| The crowd shifted and Lewis could feel their excitement, their hunger for him. The knife was cold and heavy in his shaking hand.
“Lie on the table, with your head off the edge so the bowl can catch your offering,” Odysseus instructed. Lewis stepped closer to the table and then stopped. A shudder ran down his body as he considered what he was ready to do. Suicide. Slice his own throat open with this razor-sharp blade. His eyes shifted to find Beth and Brandon; their faces were impassive and their thoughts unreadable. He would join them, Lewis thought, just as Beth had said, if not now, eventually. “I can’t,” he whispered as he dropped the knife to the table. The spirits became angry, frustrated. He felt something cold being slipped into his right hand, and then his left arm was taken in an equally chill grip. Beth was holding his arm and Brandon had come to hold his father’s hand. Lewis felt the warm tears running down his face. “We’ll wait, Daddy,” Brandon promised. “Yes, we have nowhere to go.” Beth smiled at him. Lewis nodded. No words would come through his throat. “But you have somewhere to go, Lewis.” The voice of Odysseus was stern and angry. “You must leave here immediately. Go.” “Good-bye,” Beth whispered. She was fading from his sight as Lewis watched. He reached for her, trying to hold her to him, but she was like a wisp of steam that slipped through his desperate fingers. “Bye Daddy.” Brandon was already gone, leaving only a cool place in the palm of his father’s hand. Lewis turned and ran from the warehouse as the other ghosts faded. He ignored their curses as well as their pleas. He fumbled for his keys as he ran, and then he was in the car and driving, not caring where he went or what route he took. He drove for hours, and eventually found himself parked on a narrow gravel road that ran beside the river a few miles outside the city limits. It was a favorite spot for fishing. He had brought Beth and Brandon here many times for picnics beside the water. Brandon had caught his first fish, a small, slimy catfish, from this place. “I should have done it,” Lewis said to himself. “I’m weak. I was given the chance to be with them again and I didn’t take it because I was scared. Scared of a little physical pain. The damn knife was so sharp I probably wouldn’t have even felt the cut. Damn!” He slammed his fist against the steering wheel and then rested his head on the balled hand. He was still wearing the red mask, he realized. He pulled it off and tossed it to the floorboard, where it lay with the fallen invitation. What if it isn’t too late? He restarted the car and swung it around in the road, throwing gravel and dust high and far behind him as he spun the tires and raced back toward the highway. The eastern horizon was just beginning to turn gray as Lewis reached the warehouse again. He jumped from the car and ran to the door. It was locked. Lewis pulled until his arms ached, but to no avail. He returned to the car and fetched the tire tool. Within minutes, he had splintered the wood around the lock. The mechanism broke loose and fell to the floor inside the building. Lewis hurried through the office and into the warehouse area. |