Disclaimer: Susan Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. I believe Dickens' A Christmas Carol is public domain now, but if not, that's not mine either. I'm just stealing freely from it. Any really strange punctuation you notice is likely copied from the original.

STAVE FOUR: THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near her, Susan bent down upon her knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.

It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save the faint glimmer of silver from within the hood and one outstretched hand. It was a pale, slender hand, yet for all that, one that was strong and bore the calluses of a swordsman. And the wrist– The wrist was scarred, but the scars were old, as if this Spirit had once been bound but had long ago been freed.

She felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside her, certainly quieter and graver than the Spirit which had just left her, and that its mysterious presence filled her with a solemn dread. She knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

"Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" said Susan.

The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.

"You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us," Susan pursued. "Is that so, Spirit?"

The Spirit inclined its head, but that was the only answer she received. The hand was pointed straight before them.

"Ghost of the Future, I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be different from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Lead on!" said Susan. "Lead on, Spirit!"

The Phantom moved away as it had come towards her. Susan followed in its shadow, which bore her up, she thought, and carried her along.

Of a sudden she was in the sitting room in what appeared to be a wealthy country estate. Two young women were sitting on the sofa drinking their morning tea beside a twinkling Christmas tree.

"If she didn't have money, I'm sure Daddy would never allow her at our parties," the fair-haired one said, lips pursed. "She's a positive horror."

"They say she was a great beauty in her day," the darker one said, looking contemplatively into her teacup. "One can't help feeling rather sorry for her though. The way she dresses. I mean, she's seventy, or nearly. Not seventeen."

The blonde smirked. "No! My mother was at school with her. She couldn't be more than fifty or so."

"Fifty!" The brunette shook her head. "Not really."

The blonde gave her a knowing nod. "It's all the plastic surgery and the tanning booths. She ought to have stopped at least ten years ago. And the clothes. You saw what she had on last night. A micro-mini and leggings? And stiletto heels? At her age?"

The brunette shrugged. "I guess her husband likes it."

"Her husband," the blonde confided, "likes the easy life."

Susan turned to the Ghost. "Who do they mean, Spirit? What has this to do with me?"

The Ghost merely lifted its pale hand. She turned to look where it was pointing and found she was now in one of the rooms in a shabby hotel. A young couple lay nestled conspiratorially in the sheets. The man, and he was handsome in a seedy sort of way, kissed the woman deeply.

"And what else do you want for Christmas?"

She sighed and pulled away from him. "You know what I want. I want to be able to stop hiding and pretending. You don't love her. You don't even like her. You care nothing about her."

"She's my wife." He pulled the girl close again, nuzzling her neck. "She pays the bills."

"You get to live in a palace and we have to meet in dumps like this."

"It's all I can afford on the cash she gives me. She'll let me put anything I want on the card, but that leaves a trail and I know she checks up."

He held the girl tighter, tracing his lips along her bare shoulder, and she closed her eyes. Then, with a huff, she pushed away from him.

"That's all I am to you. A bit on the side."

"No, baby, you know that's not true."

"Then marry me. Leave her and marry me!"

"You know I can't. If I leave her, the money stops." He gave her a hard glance. "The fun stops."

She turned up her nose. "You'd have to get a proper job then, yeah?"

"Patience," he soothed, drawing her close again. "She can't live forever."

Susan looked away as the man pressed the woman back against the pillows. "Why do you show me this?" she asked the Ghost. "Who are they?"

Again the Spirit lifted its hand, and Susan found herself in a chic London townhouse, its already opulent decor made more so with a riot of Christmas trimmings. The young man from the hotel pushed open the front door and peeped round it, making sure his way was clear. With a relieved little grin, he shut the door behind him, took a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit up.

"Justin! You know you're not to smoke in the house."

The man started and then put on a sheepish smile. "Sorry, dear."

He opened the door and flicked the cigarette out. Then he turned back.

"I thought, after we got home so late from the party last night, you'd still be in bed. Merry Christmas!"

Susan froze where she stood as the woman who had spoken appeared at the top of the sweeping stairs. She could only stare at the woman's face, stiff and mask-like, and the eyes sunken behind too-high cheekbones and under permanently surprised eyebrows and bright blue eyeshadow. Her hair, teased and frizzed and beginning to show black and gray roots, was platinum blonde and topped by a sequined bow. Her body looked unnaturally large at the top and unnaturally small at the bottom under the man's shirt she had obviously slept in, and her long legs were as darkly tanned as her face and her heavily ringed hands.

Who was she? Obviously the wife this man had betrayed.

"Why am I here?" Susan asked the silent Spirit again, but it only pointed towards the woman and the young man.

"Merry Christmas, darling," the woman purred, coming down into the foyer and putting her arms around his neck. "Are you having a happy day?"

"I am. Very happy." He slipped his arms around her and gave her a passionate kiss and then a suggestive little grin. "But it could be happier."

Susan felt faintly ill when the woman giggled like a teenager and nuzzled his ear. "Are you sure?" she whispered. "Are you sure your girlfriend won't mind?"

His grin vanished and then made a faint reappearance. "Wh-what do you mean?"

She shoved him away from her, and though her face apparently could not change expression, fury fairly crackled in her throaty voice.

"I mean, darling, that I've had you followed for the past month. I know about you and that tart you sleep with. And before you tell me she means nothing to you, let me assure you that I don't care. You are perfectly free to see whomever you please whenever you please. I've already filed for divorce, your credit cards have been cancelled and I've moved all the money from our joint account, so do what you like as usual. From now on, though, I will not be paying for it."

"Come on, babe," the man whined. "Be reasonable. You got what you paid for, didn't you?"

"I loved you," she cried, and tears leaked down her immobile face. "You were just in it for the money. Gigolo!"

"And just how did you get your money in the first place, Your Majesty?" He sneered. "You're no different than I am."

Susan backed away from them, clutching at the Sprit's black sleeve, at its pale hand. "Please, take me away from here."

"See."

Susan started at hearing the Spirit speak at last. Its voice was low and grave, and yet there was a pleading there and something more, a desperation perhaps. What must she see?

It turned her again to the man and the woman, this time keeping one pale hand on hers and slipping one black-clad arm around her shoulders.

"See what will be."

"But who are these people? Why must I see them?"

"See," the Specter repeated. "See what will be."

"Before I see more," said Susan, "answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of the things that May be only?"

"Will be," murmured the Ghost, "if the course is not changed. What is sown must be reaped. It is only just."

"But mercy," she pled. "Can you show me nothing of mercy?"

"There is but one place to obtain that. I can tell you how it was given to me, a traitor, but I cannot get it for you. You must ask mercy yourself from the One who can give it."

"Tell me," she breathed, looking on the pale hand still in hers, the hand that she was certain had once been familiar. Justice? Mercy? A traitor?

"Tell me," she begged again. "Tell me of the knife and the Witch and the Stone Table and how the Lion died . . . for my brother."

She reached up and pushed back the black hood and found herself looking into eyes that were nearly as black, but they were filled with love and compassion and with glittering tears.

"Do you know me at last?"

"Edmund. Oh, Edmund." She crushed herself against him, almost dislodging his silver crown. "Why didn't you speak? All this while?"

"You needed to see. You still must see."

She clung to him, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't like it here. Please take me away."

He looked grieved, but he shook his head. "You must see, Susan. You must see where the road ends."

He turned her again to the couple at the foot of the sweeping stairway. The woman stood there trembling with rage.

"What did you just say?"

The man made a low, mocking bow. "I said, Your Majesty, that you're no different than I am. If I'm a gigolo, then you're a wh–"

She cracked her palm across his face and stalked up the marble stairs. Swift and silent as a cat, he was behind her. Just as she reached the top, he grabbed hold of her shirttail and gave it a hard yank. She screamed and went tumbling backwards, landing in a silent heap on the foyer floor.

He almost fell himself, scrambling back down to her.

Susan stood with both hands over her mouth, watching as he felt for the pulse in her unnaturally bent neck and looked into her sightless, staring eyes. Blue eyes. She was a great beauty in her day.

The man looked panicked and as if he might be sick. Then something sly came into his eyes. She had fallen, and it seemed no one could prove it was anything but an accident. He would have her money and the girl he wanted. She would have nothing. Nothing ever again.

He brushed a strand of bleached hair out of her face and smiled. "Thank you, Susan."

Susan tried to speak, tried to scream, but she could only sink to her knees before the Spirit.

"No," she breathed, burying her face against it. "Please, no. It can't. That's not me. It's not. Edmund, don't let it end that way. It can't. It can't!"

"I am only here to show you what is to come," the Ghost said, though now a tear trickled down one cheek. "There is no more I can do."

"Edmund, hear me! I am not who I was! Why show me this if I am past all hope?"

"There is always hope."

"Take me away from here," she begged, tears blinding her. "Save me from this!"

"I cannot. I am not the One who saves. You must go to Him. Believe in Him. My time is up."

"Edmund! Don't go! Don't leave me! Please!"

In her agony, she caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but she was strong in her entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit stronger yet, repulsed her.

Holding up her hands in a last prayer to have her fate reversed, she saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and cloak. It shrunk, collapsed and dwindled down into a bedpost.

Coming up: STAVE FIVE: THE END OF IT