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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

And then I go over a different part of the falls. No canoe. Just Jack. Forget about negotiating Niagara Falls in a barrel. Try doing it in just shorts and some sandals.

BAM, another rock sucker punches me. OOWW, something knifes me in the ribs. WWWHHISSHHT, I’m whirled upside down in an eddy. ZZZZTTTT, I bust loose only to be sandpapered by the rocky bottom.

It’s like trying to fight twelve big guys who are armed with different weapons. One knifes you, one clubs you, while the next guy loads up with brass knuckles.

Still I refuse to give in. Beaten and bruised and bloody as I am, I kick back to the surface one final time.

See a canoe in the distance. P.J. and the chief are flying over white water, already far in front of me.

She’s half standing in the canoe, looking backward.

And then something massive comes between us.

A boulder, clenching like a giant’s fist. No time to duck. No way to block it.

I actually hear my skull CRACK open against it, and the darkness rushes in.

60

60

This is what happens when you die. You sail and sink and whirl back to the woman who gave birth to you.

“Jack? Jack?” a soft voice calls out to me.

Is it my mother, Mira, regretting sending her baby away, reaching across the centuries to try to reclaim me as I die?

Too late, Mom.

Is it P.J., swept away from me by the falls, calling one last time to her lost love?

Too late, my dear. I’m finished.

Skimming over water. Must be one of the rivers of hell. Hope it’s Lethe. Let me drink and forget.

There’s a dark figure in front of me, poling the skiff forward. Is it Charon, the ferryman who takes dead souls across to Hades? He’s supposed to be a winged demon with a double hammer. I can’t make out the details, but I see his hunched shadow working us toward the gloomy bank.

We reach the far shore. All movement stops.

Now there will be only the darkness of the damned. But I still feel sunlight.

I’m being held in warm arms. Bathed. Taken care of.

Something cool on my skin. Ointment?

Water is drizzled onto my lips. Not from the river Lethe. It doesn’t make me forget. It gives me strength, and helps me to remember.

“Jack, Jack? Can you hear me?” That same familiar voice again, but now I know it’s not Mira or P.J.

I open my eyes. We didn’t cross the Styx. Haven’t arrived in Hades. Hell can’t be this green and lush.

The shadowy figure bending over me is not a demon with a double hammer.

Quite the opposite. Soft skin. Red lips.