you.”
There was a long silence. A warm breeze stirred his washing, and a California quail landed on the railing at the far end of the balcony and cocked its head at him. Quail had a strange habit of flying down whenever he hung out washing, and sucking the water from it with their beaks.
He thought: No, there’s nobody there. It’s just a stray sheet of newspaper that’s blown from somebody’s balcony or a trick of the light .
But as he turned away, a figure stepped out from under the tree and stood beneath his balcony, staring up at him. His skin felt as if it were shrinking, and Dan almost lost his balance. It was Gayle. She was unharmed, her face as perfect as it had been in the split second before the scaffolding pole had struck her. Her blond hair was unbloodied, and she was wearing the same cream satin dress.
He looked down at her, and he didn’t know whether he ought to say anything or not. After all, she couldn’t be real, could she? How could she be real when she was dead? Maybe he was suffering from the long-delayed effects of crucifying guilt. Maybe he was going mad. Or maybe Michelange DuPriz was trying to make him think that he was going mad.
But he stood there staring at her, and she didn’t fade away. She cast a real shadow across the overgrown grass, and her hair was blowing in the breeze. The look in her eyes was distant and unfocused, but then she had always been dreamy.
“Gayle?” he said, with a catch in his throat.
She didn’t answer.
“Gayle, are you for real?”
Still she didn’t say anything.
“Gayle…if you’re for real, I’m coming down. I need to talk to you.”
She parted her lips a little, as if about to speak, but no words came out. All the same, Dan thought he saw her give him the faintest of smiles.
He backed away from the railing, still watching her. Then he hurried through his living room, out his front door, and vaulted down the steps. As he was passing Annie’s apartment, she opened her door and said, “ Dan? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I’m fine!”
He ran around the side of the apartment building and into the yard. There was nobody there. No Gayle, nobody. No footprints in the grass either, to prove that somebody had been there.
Annie came around the building behind him and touched him gently on the back.
“Dan? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing. I think I’m more stressed out than I thought I was. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken any time off. You know what they say. It’s only when the pressure’s taken off them that people go to pieces.”
Annie looked around the yard. “Did you… expect somebody to be here?”
“No. Not really.”
“Who was it? Was it Gayle?”
“You read me like a book, Annie Conjure.”
“That’s because I have the gift. But you should be very careful if you’re starting to see people who have passed beyond. Especially people you love.”
Dan looked up at his sheet hanging on the line. He had seen a movie once in which the outline of a dead woman’s face had appeared on a sheet, and he half expected it to happen now.
“I was there, on the balcony. She was standing right here, looking up at me.”
“Whatever you saw, Dan, it wasn’t her.”
“Annie, she looked totally real. Totally solid. The grass—she was throwing a shadow on the grass and everything. Her hair and her dress…they were being blown around by the wind. If she wasn’t real, how could that have happened?”
“Dan, you can see dead people in your dreams and they have shadows, don’t they? You can see dead people in movies and their hair gets blown by the wind. It wasn’t Gayle, I promise you.”
Dan took a deep breath. “Okay. It wasn’t Gayle. But if I see her again—or it , or whatever she is—I’ll make sure that you get to see her, too.”
“That’s a deal.”
Annie opened a bottle of zinfandel, and they talked for over a half hour. She explained to him how witches could move solid objects from one
There was a long silence. A warm breeze stirred his washing, and a California quail landed on the railing at the far end of the balcony and cocked its head at him. Quail had a strange habit of flying down whenever he hung out washing, and sucking the water from it with their beaks.
He thought: No, there’s nobody there. It’s just a stray sheet of newspaper that’s blown from somebody’s balcony or a trick of the light .
But as he turned away, a figure stepped out from under the tree and stood beneath his balcony, staring up at him. His skin felt as if it were shrinking, and Dan almost lost his balance. It was Gayle. She was unharmed, her face as perfect as it had been in the split second before the scaffolding pole had struck her. Her blond hair was unbloodied, and she was wearing the same cream satin dress.
He looked down at her, and he didn’t know whether he ought to say anything or not. After all, she couldn’t be real, could she? How could she be real when she was dead? Maybe he was suffering from the long-delayed effects of crucifying guilt. Maybe he was going mad. Or maybe Michelange DuPriz was trying to make him think that he was going mad.
But he stood there staring at her, and she didn’t fade away. She cast a real shadow across the overgrown grass, and her hair was blowing in the breeze. The look in her eyes was distant and unfocused, but then she had always been dreamy.
“Gayle?” he said, with a catch in his throat.
She didn’t answer.
“Gayle, are you for real?”
Still she didn’t say anything.
“Gayle…if you’re for real, I’m coming down. I need to talk to you.”
She parted her lips a little, as if about to speak, but no words came out. All the same, Dan thought he saw her give him the faintest of smiles.
He backed away from the railing, still watching her. Then he hurried through his living room, out his front door, and vaulted down the steps. As he was passing Annie’s apartment, she opened her door and said, “ Dan? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I’m fine!”
He ran around the side of the apartment building and into the yard. There was nobody there. No Gayle, nobody. No footprints in the grass either, to prove that somebody had been there.
Annie came around the building behind him and touched him gently on the back.
“Dan? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing. I think I’m more stressed out than I thought I was. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken any time off. You know what they say. It’s only when the pressure’s taken off them that people go to pieces.”
Annie looked around the yard. “Did you… expect somebody to be here?”
“No. Not really.”
“Who was it? Was it Gayle?”
“You read me like a book, Annie Conjure.”
“That’s because I have the gift. But you should be very careful if you’re starting to see people who have passed beyond. Especially people you love.”
Dan looked up at his sheet hanging on the line. He had seen a movie once in which the outline of a dead woman’s face had appeared on a sheet, and he half expected it to happen now.
“I was there, on the balcony. She was standing right here, looking up at me.”
“Whatever you saw, Dan, it wasn’t her.”
“Annie, she looked totally real. Totally solid. The grass—she was throwing a shadow on the grass and everything. Her hair and her dress…they were being blown around by the wind. If she wasn’t real, how could that have happened?”
“Dan, you can see dead people in your dreams and they have shadows, don’t they? You can see dead people in movies and their hair gets blown by the wind. It wasn’t Gayle, I promise you.”
Dan took a deep breath. “Okay. It wasn’t Gayle. But if I see her again—or it , or whatever she is—I’ll make sure that you get to see her, too.”
“That’s a deal.”
Annie opened a bottle of zinfandel, and they talked for over a half hour. She explained to him how witches could move solid objects from one
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