Charon's Crossing

He was, he said, delighted to make her acquaintance.

"Frankly, Miss Russell, I've been curious about the American lady who's moved into Charon's Crossing."

"Well, I haven't moved in. I'm just here on a temporary visit, Doctor."

"And?"

Kathryn hesitated. "And," she said finally, "I haven't been sleeping well."

What else could she tell him? That she was afraid she had a brain tumor? That she feared she was going nuts? That she might be having hallucinations, brought on by a ghost-happy populace?

"I think it's the heat," she said, and smiled brightly. "But I figured I'd get checked over, just to be sure."

Dr. Simpson didn't bother pointing out that nights were cool this time of year, especially up on the cliffs where Charon's Crossing stood. He poked and prodded, tested and treasured, and, at last, assured Kathryn that her health was excellent.

"I'm glad to hear it." She cleared her throat. "I wonder... I mean, as long as I'm here..."

Simpson waited with a patient, impersonal smile. Forty years practicing medicine had taught him that people rarely came straight out and told you what was really worrying them.

"I thought you might check my vision," Kathryn said casually.

"Have you been having vision problems, Miss Russell?"

Well, I've been seeing things...

"No," she said. "But, ah, I've had some headaches lately."

"Mmm. No spots? No blurry shapes?"

Just a man with a face like an angel and the disposition of a bobcat.

"Nope, not a one."

"Let's have a look, then, shall we?"

Dr. Simpson turned off the lights. He put on a gizmo that made him look like a miner and made Kathryn want to giggle. He peered deep into her eyes, pulled down an eye chart and made her read it. Then he peered into her eyes again.

"Twenty-twenty," he said, flicking on the lights.

Kathryn nodded. "I figured that."

"The headaches are probably from tension. Or they could be sinus-related." He smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure we've got more strange things growing here per square foot than you have in all of New York."

Kathryn smiled weakly. "I'll bet."

Simpson began scrawling on a prescription pad.

"I'll give you a couple of prescriptions, Miss Russell, something to help you sleep and a mild painkiller, but I think your best bet will be aspirin for your headaches, and brisk walks along the beach for that insomnia. Perhaps the mustiness of that old house is getting to you."

"Are you familiar with Charon's Crossing, Doctor?"

"Oh, quite." He ripped the prescriptions from the pad and chuckled as he handed them to her. "I take it you aren't bothered by tales of jumbies and haunts, hmm?"

Kathryn's lips felt as if they were sticking to her teeth as she smiled back at him.

"You've heard the stories, then?"

"Of course." He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "There was a time, a couple of decades ago, I thought about buying the house myself."