That night, Wallace followed the cable to find Hugo out back, leaning against the deck railing. It was cloudy, the stars hidden away. He paused in the doorway, unsure of his welcome. An odd sense of guilt washed through him, though he didn’t allow it to grow any larger. It was worth it, seeing the smile on Mei’s face.
Before he could turn back around and go inside, Hugo said, “Hello.”
Wallace scratched the back of his neck. “Hello, Hugo.”
“All right?”
“I think so. Do you … want to be left alone? I don’t want to intrude or anything.”
Hugo shook his head without turning around. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Wallace went to the railing, keeping a bit of distance between Hugo and himself. He worried Hugo was angry with him, though he didn’t think Hugo should be upset over something so trivial as using a Ouija board to scare away a grifter. Still, it wasn’t his place to tell Hugo what he could or could not feel, especially since this was his shop. His home.
Hugo said, “You’re thinking about apologizing, aren’t you?”
Wallace sighed. “That obvious, huh?”
“A little. Don’t.”
“Don’t apologize?”
Hugo nodded, glancing at him before looking out at the tea garden. “You did the right thing.”
“I told a woman I was Satan and was going to cannibalize her diver.” He grimaced. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d say out loud.”
“First time for everything,” Hugo said. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Okay.”
“Why did you do it?”
Wallace frowned as he crossed his arms. “Mess with them like that?”
“Yes.”
“Because I could.”
“That’s it?”
Well, no. But that he hadn’t liked the way Desdemona had flirted with him wasn’t something Wallace would ever admit. It made him sound ridiculous, even if there’d been a kernel of truth to it. Nothing could be done about it, and Wallace wasn’t about to say something that made it sound like he had a crush of some sort. The very idea caused a wave of embarrassment to wash over him, and he felt his face grow warm. It was stupid, really. Nothing would come of it. He was dead. Hugo was not.
So he said the first thing he latched onto that didn’t make him sound like he was about to swoon. “Mei.” And with that one word, he knew it was the truth, much to his consternation.
“What about her?”
Wallace sighed. “I … She was upset. I didn’t like the way Desdemona talked down to her. Like Mei was beneath her. No one should be made to feel that way.” And because he was still Wallace, he added, “I mean, Mei did want to commit a felony, sure, but she’s all right, I guess.”
“That’s quite a ringing endorsement.”
“You know what I mean.”
He was surprised when Hugo said, “I think I do. You saw something happening to someone you consider a friend and felt the need to intervene.”
“I wouldn’t call her a friend—”
“Wallace.”
He groaned. “Fine. Whatever. We’re friends.” It wasn’t as hard to say out loud as he thought it would be. He wondered if he’d always made things so difficult for himself. “Why did you let it happen?”
Hugo looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“This isn’t the first time she’s come here. Desdemona.”
“No,” Hugo said slowly. “It’s not.”
“And you know how Mei doesn’t like her. Especially when she involved Nancy.”
“Yeah.”
“Then why didn’t you put a stop to it?” He was careful not to put any censure in his voice. He wasn’t angry, exactly—not at Hugo—but he didn’t understand. He honestly expected more. He didn’t know when that had started, but it was there all the same. “Mei’s your friend too. Didn’t you see how much it upset her?”
“Not as much as I should have,” Hugo said. He stared off into the darkness of the woods around them.
“You know her history,” Wallace said, unsure of why he was pushing this. All he knew was that it felt important. “What happened to her. Before.”
“She told you.”
“She did. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I can’t even imagine what it’d be like to have no one listen to you when you’re…” He stopped himself, remembering how he’d screamed for someone to hear him after he collapsed in his office. How he’d tried to get someone, anyone to see him. He’d felt invisible. “It’s not right.”
“No,” Hugo said. “I don’t suppose it is.” His jaw tightened. “And for what it’s worth, I’ve apologized to Mei. I shouldn’t have let it get as far as it did.” He shook his head. “I think part of me wanted to see what you would do, even after I’d told you no.”
“Why?”
“To see what you were capable of,” Hugo said quietly. “You’re not alive, Wallace. But you still exist. I don’t think you realized that until today.”
He could almost believe that, coming from Hugo. “Still shouldn’t have done that to her. Or let Desdemona interfere with Nancy like she did.”
“Yeah. I can see that now. I’m not perfect. I never claimed to be. I still make mistakes like everyone else, even though I try my best. Being a ferryman doesn’t absolve me of being human. If anything, it only makes things harder. If I make a mistake, people can get hurt. All I can do is promise to do better and not let something like that happen again.” He smiled ruefully. “Not that I think Desdemona will come back. At least not for a long time to come. You saw to that.”
“Damn right,” Wallace said, puffing out his chest. “Gave ’em the ol’ what for.”
“You really need to stop hanging out with Grandad.”
“Eh. He’s all right. Don’t tell him I said that, though. He’d never let me hear the end of it.” Wallace reached out to touch Hugo’s hand until he remembered he couldn’t. He pulled his arm away quickly. Hugo, for his part, didn’t react. Wallace was thankful for that, even as he remembered the way it’d felt to have Mei hugging him as hard as she could. He didn’t know when he’d become so desperate for contact.
He struggled with something to say, something to distract them both. “I made mistakes too. Before.” He paused. “No, that’s not quite right. I still make mistakes.”
“Why?” Hugo asked.
Why, indeed. “To err is human, I guess. I wasn’t like you, though. I didn’t let it affect me. I should have, but I just … I don’t know. I always blamed others and told myself to learn from their mistakes, and not necessarily my own.”
“What do you think that means?”
It was a hard truth to face, and one he still wasn’t sure he was ready for. “I don’t know if I was a good person.” He let the words float between them for a moment, bitter though they were.
“What makes a good person?” Hugo asked. “Actions? Motivations? Selflessness?”
“Maybe all of it,” Wallace said. “Or maybe none of it. You said you don’t know what’s on the other side of that door, even though you see the looks on their faces when they cross. How do you know there’s no Heaven or Hell? What if I walk through that door, and I’m judged for every wrong I’ve done and it outweighs all the rest? Would I deserve to be in the same place as someone who devoted their life to … whatever? Like, I don’t know. A nun, or something.”
“A nun,” Hugo repeated, struggling against laughter. “You’re comparing yourself to a nun.”
“Shut up,” Wallace grumbled. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said, voice light and teasing. “Kinda would give almost anything to see you in a nun’s habit, though.”
Wallace sighed. “Pretty sure that’s blasphemous.”
Hugo snorted before sobering. He seemed to be mulling something over in his mind. Wallace waited, not wanting to push. Finally, Hugo said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah. Of course. Anything.”
“It’s not always like this,” Hugo said, voice hushed. “I could tell you I’m firm in my beliefs, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. It’s … like this place. The tea shop. It’s sturdy, the foundation’s set, but I don’t think it’d take much to see it all come toppling down. A tremor. An earthquake. The walls would crumble, the floor would crack, and all that would be left is rubble and dust.”
“You’ve had an earthquake,” Wallace said.
“I have. Two, in fact.”
He didn’t want to know. He wanted to change the subject, to talk about anything else so Hugo wouldn’t look as miserable as he did. But in the end, he said nothing at all. He didn’t know which was more cowardly.
Hugo said, “Cameron was … troubled, when he came to me. I could see that the moment he walked through the door, trailing after my Reaper.”
“Not Mei.”
He shook his head. “No. This was before her.” He scowled. “This Reaper wasn’t … like her. We worked together, but we clashed more often than not. But I thought he knew what he was doing. He’d been a Reaper for far longer than I’d been a ferryman, and I told myself he knew more than I ever could, especially seeing as how I was new at all of this. I didn’t want to cause trouble, and as long as I kept my head down, I figured we could make it work.
“He brought Cameron. He didn’t want to be here. He refused to believe he was dead. He was angry, so angry that I could almost taste it. It’s to be expected, of course. It’s hard to accept a new reality when the only life you’ve known is gone forever. He didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. He told me this place was nothing but a prison, that he was trapped here, and I was nothing but his captor.”
There was the guilt Wallace had been trying to avoid. It clawed at his chest. “I didn’t…”
“I know,” Hugo said. “It’s not … you’re not like him. You never were. I knew all I had to do was give you time, and you’d see. Even if you didn’t agree, even if you didn’t like it, you’d understand. And I don’t think you’re quite there yet, but you will be.”
“How?” Wallace asked. “How did you know that?”
“Peppermint tea,” Hugo said. “It was so strong, stronger than almost any tea I’ve made for someone like you before. You weren’t angry. You were scared and acting angry. There’s a difference.”
Wallace thought of his mother in the kitchen, candy canes in the oven. “What happened to Cameron?”
“He left,” Hugo said. “And nothing I could do or say would stop him.” His voice grew hard. “The Reaper told me to let him go. That he’d learn his lesson and come running back the moment he saw his skin starting to flake. And because I didn’t know what else to do, I listened to the Reaper.”
Wallace felt his own tremor, vibrating through his skin. “He didn’t come back.”
Hugo was stricken. Wallace could see it plainly on his face. It made him look impossibly young. “No. He didn’t. I’d been warned, before, what could happen if someone like you left. What those people could become. But I didn’t think it could happen so quickly. I wanted to give him space, to allow him to make the decision to come back on his own. The Reaper told me I was wasting my time. The only reason I went in the first place was the tie between us just … snapped. The Reaper was right, in his own way. By the time I found him, it was already too late.” He hesitated. Then, “We call them Husks.”
Wallace frowned. “Husks? What does that mean?”
Hugo bowed his head. “It’s … apt. For what he is. An empty shell of who he used to be. His humanity is gone. Everything that made him who he is, every memory, every feeling, it’s just … gone. And there’s nothing I can do to bring him back. That was my first earthquake as a ferryman. I’d failed someone.”
Wallace reached for him—to offer comfort?—but stopped when he remembered he couldn’t touch Hugo. He curled his fingers as he dropped his hand. “But you didn’t stop.”
“No,” Hugo said. “How could I? I told myself that I’d made a mistake, and even though it was a terrible one, I couldn’t allow it to happen to anyone else. The Manager came. He told me that it was part of the job, and there was nothing I could do to help Cameron. He made his choice. The Manager said it was unfortunate, and that I needed to do everything in my power to make sure it didn’t happen again. And I believed him. It wasn’t until a couple of months later when the Reaper brought a little girl that I realized just how little I knew.”
A little girl.
Wallace closed his eyes. Nancy was there in the dark, her eyes tired, the lines on her face pronounced.
“She was vibrant,” Hugo said, and Wallace wished he would stop. “Her hair was a mess, but I think it was always that way. She was talking, talking, talking, asking question after question. ‘Who are you? Where am I? What is this? When can I go home?’” His voice broke. “‘Where’s my mom?’ The Reaper wouldn’t answer her. He wasn’t like Mei. Mei has this … innate goodness in her. She can be a little rough around the edges, but there’s a reverence about her. She gets how important this work is. We don’t want to cause further trauma. We have to offer kindness, because there is never a time in life or death when someone is more vulnerable.”
“How did she die?” Wallace whispered.
“Ewing sarcoma. Tumors in the bones. She fought all the way until the end. They thought she was getting better. And maybe she was, at least for a little while. But it proved to be too much for her.” Wallace opened his eyes in time to see Hugo wipe his face as he sniffled. “She was here for six days. Her tea tasted like gingerbread. She said it was because her mother made the most beautiful gingerbread houses and castles. Gumdrop doors and cookie towers. Moats made of blue icing. She was … wonderful. Never angry, only curious. Children aren’t always as scared as adults are. Not of death.”
“What was her name?”
“Lea.”
“That’s pretty.”
“It is,” Hugo agreed. “She laughed a lot. Grandad liked her. We all did.”
And though he didn’t want to know, he asked, “What happened to her?”
Hugo hung his head. “Children are different. Their connections to life are stronger. They love with their whole hearts because they don’t know how else to be. Lea’s body had been ravaged for years. Toward the end, she never saw the outside of her hospital room. She told me about a sparrow that would come to the window almost every morning. It would stay there, watching her. It always came back. She wondered if she would have wings where she was going. I told her that she would have anything she wanted. And she looked at me, Wallace. She looked at me and said, ‘Not everything. Not yet.’ And I knew what she meant.”
“Her mother.”
Hugo said, “Part of them lingers because they burn so brightly in such a short amount of time. While I slept, Lea thought of her mother. And it somehow manifested itself to Nancy. She was hundreds of miles away.” His words took on a bitter twist. “I don’t know quite how she found us. But she came here, to this place, demanding that we give her back her daughter.” He looked stricken when he added, “She called the cops.”
“Oh no.”
Hugo sounded like he was choking. “They found nothing, of course. And when they learned what had happened to her daughter, they thought she was … well. That she’d just snapped. And who could blame her for that? None of them knew that Lea was right there, that she was shouting for her mother, that she was screaming. Lights shattered. Teacups broke. She said she wanted to go home. I tried to stop him. The Reaper. I tried to stop him when he grabbed her by the hand. I tried to stop him when he dragged her up the stairs. I tried to stop him as he forced her through the door. She didn’t want to go. She was begging. ‘Please don’t make me disappear.’”
Wallace’s skin turned to ice.
“The Reaper made her cross,” Hugo said, his bitterness a palpable thing. “The door slammed shut before I could get to her. And when I tried to open it again, it wouldn’t budge. It’d served its purpose, and there was no reason for it to open again. And oh, Wallace, I was so angry. The Reaper told me it was the right thing to do, that if we’d let it go on, then we ran the risk of only hurting both of them more. And more than that, it was what the Manager would want, what he told us we had to do. But I didn’t believe him. How could I? We aren’t supposed to force someone before they’re ready. That’s not our job. We’re here to make sure they see that life isn’t always about living. There are many parts to it, and it continues on, even after death. It’s beautiful, even when it hurts. Lea would’ve gotten there, I think. She would have understood.”
“What happened to him?” Wallace asked dully. “The Reaper.”
Hugo’s face hardened. “He screwed up. He’d never had the temperament I thought a Reaper needed, but what the hell did I know?” He shook his head. “He said that it was the only thing that could be done, and that in the end, I’d see that. But it only made me angrier. And then the Manager came.”
Wallace could see the bigger picture, slowly forming in front of him. “What is he?”
“A guardian of the doors,” Hugo said quietly. “A little god. One of the oldest beings in existence. Take your pick. Any will do. He says he’s order in chaos. He’s also a hard-ass who doesn’t like it when things upset his order. He came to the tea shop. The Reaper tried to excuse what he’d done. ‘Tell him, Hugo. Tell him that what I did was right, that it was necessary.’”
“Did you?” Wallace asked.
“No,” Hugo said, voice as cold as Wallace had ever heard it. “I didn’t. Because even though a Reaper is supposed to help a ferryman, it’s not up to them to force a person into something they’re not ready for. There is order, yes; the Manager thrives on it, but he also knows these things take time. One moment, the Reaper was standing next to me, begging to be heard, and all I could think about was how he sounded just like Lea. And then he was gone. Just … blinked out of existence. The Manager didn’t even lift a finger. I was shocked. Horrified. And the guilt I felt then, Wallace. It was overwhelming. I’d done this. It was my fault.”
“It wasn’t,” Wallace said, suddenly furious, though at what, he couldn’t be sure. “You did everything you could. You didn’t screw up, Hugo. He did.”
“Did he get what he deserved?”
Wallace blanched. “I…”
“The Manager said he did. He said that it was for the best. That death is a process, and anything that undermines that process is only a detriment.”
“Nancy doesn’t know, does she?”
“No,” Hugo whispered. “She doesn’t. She was oblivious to it all. She stayed in a hotel for weeks, coming here every day, though she spoke less and less. I think part of her knew that it wasn’t like it’d been before. Whatever she’d felt regarding Lea was gone because Lea was gone. There was a finality to it that she wasn’t prepared for. She’d convinced herself that her daughter’s death was a fluke. That somehow she was still here. She was right, in a way, until she wasn’t. And that light in her eyes, that same light I’d seen in Lea’s, began to sputter and die.”
“She’s still here,” Wallace said, though he didn’t know what that meant. The woman he’d seen appeared to be no different than he: a ghost.
“She is,” Hugo said. “She left for a few months, and I thought that was the end of it, that she’d somehow begin to heal. The Manager brought Mei, and I told myself it was for the best. I was busy learning about my new Reaper, trying to make sure she wasn’t like her predecessor. It took me a long time to trust her. Mei will tell you that I was a jerk at first, and that’s probably true. It was hard for me to trust someone like her again.”
“But you did.”
Hugo shrugged. “She earned it. She’s not like anyone else. She knows the importance of what we do, and she doesn’t take it for granted. But above all else, she’s kind. I don’t know if I can adequately explain how significant that is. This life isn’t an easy one. Day in and day out we’re surrounded by death. You either learn to live with it, or let it destroy you. My first Reaper didn’t get that. And people paid the price because of it, innocent people who didn’t deserve what happened to them.” He looked down at his hands, eyes dull in the dark. “Nancy came back. She rented an apartment in town, and most days, finds her way here. She doesn’t speak. She sits at the same table. She’s waiting, I think.”
“For what?”
“Anything,” Hugo said. “Anything to show her that those we love are never truly gone. She’s lost, and all I can do is be there for her when she finds her voice again. I owe her that much. I’ll never push her. I’ll never force her into something she’s not ready for. How could I? I already failed her once. I don’t want that to happen again.”
“It wasn’t you. You didn’t—”
“It was,” Hugo snapped at him, and Wallace could barely keep from flinching. “I could have done more. I should have done more.”
“How?” Wallace asked. “What more could you have possibly done?” Before Hugo could retort, Wallace continued. “You didn’t force Lea through the door. You didn’t cause her death. You were here when she needed you most, and now you’re doing the same for her mother. What more can you give, Hugo?”
Hugo sagged against the railing. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Without thinking, Wallace reached for him again, wanting to reassure him.
His hand went right through Hugo’s shoulder.
He pulled away, face pinched. “I’m not really here,” he whispered.
“You are, Wallace.”
Three words, and Wallace wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anything more profound. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Hugo said. “I wish I could. All I can do is show you the path before you, and help you make your own decisions.”
“What if I make the wrong one?”
“Then we start again,” Hugo said. “And hope for the best.”
Wallace snorted. “There’s that faith thing again.”
Hugo laughed, looking surprised as he did so. “Yeah, I guess so. You’re an odd man, Wallace Price.”
A flash of memory. Of calling Mei strange. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Is it? I’ll keep that in mind.” His smile faded. “It’s going to be hard. When you leave.”
Wallace swallowed thickly. “Why?”
“Because you’re my friend,” Hugo said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. No one had ever said that to Wallace before, and he was devastated by it. Here, at the end, he’d found a friend. “You…”
He remembered what Nelson had told him. “Fit.”
“Yeah,” Hugo said. “You fit. I didn’t expect that.”
And because he could, he said, “You should have unexpected it.”
Hugo laughed again, and they stood side by side, watching the tea plants sway back and forth.
The house was quiet.
Wallace sat on the floor.
He stared at the dying embers in the fireplace, Apollo’s head in his lap. He rubbed the dog’s ears absentmindedly, lost in thought.
He wasn’t aware he was going to speak until he did. “I never got to grow old.”
“No,” Nelson said from his chair. “I don’t suppose you did. And if you’d like, I can tell you that it’s not so great, that all the aches and pains are terrible and that I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but that’d be a lie.”
“I wouldn’t like that.”
“I didn’t think you would.” Nelson tapped Wallace’s shoulder with his cane. “Do you wish you had?”
And wasn’t that a conundrum? “Not as I was.”
“How were you?”
“Not good,” Wallace muttered. He looked down at his hands in his lap. “I was cruel and selfish. I didn’t care about anything but myself. It’s bullshit.”
“What is?”
“This,” Wallace said, tempering his frustration. “Seeing how I was, knowing that there’s nothing I can do to change it.”
“What would you do if you could?”
And wasn’t that the crux of it? A question where any answer would serve only to show that he’d failed at almost every aspect of his life. And for what? In the end, what had it gotten him? Fancy suits and an impressive office? People who did whatever he told them the moment he said it? Jump, he’d say, and they’d do just that. Not because of any allegiance to him, but out of fear of reprisal, of what he’d do if they failed him.
They were afraid of him. And he’d used that fear against them because it was easier than turning it on himself, shining a light on all his dark places. Fear was a powerful motivator, and now, now, now, he knew fear. He was afraid of so many things, but particularly the unknown.
It was this thought that made Wallace push himself up off the floor, suddenly determined. His hands were shaking, skin prickling, but he didn’t stop.
Nelson squinted up at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to see the door.”
Nelson’s eyes bulged as he struggled to rise from his chair. “What? Wait, Wallace, no, you don’t want to do that. Not until Hugo is there with you.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going through. I just want to see it.”
That didn’t calm Nelson down. He grunted as he stood, using the cane to pull himself up. “That’s not the point, boy. You need to be careful. Think, Wallace. Harder than you ever have in your life.”
He looked toward the stairs. “I am.”
He walked up the stairs, Nelson grumbling behind him. They paused on the second floor, the walls a pale yellow, the wooden floors silent underneath their feet, watching as Apollo walked down the hall toward a closed vibrant green door at the end. He walked through the door, tail wagging before it disappeared.
“Hugo’s room,” Nelson said.
Wallace knew that already, though he hadn’t been inside. At the other end of the hall was Mei’s room, the white door also closed, a sign hanging crooked on it that read: REMEMBER TO MAKE IT A GREAT DAY. The first day when he’d gone there and woken her up was the only time he’d been to the second floor.
He thought about going back downstairs, waiting for the alarm clocks to go off and another day to start.
He turned …
… and went up the stairs to the third floor.
The hook in his chest vibrated as he climbed each step. It felt almost hot, and if he focused hard enough, he thought he could hear whispers coming from the air around him.
He understood, then, that it wasn’t from Hugo like he’d first thought. Not just from Hugo, at least. Oh, Wallace was sure Hugo was part of it, as were Mei and Nelson and Apollo and this strange house. But there was more to it, something much grander than he expected. The air around him filled with whispers, almost like a song he couldn’t quite make out. It was calling for him, urging him upward. He blinked rapidly against the sting in his eyes, wondering if Lea had been able to hear any of this as she was pulled toward the door, fighting against the strong grip around her wrist.
He panted as he reached the landing on the third floor. To his right, an open loft, moonlight streaming in through the only window. A row of shelves lined the wall, filled with hundreds of books. Plants hung from the ceiling, their blooms gold and blue and yellow and pink.
To his left, a hallway with closed doors. Pictures hung on the walls: sunsets on white beaches, snow falling in thick clumps in an old forest, a church covered in moss with one stained glass window still intact.
“This is where I lived,” Nelson said, hands gripping his cane tightly. “My room is down at the end of the hall.”
“Do you miss it?”
“The room?”
“Life,” Wallace said distractedly, the hook tugging him onward.
“Some days. But I’ve learned to adapt.”
“Because you’re still here.”
“I am,” Nelson said. “I am.”
“Do you feel that?” he whispered. Weightless, like he was floating, the song, the whispers filling his ears.
Nelson looked troubled. “Yes, but it’s not the same for me. Not anymore. Not like it once was.”
And for the first time, Wallace thought Nelson was lying.
He continued up the stairs. The stairway was narrower, and he knew he was climbing toward the odd turret he’d first glimpsed upon his arrival with Mei. It’d been something out of a fairy tale, of kings and queens, a princess trapped in a tower. Of course this was where the door would be. He couldn’t imagine it anywhere else.
He took each step slowly. “Did you try to stop him?”
“Who?”
Wallace didn’t look back. “The Reaper. With Lea.”
Nelson sighed. “He told you.”
“Yes.”
“I did,” Nelson said, but it sounded faraway, like a great distance separated them. A dream, the edges hazy around a thin membrane. “I tried with all my might. But I wasn’t strong enough. The Reaper, he … wouldn’t listen. I did everything I could. Hugo did too.”
The stairs curved. Wallace gripped the railing without thinking. The wood was smooth under his fingers. “Why do you think he did what he did?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he thought it was the right thing to do.”
“Was it?”
“No,” Nelson said harshly. “He should never have laid a hand on that girl. He’d done his job by bringing her here. He should have left matters well enough alone. Wallace, are you sure about this? We could go back downstairs. Wake up Hugo. He wouldn’t mind. He should be here for this.”
Wallace wasn’t sure of anything. Not anymore. “I need to see it.”
And so he climbed.
Windows lined the walls, windows he hadn’t seen on the outside of the house. He laughed when he saw sunlight streaming through them, even though he knew it was the middle of the night. He paused at one of the windows, looking out through it. There should’ve been a vast expanse of forest on the other side, perhaps even a glimpse of a town in the distance, but instead, the window looked out into a familiar kitchen. The faint sounds of Christmas music filtered in through the window pane, and a woman pulled homemade candy canes from the oven.
He continued on.
He didn’t know how long it took to reach the top of the stairs. It felt like hours, though he suspected it was only a minute or two. He wondered if it was like this for everyone who’d come before him, and he almost wished Hugo were there, leading him by the hand. Such a funny little thought, he mused to himself. How it pleased him, the idea of holding Hugo’s hand. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Hugo he’d wished he’d known him before. He thought things could have been different, somehow.
He reached the fourth floor.
He was surrounded by windows, though the curtains had been drawn. A little chair sat next to a little table. On top of the table was a tea set: a pot and two cups. A vase had been placed next to the cups, filled with red flowers.
But no door.
He looked around. “I don’t … Where is it?”
Nelson lifted one finger, pointing up. Wallace lifted his head. And there, above them, was a door in the ceiling.
It wasn’t as he’d expected. In his fear, he’d built it up in his mind, a great metal thing with a heavy, foreboding lock. It’d be black and ominous, and he’d never work up the courage to walk through it.
It wasn’t like that.
It was just a door. In the ceiling, yes, but it was still just a door. It was wooden, the frame around it painted white. The doorknob was a clear crystal with a green center in the shape of a tea leaf. The whispers that had followed him up the stairs were gone. The insistent tugging on the hook in his chest had subsided. A hush had fallen in the house around them as if it held its very breath.
He said, “It’s not much, is it?”
“No,” Nelson said. “It doesn’t look like it, but appearances are deceiving.”
“Why is it in the ceiling? That’s a weird place for it. Has it always been there?” The house itself was strange, so he wouldn’t be surprised if it’d been part of the original construction, though he didn’t know what it could lead to aside from the roof.
“That’s where the Manager put it when he chose Hugo as a ferryman,” Nelson said. “Hugo opens the door, and we rise to whatever comes next.”
“What would happen if I opened it?” Wallace asked, still staring at the door.
Nelson sounded alarmed. “Please. Let me get Hugo.”
He tore his gaze away, looking back over his shoulder. Nelson was worried, his brow furrowed, but there was nothing Wallace could do about that now. He could barely move. “Can you feel it?”
He didn’t need to explain. Nelson knew what he meant. “Not always, and not as strong as it was before. It fades over time. It’s always there, at the back of my mind, but I’ve learned to ignore it.”
Wallace wanted to touch the door. He wanted to wrap his fingers around the doorknob, to feel the tea leaf pressed against his palm. He could see it clear in his mind: he would turn the tea leaf until the latch clicked, and then …
What?
He didn’t know, and not knowing was the scariest thing of all.
He stepped back, bumping into Nelson, who grabbed his arm. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” Wallace said. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I think I’d like to go back downstairs now.”
Nelson led him away.
The windows were dark as they descended the stairs. Outside, the forest was as it’d always been.
Before they reached the landing to the third floor, he looked out the last window to the long dirt road that led to the tea shop and strangely, a memory flitted through his head, one that didn’t feel like his own. Of being outside, face turned toward the warm, warm sun.
The memory faded, the night returning, and he saw someone standing on the dirt road.
Cameron, looking directly at Wallace. He held out his arm, palm toward the sky, fingers opening and closing, opening and closing.
“What is it?” Nelson asked him.
“Nothing,” Wallace said, turning away from the window. “Nothing at all.”