She started to turn again, then glimpsed something down below. A shadow moving among shadows.
She started to turn again, then glimpsed something down below. A shadow moving among shadows.
“Mary?” It was Ellen Carver’s voice that came floating up, but at the same time it wasn’t. It was gargly, full. If you hadn’t been through the hell of the last six or eight hours, you might have thought it was Ellen with a bad cold. “Wait, Mare! I want to go with you! I want to see David! We’ll go see him together!”
“Go to hell,” Mary whispered. She turned and began to walk again, tearing breath out of the air and rubbing at the pain in her side. She would have run if she could.
“Mary-Mary-quite-contrary!” Not quite laughing, but almost. “You can’t get away, dear—don’t you know that?”
