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"I didn't hit it."
"You did. You must have. Let me see."
"Stay where you are or I'll... I'll..." She'd what? Dial 911? For all she knew, dialing 911 didn't get you anything but a buzzing on the line. Besides, even if it connected you with the police, or what passed for the police, by the time they got all the way out here it would be too late.
"Catherine."
His tone was sweet reason itself, his smile kind and gentle. He was walking towards her slowly, as if there were no hurry about anything.
It was the performance of a lifetime. Or of a certifiable crazy.
Either way, it was time to act.
"Don't take another step," Kathryn commanded.
"Cat," he said, "I want you to take a deep breath. Now, put down that—whatever—and let me see your head."
He was still using that wheedling tone but it didn't match the glint of determination in his eyes.
"No," she shouted. In a burst of desperation she danced back, dropped the phone, made a rush at a mahogany secretary and then jammed her fist deep into her skirt pocket.
"Okay," she said breathlessly, "that's far enough. I've—I've got a gun!"
She might as well have said she had a sea lion for the look that came over his face.
"You've got a what?"
"A gun. I—I just took it from the secretary and now it's in my pocket." His eyes shot to her pocket and she stiffened her fingers behind the cotton fabric. "If you come any closer, I'll shoot."
"A pistol?" His eyes met hers and he smiled as if she were a naughty child. "Let me see it, then."
"No."
"Catherine, stop being silly. What would you be doing with a pistol? Come along, now. Let me help you to a chair and then I'll get you a nice, cold compress."
"I'm telling you, I have a gun! Must I prove it by killing you?"
He laughed, as if she'd made a wonderful joke. "You can't kill me."
He was still advancing on her, slowly but steadily. She risked a quick look over her shoulder. They were almost out in the foyer now. Could she make it out the door? Or would he rush her and call her bluff?
"Maybe I can't," she said, very calmly. "But are you really willing to take that chance?"
Matthew stopped in his tracks.
It was an excellent question. And it raised a lot of others.
Did Catherine really have a pistol? It wasn't likely. A flintlock pistol was much too big to fit in that small pocket. Maybe it was something new, like the fone, the kopz and the carriage that belched black smoke. It was possible.
And if she had a pistol, would she use it? She probably would. After all, she'd done her part in killing him one time already.
If she used it, what would happen? He was a ghost. Could a ghost be killed? It didn't seem likely but then, nothing that had happened to him seemed likely.
And if the answer were yes, would he awaken again to find himself trapped in that cold, terrible blackness?
A risk was one thing, but eternal damnation in that awful place he'd so recently escaped was another, especially if he awakened there without the comfort of knowing he had taken his revenge.
He shuddered. It was too ugly to think about.
