Free Ghosts and Other Lovers by Lisa Tuttle Page A

wanted Death, and to survive death, again and again.
    Twice before she had managed it -- how hard could it be to find someone else who was about to die? Alida did not realize she'd made up her mind to attempt murder until she actually had her victim in range, directly in front of her and too close to the edge of the station platform, a hot wind presaging the arrival of a train. Alida had taken one step forward, and brought her hands up to push, when from the corner of one eye, amid the crowds, she saw the unmistakable black suit drawing near.
    Horror froze her, as she understood what she had meant to do. Death vanished. She could not act. Around her, people pushed and shoved and clambered into the train, leaving her behind, alone with herself and her desire.
    No, not desire: she had to recognize now that it had taken on the force of an addiction. It was a need which had set her at odds with herself, which had taken over her life, her mind, and her will.
    But not entirely. She could still think, and she could refuse to give in. She would change. She had to.
    Trembling but determined, Alida rose out of the underground onto the gray city street, thinking of how she would forget her two deaths and concentrate on living. She was too much alone, she decided; she needed to spend more time with her friends, and to find a lover.
    She imagined a man in her arms again, in the warm privacy of her bed, wrapping her legs around him and pressing her mouth to his, holding him close, forcing him to be still, feeling his poor, feeble attempts to get away, feeling the power tear through him, ripping him out of life --
    It took an act of considerable will to stop that chain of thoughts, and Alida could do nothing about the fact that her heart was pounding and her breath coming in short gasps of excitement -- or was it fear? Alida didn't know what to think. She had become a stranger to herself. She didn't dare to think about what she wanted. It was as if she contained two people, and the desires of each one were incomprehensible, and dangerous, to the other.
    She went on walking because it was the easiest thing to do, and because it seemed safe. It might even do some good, she thought, to walk until her mind was emptied by exhaustion. She was scarcely aware of where she went, or of the passage of time. She crossed the Thames and continued traveling southward, moving at a steady pace, untiring. She had no destination in mind, but gradually she realized that she would soon be in her parents' neighborhood. The light was failing -- it would be dinnertime, and her mother always made more than enough. She was not hungry, but Alida snatched at the idea of a meal with her parents as at an anchor to normality. They would be pleased to see her, and for a little while she might seem to be her old self again.
    Her parents lived on a quiet side-road, in one of a row of large but slightly shabby terraced houses. Turning the corner, Alida at once made out the familiar figure of her father. No longer restricted to his bed, he was standing now and very slowly, carefully sweeping the dead leaves from the crazy-paving which he had laid down in place of the front garden the summer that Alida was fourteen.
    She felt an overpowering rush of love at the sight of him. It seemed that in that one moment, as she saw him moving slowly in the twilight, that she recalled all that he had been to her through thirty years, the whole sound and sight and feel and smell and meaning of him in her life. She began to walk more quickly, wondering if the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement would make him turn, anticipating the slow, pleased smile that would spread across his worn face at the sight of her, savoring his surprise.
    Then something other than daughterly affection made her heart beat faster as she glimpsed something -- someone -- beyond her father, behind him, half-hidden by the shadow of the arched entrance to the front door. The man in the black suit.
    There