Page 2 of Vortex (FBI Thriller 25)

“Well, what about you? That’s what your family wants for you, too.”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. Not important now, Snake. Let’s focus on what we’re doing.”

Snake looked down at Aolith’s body, felt cold grip his guts, and the rising bile again. He whispered, “I wish you hadn’t died, Aolith.”

Dante’s hands fisted, his patience nearly at its end. “Well, she did. She was asking for it, Snake; she came on to you with all the gaming lingo. She did that, not you. Think of it this way: at least she went out happy. She’ll be young forever.”

Snake stared at his friend, wondering if Dante was dissing Aolith on purpose because he knew Snake liked her. He realized he couldn’t talk because he’d start crying.

They lifted the body over the grave and dropped it in. Snake saw a clump of her black hair as he dug his shovel into a mound of dirt and swallowed convulsively.

Aolith the dreamer wouldn’t be forever young. She’d be forever dead.

When the grave was flat enough, they spread rocks and branches on top. When Dante was confident everything looked natural, they carried the shovels back to Dante’s Jaguar, fit them diagonally in the small trunk, slammed down the lid. Snake watched Dante pull out his cell and call Alan Brandt in Philadelphia, ask him if he’d like to have guests tonight. Snake heard him laugh at something Alan said.

They drove slowly along the narrow dirt road to the Schuylkill River Trail, to turn onto 1-76 E to Philadelphia. They made one stop to throw the shovels away.

The night once again became still and silent. An ancient naked-branched oak tree hovered near the grave. A deer came to sniff at the flattened earth, paused, raised her head, and slowly backed away into the forest.

The earth settled, bluebells grew through the branches they’d left, blanketing Aolith’s grave in the spring. The oak tree spread its thick green-leafed branches over the grave.

Year after year.