He just… he just vanished.
Susanna sat on the damp grass on the side of the hill and contemplated the tunnel mouth where the ferryman who called himself Tristan had disappeared. She’d no right to be there, she knew, lingering, holding off her next soul – but she’d seen him going the wrong way.
Towards the world of the living – him and his soul. And vanishing.
There was only one possible explanation, but that was the thing: it was impossible. She’d sat here for a long time – though time was all relative in the wasteland – and hadn’t been able to come up with any other answer except the one that sent equal bolts of fear and excitement coursing through her veins.
Somehow, Tristan had found a door to the world of the living.
Somehow, he’d gone through it.
He was a ferryman just like her, and he’d left his post. The pull of Susanna’s next soul, her next job, scraped painfully against her every nerve ending, but she couldn’t make herself move from the spot. She couldn’t stop seeing Tristan’s broad shoulders, his mop of sandy hair, being swallowed up by the darkness as he walked right out of the wasteland.