who went about the business of cutting down the body, unaware of the drama that had taken place in another sphere of existence.
“It’s not good,” someone muttered. “Not good, being cursed by the dead.”
Craig Beckett was not disturbed. “I don’t believe in curses, man. I believe in the good and evil in a man’s soul, and a curse from one evil man can only be a curse when another comes along. Let’s put an end to this business.”
Victoria looked at Bartholomew, her eyes wide. “There is justice. We don’t always see it, but there is justice.”
He nodded. He had no real body, and yet he felt that he swallowed hard, for he wanted to be strong and sure, but he didn’t know what any of it meant.
The body was cut down; the spectators meandered away, and soon, they were alone. Bartholomew held both Victoria’s hands, looked down at her, and tried to smile.
“I have you,” he began to say. He had been about to tell her that he could face heaven or hell with her by his side.
But then the light came.
Like the ooze that came from the ground, the light seemed powerful and living. It burst out around them, filling the air.
He lifted a hand to shield his eyes against it. There were people walking from it. Some hovered in the distance, but two, hand in hand came closer.
He saw who had come. Victor Wyeth, and his beautiful wife—so like Victoria, just Victoria in another twenty years. Still lovely, tall, sweet and proud.
At his side, Victoria cried out.
“My daughter!” her mother said.
“Victoria!” her father cried, and there was a sob in his voice.
Bartholomew felt her hand slip away from his; she raced to her mother, who enveloped her in a gentle hug. Victor Wyeth set his arms around his wife and his daughter, and the threesome held together for many long minutes.
Victor Wyeth looked over at Bartholomew then. “I was wrong—my apologies come too late.”
“Not too late, sir. I am…I am…I am so sorry for us all.”
Victor nodded, looking at him. Then he turned to his daughter. “It’s time—your murder is avenged, and I must seek forgiveness for all my actions. It’s time.”
Time? Time for what? Bartholomew wondered.
He saw that the light streamed from a path.
“We must go,” Victor said.
Victoria reached out for Bartholomew.
Victor caught her hand. “No,” he said gently. “It’s not time for Bartholomew,” he said.
Victoria frowned. “Father, Bartholomew must come. You know that he was guilty of no evil, that his heart was pure, his intentions good.”
Victor shook his head sadly. “It is not for me to say.” He looked at Bartholomew. “You are charged to remain.”
Victoria ran to him. He took her into his arms. But then she pulled away, troubled as she looked at him. “I must go. I feel the light, and I must go. I am avenged, and with those who love me, and I know that there is a greater love…forgive me.”
She was to go, and he was to stay.
But he saw the radiance in her face, and he knew, yes, she must go.
For a moment, his arms tightened around her. He held her close, and he wondered if he would know only loss, and he wondered why the light was coming for Victoria, and not for him.
But he loved her.
And he let her go.
He kissed her spectral lips one last time. She stepped backward, until she reached her parents. She looked at him, and he smiled.
Know only pure happiness and the great warmth and light of love that surrounds you, he thought. And she heard his thoughts.
They turned, and walked into the light.
And then the light was gone, and he remained.
Bartholomew mourned for a decade, but it seemed that he was to remain, though for what reason, he did not know.
Eli Smith had been duly hanged. His death had been avenged.
He followed Craig Beckett around at times, but Beckett never noted him, though now and then he would pause and look around, puzzled.
He watched as David Porter brought down the pirates—not an easy task, and there was many a tragedy at sea. As he had feared, Dona Isabella was beset at sea and murdered by the love of Mad Miller’s life, his bar wench, finally his consort. Ah, jealousy!
The Mosquito Squadron moved north, and the salvage trade made Key West one of the richest cities in the country, and the world.
War broke out. Civil War—terrible in the extreme. Florida seceded from the Union, but the Union held the fort, and