Darius tears into his mother’s bedroom.
Sela jumps out of bed.
“What are you doing in here?” she hollers uncharacteristically and grabs for her robe. “Get out!”
“Mom, I need you,” Darius admits for the first time since he was small. The hairs on his arms stand at attention. His heart pounds like a jackhammer.
Sela is frightened by his urgency. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
“Who cares what room I’m in?” Darius says, clenching his teeth. “What’s the matter with you? It’s about Mahlah —”
Sela covers the side of her neck as best she can. She crouches down and points to the hallway for him to get out.
Darius yells, “Stand the fuck up and listen to me! Mahlah’s Card … it was supposed to say —”
Sela punches the side of her neck over and over. Darius has heard about Datura outbursts like these but has never seen one in person. He runs to his mother and grabs both of her wrists, causing her to whip her head from side to side and screech nonsensical words at the top of her lungs.
“Don’t pull this Datura shit with me now! Mom — I saw something —”
With a strength that surprises both of them, Sela frees her hand from Darius’s grip and clamps it over his mouth to shut him up. Darius bites her index finger, and she pulls her hand away.
“I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see,” says Darius.
Desperate, Sela headbutts Darius, cracking the bridge of his nose. As blood flows from his nose, he flies back into a shelf of framed photos that all come crashing down.
Sela screams and starts picking up objects and throwing them around the room.
Darius wipes the pool of blood from his face with the sleeve of his white shirt. He dodges airborne knick-knacks and old perfume bottles. He drops to the floor and crawls over to the bedroom door then out into the hallway.
Sela slams her door shut behind him. Darius turns and smashes his fists against the door repeatedly, until splintered panels bloody his hands.
Sela falls against her door and slumps to the floor. She muffles her sobs as best she can.
Darius runs through his house then flies out the back door. He zooms past Mahlah, who swings on the back rocking chair, humming an old hymn from the Book. She spots Darius, smeared in blood.
“Darius! What happened?!”
“Nothing,” Darius says. He whips around the side of the house, then out front. He is about to summon a driver when he sees Noah’s car. In his frantic state, Darius questions nothing and jumps into the back seat.
“Where to?” Noah asks, ignoring the blood that covers Darius’s hands and face. Noah’s demeanor remains unexpectedly … jolly.
“I don’t know where to go,” Darius admits, but then he blurts, “To Quiet End!”
“Whatever you say.”
As Noah maneuvers through Zalmon’s morning traffic, Darius activates his phone. It displays his customary options:
Phone Mom?
Phone Mahlah?
Phone Zuriel?
Phone Vocation Office?
Phone Medical Center?
Darius feels a dagger to his heart, noticing for the first time that the Communications Center has wiped Phone Grandpa Felix from the list. Why? He’s not even dead yet. He’s still awaiting his Welcome Release at Quiet End.
But alas, Darius has to make a choice, and he does. He selects the third option.
“Darius?” Zuriel answers.
Noah listens in on Darius’s end of the conversation.
“You busy?” Darius asks Zuriel.
“Yes. I’m just about to assist with a Release.”
“I … I need … someone.” Darius rubs his eyes.
“What for? I can’t see you right now.”
“Can I meet you there?” Darius presses.
Noah eyes Darius in the rearview mirror.
“You know the rules, Darius,” Zuriel answers.
“I’ll slip in the back. No one will know.” He hangs up the phone before Zuriel can protest.
Noah pulls the car up to the unassuming rear door of Quiet End. Darius reads its signage: Shipping and Receiving.
Before Noah releases the car doors, he turns to Darius in the back seat and hands him a small paper.
“For in case you need that hand looked after,” Noah says.
Darius is suddenly aware of his blood-soaked knuckles. He looks down at them. He looks over at the paper. He looks into Noah’s eyes and swears he can see his reflection in them. Darius takes the paper. He runs his finger over a small, bizarre, snake-like symbol embossed in its corner alongside the name Aysa Relenday.
“Off you go.” Noah releases the car door locks.
Darius sneaks through the long, desolate hallways of Quiet End before he finds his way to a massive, bright-white room. He sees a small table with the Book on it and a big, uncomfortable-looking chair. To the left, he sees a closet. Darius enters the closet to hide. He closes the door tight.
Zuriel enters the room, pushing a cart full of strange apparatuses. She is with a woman in her forties who wears her hair slicked back in a bun and balances thin-rimmed wire glasses near the tip of her nose.
Zuriel mirrors all of the woman’s moves. When the woman walks over to a cabinet, Zuriel walks over to the cabinet. When the woman puts on latex gloves, Zuriel puts on latex gloves.
Not far behind the two of them is a man in his late fifties. The man is slightly overweight and dressed from head to toe in baby-soft white cotton pajamas.
The woman turns around to greet the man. “Oh, Mr. Sheba. You look very nice.”
Zuriel hands a tall glass to Mr. Sheba. He takes a long, slow drink. His hands tremble.
“Mr. Sheba, that is Zuriel,” the woman announces. “Zuriel is my apprentice.”
“My wishes.” Zuriel curtsies slightly as she’s introduced.
“Hello,” Mr. Sheba manages.
“Zuriel is going to walk you over to that chair and settle you in,” the woman says.
Mr. Sheba peers at the chair as unruly tears glaze his eyes. The peace that he once felt about his Final Days abandons him now.
“Now now, Mr. Sheba, there’s nothing to cry about.” The woman purses her lips. “This is your Welcome Release,” she reminds him. “Rejoice.”
The man nods.
The woman motions for Zuriel to get The Book of Zalmon. Zuriel practically trips, she’s so excited. She grabs the Book in one hand, then she approaches the man and double-taps his arm with her other. Zuriel’s initiative makes the woman smile. To reward her pupil, she starts to leave the room.
“Really?” Zuriel beams.
“I’ve never been more confident that things are under control,” the woman says, intent on a longer lunch break.
“You’re not going to be here?” Mr. Sheba worries. “She’s so young and —”
“Would you like me to read to you, Mr. Sheba?” Zuriel asks.
The man watches the woman leave the room. His breaths are shallow. Resignedly, he nods.
In the closet, Darius wonders if he should pop out. He can’t see what’s going on from here, but he can definitely sense the gravity of the moment.
Zuriel opens the Book, parts her blood-red, lipsticked lips, licks her finger, and flips to a dog-eared page. She bows her head for a moment of silence before she reads aloud.
“Our Welcome Release is the epitome of all grand days. The day we arrange to be at one with our Master. The day for which we lived our lives wholly, submissively, and obediently.” Zuriel extends her hand and points a finger at Mr. Sheba. “We praise those who embrace the final moments of this life in Zalmon, knowing of the blessed eternity thereafter.” She turns the page. “We are not here simply because we fear a Natural Death. We are here to revel blissfully in the Zalmon promise.”
Mr. Sheba wipes tears from his cheeks. Oblivious, Zuriel closes the Book and returns it to the table. She looks up and smiles at Mr. Sheba, then she leads him to the chair.
Darius doesn’t know what in the world is going on out there now. It’s quiet. Too quiet. He wants out. He opens the door slightly to assess the situation. He sees that both Zuriel and the man have their full attention on the chair, and he opens the door fully, slinks along the wall, and narrowly escapes the room.
Darius knows that trespassing into Quiet End is punishable. Although they entertain anyone who books guided tours and Final Visits, absolutely no one is permitted to run the grounds unattended and purposeless. Darius keeps out of sight of personnel as he moves in and out of hidden corners and empty corridors. Once he enters the familiar communal areas, he stays guarded and makes his way to the painting room. He peeks inside. It’s empty; he was hoping to find his grandfather in there.
Someone is coming. Darius hides behind the painting room door. Through the crack, Darius sees Priya. She takes his breath away as she wanders around the room from station to station, putting away paintbrushes and straightening splattered easels.
Priya stops at one of the easels and looks over her shoulder, making sure she’s in the clear before picking up a paintbrush. She smiles a smile to herself that warms Darius from head to toe. He tiptoes up to her quietly.
Priya dips the paintbrush into a leftover yellow mixture and makes a nearly perfect circle in the middle of a small, incomplete canvas. As she fills in the shape, she sways her hips in time with the brush strokes, mesmerized by the symphony it yields in her mind.
“Hi,” Darius whispers.
Priya gasps and bumps into the easel, tipping it onto her thighs. A rainbow of vibrant colors soaks the front of her soft pink uniform. She flurries to clean it up.
“What are you doing here, Darius?” she whisper-yells.
“Please don’t tell anyone. I’ll be out in a minute. I just need to know where my grandfather is.”
Priya avoids eye contact.
Darius dips his head to catch her eyes. There is a long pause. Too long. Darius knows what it means.
“When?”
“Last week,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry, Darius. I thought you knew.”
Darius wants to erupt, but something about Priya’s apologetic voice calms him. “No. I didn’t know. I can’t believe he went even earlier than early. I was hoping he’d change his mind and come home.”
“Oh, Darius, no one chooses a Natural —”
“Please. Do not go there,” Darius says.
“Felix talked a lot about your dad.”
Darius glares at her. He wants to tell her everything about Mahlah and how she averted a Natural Death or whatever in the world transpired last night, but he knows he can’t. Or shouldn’t.
“I wanted my grandfather to spend his final weeks with us,” he says.
“Well, he really wanted to be with his Rhonda.” Priya looks around, then whispers, “I probably shouldn’t say this; it won’t make you feel better, but … he did say that he was very lonely here.”
“Why didn’t he call us?”
Suddenly, a voice from the doorway chills them. “It was forbidden.”
Zuriel.
“You already had your Final Visit with him,” she says. She eyes the colorful spill on Priya’s uniform.
Priya whips around and tends to the easels and cleanup duty.
Zuriel turns to Darius. “Felix is at peace.”
“Nice of you to tell me.”
“You said you needed me, Darius?” Zuriel emphasizes it loud and proud as Priya pretends not to hear.
Darius grabs Zuriel’s arm and yanks her out of the painting room.
Back outside, near the Shipping and Receiving door, Darius finally lets go of Zuriel. She rubs the spot left in place of his hand.
“What are you thinking, grabbing me like that?” Zuriel is disgusted. “Anyone could have caught us in there!”
“There’s a lot of shit going on, Zuriel. I have questions.”
“You always have questions,” Zuriel says, rolling her eyes.
Darius starts to respond but is distracted by the sight of Noah driving oddly around the parking lot.
“Seriously, Darius,” Zuriel pushes. “You’re just like your father.”
Darius clenches his fists. He doesn’t know what to do with the anger inside of him. He howls and punches the wall repeatedly. He likes the hurt.
“I’ll report you if you don’t pull yourself together,” Zuriel threatens. “They’ll detain you for Relationship Intervention counseling. Say bye-bye to your weekends, dear.” With a huff, she retreats inside.
As Darius pounds the pavement, he becomes aware that Noah is following him in his car. “You can trust me, kid,” Noah calls out through an open window. “Get in.”