Charon's Crossing

It was useless.

The wall could not be seen and neither could it be destroyed.

Panting, he stared down the road. All that remained of the horseless carriage was a fading ribbon of yellow dust.

Matthew groaned, threw the coconut aside and fell back against the palm.

It had never occurred to him a ghost could be out of breath but hell, he certainly was.

And for what? Catherine wasn't worth saving. If she'd been lured away by a rogue, so what? Her welfare was no concern of his; it was only that he wanted to be the man who—the man who...

Matthew went very still. Then he turned and slammed his fist against the tree in a blind rage.

"Damn you, Catherine," he bellowed.

His image shimmered like waves of heat rising from a hot sand beach.

An instant later, he had vanished.

Chapter 7

"I can't believe it," Kathryn said happily.

The old Volkswagen Beetle hit a crater-sized hole and the shocks, or what was left of them, groaned. "Here I thought I was going to have to walk to town and there you were, coming up the driveway!"

The boy behind the wheel of the VW looked at her and grinned.

"Cool timing, huh?"

Kathryn grinned back at him. "The coolest. I don't think I've ever been happier to see anybody in my whole life than I was to see you."

"I would have delivered the car yesterday but my father said to fix it up real good 'cause Mr. Amos told him to be sure and give you the very best car we got."

"And this is it," she said solemnly.

"Oh, yes, Miss Russell. You bet. She's as good as new."

The VW backfired, sending an enormous belch of black exhaust into the air, and Kathryn laughed. She felt almost giddy with freedom.

The boy reached out and lowered the volume on the radio. The rhythmic sounds of Bob Marley faded half a dozen decibels.

"So, miss, how do you like our island?"

Kathryn looked at the boy. He couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen, and he was dressed as stylishly as any kid back in New York. His hair was long and worn in dreadlocks, his gold earring discreet. His red shirt was casually unbuttoned to take full advantage of his hollow adolescent chest, his jeans were artfully torn, and his sandals were fashionably chunky.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Efram."

"Well, Efram, your island is very beautiful."

"Is it more beautiful than New York City?"

Kathryn tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned her arm on the door.

"You know that's where I'm from, hmm?"

"Oh yes. You are the first visitor Charon's Crossin' has had in a long time, miss. People talk."