The Season Of Passage Part 51

'Did I burn the pizza?' Mr Russo asked.

'Yes,' Terry said, kissing the man on the forehead. 'But it's OK. It wasn't your fault. It was n.o.body's fault.'

Terry collected his shotgun. He returned to his car. He drove toward his cabin.

FORTY-TWO.

A mile from his destination, on the deserted road that wound through the forest to his doorstep, Terry braked quietly and turned off the engine. He took his shotgun and picked up a single white rose. He told himself it was for good luck. He still had the rosary around his neck. He left the car and began to walk up the road toward the cabin.

To his own surprise Terry realized he was only mildly frightened. He had been terrified a few minutes ago. Finding Michael should have been enough to send anybody running for reinforcements. He decided he must now be in slight shock. He did feel somewhat numb. But it was even more than that. Now that he paused to think about it, he could hardly remember what had happened at the restaurant, and he had just come from there. Michael had died, of course, and there had been a lot of beef hanging about, but that was all he could recall. Terry almost felt as if he hadn't been there, as if someone else had simply told him about it.

But it was me who was there. There was no one else.

He decided not to worry about it. Lauren was all that mattered. He had to find her and blow her brains out.

He kept to the edge of the road as he walked, clinging to the shadows. The forest that surrounded him on all sides appeared unusually serene. The moon was bright and clear, the pine trees fragrant and still. The wind had vanished; and it had been so strong a few minutes ago. He couldn't smell a hint of foul odor, only sweetness. Quite inexplicably, a feeling of peace began to sweep over him. It I made it difficult for him to keep clear in his mind the horrible thing he had to do to his girlfriend.

The lake emerged through the trees on his right. It shone with silver light. Terry rounded a low hill, and there was his cabin. Without hesitating, he walked toward the front porch. He realized he should probably be sneaking up from behind. It just seemed such a bother.

The door was wide open. Someone had lit a solitary white candle, and set it in a bra.s.s holder on a chair beside the entrance. The teardrop of yellow light burned without flickering in the calm air, casting a warm glow across the porch. He felt both rea.s.sured and confused. He liked candles. They were very pretty. But who had put this one here? He doubted it was Lauren. She was supposed to be a vampire. He had read somewhere that vampires didn't like fire.

Where did I read that?

He couldn't remember. He knew that was ridiculous. He knew he should remember that as easily as he could remember his own name. Then he tried to remember his own name. He was Terry Hayes - that was right. He didn't have a middle name. He was pretty sure he didn't.

Yet his confusion did not trouble him. In a way, everything appeared just as he had expected. He went into the cabin. It was empty, but it nevertheless had a recent lived-in feeling. He a.s.sumed Daniel had been staying here. He didn't mind. He remembered giving the Floyd family permission to use the place.

Terry wondered where Daniel was now.

Daniel's with the paramedics. Don't be so dense.

He did feel dense. He felt as if he had forty pounds of highly compressed foam rubber crammed between his ears.

He went back outside and stood on the porch. Where was Lauren? He had to find her and cut out her heart. Yuck -he didn't like thinking about it. He didn't like thinking at all. It made his head hurt. He stumbled down the steps and wandered around in front of his cabin. He b.u.mped into the stump where Jennifer had sat long ago reading Dracula. That was not a work of fiction, he reminded himself. There were vampires. He had personally met one and so had a couple of his friends. That was a fact. But were vampires really as bad as he thought? Maybe he and good old Herb had misunderstood where Lauren was coming from. Vampires were a tiny minority. No doubt they overreacted when people said something negative to them. They probably felt persecuted.

Hold on. No one persecutes vampires. No one believes in them.

Terry sat down on the stump and held onto his head. It did not seem to be working properly. All right, he had to back up and get his bearings. Point one - people did not believe in vampires. Why did he believe in them? Because of Jenny's story? Yeah, the girl had written a story about hobbits, and magic rings, and lizard monsters. He couldn't remember, though, anything about vampires in it. Had Chaneen been a vampire? No, Chaneen was Jenny. She was Lauren's sister. Where was Lauren, anyway?

Terry got up again. He had to find Lauren. She could explain Jenny's story to him. He plucked the white rose from his pocket and set it on the stump. If she came back while he was gone, she would know he had been there. She had been kind enough to leave him the candle. He had decided to explore along the lake. Lauren always loved to go for walks along the lake. He took his gun with him. He remembered the major had told him it was hunting season.

He reached the sandy sh.o.r.e and turned west, walking in the same steps he had taken with Lauren two years ago. He smiled to himself, feeling nostalgic. It seemed like only, yesterday. What a great line that was - only yesterday. He should use it in one of his books.

The lake was a perfectly flat mirror for the G.o.ds above to use. The full moon had climbed high into the sky. He hoped it didn't fall down. The trees looked great in its supernatural light. He felt as if he was on Venus. Every step forward brought him a deepening sense of tranquility. He was looking forward to seeing Lauren again. She had a story she wanted to read him, a story that Jenny had written.

Terry halted twenty yards from the stream. Sitting on the other side, on a smooth boulder, was a woman. She sat turned away from him, her hair long and black down the back of her white dress. She didn't notice him at first. He crept forward cautiously. Faint fear p.r.i.c.ked the base of his neck. Something was wrong with him. He was not thinking clearly. He must have fallen off the wagon without realizing it. He was supposed to be in grave danger. He raised the gun in his hand. He remembered he had brought the shotgun for protection.

What am I doing here? How did I get here?

Yet he didn't want to shoot the woman. She had her back to him. She had made no move in his direction. And her head was bent over. She appeared to be crying. She sounded so sad. He wanted to weep with her. He wanted to comfort her. He didn't want to kill her.

Terry stepped to the edge of the stream. 'Lauren?' he said.

She stopped crying. She turned slowly toward him. Her eyes met his. She was beautiful beyond his fondest memory. Her hair was much longer, far thicker. It tumbled past her shoulders and touched the tops of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelling above her dress's low neckline. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale. For a long time she stared at him. , Then she smiled.

'Terry,' she said.

In a moment Terry was across the water and in her arms. He had left his gun behind. At last his head cleared, completely, he thought. He pressed his face to hers and their tears mingled together and washed like a stream past the valley of the shadow of their nightmares. He stroked her silky hair. She was back. She was safe. She was his again.

'Shh,' he whispered. 'It's all right. Everything's fine. It's over.'

'Jenny's dead,' Lauren said, still crying softly. 'She killed herself. Mark told me.' She paused, uncertain. 'I remember him telling me that. Is it true?'

Terry held her at an arm's distance. Lauren was fine now, he could see that. But what about the curse? 'It is true,' he said. 'I'm sorry.' He added gently, 'Do you remember anything else Mark told you?'

Lauren searched his face, and then turned away in confusion. 'Where have I been?' she asked. 'I remember kneeling beside a tombstone.' Tears rolled over her cheeks. 'It said, Jennifer Wagner, 1992-2005. But I thought it was only a dream, because I remember going to sleep. I was resting in my hibernaculum and Gary walked into the room and wished me goodnight and then I went to sleep.'

Terry hugged her. At last he understood Jennifer's story. Chaneen's coming and sacrifice had been enough. The curse was no more. 'Do you remember your letter?' he asked.

She squeezed his hand against her face. 'My letter?'

'You wrote a letter.'

'Did I?'

'Don't you remember?'

'No,' she said. 'I don't even know how I got here. I went to sleep. I had this dream. I was floating on a sea of ice. I was cold all the time. I was trying to get back here. That's all I wanted to do. But no one could help me. Then I woke up. I was on my knees, by Jenny's grave.' Lauren tilted her head toward the sky. 'And I looked up, and Mars was gone.'

She remembered nothing since the possession had begun Perhaps she never would - he was never going to tell her about it. Once more, he was even beginning to forget about it himself.

'You're home now,' he said. 'That's all that matters.'

She stared at him with hope in her sad warm eyes. Then she nodded and leaned her head on his shoulder. 'I want to go to your cabin, Terry. Please take me there.'

They let go of each other for a moment. Lauren reached behind the boulder and picked up a large red bag. It was woven of knotted string; she fitted it over her shoulder. She smiled shyly and gestured to her long white dress. He noticed for the first time how sheer the material was. In the light of the moon he was able to glimpse the outline of her sleek hips. She did not appear to be wearing anything underneath. She was trying to tell him the hem of the dress would get wet when she crossed the stream. He felt chivalrous. He stood and swept her up into his arms, something he had never done before. She was light. She snuggled close. He carried her to the other side and far beyond. The whole time she rested with her head against his beating heart, her eyes closed. She could have gone to sleep.

Eventually he came to the stump in front of his cabin, where he had left the white rose. In the short time he had been gone, the flower had begun to blossom. It was late at night; it was a miracle. Lauren stirred and he set her down on her feet. She looked at the cabin, and a smile, both happy and wistful, touched her lips. Terry picked up the rose.

'I brought this for you,' he said.

A wave of sorrow brushed away her smile. 'Can we save it for later, and put it on Jenny's grave?'

'Sure.' He set the rose back down and took Lauren's hand. They walked toward the cabin. At the porch he paused, noticing that the candle had gone out. It must have been the wind, he decided. It had begun to come up again, out of the east, dry and irritating. 'The candle went out,' he remarked.

'You lit a candle for me?' Lauren asked softly.

'In my heart. But there was someone here before me. It must have been Daniel...' Terry's voice trailed off. He was about to add something else. He remembered that the boy was not well.

Lauren's smile returned. 'Sometimes when I was away, I worried that I would be forgotten. Forsaken in a way.'

'I could never have forgotten you.' He pa.s.sed through the open front door. But Lauren remained behind, on the porch, staring at the dark candle. 'Are you coming in?' he asked.

She glanced up, her expression radiant. 'Can I?'

'Of course.'

Then, in the twinkling of an eye, she was in his arms again, inside the cabin now, kissing him, her breath wet and delicious. Terry slipped onto the couch and pulled her with him. She dropped her bag on the floor and it was forgotten. He went to turn on the lamp. She stopped him. There's no need, my love. The curtains were wide open. Outside the tall trees swayed in the rising wind. The moonbeams danced through the gla.s.s of the window, transforming the living room into a lagoon of tropical dreams, changing Lauren from a lost soul into a sensuous woman. Her skin seemed to s.h.i.+mmer in the silver light, inviting his touch, his love. She leaned close and kissed his throat, her hand probing gently underneath his s.h.i.+rt. She tugged at the hairs on his chest as the tip of her tongue slid over the base of his Adam's apple. Terry's own hands drifted. The nipples of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelled between his fingers. Yes, love me.

'I bought this couch for you,' he whispered. 'For Christmas.'

Her eyes sparkled. 'You're sweet.' She sighed and pressed her wide-open mouth back over his lips, curling her tongue inside. Terry grasped her hair. He was falling through warm purple clouds.

'Want to go in the bedroom?' he asked from a place far away.

She teased. 'Do you?'

'Yes.'

She released him and smiled sweetly, sliding the low neckline of her dress back over the curve of her exposed b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 'You'd think you'd offer a girl a drink first,' she said.

Terry chuckled. 'I'm afraid the cupboard's probably bare. But I'll go check.' He started to stand. She stopped him.

'No,' she said. 'I have something here, something sweet.' She began to rummage in her bag.

'Oh?'

Lauren brought forth a half-filled bottle of French wine, and two champagne gla.s.ses. She placed the gla.s.ses on the coffee table, and pulled the cork in a swift motion. The popping cork made a moist, oddly obscene sound. A barely sensed, indefinable aroma touched the air.

'We should have a toast, don't you think?' she asked. 'Yes?'

Mildly curious, Terry took the bottle. He raised an eyebrow. He knew something about liquor - it was expensive grape juice. When was the last time he had drunk wine like this? It had been before he met Lauren, back in his youth. It was funny, but just holding the bottle reminded him of those days, in a very real way. He felt mildly stoned, and he hadn't even had a drink yet.

'That would be fine,' he said. 'Where did you get this, Lauren?'

'Lori,' she said.

'Huh?'

She grinned. 'Call me Lori. All my friends do.'

He laughed. 'All your friends do. Very well, Lori, where did you get this wine? It's really special, this vintage.'

Lauren took the bottle from him and poured two drinks, one large, one tiny. 'Ivan gave it to me.'

'Ivan?'

'One of my friends.' She handed him the big drink. 'This is for you.'

'Thanks.' He took the gla.s.s absently. Who was Ivan? He could have sworn he knew that name from somewhere. Lauren raised her gla.s.s and tipped it against his. The crystal chimed like a miniature bell.

'Cheers,' she said.

Terry nodded at her gla.s.s. 'That much wine couldn't get a fly drunk.'

'If you remember, I was never a big drinker.'

Terry contemplated his gla.s.s. It was dark red. 'The way I remember it, you wouldn't even smell a gla.s.s of whiskey, or wine either.'

'That's true.' She tipped her gla.s.s to his again. 'Cheers.'

Terry smiled. 'You used to say alcohol was for bottling frogs, not for famous astronauts.'

'I remember.' She put her drink to her lips.

Terry poked her side playfully. 'What made you change your mind about us drunks?'

'This is a special occasion.' She reached over and lightly pinched his groin. She added, 'Don't you want me well lubricated?'

Terry's pants had become uncomfortably tight. He set down his gla.s.s on the coffee table. 'I'd better not. I've been laying off the booze. I had trouble with my stomach. My doctor told me I had to take care of myself.'

'But I'm your doctor.'

'No, I had another one. Oh, I suppose you're right.'

'And I will take care of you. It's good wine. Very sweet. I'm sure you'll like it. I know you will like it.'

He shrugged. 'Maybe later.'

'But I'm thirsty now.'

'But...'

'Now,' she said. The word hung in the air like a guillotine.

Terry glanced at her in surprise. 'Lauren?'

'Lori.'

'Why don't you have a gla.s.s of water?'

'I love to love a man with the taste of wine in his mouth,' she murmured, a gleam in her eyes. 'You do want to love me, don't you?'