Charon's Crossing

"I don't know what takes so long," she said, stalking towards him. She bent down, snatched up the couple of tools she'd been using, and stuffed them into her back pockets. "If you'd left me alone, I'd have been done by now."

Matthew cocked his head, took a last snip at a branch, then nodded.

"That should do it," he said, and looked at her. "I did leave you alone, Kathryn. I was content, watching you sweat and strain, remember?"

"Yes," she said irritably, "you certainly were."

He grinned, handed her the shears, and reached for his shirt.

"I can see that being out in the hot sun plays havoc with your temperament."

"There's nothing wrong with my temperament," she said, looking away as he tucked his shirttails in. "At least I don't go around, popping in and out of the woodwork, watching people when they don't know they're..." Her eyes shot to his face. "My God! Were you there each time I showered?"

"Showered?"

"Dammit, Matthew, don't play dumb! Showered. In the bathroom. Bathed. Oh, you know what I mean."

"Ah. The water machine." He chuckled softly, his eyes wicked and teasing. "I never tire of that view, madam." Her face turned crimson and he laughed. "The view of the water pouring down the wall, I mean. It is truly amazing."

Kathryn's eyes narrowed. "I know you find this very amusing," she said coldly.

"Well, considering that there has been little to amuse me the past couple of hundred years, you can hardly blame me."

"You might try seeing all this through my eyes, you know. How would you feel, if you found yourself sharing a house with a ghost?"

"An excellent question, though I have a better one, Kathryn. How would you feel, if you found that you were a ghost?"

He was right, it was one hell of a question. But if he expected her to feel compassion for him after everything he'd done, he was wrong.

"I supposed I'd feel... confused."

"Confused?" Matthew smiled coolly. "Believe me, confusion is a mild description for what I feel."

Kathryn started towards the gardening shed.

"You're wasting your time if you expect me to feel sorry for you," she said over her shoulder.

"I don't expect you to feel anything

. Hell, you're a Russell. Russells have no feelings for anyone but themselves."

"That's not fair. I'm generations removed from that woman."

"That means nothing. Her blood is in your veins."

Kathryn spun towards him. "Yes, and her house is in my name. I want to know why you're haunting it."

"It's none of your business."

"It damn well is my business!"

"Is this what the years have done for women?" Matthew slapped his hands on his hips and glared at her. "You dress like a trollop and talk like a shrew."

"And you," Kathryn said, slapping her hands on her hips and glaring right back at him, "dress like an extra from the New York City Ballet and talk like—like a leftover from last summer's Shakespeare in the Park!"

"What?"

"You heard me!"