Charon's Crossing

"Live here?" Olive looked around her in disbelief. "Surely you are jokin'. Short of rebuildin' this place from top to bottom, the only thing Charon's Crossin' is good for is a bonfire for toastin' marshmallows!"

"Good-bye, Olive," Kathryn said firmly.

As soon as she shut the door she turned around, prepared for another verbal battle with Matthew. But he was standing as he had been, with such a strange emptiness in his eyes that her heart dropped.

"Matthew?" she said. "Are you angry with me?"

He blinked, as if she'd called him back from some dark place, and opened his arms to her.

"No, sweetheart," he said, as she went into them, "I'm not angry. How could I be, when I love you with all my heart?"

* * *

He had the plan now, thanks to Olive.

He stood below the cliff, staring out over the ocean, and wondered why it had taken him so long to see it.

If Kathryn would not leave him, he would leave her.

It was as simple, as perfect, as that.

He could not change what he was, nor the restrictions of his existence. That he was doomed to haunt Charon's Crossing forever was irrefutable.

But what if there were no Charon's Crossing for him to haunt?

With its demise would surely come his. He didn't know what would become of him. He might cease to exist. He might return to that terrible blackness in which he had awakened.

It didn't matter. This had to be done.

The thought that he would never again see a sunrise, or hear the cry of a gull on the wind or taste the salt spray of the sea, made him smile with bitter irony.

What did any of that matter?

Only weeks ago, he had told Kathryn what a fool he'd been to sacrifice himself for love, that love was an illusion. Now, he knew he had been wrong.

Love, true love, was no illusion. It was life's greatest gift, as he had finally learned, and he could rejoice that it had been his, if only for a short time.

It wasn't his sacrifice that had been foolish, it was the cause. Cat had been worth nothing. But Kathryn... she was worth the world.

The faulty hot water heater would make it simple. The old man, Hiram, had explained everything. The valve that must not be opened, the evil-smelling gas that would fill the room, the spark or flame that would so easily ignite it. All that remained was to find the right moment, and quickly, before he lost courage. He could face whatever unknown lay ahead for himself but as time went by, would he be strong enough to take the steps that meant he would lose Kathryn at the same instant he liberated her?

Matthew bowed his head to whatever power might still exist in the cold and desolate world that was his.

He had the plan, and the resolve. All he needed now was the opportunity.

"Help me," he whispered.

And that came, too, with the sunset. Kathryn was dressing for dinner and he was out on the terrace, waiting for the charcoal in the grill to reach the right color before putting on their steaks, when he heard a knock at the front door.

He went inside the house just in time to see an envelope come sliding under the door. He bent down, picked it up, and peeped out the window. A boy was racing down the driveway on a strange, two-wheeled vehicle.

Matthew looked casually at the envelope. It was addressed to Kathryn from something called Western Union. He shrugged, started to toss it on the table... and hesitated.

Open it, a voice inside him seemed to whisper.

He frowned. He had never opened nor read correspondence not addressed to him in his life and this letter was surely not for him.

Open it!