The Ferryman

by Christopher Golden

  The old priest was watching his former student with a benevolent warmth that Janine envied. But then he glanced at her, and she felt as though a portion of it had been transferred to her. It felt like a gift.

  “I believe that during your near-death experience, you confronted Charon, a creature from ancient Greek mythology,” Father Jessup said. “And I believe that he is somehow here, in our world, haunting both of you.”

  Janine could only stare at him. It was true. She had no doubt of that. She had been living the truth of it for weeks. But like her brush with death, it seemed more frightening and also somehow more incredible to have it said aloud.

  “How can that be?” David asked.

  Father Jessup glanced at the younger priest a moment. He seemed to hesitate, as if what he had to say was even more difficult to believe than what they had told him.After a moment he smiled sheepishly and turned his attention to them again.

  His smile was unnerving.

  “I’ve been tarred and feathered a dozen times over for discussing my theories, and according to the archdiocese, I’m not to speak to anyone about them. So much for that,” the old priest said with a smoky chuckle. He toyed with the cigar on the table in front of him a moment before sliding it back inside his sweater.

  “I believe that all religions spring from the same source, that God, or what you and I would call God, is the collective spiritual energy that not only began but that now powers this universe. That same school of thought suggests that human beliefs actually mold God to fit our faith and perceptions. God remains a constant, but how we see Him defines ... well, how we see Him. The trappings and manifestations of His power are malleable, possibly even sculpted by faith.

  “Once upon a time humans believed in many gods. According to this theory, that would have meant that though they were all in some way part of a greater whole, there were many gods at that time. Some mythological creatures may also have actually existed as a manifestation of that omnipotent god-power here on Earth.

  “It’s a paradox of the highest order, you see. God is eternal and constant in purpose, yet fluid and ever-changing in presentation. In that sense, it may be that all religions are in some way true.”

  At his first pause, Janine and David both glanced over at Father Charles to see his reaction to all this. It was clear from his expression that he had heard it all before, and that if he did not believe it, he was at least not prepared to disbelieve it.

  “Angels. Demons.The deities of ancient Rome, Egypt, China, and Greece. Everything,” Father Jessup added.

  “So ... this Charon is ... part of God?” Janine asked.

  The old priest shook his head. He looked almost angry. “It’s just a theory. If it’s true, then this creature is a manifestation of God’s power. Part of what I’ll call god-energy, but not in a way that implies that the Almighty is responsible for or even aware of this being’s actions. For all intents and purposes, whatever the fabric of his being, whatever he’s made of, Charon exists, and obviously has both a function and a will of his own.”

  Janine shuddered.

  “I’m confused,” she admitted. “If all this is true ... Jesus, I can’t even believe I’m saying that. But I guess if you can, then so can I. So let’s say it is. Wouldn’t Charon have been ... outmoded a long time ago? Wouldn’t he have gone the way of Bast and Odin?”

  Father Jessup nodded slowly, studying her thoughtfully with his old man eyes. “It follows, yes. That would be logical.”

  David snorted. “As if any of this is logical.”

  There was silence then for a few moments. Father Charles shot an annoyed glance at him, but Father Jessup barely seemed to notice.

  Janine slid to the edge of her seat and clasped her hands together on the table. For a moment, David seemed surprised that she had pulled away from him, but when she looked at him, he must have seen the intensity on her face, for he said nothing.

  “Maybe he was forgotten,” she suggested.

  “Forgotten?” Father Charles said doubtfully.

  She nodded. “Maybe Charon was insignificant, really. What if it takes a long time for this ... deity ... to evolve. Or maybe nothing ever actually goes away. Maybe all these old gods are lying around, mostly dormant, created but forgotten, cast away like a child’s toys and left to collect dust in the basement or under the bed.”

  “God’s basement?” David asked, a slight smile on his face.

  Janine chuckled, realizing how silly it sounded. But she was on a roll. It felt right to her, all of it.

  “I see your point,” Father Charles said. “Once something is manifested by God’s power, it always exists, but loses prominence as faith in it withers.”

  “Precisely!” Father Jessup snapped excitedly. Then, like a wayward child, he glanced across the library to make sure he had not roused the attendant. When he spoke again, his voice was far more subdued.

  “Some of these entities go away, perhaps even fade to nothing, to be reabsorbed into the greater whole, though it’s possible there’s some sort of spiritual realm where they still exist, I suppose. But given Charon’s emergence here, it’s clear that at least some of them . . . linger.”

  The image of the Ferryman was suddenly clear in her head. Janine closed her eyes a moment and she could see his burning black eyes, his carved marble flesh.

  “He still has a purpose,” she said. Her eyes snapped open and she found them both staring at her. “He does. Like the Angel of Death or the Valkyries in Norse mythology.”

  “Yes,” Father Jessup said excitedly. “Maybe there’s a heaven. Maybe there’s a hell. But we can all agree there’s an afterlife of some kind.”

  “Across the river,” Janine said.

  “In ancient Greece, that was known as the netherworld. But as Catholics began to believe in heaven and hell, it would have splintered. Maybe purgatory is the ancient netherworld, the way the Greeks knew it.”

  “And Charon takes people across the river ... to purgatory?” Janine asked slowly. “Which would mean that’s where I was headed.”

  Again, they were quiet.

  Janine stood and went to the window. For several long moments, she stared out at the lengthening afternoon shadows on the yellowed lawn in front of the building.

  “I have two questions,” she said quietly, as she turned to them again. “First, why me? I mean, this ancient creature found some way to get into our world just so he could ... be with me? Touch ... touch me. Just to give me these erotic dreams. I don’t get it.”

  David held up a hand. “That one’s easy,” he said. “He fell in love with you.”

  “Maybe,” Father Charles mused. “But why Janine? There have been a great many near-death experiences reported.”

  “None of them talk about him, though,” Janine said softly. And then she remembered the words of the specter from the night before, and she knew. “Nobody ever threw the coins away before. He said that. He’s been denied, but not like that. Not so completely.”

  “So, what are we saying, the Ferryman liked your spunk?” David asked, incredulous. Then he softened. “Not that I blame him. And it makes a certain amount of sense. While you were talking about ... what happened to you, and the baby and all, I was thinking. Something disturbing occurred to me.

  “Something else disturbing, I should say.”

  Janine frowned and studied his face, saw pain in his eyes.

  “These people I’ve been seeing ... the dead people from my past ... I’ve got to figure he brought them back.Went and found them wherever they were and somehow brought them back from the dead, back to the world. He’s tormenting me. Even trying to kill me. And there’s something else. The witnesses who saw the guy that killed Spencer? The description matches my grandfather.”

  Janine shook her head with a frown. “But ... why?”

  “This ... creature. This monster. If it loves you, maybe it thought it was doing you a favor, or maybe it thought Spencer was in the way. Why else would Themeli have run me off
the road? Why did they try to kill me last night? It’s the only thing that makes sense. Anyone who cares about you, anyone you might turn to, competition for your affection ... Charon wants you all to himself.”

  A horrible, icy chill spread through Janine’s gut, and her eyes slowly widened. Though there was no way Detective Kindzierski could have known what was really going on, David had just unconsciously echoed the policeman’s words. She looked at Father Charles, hoping he would argue the point, but he nodded.

  Father Jessup cleared his throat. “It does make a certain sense, if my theories about Charon are correct.”

  “My mother,” Janine whispered.

  “I know,” David said, and he reached out to clasp her hand firmly in his own.“But there’s more to it than that. Themeli and my grandfather came after me. But if this ‘Jill’ really is Maggie Russell ...”

  “Annette,” Janine said slowly. “David? What do we do?”

  Father Charles stood up quickly. He reached across the table and clutched his old teacher’s hand. “I’m sorry, Father, but we’ve got to go. A friend may be in danger.”

  “Go, Hugh,” Father Jessup replied fondly. Then he glanced around at them as they all rose from their chairs. “Please let me know how this all turns out. It represents everything I’ve believed for so very long. In the meantime, go with the knowledge that whatever you want to call Him, however you want to picture Him, God is there.

  “I will pray to Him for you.”

  Annette lifted her chin and let the shower spray her face. Steam swirled around her and water ran in hot streams down her body. As she stood there, Jill reached around from behind her and languorously soaped her breasts and belly with a bar of soap. Annette relished her lover’s touch and arched her back. She half turned and Jill quickly kissed her, blond hair darkening with the water.

  Her hands slid down Annette’s belly, fingers sliding between her legs, and she gasped a tiny moan into Jill’s open mouth.

  The water beat a rhythmic massage down upon them and the steam swirled into a cloud above. Annette turned fully, retrieved the soap from Jill’s hands, and began to return the favor, washing her lover slowly and gently, yet with a quiet, burning urgency that she had never felt before.

  Not love, she reminded herself. Maybe. And if not ... God, who cares what it is?

  Grinning, she glanced up to find Jill’s eyes filled with sadness. She could not be sure in the spray from the shower, but Annette thought she might be crying. Jill held her gaze a moment, then glanced away, her beautiful mouth twisted with despair.

  “Jill?” Annette asked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “Honey, what is it?” She slipped her hands behind Jill’s back and gave her a little shake. “Hey.”

  Jill glanced up at her briefly with an expression of such profound regret that it broke Annette’s heart.

  “What did I do?” Annette asked softly, unable to keep her pain out of her voice.

  “You?” Jill asked, her voice cracking with bitterness. Then she shook her head, her long hair pasted in thick, wet strands on her shoulders and chest and back. “Nothing. You’re ... you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Annette flinched. “I don’t understand.”

  At last Jill straightened up and met her gaze. She reached out and pushed her fingers through Annette’s short, spiky, sodden hair. “I love you, Annette. I want to make sure you know that.”

  Though her heart beat wildly at those words, and she realized that she had indeed hoped to hear them, Annette did not let them distract her. “That’s a reason to be upset? Is it such a tragedy, to be in love with me?”

  Again, Jill could not face her. “You have no idea.”

  Annette stared at her as the spray pounded them both. All the eroticism of their shower together had dissipated, carried away on the steam or down the drain with the soapy water.

  “I don’t want to,” Jill whispered.

  “Don’t want to love me?” Annette asked, stricken by the words.

  Then Jill looked up, but this time she was not looking at Annette. Rather, she stared past Annette, through the smoky glass into the bathroom beyond. Annette was confused, and more than a little distraught herself. Then she noticed the soft green glow on her lover’s face.

  “I don’t want to,” Jill said again, her voice barely a whisper.

  Slowly, Annette turned. Through the faceted glass door she could see a dark figure standing just outside the shower, some kind of green light in its hand.

  “Damn you!” Jill cried out, with a shriek that sounded as if had torn up her throat.

  As Annette turned back toward her, Jill grabbed her around the throat with both hands, slammed her against the tiled wall of the shower, and began to squeeze. Her hands were impossibly strong. Annette’s eyes widened and the curtain of water separated her face and her lover’s, even as Jill cut off her air.

  Annette tried to gasp for breath, tried to call out, to scream in fury, to plead for some explanation. Her eyes darted to one side to peer out through the glass again, desperate and confused. The dark figure was gone, as was the green light.

  Her vision began to dim. Multicolored spots on her eyes gave way to a momentary darkening. Oddly, her skin felt supersensitive, as though she could feel every line of grout in the tile against her back, every pinprick of water upon her chest.

  She still held the soap in her hand, but it slipped from her grasp and thumped to the floor.

  Jill leaned in, her face pushing through the curtain of shower spray, and Annette saw grief in her eyes. Even as Annette began to weaken, Jill pushed in farther and her lips brushed Annette’s.

  “I’m so sorry. I loved you,” Jill whispered.

  Something inside Annette snapped. A rage swept through her unlike anything she had ever known. With whatever life remained in her, she struck out at her lover’s face and arms, but she was already too weak.

  Her legs gave out and she collapsed toward the glass. Jill tried to hold her up, but the water and the soap on her body made her skin slick. With one last effort, all that remained to her,Annette reached out and grabbed a fistful of Jill’s long, wet hair. Jill tried to pull back, but lost her balance.

  Together, in a twine of limbs, the lovers crashed through the door of the shower stall in a barrage of shattered glass. Annette’s back hit the toilet but she barely felt the pain of the impact. It served to turn them around, however, and so it was Jill who landed on the glass instead of her.

  Jill cried out, but she did not bleed.

  Annette gasped, hot air burning her throat as she gulped it down. But weakened as she was, she felt as though she were moving underwater. She began to get to her feet, barely feeling the small pieces of glass that cut her, but Jill was upon her in an instant.

  “Why do you have to make it so hard?” Jill pleaded. “I never ... I never wanted this.”

  With a grunt, she struck Annette across the face. Annette’s head rocked back and struck the toilet tank. Her ears began to buzz, and she thought she heard a kind of hammering somewhere.

  She waited for the next blow, but it did not come.

  Ears still ringing, she glanced up. Jill stood over her.Tears streamed down her cheeks and she shook her head, then gazed down at her own hands.

  “No,” she said.

  Her face was etched with agony, a sadness that welled up from deep inside her, that went to the bone. Trembling, Jill reached out for her face and Annette flinched.

  “Oh, God, send me back already!” Jill wailed. “Nothing’s worth this.”

  The hammering sound came again and they both truly heard it for the first time. Then there was a thunderous, splintering bang, followed by shouts and the pounding of footfalls from the living room.Voices crying out her name.

  Annette could not respond.

  She did not need to.

  The bathroom door was not locked. As Jill backed toward the ravaged shower stall, hot water still pouring down, steam swirling around them, obscu
ring the mirror with moisture, the door slammed open.

  Janine stood just outside the door with David beside her. Someone else was there as well, but Annette could not really see through the steam that rushed out into the hall. Sobs began to rack her nude body, and for the first time, she truly felt the cuts on her feet and back and arms, and the pain in her throat.

  “David,” Jill said. A dark look crossed her features.

  “Maggie,” David replied. “Keep the fuck away from her. She’s done nothing to you.”

  “You fucker!” Jill ... Maggie ... shouted. “I never wanted this. It’s all on you. You didn’t even cry after you killed me, David!” she screamed in anguish. “You didn’t even cry.”

  It was a standoff, then. Nobody wanted to move. Jill did not try to attack her again, but David and Janine seemed so stunned, so horrified, that they froze there, just inside the door.

  Then the figure Annette had not been able to see, out in the hall, pushed his way through into the bathroom. Father Charles was dressed in priestly garb, all in black, his white collar a spot of purity beneath a grim, stern visage. He wore a silver crucifix on a chain and held a leather-bound Bible in one hand.

  Jill laughed. “I’m not a vampire, priest. What the hell do you think you can do to me? I’m already in hell, don’t you get it?”

  “You do not belong here, Maggie Russell.Your presence is a blasphemy in the eyes of God. If you truly are Maggie Russell, you’ll know that. Do not let this creature mold your soul, Maggie. It will make you a monster.You know this isn’t hell.You can still be forgiven.”

  “Bullshit!” Maggie screamed.

  She raised her arms over her head, her body perversely beautiful, despite what she had done, despite the shards of clouded glass that jutted from bloodless wounds all over her body.

  “All I wanted was my life! Another chance!”

  Annette stared at her in horror. This woman ... Maggie ... glanced down at her, lost and alone and in pain. Damned.

  “This isn’t life,” Maggie whispered.

  She stepped through the shattered glass door and into the shower. Tendrils of steam seemed to wrap around her and droplets of water bounced off her skin as the spray cascaded over her again.