before Jason turns the knob and enters the house—and starts swinging.
And his threat is not an idle one.
He’s come to kill us. He’s going to kill us.
No.
My jaw aches, clenched with tension and anger.
Hell will freeze over before I let that asshole touch either one of us again. It’s time to end this. Now. Tonight.
My throat closes up, and my stomach tightens, nausea moving in slow waves through my body. But I can’t be sick, can’t be weak now, and I don’t feel weak; I feel like an Amazon, like a warrior, empowered by my love for the woman by my side. And Alis, I notice, stands straight-backed, uncowed, beside me; when her eyes meet mine, the fear is gone, replaced by all the fury of a stormy sea.
"Together," Alis whispers harshly, squeezing my hand.
"Yes. I love you."
"I love you, too."
We move as one, slamming through the kitchen door, stumbling over the tiled floor and then flinging ourselves out into the cold, clear night, even as we hear Jason’s voice echo behind us from inside of the house. He sounds mad, deranged. His wails aren’t words, only a deep, primal bawling.
There is no time for discussion, for strategy. We can’t break for the car, because Jason will hear our footsteps on the stones, will come raging out of the house to assault us. In all likelihood, he’s slashed the tires, anyway.
So, wordless, Alis and I plunge headfirst into the forest.
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 whispe
r 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.
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.
The Ghost of a Chance Page 17