The Ghost of a Chance (23 page)

"I don’t think I’m worthy of such confidence,
Alis."

Her smile softens.
 
"You’re worthy of far more than you think."

"Make the decision, ladies."
 
Genevieve stomps her foot against the floor
firmly, cutting us short.
 
"Who
will serve as vessel?"

"I will."
 
Alis looks to me for agreement, and I swallow, bowing my head faintly,
though doubt still wracks my heart.

"Fine.
 
Then let’s begin."
 
Genevieve stares intently at Alis, and Alis’ grip on my hand loosens as
she, herself, stares hard into the medium’s eyes.
 
"You must not resist when you feel Catherine’s spirit weave
with yours.
 
You must not try to push
her away.
 
If you do, she may leave too
abruptly, tearing some of your spirit, taking it with her."

Alis flinches, eyes wide, but nods her head.

"You must let go, let her have control of your
limbs, of your voice.
 
It will feel like
an invasion at first, but you mustn’t think of it that way.
 
Instead, think of it as a temporary
reprieve: for these moments—and perhaps never again in your lifetime—you will
be simply spirit, without physical restrictions.
 
Cherish the freedom of it, Alis, and ignore the rest."

Drawing in one last deep breath, Alis closes her
eyes, clutches my hand tightly, and whispers, "I’m ready."

"Good."
 
Genevieve closes her eyes, too, and she begins to intone words in a
voice so low that I can scarcely hear them, despite the heavy silence of the
room.
 
Something about a pact and a
goddess, about beginnings and endings, circles and stars.
 
But then she raises her voice, raises it to
the verge of shouting: "We await you in eagerness, beloved one, and here
before me is your willing vessel, Alis, whom you knew in life and whom you may
now know in death.
 
Come now.
 
Weave with her now.
 
And say what you must, for as long as you
are able."

Alis’ hand is ripped from mine as her body flings
backward in the chair, nearly tipping it over.
 
Unthinking, I shove Genevieve’s hand away and fly to my feet, gripping
the back of the chair and righting it again.
 
But when I gaze down at Alis, when I ask her if she’s all right, I know,
with a certainty that makes my blood run cold, that it’s not Alis I’m speaking
to.
 
Not Alis I’m looking at.
 
I know it as surely as I know this scent: a
purple scent, sweetly floral, lilacs and violets.

Catherine’s scent.

Catherine is here.
 
She’s gazing out at me through Alis’ eyes.
 
And gradually, as I watch, the blue gives way to a rich, earthy
green.
 
Catherine’s eyes, eyes I never
thought to glimpse again…

My heart seizes; for a moment—far too long—it
stops.
 
But I don’t clutch my chest,
don’t move, don’t breathe.
 
I do nothing
but stare into my dear Catherine’s eyes and feel the familiar knives of grief
slice at my heart once more.

When my eyes weep, I make no sound; my throat is too
dry, too tight for speaking.
 

I think I might faint.

"You were never a fainter, darling," Alis
says, then.
 
But, no, not Alis.
 
Alis’ face, Alis’ mouth, but not Alis’ voice
at all.
 
"You’ve got an iron
constitution—or…did.
 
I realize things
are very different now."

"Yes…" I agree dimly, falling into my
chair as my legs collapse beneath me.
 
"Things have been very different since…"

"Yes."
 
Catherine turns her chair to face me, knees against my knees, and
reaches for my hands.
 
She takes my
hands possessively, intimately, as if they belong to her, as surely as her soul
belongs to her.
 
There is no hesitation,
as there is between Alis and me.
 

I feel dizzy, looking at Alis, seeing Catherine, and
both of their images seem to whirl before me, shifting and melding, until I
can’t tell one from the other, can’t separate them in my sight or my memory.

"I’m sorry, Darcy.
 
I’m so sorry," Catherine says softly.
 
I watch, heart sinking, as the light fades
from her emerald eyes.
 
"I kept it
from you, my illness.
 
I didn’t want to
worry you.
 
But I had selfish reasons,
too.
 
I ignored the signs.
 
I couldn’t stomach the thought of the cancer
returning, couldn’t face the treatment, the hospitals, the pain.
 
I thought, if I denied it, maybe it would go
away.
 
Mind over matter."

"I hate to think of you suffering alone."

"I didn’t suffer, not really.
 
I just had some dizzy spells, passing
symptoms.
 
That day…"
 
She shifts uncomfortably, moving her gaze to
the candle flames.
 
"That day, I
was feeling worried and restless, and the words wouldn’t flow, so I went out
for a walk.
 
I hoped to clear my head
and jar some inspiration.
 
And it
worked!
 
The scene came to me in a flash
as I stood on top of The Rock, and I turned to hurry back to the cabin and type
it all out, but…"
 
Her lower lip
begins to tremble.
 
"But I had a
dizzy spell.
 
I lost my balance."

"Oh, Catherine…"

Her eyes find mine, and something electric passes
between us—the old desire, the passion, the love and the longing—reanimated,
alive.
 
I watch as her mouth—Alis’
mouth—moves to form Catherine’s sly, closed-mouth smile.
 
"Do you know how I’ve missed the sound
of your voice, Darcy?
 
The way that you
speak my name?
 
Say it again, will
you?"

"Catherine, I’ve missed—" But my voice
fails me because my lungs have no air.
 
I can’t breathe, can only sob, and Catherine rises from her chair, pulling
me up with her, and wraps her arms around me, holding me so close.
  

"I know, darling," she whispers into my
ear.
 
Then she presses her lips to my
brow, and it’s Alis’ mouth, but it’s Catherine’s kiss.
 
I could never mistake her kiss, her
particular way of touching me—gentle but fervent.

She draws back until our faces are only a breath
apart.
 
"That’s the funny thing: I
know everything now.
 
Your thoughts,
everyone’s thoughts, even the trees’ thoughts.
 
At first, I thought it was wonderful, but it makes things very dull, to
be honest.
 
I used to love trying to
figure people out—their secrets, their motivations—so that I could write their
quirks and histories into my plays.
 
But
knowing takes all the mystery out of it."

 
The full
significance of this admission is not lost on me, though I struggle to find the
words to broach it aloud.
 
"Catherine, did you…
 
Those
Scrabble tiles—"

"You’re a naughty girl, Darcy."
 
She tilts her head and sweetly smiles.
 
"Of course it was only a suggestion,
but you might have considered taking my advice.
 
You used to say I was as wise as an oracle.
 
Do you remember?"

"I remember."

She glides a hand over the side of my face, traces
the angles of my neck and shoulder, and then slips her grasp down to my hips,
holding me confidently there, her fingers curled through my belt loops.
 
"Then why do you hesitate, my
sunbeam?
 
No, no, don’t answer
that.
 
I know why, and I love you dearly
for it, but when life gives you a gift, something very special"—she
gestures widely, indicating her borrowed form—"you must embrace it.
 
As was your philosophy when you first met
me."

I lean toward her until our foreheads touch, hers
cool, mine feverish with pain.
 
"Things were different then.
 
I was different.
 
I hadn’t ever
been in love before."

"And now you have," she says quietly,
laying her palm against my cheek, angling my chin.
 
"And you know how very precious it is."

When we kiss, I forget where we are, the odd
circumstance of our coming together, the ache of loss or the knowledge that
this reunion cannot last, is a transient, stolen thing.
 
I forget Genevieve’s presence.
 
I forget that it is Alis’ skin against
mine.
 
All I know is now, is Catherine,
is her taste and her scent and her nearness—never near enough.
 

We kiss, and there’s nothing but this kiss.
 

Until we part and I look into her eyes, shining with
tears, and I remember it all.
 
The
weight of the truth is unbearable, as if The Rock itself were strapped to my
shoulders.

"I can’t stay, my darling," Catherine
tells me, as I knew she would.

"But I can’t let you go," I tell her, as
she must, too, have known I would.

She pulls me against her, and I feel her heart
beating in rhythm with mine, and I take comfort in its corporeality, its
harmony.
 
But Catherine whispers,
"It isn’t my heart, Darcy." I can only weep against her shoulder as
her arms tighten around me.
 
"But
it does belong to you—I can assure you of that.
 
She loves you, sunbeam, so very much.
 
I can see far now, so far…"

"Catherine."
 
Suddenly frantic to look at her, I step back, holding her at
arm’s length, staring with open desperation into her soft green eyes.
 
"Are you leaving me?
 
When this is over, will you vanish?
 
Will I lose you when the séance ends?"

She smoothes the hair from my forehead and kisses me
passionately, her hands pressed hard against the small of my back.
 
I love the pressure of them, their calm
self-assurance.
 
"Not quite yet,
love.
 
Soon.
 
But not yet.
 
Listen,
though…
 
I’ve been selfish, haven’t told
you what I must tell you, the thing that has kept me here with you all this
time.
 
I’ve tried to warn you, but I
couldn’t quite get the message through."

"What message?"

Her face sobers, stills.
 
"It’s about Alis’ husband."

I recoil at the mention of Jason.
 
"We have so little time.
 
I don’t want to talk about that horrible
man.
 
Catherine, I—"

"No, Darcy."
 
She presses a finger to my lips.
 
The mirth has vacated her eyes, leaving an unsettling apprehension
behind.
 
"I can see far, and ahead
for you, very soon now, your future diverges: it may take one of two paths.
 
I will do what I can to protect you—and
Alis—but I need your help.
 
You have to
be prepared."

"Prepared for what?
 
Is he coming?
 
Alis said
he threatened to murder us both."

"And his threat is not an idle one.
 
It’s futile to say this, I know.
 
You won’t listen, but stay away from the
cabin.
 
You and Alis both."

"The cabin?"
 
My stomach falls to my feet, thinking of Alis, my eyes lingering
even now over the purple bruise, Jason’s mark, violating her face.
 
Her gentle, moonlike face.
 
A coldness grips me, but it is fast overcome
by the heat of my rage.
 
"I won’t
let him hurt her.
 
Not ever again."

"I know you won’t, darling."
 
Catherine smiles softly, caressing my
hair.
 
"You are fierce and brave, a
golden lioness.
 
But someone must look
out for you, too.
 
When you need
me—remember this, Darcy—I will be there.
 
Please don’t be afraid."

My heart splits apart, recognizing in her tone
something like a farewell.
 
I reach for
her, cling to her, kiss her with a fire that I have tempered for the past
several months.
 
Untended, it smoked
down to embers.
 
But now, despite the
ash, it rises to consume us both.

"I will love you forever, Darcy,"
Catherine gasps between kisses.
 
"Promise you’ll be happy—for my sake."

"I love you.
 
Stay with me.
 
Catherine—"

"Promise, please."

"Yes, yes, I promise.
 
I love you.
 
I
promise."
 

"Love her, as you loved me.
 
And let her love you."

When our lips part, Catherine’s eyes remain closed,
and she sighs so heavily that I tighten my grasp around her waist, catching the
full weight of her in my arms as she tilts toward the floor.
 
"What—Catherine?
 
Are you all right?
 
Are you—"