What Dreams May Come by Richard Matheson Page B

could feel a minuscule flow of energy from it as well. I sniffed its delicate fragrance, then put it in my mouth and chewed as I used to do when I was a boy. I never tasted grass like that when I was a boy.
    I noticed, then, there were no shadows on the ground. I sat beneath a tree yet not in shade. I didn’t understand that and looked for the sun.
    There wasn’t any, Robert. There was light without a sun. I looked around in confusion. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the light, I saw further into the countryside. I had never seen such scenery: a stunning vista of green-clad meadows, flowers and trees. Ann would love this, I thought.
    I remembered then. Ann was still alive. And I? I stood and pressed both palms against the solid tree trunk. Stamped on solid ground with my shoe. I was dead; there could be no question about it any longer. Yet here I was, possessed of a body that felt the same and looked the same, was even dressed the same. Standing on this very real ground in this most tangible of landscapes.
    This is death? I thought.
    I looked at my hands; the details of their lines and ridges, all the varied folds of skin. I examined the palms. I studied a book on palmistry once; for fun, to be able to do it at parties. I’d studied my palms and knew them well.
    They were still the same. The life line was as long as ever; I remembered showing it to Ann and telling her not to worry, I was going to be around a long time. We could laugh about that now if only we were together.
    I turned my hands over and noticed that their skin and nails were pink. There was blood inside me. I had to shake myself to make certain I wasn’t dreaming. I held my right hand over my nose and mouth and felt breath pulsing warmly from my lungs. I pressed two fingers to my chest until I found the right spot.
    Heartbeat, Robert. Just as always.
    I looked around abruptly at a flash of movement. An exquisite, silver-plumaged bird had landed on the tree. It seemed completely unafraid of me, perching close by. This place is magic, I thought. I felt dazed. If this is a dream, I told myself, I hope I never wake from it.
    I started as I saw an animal running toward me; a dog, I realized. For several moments, it didn’t register. Then, suddenly, it all rushed over me. “Katie!” I cried.
    She ran toward me as fast as she could, making those frantic little whimpers of joy I hadn’t heard in years. “Katie, ” I whispered. I fell to my knees, tears starting in my eyes. “Old Kate.”
    Abruptly, she was with me, bouncing with excitement, licking my hands. I put my arms around her. “Kate, old Kate.” I could barely speak. She wriggled against me, whimpering with happiness. “Katie, is it really you?” I murmured.
    I took a closer look. The last time I had seen her was in an open cage at the vet’s; sedated, lying on her left side, eyes staring sightlessly, limbs twitching with convulsions they could not control. Ann and I had gone to see her when the doctor had called. We’d stood beside the cage a while, stroking her, feeling stunned and helpless. Katie had been our good companion almost sixteen years.
    Now she was the Katie I remembered from the years when Ian was growing up—vibrant, full of energy, eyes bright, with that funny mouth that, open, made her look as though she were laughing. I hugged her with delight, thinking how happy Ann would be to see her, how happy the children would be, especially Ian. The afternoon she’d died, he’d been at school. That evening, I had found him sitting on his bed, cheeks wet with tears. They’d grown up together and he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to her.
    “If only he could see you now,” I said, hugging her, overjoyed by our reunion. “Katie, Katie.” I stroked her head and body, scratched her wonderful floppy ears. And felt a rush of gratitude toward whatever power had brought her to
    me.
    Now I knew this was a lovely place.
    It’s hard to say how long we stayed there, visiting.