Endings and beginnings

This morning I wrote the last few pages of the first draft of a story titled Cassandra. When writing a series, such as my Fair Warrior Chronicles, the ending of each story also needs to lead to the beginning of the next. The Fair Warrior Chronicles will consist of six stories, each told from the point of view of one of the six people who stumble on a spellbound cave. The first story, Minotaur, was published last month by eXtasy Books. The second, Huntress, is scheduled for publication on June 15. The third, Midas, is ready for the copy editor. The fourth, Cassandra, is built around the quest of the title character to find her lost love, Paul. I don't know the title of the fifth story yet. I know it will be from Paul's point of view.

Here's my first draft of the ending of Cassandra:

     The air clears. I'm on my back, naked, under an empty sky. Beside me on the grass two naked men stretch slowly, sit up, and become Evan and Andrew. Their cocks are hard. Close by, Greg holds his head in his hands. His bull mask lies on the grass beside him.

    The women lie as if they've been thrown by a storm. All are undressed. Marianne crawls to Evan and collapses in his arms. She's crying. Her hands try to cover her cunt, and then fall away. He whispers to her, "It's over."

      A harsh noise overhead rouses us all. A helicopter lifts rapidly into the sky. The single figure leaning out the door to look at us is not outfitted like a soldier. It's a man, tall, dark haired, in a dark suit. He fades to invisibility. The helicopter becomes a point against the unbroken blue.

     The silence fills with the groans and gasps of other men. I look around. The other two helicopters must have crashed together. They lay in a heap, engulfed in flames.

       The men who rode the helicopters are scattered over the lawn. Their uniforms have been rent by the explosion. Some try to move. Others lie still.

            One of the soldiers stands. The blast has shredded his uniform. The few rags left hanging on him cover nothing. Orion and Chiron see him and attack. Their leaping rush throws him to the ground. One of the dogs takes his arm, the other takes his neck.

          I'm on my feet, running to him. I take Orion by the collar, scolding and commanding until he releases the man's neck. Chiron obeys my command and sits by his brother. Blood runs over the soldier's chest. The dogs didn't bite him. Their grip left no marks. He's wounded some other way.

  He will be well. I don't know if I'm foretelling or hoping. I'll bend fate if I have to, but I will see that he survives. I kneel and cradle his head in my lap. I kiss his forehead and touch my lips to his ear. I whisper, "Paul, Paul, I've found you."

          That's pretty rough-drafty, but it illustrates what I mean about endings. I've been brooding over a story line for Paul's story. This morning after I got to the end of Cassandra, I finally began to develop a concept of how Paul's story will start and where it might head.  Endings are beginnings for writers as well as readers.