It was bigger than any stag Wallace had ever seen in pictures. Even from a distance, the creature looked as if it would tower over all of them. It held its head high, the many points of its antlers like a bony crown. As the stag stepped closer to the tea shop, Wallace could see flowers hanging from the antlers, their roots embedded into the velvet, blossoms in shades of ochre and fuchsia, cerulean and scarlet, canary and magenta. At the tips of its antlers were tiny white lights, as if the bones were filled with stars.
Wallace couldn’t move, a sound falling from his mouth like he’d been punched in the gut.
The stag’s nostrils flared, its eyes like black holes as it dug its hooves into the earth. Its hair was brown with white splotches along its back and considerable chest. Its tail swished back and forth. As the stag lowered its head, flower petals drifted down onto the ground.
Wallace said, “Oh. Oh. Oh.”
The stag jerked its head back up as if it’d heard him. It bleated softly, a long, mournful cry that caused a lump to form in Wallace’s throat.
He said, “Hugo. Hugo, are you seeing this?”
Hugo didn’t answer.
The stag stopped a few feet from the stairs to the tea shop. The flowers growing from its antlers folded in on themselves as if shutting away against the night. The stag reared up on its hind legs. Its belly was completely white.
And then the stag was gone, a frame rate stutter, a glitch in reality. The stag was there, and then it wasn’t.
In its place stood a child.
A boy.
He was young, perhaps nine or ten, with golden-brown skin, his eyes a strange shade of violet. Long, shaggy hair curled down around his ears, brown with streaks of white, unfurled flowers woven into the locks. He wore a T-shirt over jeans. It took Wallace a moment to make out the words on the shirt in the dark.
JUST A KID FROM TOPEKA
The boy’s feet were bare. He flexed his fingers and toes, tilting his head from side to side before looking up at the window once more, directly at Wallace. The boy nodded, and Wallace felt his throat close.
The boy began to climb the stairs.
Wallace stumbled back from the window. He managed to keep upright, though it was close. He looked around wildly, for someone, anyone to see what he was seeing. Hugo and Mei were as they’d been. Apollo and Nelson too. Alan, the same.
He was alone.
The boy knocked on the door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Go away,” Wallace croaked out. “Please, just go away.”
“I can’t do that, Wallace,” the boy said, his voice light, the words almost like musical notes. He wasn’t quite singing, but it wasn’t normal speech either. There was a weight to him, a presence Wallace could feel even through the door, heavy and ethereal. “It’s time we had a little chat.”
“Who are you?” Wallace whispered.
“You know who I am,” the boy said, voice muffled. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never do that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Understandable. You don’t know me. Let’s change that, shall we?”
The doorknob turned.
The door opened.
The boy stepped inside Charon’s Crossing. The wooden floors creaked under his feet. As he slowly closed the door behind him, the walls of the tea shop began to ripple like a breeze blowing across the surface of a pond. Wallace wondered what would happen if he tried to touch them, if he’d sink into the walls and drown.
The boy nodded at Wallace before looking around the room. He cocked his head at Alan, brow furrowing. “Angry, isn’t he? It’s odd, really. The universe is bigger than one can possibly imagine, a truth beyond comprehension, and yet all he knows is anger and hurt. Pain and suffering.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand, no matter how hard I try. It’s illogical.”
“What do you want?” Wallace asked. His back was pressed against the counter. He thought about running, but he didn’t think he’d get very far. And he wasn’t about to leave Hugo and Mei and Nelson and Apollo. Not while they couldn’t defend themselves.
“I’m not going to hurt them,” the boy said, and for a terrible moment, Wallace wondered if the child could read his mind. “I’ve never hurt anyone before.”
“I don’t believe you,” Wallace said again.
“You don’t?” The boy scrunched up his face. “Why?”
“Because of what you are.”
“What am I, Wallace?”
And with the last of his strength, Wallace whispered, “You’re the Manager.”
The boy seemed pleased with his answer. “I am. Silly title, but it fits, I suppose. My real name is much more complicated, and I doubt your human tongue would be able to pronounce it. It’d turn your mouth to mush if you tried.” He reached up and plucked a flower from his head, popping it into his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked on the petals. “Ah. That’s better. It’s hard for me to take this form and keep it for long. The flowers help.” He looked up at one of the potted plants hanging from the ceiling. “You’ve been watering these.”
“It’s my job,” Wallace said faintly.
“Is it?” He poked a finger against the planter. Leaves grew. Vines lengthened. Soil trickled down onto the floor, little motes of dust and dirt catching the light from the dying fire in the fireplace. “Do you know what my job is?”
Wallace shook his head, tongue thick in his mouth.
“Everything,” the boy said. “My job is everything.”
“Are you God?” Wallace choked out.
The boy laughed. It sounded like he was singing. “No. Of course not. There is no God, at least not like you’re thinking. He’s a human construct, one capable of great peace and violent wrath. It’s a dichotomy only found in the human mind, so of course he’d be made in your image. But I’m afraid he’s nothing but a fairy tale in a book of fiction. The truth is infinitely more complicated than that. Tell me, Wallace. What are you doing here?”
He kept his distance, which Wallace was grateful for. “I live here.”
“Do you?” the boy asked. “How do you figure?”
“I was brought here.”
The boy nodded. “You were. Mei, she’s good people. A little headstrong, but a Reaper has to be for all they deal with. There’s no one like her in all the world. The same could be said for Hugo. And Nelson. Apollo. Even you and Alan, though not quite in the same way.” He went to one of the tables and grabbed hold of a chair. He grunted as he pulled it down. It was bigger than he was, and Wallace thought it was going to crash down upon his head. It didn’t, and he set it on the floor before climbing onto it and sitting down. His feet dangled as he kicked them back and forth. He folded his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Wallace. I know so much about you, but it’s good to see you face to face.”
A fresh wave of terror washed over him. “Why are you here?”
The boy shrugged. “Why are any of us here?”
Wallace narrowed his eyes. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”
The boy laughed again. “I like you. I always have, even when you were … you know. A bastard.”
Wallace blinked. “Excuse me?”
“A bastard,” the boy repeated. “It took you dying to find your humanity. It’s hysterical if you think about it.”
A flare of anger burned in Wallace’s chest. “Oh, I’m so glad this is all such a riot to you.”
“There’s no need for that. I’m not being facetious. You’re not as you once were. Why do you think that is?”
Wallace said, “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay not to know.” The boy tilted his head against the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. It too shimmered like the walls, as if liquid instead of solid. “In fact, an argument could be made it’s better that way. Still … you’re a curiosity. And that means you have my attention.”
“Did you do this to them?” Wallace demanded. “If you’re hurting them, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” the boy asked.
Wallace said nothing.
The boy nodded. “I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you or them. They’re sleeping, in a way. When we’re finished, they’ll awaken and things will be as they always were and always will be. Do you like it here?”
“Yes.”
The boy looked around, the movement strangely stiff as if the bones in his neck were fused together. “It doesn’t seem like much from the outside, does it? A queer house made up of many different ideas. They should clash. They should crumble to the foundation. It shouldn’t stand as it does, and yet you don’t fear the ceiling collapsing onto your head.” Then, “Why did you step in to protect them? The Wallace Price of the living world wouldn’t have raised a finger unless it benefited himself.”
“They’re my friends,” Wallace said, awash in unreality. The room around him felt hazy and muted, only the Manager crystal clear, a focal point, the center of everything.
“They are?” the boy asked. “You didn’t have many of those.” He frowned. “Any of those.”
Wallace looked away. “I know.”
“Then you died,” the boy said. “And came here. To this place. To this … way station. A stop on a much larger journey. And you did just that, didn’t you? You stopped.”
“I don’t want to go through the door,” Wallace said, voice raising and cracking right down the middle. “You can’t make me.”
“I could,” the boy said. “It would be easy. No effort on my part at all. Would you like me to show you?”
Fear, bright and glassy. It wrapped its hands around Wallace’s ribs, fingers digging in.
“I won’t,” the boy said. “Because that’s not what you need.” He glanced at Hugo, expression softening. “He’s a good ferryman, Hugo, though his heart often gets in the way. When I found him, he was angry and confused. Adrift. He didn’t understand the way of things, and yet he had this light in him, fierce but in danger of flickering out. I taught him how to harness it. People like him, they’re rare. There’s beauty in the chaos, if you know where to look for it. But you would know about that, wouldn’t you? You see it too.”
Wallace swallowed thickly. “He’s different.”
“That’s certainly one way to put it.” The boy kicked his feet again as he settled back into the chair, hands on his stomach. “But yes, he is.”
The anger returned, burning the fear away. “And you did this to him.”
The boy arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Wallace’s hands balled into fists. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Oh boy,” he said. “This should be good. Go ahead. Tell me what you’ve heard.”
“You make the ferry … people.”
“I do,” the boy said, “though I don’t want you thinking I pick them without rhyme or reason. Certain people … well. They shine brightly. Hugo happened to be one of them.”
Wallace clenched his jaw. “You’re supposed to be this … this thing—”
“Rude.”
“—this grand thing that oversees life and death, delegating the responsibilities to others—”
“Well, yes. I’m the Manager. I manage.”
“—and you put the weight of death on someone like Hugo. You make him see and do things that—”
“Whoa,” the boy said, sitting up quickly. “Hold on a second. I don’t make anyone do anything. Goodness gracious, Wallace, what have they been telling you about me?”
“You’re callous,” Wallace spat. “And cruel. How could you ever think putting something like that on a man who’d just lost his family was the right thing to do?”
“Hmm,” the boy said. “I think we’ve got our wires crossed somewhere. That’s not the case at all. It’s a choice, Wallace. It all comes down to choice. I didn’t force Hugo to do anything. I merely laid out the options before him and let him make up his own mind.”
Wallace slammed his hands against the counter. “His parents had just died. He was suffering. He was grieving. And you opened a door to show him that there was something beyond what he knew. Of course he would take what you offered. You preyed upon him when he was at his weakest, knowing full well he wasn’t in his right mind.” Wallace was panting by the time he finished, palms stinging.
“Wow,” the boy said. He squinted at Wallace. “You’re protective of him.”
Wallace blanched. “I…”
The boy nodded as if this were answer enough. “I didn’t expect that. I don’t know why. But with all I’ve seen, the most wonderful thing is that I can still be surprised by one such as you. You care about him very much.”
“All of them,” Wallace said. “I care about all of them.”
“Because they’re your friends.”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you trust Hugo enough to make decisions for himself?”
“I do,” Wallace said weakly.
“Do you? Because it sounds like you’re second-guessing his choices. I would hope you could tell the difference between being protective and doubting someone you call a friend.”
Wallace said nothing. As much as he hated to admit it, the Manager had a point. Shouldn’t he trust Hugo to know what was right for himself?
The boy nodded as if Wallace’s silence was tacit agreement. He slid from the chair before turning around and lifting it up. He flipped it over and put it back on the table, wiping his hands on his jeans once he’d finished. He glanced at the health inspector and sighed. “People are so strange. Just when I think I have you all figured out, you go and make a mess of things.” Absurdly, he sounded almost fond.
He turned back toward Wallace, clapping his hands. “Okay. Let’s get a move on. Time is short. Well, not for me, but for the rest of you. Follow me, if you please.”
“Where are we going?”
“To show you the truth,” the boy said. He went to Alan, looking up at him and smiling sadly. He reached out and touched Alan’s hip, shaking his head. “Oh. Yes. This one. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. I’ll do my best to make it better.”
And then, before Wallace could do anything to stop him, he puckered his lips and blew a thin stream of air toward Alan, cheeks bulging. Wallace blinked as a hook materialized in Alan’s chest, a cable growing and extending between him and Hugo. The Manager curled his fingers around the hook and yanked. It pulled free. The cable connecting Alan to Hugo dulled. The Manager dropped the hook, and as it hit the floor, it and the cable turned to dust. “There,” he said. “That’s better.” He turned and headed farther into the house.
Wallace looked down at his own cable, still connecting him to Hugo. The cable flashed weakly, the hook shivering in his chest. He was about to touch it, to allow himself the reminder it was there, it was real, when Alan rose a few inches off the floor, floating though still frozen. The boy looked back at Wallace from the entry to the hallway. “Coming, Wallace?”
“If I say no?”
The boy shrugged. “Then you do. But I wish you wouldn’t.”
Wallace stumbled back when Alan began to rise toward the ceiling. “Where are you taking him?”
“Home,” the boy said simply. He disappeared down the hallway. Wallace looked at Alan in time to see his feet disappear through the ceiling, concentric circles undulating outward.
He did the only thing he could.
He followed the Manager.
He knew where they were going, and though he’d never been more frightened in his life, he still climbed the stairs, each step harder than the last.
He passed by the second floor. The third. All the windows were black, as if all light had vanished from the world.
He stopped near the fourth floor landing, peering through the railing. The Manager stood below the door. Alan floated up through the floor, stopping next to him, suspended in air.
“I’m not going to force you through the door,” the boy said mildly. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“And Alan?” Wallace asked, climbing the last few stairs.
“Alan’s a different case. I’ll do what I must for him.”
“Why?”
The boy laughed. “So many questions. Why, why, why. You’re funny, Wallace. It’s because he’s becoming dangerous. Obviously.”
“You’re going to make him go through the door.”
The boy looked back at him over his shoulder. “Yes.”
“How is that fair?”
The boy looked confused. “Death? How is it not? You’re born, yes. You live and breathe and dance and ache, but you die. Everyone dies. Everything dies. Death is cleansing. The pain of a mortal life is gone.”
“Tell that to Alan,” Wallace growled. “He’s hurting. He’s filled with anger—”
The boy turned, frowning. “Because he’s still stuck here. He doesn’t see the way things should be. Not everyone can adapt as well as you.” He gnawed on his bottom lip. “Or Nelson or Apollo. I like them too. They wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“And Lea?” Wallace snapped. “What about her? Where were you when she needed you? When Hugo needed you?” A thought struck him, terrible and harsh. “Or did what happened to Cameron keep you away?”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I never claimed to be perfect, Wallace. Perfection is a flaw in itself. Lea was … it shouldn’t have happened the way it did. The Reaper was out of line, and he paid for it dearly.” He shook his head. “I manage, Wallace. But even I can’t manage everyone all the time. Free will is paramount, though it can get a bit messy at times. I don’t interfere unless there’s no other way.”
“And so they’re supposed to suffer because of what you can’t do?”
The boy sighed. “I can see where you’re coming from. Thanks for the feedback, Wallace. I’ll take it into consideration going forward.”
“Feedback?” Wallace said, outraged. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“It’s either that or you’re telling me what I can and cannot do. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, because I choose to believe you can’t possibly be that stupid.” He turned his face up toward the door. It vibrated in its frame, the leaves and flowers carved into the wood bursting to life. The crystal leaf in the doorknob glittered.
“I like you,” the boy said again without looking at him. He raised his hand toward the door, curling his fingers. “Which is why I’m going to tell you how things will go.” He twisted his hand sharply.
The doorknob on the ceiling above them turned.
The latch clicked, the crystal leaf flashing brightly.
The door opened slowly, swinging down toward them.
Hugo had told him what he’d seen when the door opened, how it made him feel. And still, Wallace wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Light spilled out so bright that he had to look away. He thought he heard birds singing on the other side, but the whispers from the door were too loud for him to be sure. He lifted his head in time to see the Manager push gently on the bottom of Alan’s feet. Before Wallace could open his mouth, Alan rose swiftly, passing through the doorway. The light pulsed before it faded. The door slammed shut. It took only seconds.
“He’ll find peace,” the boy said. “With time, he’ll find himself again.” He turned and sank to the floor, legs crossed in front of him. He looked up at Wallace still standing near the stairs.
“What did you do?” Wallace whispered.
“Helped him along his journey,” the boy said. “I find that sometimes people need a little push in the right direction.”
“What happened to free will?”
The boy grinned. It chilled Wallace to the bone. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for. Fun! Think of it as … hmm. Ah. Think of it as a gentle nudge in the right direction. Can’t have him turning into a Husk. I don’t like to think what that would do to Hugo. Not again. He took it so hard the first time. It’s why I’ve allowed Nelson and Apollo to stay as long as they have, to keep him from abandoning his calling.”
“So we only have free will until … what? It interferes with your order?”
The Manager chuckled. “Precisely! Good for you, Wallace. Order is absolutely paramount. Without it, we’d be stumbling in the dark. Which brings me to you. You’ve been here a long time, much longer than any other aside from Nelson and Apollo. And for what? Do you even know? What is your purpose?”
Wallace felt like he was on fire. “I…”
“Yes,” the Manager said. “I thought as much. Let me help you answer that. Your being here makes you a distraction in ways Nelson and Apollo aren’t. A distracted ferryman is one who’ll make mistakes. Hugo has a job to do, one that is far more important than his feelings.” He grimaced. “Terrible things, those. I’ve watched and waited, allowing this farce of a happy little home to play out, but it’s time to move things along to ensure Hugo does what he was hired to do.” He grinned. “Which is why I’m going to tell you what’ll happen next.”
Wallace didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”
The boy cocked his head as he studied Wallace. “How to put this in ways you can understand. How … to … put—Ah!” He clapped his hands. “You’re a lawyer.” His lips quirked. “Well, you were. I’m like you, in a way. Death, my dear man, is the law, and I’m the judge. There are rules and regulations. Sure, the bureaucracy of it all can be a little tiresome, and the monotony is killer, but we need the rule of law so we know how to be, how to act.” The smile slid from his face. “And yet, it’s always why. Why, why, why. I hate that question above all others.” And then his voice changed, becoming a frightened woman’s. “Why do I have to go?” His voice changed again, becoming a man’s, old and frail. “Why can’t I have more time?” Again, this time a child. “Why can’t I stay?”
“Stop,” Wallace said hoarsely. “Please stop.”
When the Manager spoke again, his voice returned to normal. “I’ve heard it all.” He frowned. “I hate it. But never more so than I do right now, because I find myself asking why. Why is Wallace Price still here? Why doesn’t he move on?” He shook his head as if disappointed. “That leads to me asking myself why I should care at all. You want to know what I realized?”
“No,” Wallace whispered.
“I realized that you’re an aberration. A flaw in the system that’s worked so well. And what does one do with flaws as someone in charge, Wallace? To keep the things running as they should?”
Fire them. Remove them from the equation. Replace the part so the machine can run smoothly. Distantly, Wallace thought of Patricia Ryan, sitting across from him in his office.
“Exactly,” the Manager said as if Wallace had spoken aloud. He tapped his fingers against his knee. The bottoms of his feet were dirty. “Which is why I’ve made an executive decision.” He grinned, the violet of his eyes moving like liquid. “One week. I’ll give you one more week to put your affairs in order. This isn’t meant to be forever, Wallace. A way station such as this exists to allow you to regroup, to accept the inevitable. You’ve changed in the weeks since your arrival. So different from the man I saw fleeing in the dead of night.”
“But—”
The boy held up his hand. “I’m not finished. Please don’t interrupt me again. I don’t like being interrupted.” When he saw Wallace snap his mouth closed, he continued. “You’ve been given more than enough time to process your life spent on this Earth. You were not a kind man, Wallace, or even a just one. You were selfish and mean. Not quite as cruel as you claim I am, but it was close. I don’t recognize that man in you. Not anymore. Death has opened your eyes. I can see the good in you now, and what you’re willing to do for those you care about. Because you do care about them, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Wallace said gruffly.
“I figured. And really, I can see why. They’re certainly … unique.”
“I know they are. There’s no one like them.”
The boy laughed again. “I’m glad we can at least agree on that.” He sobered. “One week, dear Wallace. I’ll give you one more week. In seven days, I shall return. I’ll bring you to this door. I will see you through it because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“And if I refuse?”
The boy shrugged. “Then you do. I hope you won’t, but I can’t promise that this will go on for much longer. You aren’t meant to be here. Not like this. Perhaps in another life, you could have found your way to this place, and made the most of it.”
“I don’t want to go,” Wallace said. “I’m not ready.”
“I know that,” the boy said, for the first time sounding irritated. “Which is why I’m giving you a week rather than making you go now.” His face darkened. “Don’t mistake my offer for anything but what it is. There is no loophole, no last-minute bit of evidence you can fling upon the courtroom in a display of your legal prowess. I can make you do things, Wallace. I don’t want to, but I can.”
Dazed, Wallace said, “I … maybe it’d be different. I’ve changed. You’ve said as much. I—”
“No,” the boy said, shaking his head. “It’s not the same. You aren’t Nelson, the grandfather who guided Hugo after the loss of his parents. You aren’t Apollo, who helped Hugo to breathe when his lungs collapsed in his chest. You are an outsider, an anomaly. The options I’ve laid out for you—going through the door or running the risk of losing all you’ve gained—are your only options. You’re a disruption, Wallace, and though I’ve allowed certain … concessions in the spirit of magnanimity, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ll look the other way for you. This was always temporary.”
“And what about Cameron?” Wallace demanded. “And all the others like him?”
The boy looked surprised. “The Husks? Why do you care?”
I’m still here. I’m still here.
“He’s not gone,” Wallace said. “He’s still there. Part of him still exists. Help him, and I’ll do whatever you want.”
The boy shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to bargain with you, Wallace. I thought you were beyond that stage already. You’re into the fabled land of acceptance, or at least you were. Don’t backtrack on me now.”
“It’s not for me,” Wallace snapped. “It’s for him.”
“Ah,” the boy said. “Is it? What would you have me do? Cure him? He knew the risks when he chose to leave the grounds.” He stood, wiping his hands off on the front of his jeans. “I’m glad we’ve had this talk. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, and believe me, that’s not something I say often.” He grimaced. “Humans are untidy. I’d rather keep my distance if possible. It’s easier when they agree with me, as you have.”
“I didn’t agree to anything!” Wallace cried.
The boy pouted. “Aw. Well, I’m sure you’ll come around to it. One week, Wallace. What will you do with the time you have left? I can’t wait to find out. Tell the others, or don’t. It doesn’t concern me either way. And don’t worry about the health inspector. He won’t remember a thing.” The boy tipped Wallace a jaunty salute. “See you soon.”
And then he vanished.
Wallace’s knees felt weak, loose, and he grabbed onto the railing to hold himself up as he heard yelling come from the bottom floor below him. He closed his eyes when Hugo began to shout his name frantically. “Here,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”