The Ferryman

by Christopher Golden

  Janine’s fingers slipped out of his. Eyebrows raised, she turned to stare at him with concern.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “David?”

  Slowly he brought a hand up to rub at his eyes, and then he looked again. As if she had sensed his attention, Jill glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “David?” Janine prodded, sounding even more worried now. “Are you all right?”

  The lawyer added something else to the conversation, and Annette and Jill laughed again. The women’s amusement was a lovely sound, a light, lilting melody. He saw that Jill had her arm around Annette. David could no longer see the girl’s face, but he did not have to. Her image was etched on his mind’s eye.

  “Whoa,” he said, letting out a long breath.

  “Hey,” Janine said, her voice gentle, but worried.

  He met her concerned gaze and offered a wan, but nevertheless reassuring smile and a shake of his head. “Sorry. I just . . . it’s impossible.”

  “What is?”

  Awkwardly, he glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice anyway.

  “This Jill? She looks exactly like someone I knew in high school.”

  “How exactly?” Janine asked.

  “A lot.”

  “She’s twenty-two, David.”

  He smiled weakly. “Yeah. Freaky, huh?” With a wave of his hand, he tried to push away the chill that had surrounded him when he had first seen the girl.

  It was Annette’s birthday.Time to celebrate.

  And even if Jill had not been so young, she could not have been Maggie Russell. Maggie was dead.

  David had killed her himself.

  Fucking dyke.

  Spencer sat in his Mercedes and glared out through the windshield at the face of the Cayenne Grill. He had left the BMW at home. They had both seen that car before. The dark blue Mercedes was beautiful, but inconspicuous enough. He had been parked half a block from Janine’s apartment all night. That asshole teacher Bairstow had never gone home, not until the middle of the afternoon.

  There were images in his mind, pictures of them fucking, but Spencer could not banish them. Janine and Bairstow, together. It killed him.

  He hated them both. She had gotten herself pregnant, trying to lock him down, put him in a box; then she had let his baby die and buried it somewhere and he’d never even gotten to see it. Not that he’d wanted the thing, not after the way she’d gone about it. But he was the father, goddamn it. He had rights.

  Without the baby, it could have been good with Janine again. He would have laid down some new ground rules, but they might have made it work. All through college, they’d had a heat he never found again after.That had been why he’d tracked her down in the first place. Years later, and he had not been able to get her out of his head. Then she pulled the shit with the baby ... but now, no baby.

  It could have been good.

  If not for Bairstow.

  Still, he didn’t blame the teacher. He was an asshole, but he had a dick, and Janine was an extraordinary piece of ass.

  Bairstow would get his. Spencer would drag the fucker into court for assault, nail him to the goddamn wall. And Janine? He’d already hurt the bitch a million times over, but this thing with the baby? It’d tear her heart out if he got to exhume the kid. Not that that was his only motivation. His flesh and blood should be buried with his family. Period.

  The only one he couldn’t hurt was the one he blamed the most. That dyke, Annette. Spencer knew that she had been the one behind getting Bairstow and Janine back together. Little matchmaking twat had been working against him all along.

  Fucking dyke, he thought again.

  The rain blew in sheets across his windshield and turned his view of the restaurant into a bleary neon mess. Not that it mattered.Though he was parked in the strip mall parking lot across the street, a stone’s throw from the T station, he had a good view of Bairstow’s car. He would see them when they left.

  But he would not follow. Not this time. Spencer had spent a lot of time ruminating about ways he could hurt Janine and Bairstow. There was plenty of time for that.

  The dyke, though, that was something else.

  Hurting her was going to require a more direct approach.

  On the seat beside him lay a pair of leather gloves and a crowbar. In the glove compartment was a Frankenstein mask he had bought the previous Halloween but never worn.

  Spencer sat back and listened to the patter of the rain on the roof as he waited for Annette’s birthday party to end. Her biggest surprise was yet to come.

  After a while, he grew bored and turned the key backward in the ignition. The dashboard lit up and the radio came on. An old Queen song. Nostrils flared, he punched the preset buttons until he came upon something a little more suitable to his mood.

  Someone rapped on the window.

  Startled, Spencer glanced over to see an old man peering in at him through the rain-slicked window, all weathered features and white Hemingway beard. It amused him how accurate the comparison was. The old man did look a lot like Hemingway. Contrary to Spencer’s expectations, however, he was too well dressed to be some panhandler aggravating people until they gave him money. The old man looked sharp, and his eyes were warm and intelligent.

  Worried that the crowbar might raise suspicion, or that the old man might remember it later, Spencer shifted forward on the seat before lowering the window.

  “You’re getting wet, pal. What can I do for you? You need a jump start or something?”

  The old man was fast.

  He thrust his left hand through the open window and grabbed a thatch of the long hair Spencer was so proud of. Then he raised the bowie knife in his right and punched it through Spencer’s throat, rupturing his windpipe. The sound of it reminded Spencer of ripe water-melons and backyard barbecues.

  The old man held on tight to his hair and drew the knife sideways. Arteries spurted blood in Rorschach patterns across the upholstery and windshield.

  Spencer slumped down in the seat, on top of the crowbar and gloves. As the old man walked across the parking lot, he dropped the knife, and the rain sluiced the blood from the blade and from his hands.

  The windshield wipers squeaked across the glass on high speed, but even then, David could barely see the road in front of him. His headlight beams refracted off the heavy rain and he sat rigid, back straight, fists gripping the steering wheel. The wiper on his side went too far when he had them set at high speed, and its tip kept pushing over the edge of the windshield, each time making a small popping noise.

  “God, this weather is awful.”

  He said nothing. Though he could feel Janine’s eyes upon him where she sat in the passenger seat, he had no idea how to express what he was feeling in that moment.The storm had him on edge, yes, but it was far more than the storm.

  “David, hey.” She put a hand on his shoulder and kneaded the muscles a bit. “Do you want me to drive?”

  The suggestion was so ironic, he laughed a little. It allowed him to relax ever so slightly. “No. I’m all right.”

  “This is all about Jill? ’Cause she looks like some old girlfriend of yours? Don’t tell me you’re still in love with a girl you haven’t seen in fifteen years.”

  An image of Jill swept through his mind, then seemed to freeze there, a face behind a curtain of ice. The line of her jaw, the flare of her nostrils when she laughed, the way the skin at the edges of her mouth crinkled just so when she smiled.

  “She seems really nice,” Janine added.

  “No argument from me,” he replied.

  The front left tire plowed through a deep puddle and he could hear the water pummeling the underside of the car.A spray of it shot out and showered the sidewalk. For only a second, the car began to hydroplane.

  David hung on to the wheel but didn’t touch either of the pedals. It passed immediately, the tires gripping the road again, but now, as he drove through Medford Square, he tapped the brakes and went
even slower.Though other cars honked at him, he stayed well away from the curb and watched carefully for puddles.

  “If you liked her, what’s got you so spooked?” Janine asked.

  He sighed. “It isn’t just the resemblance. I mean, all right, it is pretty spooky how much she resembles Maggie. But it’s more just that seeing her brought back a lot of old pain. A lot of guilt.”

  “Guilt about what?”

  The light ahead turned red. That crimson illumination seemed not truly obscured, but spread by the rain on the windshield, as though the light had begun to bleed out from its encasement. David slowed to a stop. After a moment he glanced at Janine, then quickly looked away.

  “I was in a car accident my junior year. Broke my leg and fractured two ribs. Maggie didn’t have her seat belt on. Her head hit the windshield.”

  His knuckles hurt with the fierce grip he had on the wheel. “Her skull was cracked. Her neck was broken.”

  “God, David,” Janine whispered. She slid her hand down his arm.

  Again he glanced at her.The red glow from the stoplight gleamed on her pale flesh.

  “I’m sorry. It must hurt to be reminded of that loss. But ... I know how hollow it sounds, but accidents happen.”

  David stared at the rainswept street in front of him. “We were drunk. I was drunk, Janine. I should never have been behind the wheel of a car. It was an accident, sure. I know that. But I killed her.”

  The silence between them then was electric. It lasted a trio of heartbeats, no more. Then the light turned green and David accelerated, still careful of the road. Again he could feel Janine’s eyes on him, studying him. He turned up Winthrop Street, just a short way from her apartment building.

  “You know you didn’t really kill her,” Janine said, her voice shaky.

  “But I’m responsible,” he said.A great sadness rippled through him, and yet it took some of his tension with it. He blew out a long breath. “I’m okay. I’ve lived with it a long time. Just ... seeing Jill ... it’s just so bizarre. I swear if I showed you pictures ...”

  Again, there was silence between them. A few minutes later he turned in to the driveway beside Janine’s building and parked.

  “Want to come in?” she asked.

  He smiled weakly. “Not tonight. I don’t think I’d be very good company. We’ll talk in the morning, all right?”

  Janine wanted to reach out to him. David sensed that from her. But after a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. He was glad. What he needed at the moment was just time to recover from the shock, time to get Jill’s face ... Maggie’s face ... out of his mind. Though he loved Annette, he secretly hoped this relationship did not work out for her. The last thing he needed was that constant reminder of his guilt.

  Umbrella in hand, he left the car running and walked Janine to her door. He saw that she was deeply troubled as well, her eyes haunted and sad.

  “Hey,” he said softly, and lifted her chin so she would meet his gaze. “I’ll be all right. Just need a little sleep, I think, and sunshine tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll get it.”

  Her smile was clearly an effort.

  “Janine?” he prodded.

  “I just ... I was thinking, wondering why in all the time we were together before, all the things we shared, you never told me that.”

  A tiny ball of ice formed in his stomach, and yet his face felt warm and flushed. Guilt. It was a familiar feeling.

  “It isn’t really something I talk about to anyone.”

  Hurt, confused, she looked up at him expectantly. “But we shared everything. Good and bad. You told me about some really painful things; I’m just surprised you never told me about Maggie. I don’t even remember your mentioning her name. It’s like, she was this girl you loved in high school and you erased her from your memory.”

  Pained, he glanced away. “I wish I could.”

  “Guess I didn’t know everything about you after all.”

  “I thought I knew everything about you, too,” David said quickly. “But I had no idea you’d just walk away from what we had if Spencer came back into your life.”

  Eyes wide, Janine reached for his face, stricken by his words. She touched his cheek. “I’ve paid for that, I think. What can I do to make you forgive me?”

  His heart broke a little bit. That happened a lot, particularly where Janine was concerned.

  “I didn’t mean that. I do forgive you. I did even then. All I’m trying to say is that I don’t know if anybody ever really shows all of themselves, even to the person they love the most. Maybe if you’re married for fifty years, but even then, maybe not. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It just means there are parts of me that are just for me. Little painful things that are hurtful to me, or could be to you, things I hide away even from myself. It sounds selfish to say it out loud, but you can’t deny that you’re the same way. We all are.

  “And let’s not forget that I did tell you. I just told you when it seemed to become something you should know.”

  Water sluiced off the umbrella on all sides, raining down around them in a curtain. Janine smiled ever so slightly, which confused David even more.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’re right, of course. It just isn’t something people talk about, you know? That internal landscape. But I’m actually stuck on something else you said, just a second ago.”

  He frowned. “What did I say?”

  “That you love me.”

  “Which comes as a surprise to you?” he asked. The tension and the guilt and the cold knot in his stomach all began to dissipate in the warmth of his feelings for her. “I never stopped, you know?”

  Janine slipped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. With the rain coming down at an angle, David’s shoes and pants were getting soaked, but he said nothing.

  “A long time ago, you told me you’d always be there to catch me if I was falling,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “Now I know you meant it. I just want you to know that the same is true for me. I want to be there to catch you if you’re falling.”

  He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

  After a moment Janine hugged him even tighter, then let go. She got her keys out and opened the door, then stepped inside.

  “I’ll talk to you in the morning?”

  “Absolutely,” he promised.

  He waited until she closed the door before he turned to go back to the car. The image of Annette’s new girlfriend still lingered in his mind, but it, and the guilt it had raised like a phantom in him, was ushered aside by his feelings for Janine and the memory of their lovemaking the night before, and all that morning.

  The drive home took him past the Mystic River, whose waters had climbed higher on its banks in the storm. There were fewer cars on the road than before. It was late now, almost midnight, and the storm would have kept less motivated people home. He’d had only a couple of drinks over the course of the evening, but he wore his seat belt cinched tight across his chest and kept both hands on the wheel. The lessons he had learned fifteen years earlier had been reinforced tonight.

  David was still careful as he followed the road that wound along beside the river. Streetlights cast a diffused glow at intervals along the street, but their light accomplished very little. The radio was on low, a soft-rock station to soothe him. Ahead was a curve in the river, and the road followed it. A yellow sign warned of the sharp turn, and he touched the brakes to slow down, careful not to brake too much in case the road was slick.

  The headlights washed across the soft shoulder, the grass of the riverbank, and the water itself.

  At the edge of the river stood the ghost of Ralph Weiss. As the lights passed over him, passed through him, the dead teacher lifted his right hand and pointed an accusatory finger at David, mouth open in an angry shout that was either silent or drowned by the storm.

  “Jesus,” David whispered.

  A chill ran through him;
his heart sped, his grip loosening on the wheel as he stared at the apparition. He steered the car to follow the road, but glanced to the right as he passed the spot where the ghost had been.

  But the apparition was gone.

  “Holy shit,” he said aloud. That was not my imagination.

  With a sudden flash of brilliance, headlights popped on behind him. They had not been there a moment earlier. A car roared up on his left on the curving road, the storm flashing lightning in the sky. The driver did not pass, however. It was almost as though he wanted to race.

  “What the fuck?” David snapped, still reeling from what he’d seen.

  He glanced over at the car beside him on the rain-slick road. Just as he peered through the dark, they passed beneath a streetlight and he was afforded a very clear view of the driver’s features.

  It was Steve Themeli.

  Steve Themeli, who had been one of his students, a drug user he had tried but failed to reach. Steve Themeli, who had been murdered in a fight over drugs. Steve Themeli, who was dead.

  Then they were in darkness again, rain pelting the car’s roof, suddenly loud enough to drown the music. David, eyes wide with terror and confusion, heard the rev of the engine of the car beside him just before it careened sideways. Metal screamed as the cars collided, and he grabbed the steering wheel, slammed on the brakes.

  His tires began to hydroplane, the car to spin out of control.

  The steering wheel felt useless in his hands as he worked the gas and the brake and the wheel to try to get the car back under his control. It slid onto the shoulder, tires tearing up the muddy grass.

  Then it flipped.

  The windshield splintered into spiderweb fractures when the car landed on its roof. David shouted his fear loud enough that his throat felt instantly raw. He watched through the shattered glass as the car slid on its roof toward the river’s edge.

  And stopped.

  His chest rose and fell quickly, his eyes were wide, and he waited as though certain it was not over.

  Yet it was. The car rocked slightly, but stopped there, half a dozen feet from the riverbank. Upside down, held in place by the seat belt he had cinched so tightly, David quickly checked to make sure he was all right. He had banged his head on the driver’s-side window, and there was a lump rising there. Otherwise, to his astonishment, he was unscathed.