“And what does a ferryman do?” Wallace asked. “Are you the only one?”
Hugo shook his head. “There are many of us. People who … well. People who have been given a job. To help others like yourself. To make sense of what you’re feeling at the moment.”
“I already have a therapist,” Wallace snapped. “He does what I pay him for, and I have no complaints.”
“Really?” Mei said. “No complaints. None whatsoever.”
“Mei,” Hugo warned again.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. She drank from her own tea. Her eyes widened slightly before she drank the rest in three huge gulps. “Holy crap, this is good.” She looked up at Wallace. “Huh. I didn’t expect that from you. Congrats.”
Wallace didn’t know what she was on about and didn’t care to ask. That hook in his chest felt heavier, and though it tugged pleasantly, he was growing annoyed at the sensation. “I’m in the mountains.”
“You are,” Hugo agreed.
“There are no mountains near the city.”
“There aren’t.”
“Which means we’ve come a long way.”
“You have.”
“Even if you’re not the ferryman for everyone,” Wallace said, “how does that work? People die all the time. Hundreds. Thousands. There should be more here. Why isn’t there a line out the door?”
“Most of the people in the city go to the ferrywoman in the city,” Hugo said, and Wallace was unnerved by how carefully he seemed to be choosing his words. “Sometimes, they get sent on to me.”
“Overflow.”
“Something like that,” Hugo said. “To be honest, I don’t always know why people such as yourself are brought to me. But it’s not my job to question the why. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”
Wallace gaped at him. “You don’t question the why? Why the hell not?” The why of things was Wallace’s specialty. It led to truths that some tried to keep hidden. He looked at Mei, who grinned at him. No help there. Nelson, though. Nelson was in the same boat as he was. Maybe he could be of some use. “Nelson, you’re—”
“Oh no,” Nelson said, glancing at his bare wrist. “Would you look at the time. I do believe I’m supposed to be sitting in my chair in front of the fire.” He shuffled away toward the fireplace, leaning on his cane. Apollo trailed after him, though he glanced back at Hugo as if to make sure he was staying right where he was.
That certainly didn’t make Wallace feel better. “Somebody had better give me some answers before I…” He didn’t know how to finish that.
Hugo reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “Look, Wallace—may I call you Wallace?” Then, without waiting for an answer, “Wallace, death is … complicated. I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going through your head right now. It’s different for everyone. No two people are the same, in life or in death. You want to rant and rave and threaten. I get that. You want to bargain, make a deal. I get that too. And if it makes you feel better, you can say whatever you want here. No one will judge you.”
“At least not out loud,” Nelson said from his chair.
“You had a heart attack,” Hugo said quietly. “It was sudden. There was nothing you could have done to stop it. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that,” Wallace snapped. “I didn’t do anything.” He paused. “Wait, how did you know how I…” He couldn’t finish.
“I know things,” Hugo said. “Or, rather, I’m shown things. Sometimes it’s … vague. An outline. Other times, it’s crystal clear, though those are rare. You were clear to me.”
“I expect I would be,” Wallace said stiffly. “Which makes this easier, because I don’t know how much clearer I can be. Send me back.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then find me someone who can.”
“I can’t do that either. That’s not how it works, Wallace. A river only moves in one direction.”
Wallace nodded, mind racing. He obviously wasn’t being heard. He wouldn’t find any help here. “Then I bid you good day, and request I be returned to the city. If you can’t help me, I’ll figure it out on my own.” He didn’t know how, exactly, but anything would be better than being here and hearing nothing but these three idiots talking in circles.
Hugo shook his head. “You can’t leave.”
Wallace narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I’m trapped here? Keeping me against my will? That’s kidnapping. I’ll see you all brought up on charges for this, don’t think I won’t.”
Hugo said, “You’re standing.”
“What?”
Hugo nodded toward the floor. “Can you feel the floor beneath your feet?”
Wallace flexed his toes. Through the thin, cheap flip-flops, he could feel the pressure of the wood floor against the bottoms of his feet. “Yes.”
Hugo lifted a spoon off the tray and set it on the counter. “Pick that spoon up.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to. Please.”
Wallace didn’t want to. He couldn’t see the point. But instead of arguing, he stepped back up to the counter. He stared down at the spoon. It was such a little thing. Flowers had been carved into the handle. He reached down to pick it up. His hands shook as his finger curled around the handle, and he lifted it.
“Good,” Hugo said. “Now put it back down.”
Grumbling under his breath, he did as he was told. “Now what?”
Hugo looked at him. “You’re a ghost, Wallace. You’re dead. Pick it up again.”
Rolling his eyes, he made to do just that. Only this time, his hand passed right through it. Not only that, his hand went into the countertop. There was a strange buzzing sensation prickling along his skin, and he gasped as he pulled his hand back as if it were burned. All his fingers were still attached, and the buzzing was already fading. He tried it again. And again. And again. Each time, his hand passed through the spoon and into the counter.
Hugo reached out for Wallace’s hand, but stopped above it, hovering and coming no closer. “You were able to do it the first time because you’ve always been able to. You expected it because that’s the way it’s always worked for you. But then I reminded you that you’ve passed, and you could no longer touch it. Your expectations changed. You should have unexpected it.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s all about your mind and how you focus it.”
Wallace started to panic, throat closing, hands shaking. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
“That’s because you’ve been conditioned your entire life to think one way. Things are different now.”
“Says you.” He reached for the spoon again but jerked his arm up when it passed through it once more. His hand caught the teacup, knocking it over. Tea spilled onto the counter. He stumbled back, eyes wide, teeth grinding together. “I … I can’t be here. I want to go home. Take me home.”