stopped too. What was she waiting for?
She looked in at Ann and Richard. Ann still had his hand against her cheek. Her eyes were closed, she looked asleep.
“Take it in,” I told Marie. I grimaced at the sound of my voice. Take it in, I told her mentally. Show it to Mom, to Richard.
Marie stood motionless, gazing at Richard and Ann, her expression uncertain. “Marie, come on,” I told her; tensed again. Marie, take it to them, I thought. Let them see.
She turned away. “Marie!” I cried. I caught myself. Take it in! I cried with my mind. She hesitated, then turned back toward our bedroom. That’s it, take it in to her, I thought. Take it in, Marie. Now.
She remained immobile.
Marie, I pleaded mentally, for God’s sake, take it to your mother.
Abruptly, she turned toward her room and strode there quickly, passing through me. I whirled and ran after her. “What are you doing?” I cried. “Don’t you hear—?”
My voice failed as she crumpled the sheet of paper and dropped it into her wastebasket. “Marie!” I said. I stared at her, appalled. Why had she done that?
I knew though, Robert; it was not a difficult thing to understand. She thought it was her own subconscious surfacing. She didn’t want Ann to suffer any more than she had. It was done out of love. But it dashed my last hope of conveying my survival to Ann.
A wave of paralyzing grief swept over me. Dear God, this has to be a dream! I thought, reverting suddenly. It can’t be real!
I blinked. Below my feet, I saw the plaque: Christopher Nielsen/1927—1974. How had I gotten there? Have you ever “come to” in your car and wondered how you’d driven so far without remembering a moment of it? I had the same sensation then. Except that I didn’t know what I was doing there.
Soon enough, it came to me. My mind had cried: It can’t be real! That same mind still knew that there was a way of finding out for certain. I’d started doing it once before, it came back to me; then had been restrained by something. I would not be restrained now. There was only one way to know if this were dream or reality. I began descending into the ground. It presented no more hindrance to me than the doors. I sank into blackness. One way to be sure, I kept thinking. I saw the casket lying just below. How could I see in the dark? I wondered. I let that go. Only one thing mattered; finding out. I moved inside the casket.
My scream of horror seemed to echo and re-echo in the confines of the grave. I stared in petrified revulsion at my body. It had started to decay. My face was tight and mask-like, frozen in a hideous grimace. The skin was rotting, Rob- ert. I saw mag—no, let that go. No point in sickening you as I was sickened.
I closed my eyes and, screaming still, drove myself away from there. Coldness swirled around me, clinging wetness. Opening my eyes, I looked around. The fog again, that gray, eddying mist I could not escape.
I started to run. It had to end somewhere. The more I ran the thicker it got. I turned and started running in the opposite direction but it didn’t help. The fog continued getting more dense no matter which way I ran. I could see no more than inches ahead. I started sobbing. I might wander in this mist forever! Suddenly, I cried out: “Help me! Please!”
A figure approached from the murk; that man again. I felt as though I knew him even though his face was unfamiliar. I ran to him and clutched at his arm. “Where am I?” I asked. “In a place of your own devising,” he replied. “I don’t understand you!”
“Your mind has brought you here,” he said. “Your mind is keeping you here.”
“Do I have to stay here?”
“Not at all,” he told me. “You can break the binding any time.” “How?”
“By concentrating on what’s beyond this place.” I began to ask another question when I felt Ann’s sorrow pulling at me once again. I couldn’t leave her alone. I couldn’t.
“You’re slipping back,” the man
She looked in at Ann and Richard. Ann still had his hand against her cheek. Her eyes were closed, she looked asleep.
“Take it in,” I told Marie. I grimaced at the sound of my voice. Take it in, I told her mentally. Show it to Mom, to Richard.
Marie stood motionless, gazing at Richard and Ann, her expression uncertain. “Marie, come on,” I told her; tensed again. Marie, take it to them, I thought. Let them see.
She turned away. “Marie!” I cried. I caught myself. Take it in! I cried with my mind. She hesitated, then turned back toward our bedroom. That’s it, take it in to her, I thought. Take it in, Marie. Now.
She remained immobile.
Marie, I pleaded mentally, for God’s sake, take it to your mother.
Abruptly, she turned toward her room and strode there quickly, passing through me. I whirled and ran after her. “What are you doing?” I cried. “Don’t you hear—?”
My voice failed as she crumpled the sheet of paper and dropped it into her wastebasket. “Marie!” I said. I stared at her, appalled. Why had she done that?
I knew though, Robert; it was not a difficult thing to understand. She thought it was her own subconscious surfacing. She didn’t want Ann to suffer any more than she had. It was done out of love. But it dashed my last hope of conveying my survival to Ann.
A wave of paralyzing grief swept over me. Dear God, this has to be a dream! I thought, reverting suddenly. It can’t be real!
I blinked. Below my feet, I saw the plaque: Christopher Nielsen/1927—1974. How had I gotten there? Have you ever “come to” in your car and wondered how you’d driven so far without remembering a moment of it? I had the same sensation then. Except that I didn’t know what I was doing there.
Soon enough, it came to me. My mind had cried: It can’t be real! That same mind still knew that there was a way of finding out for certain. I’d started doing it once before, it came back to me; then had been restrained by something. I would not be restrained now. There was only one way to know if this were dream or reality. I began descending into the ground. It presented no more hindrance to me than the doors. I sank into blackness. One way to be sure, I kept thinking. I saw the casket lying just below. How could I see in the dark? I wondered. I let that go. Only one thing mattered; finding out. I moved inside the casket.
My scream of horror seemed to echo and re-echo in the confines of the grave. I stared in petrified revulsion at my body. It had started to decay. My face was tight and mask-like, frozen in a hideous grimace. The skin was rotting, Rob- ert. I saw mag—no, let that go. No point in sickening you as I was sickened.
I closed my eyes and, screaming still, drove myself away from there. Coldness swirled around me, clinging wetness. Opening my eyes, I looked around. The fog again, that gray, eddying mist I could not escape.
I started to run. It had to end somewhere. The more I ran the thicker it got. I turned and started running in the opposite direction but it didn’t help. The fog continued getting more dense no matter which way I ran. I could see no more than inches ahead. I started sobbing. I might wander in this mist forever! Suddenly, I cried out: “Help me! Please!”
A figure approached from the murk; that man again. I felt as though I knew him even though his face was unfamiliar. I ran to him and clutched at his arm. “Where am I?” I asked. “In a place of your own devising,” he replied. “I don’t understand you!”
“Your mind has brought you here,” he said. “Your mind is keeping you here.”
“Do I have to stay here?”
“Not at all,” he told me. “You can break the binding any time.” “How?”
“By concentrating on what’s beyond this place.” I began to ask another question when I felt Ann’s sorrow pulling at me once again. I couldn’t leave her alone. I couldn’t.
“You’re slipping back,” the man
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