From the long, dark span of the high bride, bodies tumble into an abyss of
smoke and fire like rag dolls. Their screams cannot be heard.
The old man approaches, as he has approached each time in the dream, and points his bony finger at Ross and whispers in his hoarse, ruined voice, 'l know you.'
Get away from me, Ross orders in disgust and dismay, not wanting to hear the words he will speak.
'I know you,' the old man repeats, undeterred, the bright light of his madness shining in his strange, milky eyes. 'You are the one who killed him. I was there.'
Ross stands his ground because he cannot afford to turn away. His captives
are watching, listening, waiting for his response. They will measure his strength accordingly. The old man sways as if be were a reed caught in a stiff wind, stick–thin and ragged, his mind unbalanced, his laughter filled with echoes of his shattered life.
Get away from me, Ross says once more.
The Wizard of Oz! You killed him! I remember your face! I saw you there,
in the glass palace, in the shadow of the tin woodman, in the Emerald City, on All Hallows' Eve' You killed the wizard of Oz! You killed him! You!
The words fade and die, and the old man begins to cry softly. Oh, God, it was the end of everything!
Ross shakes his head. It is a, familiar litany by now. He bas heard it before, and he turns away in curt dismissal. It is all in the past, and the past no longer matters to him.
But the old man, presses closer, insistent. I saw you. I watched you do it. I could not understand. He was your friend. There was no reason!
There was a reason, he thinks to himself though be cannot remember it now.
But, the young woman! The old man on his knees, his head hanging doglike
between his slumped shoulders. What reason did you have for killing her?
Ross starts, shaken now. "what young woman?'
Couldn't you have spared her? She was just trying to help. She seemed to know you …
Ross screams injury and shoves the old man away. The old man tumbles backward into the mud, ,gasping in shock. "Shut up" Ross screams at him, furious, dismayed, because now he remembers this, as well, another part of the past he had thought buried, a truth he had left behind in the debris of his conversion …
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
The old man tries to crawl away, but he has crossed a line he should not have, and Ross cannot Forqive him his trespass. He strides to where the old man cringes, already anticipating the punisLment he will deliver and he lifts the heavy black staff and brings it down like a hammer…
Ross jerked upright in the darkness of his bedroom, eyes snapping open, body rigid, awash m terror. His breath came in quick, ragged gulps, and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. Stef lay sleeping next to him, unaware of his torment. The bedside clock read five–thirty. He could hear a soft patter against the window glass. Outside, it was raining again.
He held himself motionless beneath the sheet, staring at nothing, remembering. The dream had been real. The memories were his. He squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. He knew who the young woman was. He knew who it must be.
And for the first time since the dream had come to him, he was afraid it might really happen.
CHAPTER 19
When the phone rang, Nest was buried beneath her blankets where it was pitch–black, and she was certain it was still the middle of the night. She let the phone ring a few times, her mind and body warm and lazy with sleep. Then memories of last night's horror at Lincoln Park flooded through her, and she crawled from under her covers into shockingly bright daylight.
Squinting uncertainly against the glare, she picked up the phone. `Hello?'
'Nest, it's me. Are you all right?'
John Ross, She recognised his voice. But what an odd question. Unless he knew what had happened to her in the park, of course, but she didn't know how he could. She hadn't spoken to anyone afterward. Shed come back and fallen asleep almost immediately.
`I'm fine; she answered, her mouth and throat dry and cottony. What time was it? She glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost noon. She had forgotten to set the alarm and slept more than ten hours.
`Did I wake you?' he asked quickly, 'I'm sorry if I did, but we have to talk'
She nodded into the phone. `It's okay. I didn't mean to sleep this late'
She could feel the pain begin even as she spoke the words. Her entire body was throbbing, an ache building steadily from a low whiny to a sharp scream. 'Where are you?'
`Downstairs, in the lobby' He paused. `I called earlier and there was no answer. I was afraid something had happened to you, so I decided to come over. Can you come down?'
She took a deep breath, still working at waking up. `In about a half hour. Can you wait?'
'Yes, 'He hesitated a long time. 'I've been thinking. Maybe you were right about some of the things we talked about. Maybe I was wrong.'
She blinked in surprise. `I'll be down as quick as I can'
She returned the receiver to its cradle and rolled onto her back. Whatever had happened to him must have been every bit as significant as what had happened to her. She didn't know for sure that he was ready to concede the point, but it sounded as if he might be. She stared at the sunlight pooling on the floor in a golden rectangle in front of the tall window. Not only had she forgotten to set the alarm, she hadn't even bothered to close the drapes. She looked out at the sliver of blue sky visible through the walls of the surrounding buildings. Last night's storm had given way to better weather, it seemed.
She rolled slowly out of the big bed, her joints and muscles groaning in protest. Every part of her body ached from last night's encounter, and when she looked down at herself, she found bruises the size of Frisbees on her ribs and thighs, and scratches on her hands and arms that were caked with dried blood. She could hardly wait to see what her face looked like. She glanced at the bloodstreaked sheets and pillow cases and grimaced. She was grateful she wouldn't have to explain all this to the day maids when they came around to clean up.
She went into the bathroom and showered. She was reminded by the heap of damp towels and washcloths that she had showered just last night, but she needed to perform the ritual again to prepare for her encounter with John Ross. Last night seemed far away, and the deaths of Ariel, Boot, and Audrey more distant in time than they actually were. At first, as she stood beneath the stream of hot water, they didn't even seem real to her, as if she had dreamed them, as if they were imagined. But as the details recalled themselves, the images sharpened and solidified, and by the time she was pulling on her jeans and an NU sweatshirt, she was surprised to find she was crying.
She picked up the dirty clothes, stuffed them into a laundry bag, and shoved the bag into her suitcase. Her windbreaker was in tatters, so she dropped it into the wastebasket. She would have to buy a new one before she went outside. She paused, wondering exactly where she was going out to. She had taken the room for two nights, and her plane ticket home was for four–thirty that afternoon. Was she really leaving? Was her part in all of this over? She remembered her promise to herself the night before that she would see things–through to the end. She had made that promise for Ariel and Audrey and Boot, but for herself, as well.
She looked around the morn. Well, what she would do next depended on what John Ross had to say.
The long, dark, feral shape of the demon chasing her through the park flashed unexpectedly in the back of her mind. She hugged herself and set her jaw determinedly. She was done with running out of fear and a lack of preparation. She would be ready if the demon came at her again. She would find a way to deal with it.