Walking on Air Read Online Free
Author: Catherine Anderson
gaze searched for the brightly illuminated windows of the hatmaker’s shop. In the moment of brilliant clarity that comes right before death, he managed to focus. Candlelight beamed in the window, casting a cheerful amber glow over the artfully draped fir boughs that framed the glass. The greenery outlined the face of a woman, her solemn gaze fixed on Gabe, her blond hair shimmering like a halo. She was so beautiful Gabe wondered if he wasn’t already dead and seeing an angel.
Dark spots dotted his vision. Her sweet countenance began to swim in and out, clear one moment, gone the next. With every ounce of his remaining strength, Gabe tried to keep his eyes open, but the blackness grew thicker until it settled over him like a blanket, wiping out everything, even awareness.
Chapter Two
G abe jerked back to fuzzy consciousness, then blinked, startled half out of his wits to find himself standing outside a wooden shack with a closed rickety door hanging slightly awry from rusty hinges. He clamped a hand over his chest, expecting to find blood, but felt only the front of his shirt and firm, unwounded flesh under the cloth.
I’m dead
,
he thought.
Only this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Where the hell are the pearly gates?
Maybe better people got pearls and streets paved in gold, while others, like him, were sent to the back entrance. Just deserts. After the life he’d lived, he couldn’t expect a grand reception. Not that he’d ever believed in, or even heard much about, the pearly gates. His lack of faith undoubtedly accounted for the fact that the door was closed, barring his entrance.
So now what? Where was he supposed to go? He turned, glanced down, and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw that his boots rested on what looked like a wispy cloud. He stepped sideways, but there wasn’t any earth. Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat. What was holding him up? He felt his chest again, to reassure himself that he still had a body.
Suddenly two men appeared outside the shack. They wore long, flowing white robes and had rope sandals on their feet. One blond, the other brunette, they each sported long hair falling to just below the shoulder. Gabe assumed they were some sort of entrance attendants—only, the entrance to where? Given that he’d killed a young man only moments before dying himself, he didn’t care to explore the possibilities. He wasn’t all that sure heaven even existed, but he knew from personal experience that hell certainly did, even though the hell he’d lived in since early childhood had been on earth.
Without a word, the two men—were they angels who’d forgotten their wings?—entered the structure and gestured for Gabe to follow them. Gabe wasn’t real sure he wanted to. What was in there, a yawning hole that led to an eternity of fire and brimstone? But he couldn’t spend eternity standing outside a stupid shack that looked like a good sneeze would blow it over. Feeling shaky, which was unusual for him, he stepped inside but left the door hanging open behind him, just in case he needed to make a quick escape. His boots made no sound on the floor, and Gabe, bewildered by the lack of noise, looked down to discover that he still stood on clouds, not wooden planks, as he’d expected.
The men had taken seats behind a paper-strewn table that looked highly unorganized, and then they proceeded to quarrel heatedly over Gabe’s identity, one of them convinced Gabe was someone named Abe Van Horn, the other insisting he was Pete Raintree, the boy Gabe had just shot. Trying to look as if he didn’t resent being talked about as if he weren’t there, Gabe averted his gaze and found himself staring stupidly at the men’s bare knees and lower legs, revealed beneath the table. Apparently they’d hitched up their robes to get more comfortable.
Holding up a hand, Gabe forced himself to look them in the eye and said, “Hold it! My name’s Gabriel Valance. I’m guessing you two are angels. Right? But where
Dark spots dotted his vision. Her sweet countenance began to swim in and out, clear one moment, gone the next. With every ounce of his remaining strength, Gabe tried to keep his eyes open, but the blackness grew thicker until it settled over him like a blanket, wiping out everything, even awareness.
Chapter Two
G abe jerked back to fuzzy consciousness, then blinked, startled half out of his wits to find himself standing outside a wooden shack with a closed rickety door hanging slightly awry from rusty hinges. He clamped a hand over his chest, expecting to find blood, but felt only the front of his shirt and firm, unwounded flesh under the cloth.
I’m dead
,
he thought.
Only this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Where the hell are the pearly gates?
Maybe better people got pearls and streets paved in gold, while others, like him, were sent to the back entrance. Just deserts. After the life he’d lived, he couldn’t expect a grand reception. Not that he’d ever believed in, or even heard much about, the pearly gates. His lack of faith undoubtedly accounted for the fact that the door was closed, barring his entrance.
So now what? Where was he supposed to go? He turned, glanced down, and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw that his boots rested on what looked like a wispy cloud. He stepped sideways, but there wasn’t any earth. Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat. What was holding him up? He felt his chest again, to reassure himself that he still had a body.
Suddenly two men appeared outside the shack. They wore long, flowing white robes and had rope sandals on their feet. One blond, the other brunette, they each sported long hair falling to just below the shoulder. Gabe assumed they were some sort of entrance attendants—only, the entrance to where? Given that he’d killed a young man only moments before dying himself, he didn’t care to explore the possibilities. He wasn’t all that sure heaven even existed, but he knew from personal experience that hell certainly did, even though the hell he’d lived in since early childhood had been on earth.
Without a word, the two men—were they angels who’d forgotten their wings?—entered the structure and gestured for Gabe to follow them. Gabe wasn’t real sure he wanted to. What was in there, a yawning hole that led to an eternity of fire and brimstone? But he couldn’t spend eternity standing outside a stupid shack that looked like a good sneeze would blow it over. Feeling shaky, which was unusual for him, he stepped inside but left the door hanging open behind him, just in case he needed to make a quick escape. His boots made no sound on the floor, and Gabe, bewildered by the lack of noise, looked down to discover that he still stood on clouds, not wooden planks, as he’d expected.
The men had taken seats behind a paper-strewn table that looked highly unorganized, and then they proceeded to quarrel heatedly over Gabe’s identity, one of them convinced Gabe was someone named Abe Van Horn, the other insisting he was Pete Raintree, the boy Gabe had just shot. Trying to look as if he didn’t resent being talked about as if he weren’t there, Gabe averted his gaze and found himself staring stupidly at the men’s bare knees and lower legs, revealed beneath the table. Apparently they’d hitched up their robes to get more comfortable.
Holding up a hand, Gabe forced himself to look them in the eye and said, “Hold it! My name’s Gabriel Valance. I’m guessing you two are angels. Right? But where
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