Ambrose Nast

She can have something in this life.

She can give something in this life.

Those were the last words I would endure.

I turned away from him, left him standing in the road with no reason to go forward and no reason to go back.

If the Dutchman had come back down the shore road, surely I would have seen him.

Surely there would have been more strangely spectral prints to mark his progress.

But there were none.

I should have there stopped wasting time attempting to apply the rules of reason and science to such a being.

But the mortal mind cannot so easily make that severance.

I could at least stop uselessly tracking the minutes.

Again I ran, sure it would be the final time it would be necessary, and regardless the final time I could accomplish any great distance in my state.

By the time I reached Florence's house and pounded on the door, I was so winded and in pain, I would not have been able to speak to whichever of the three souls inside answered the door.

but none of them did.

I turned the knob and the door opened freely.

There was no lamplight inside on the lower floor, as was usually the case.

I called out for both Beverly and Rankins and was met with only silence.

Feeling it to be a useless gesture, I took my colt from my pocket, then advanced to the staircase and ascended, continuing my calls for response, now expecting nothing in return.

A window was open somewhere.

The draft sent a cold river of air across the back of my neck.

Beverly and Rankins were both in Florence's bedroom.