The Ghost of a Chance

by Vivien, Natalie

  "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.

  Oh, God, don’t go…

  I must, my darling. And I’m not sad about it, so don’t be sad for me. There are so many adventures ahead—for both of us. And someday we’ll meet again.

  I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

  I love you, sunbeam.

  And then, as Jason comes barreling toward us, his metal weapon pointing straight ahead, Catherine sidesteps at the very last moment before contact…

  And Jason hurls himself off of The Rock, his beam clattering behind him and landing upon his chest with a terrible, unforgettable crack.

  Chapter Twenty

  There are flowers everywhere—roses, lilies, pink carnations with snipped-off stems in a glass bowl. Our friends and co-workers have showered us with cards and casseroles and hand-delivered bouquets. Even Annabelle sent a box of fresh-cut daffodils, with a note that read, "Wishing you simple joys." And Caroline, Alis’ lesbian co-worker, sent tulips with a lipstick-stained card—addressed to me. Apologetic and a little put out, Alis told me that she was certain Caroline wouldn’t have dared to do such a thing had she known about us. And she promised—with an adorably possessive gleam in her beautiful blue eyes—to set Caroline straight the moment she returned to work at the hospital.

  As I move through the rooms now, I breathe deeply and smile to myself. The house smells like a garden, despite the blizzard whirling beyond the windowpanes.

  I carry the latest delivery, a crystal vase containing a dozen full-bloomed red roses, with a card addressed to Alis, upstairs. The landing creaks when I step onto it, and Alis calls out, "Darcy?"

  "On my way."

  Pausing just outside her open bedroom door, I exhale softly as I peer in at Alis, curled up on Catherine’s lavender afghan with a historical novel. My lips curve fondly down at her. "These just arrived for you."

  "For me?" She rises from the bed to take the vase from my hands, ducking her head down to smell the luxurious petals. Then she presses her hand to her chest and flutters her lashes as if she’s on the verge of swooning. "Ohhh, these are incredible! I’ll keep them right here beside the bed, so that I dream of roses." She places the vase on the small table to her right, clasping her hands before her and turning to grin at me. "Who are they from?"

  "Here’s the card," I tell her, still smiling as I watch her open the little envelope and remove the pink-colored note inside. Her eyes skim the paper, after a moment growing wide and shifting to gaze wonderingly at me. "You? The roses are from you, Darcy?"

  I take a step nearer and place my hands on her hips, mouth curving, heart skipping, bowing my head to gaze at her. "I realize flowers are hardly in short supply around here, but I wanted to…" I glance away, searching for the right words, drawing in a heady, rose-scented breath. "I needed to show you how cherished you are. To give you something beautiful, something worthy of you. After everything that’s happened… Oh, Alis, you were so brave." I stare at her, searching her eyes, moving my hands to the small of her back; she lets the card flutter down to the floor. "I feel so honored to know you, Alis Baker."

  Her gaze darkens with emotion as she whispers, "And I you, Darcy Morrow."

  "It’s unbelievable, isn’t it? I mean, all of it…" I swallow, silencing myself, unwilling to relive the grim events of the past several months—there will be time for reflection later, so much time. We’ve spent the past couple of days as hostages to the police station, filling out reports and answering questions, then falling into our separate beds utterly exhausted at the end of the day.

  But now… Now all I want to do is close this distance between Alis and me.

  Her chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm as she parts her lips, whispers, "I’m so glad you’re okay." A single tear slips from her eye, and I lean forward to kiss it away, tasting salt on my lips. "If Catherine hadn’t— She wouldn’t tell me what might have happened, but…" Her eyes swallow me up in a wave of love that weakens my knees and stills my heart. We stand transfixed, dizzy from the perfume of roses, our bodies arcing toward one other as if drawn by a supernatural force.

  "Kiss me, Darcy." Alis’ hands reach up to weave through my hair, tilting my head down toward her lovely mouth.

  "If I begin," I whisper warningly, "I’ll never stop…"

  "Never stop. Please. Never let me go."

  I press her full length—legs, hips, stomach, breasts—hard against my body as our mouths collide and we fuse together. We kiss until we’re faint, until we’re gasping, until we’re weak with pent-up passion, and then I draw her soft, dark hair away from her neck. With excruciating slowness, I lick the pale skin there while she moans my name: "Darcy, Darcy…"

  I claim her throat with my mouth—hungrily, deeply—and we stumble over to the bed, tumbling onto the mattress together, causing the springs to squeak as we kick the bed coverings aside.

  Alis pulls me on top of her and holds me tight against her in a desperate embrace, her heard pounding hard against mine, her kisses interspersed with breathy growls. "Oh, I love you…"

  "I love you," I sigh, mouth curving, drawing back to bow my head down toward her hips, nudging her sweater up to reveal her softly blushing skin. My mouth follows her curves while my hands slowly ease the sweater over her head and then slide beneath her, releasing the catch of her yellow lace bra; she gasps, arching under me, her nails digging into my sides.

  I be
nd to claim her lips, lingering, teasing, my fingers working over her shoulders, gently easing the bra straps off of her arms. I feel her warmth beneath me and sigh with pleasure as my legs straddle either side of her hips, as I unbutton her jeans with one hand.

  "Oh…"

  I tug my own t-shirt over my head and fall upon her, skin against skin, mouth against mouth, our tongues seeking, our hands restless and roving, scratching and tugging, pinching and caressing. Alis rolls on top of me and expertly removes my jeans and panties, her blue eyes afire as she crawls over my body, bowing her head to tease at my nipples with her teeth. I moan and smooth my hands over her shoulders, my head thrown back against the pillow, eyes closed.

  Then she kisses me hard, thirsty, and her hand moves over my skin, down and down, lower, gliding…until her fingers curve inside of me for long, glorious moments, and I call out against her lips, astonished, euphoric. I kiss her harder, wrapping my arms around her tightly as my hips move against her hand and the room fades away: waves of ecstasy remake me from the inside out.

  "Oh, Alis," I breathe, a tear sliding over my cheek.

  Her lips follow the upward line of my arched neck, pausing and parting to whisper into my ear, "You’re so beautiful."

  We entwine until there’s no space between us, kiss until our lips are sore and aching, touch and worship until we’re weary with exhaustion. And when we lie together hours later, our limbs entangled, our lips still tasting, touching, Alis sighs against me—a long, heavy sigh, and grips me around the waist so tightly that I laugh, gently loosening her hold.

  "Not quite so tight, my love. I need to keep on breathing, so that I can kiss you forever."

  "Sorry," she smiles against my breast, leaning forward to cover my nipple with her mouth. When she draws back, gliding her leg seductively over mine, she’s wearing a catlike grin, and her blue eyes gleam with mischief. "So…" Her fingers trace circles over my bare stomach and then begin to trace the line of my inner thigh. "Ready for another go?"