The problem with that was Wallace was also a liar, because it was getting harder to think of anything but the what if.
And it was dangerous, this. Because Wallace had been sitting in front of the fire the night before, barely listening as Nelson spoke with Alan, telling him that before he could even think of doing what he and Wallace could do, he needed to clear his head, he needed to focus. Wallace was far, far away. It was a sunny day. He found himself in a tiny little town. He was lost. He needed to stop and ask for directions. He found a curious little sign next to a dirt road advertising CHARON’S CROSSING TEA AND TREATS. He turned down the road. Sometimes he was in a car. Other times he was walking. Regardless, his destination never changed. He reached the house at the end of the dirt road, marveling at how such a thing could exist without collapsing. He walked in through the door.
And there, standing behind the counter, was a man with a bright bandana around his head, a quiet smile on his face.
What happened next varied, though the beating heart of it was the same. Sometimes, the man behind the counter would smile at him and say, “Hello. I’ve been waiting for you. My name is Hugo, what’s yours?” Other times, Hugo would already know his name （how, it didn’t matter; little dreams like these didn’t need logic）， and he’d say, “Wallace, I’m so happy you’re here. You look like you could use some peppermint tea.”
“Yes,” Wallace would reply. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
And Hugo poured him a cup and then one for himself. They took it to the back deck, leaning against the railing. There were versions of this fantasy where they didn’t speak at all. They sipped their tea and just … existed near each other.
There were other versions, though.
Hugo would say, “How long are you staying?”
And Wallace would reply, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t even know how I got here. I was lost. Isn’t that funny?”
“It is.” Hugo glanced at him, smiling quietly. “Maybe it’s fate. Maybe this is where you’re supposed to be.”
Wallace would never know what to say to this version of him, this Hugo who didn’t have the weight of death on his shoulders, and a Wallace who had blood flowing through his veins. His face would grow warm, and he’d look down at his tea, muttering under his breath that he didn’t really believe in fate.
Hugo laughed. “That’s okay. I’ll believe in it enough for the both of us. Drink your tea before it gets cold.”
He startled when Nelson snapped his fingers inches from his face. “What?”
Nelson looked amused. “Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere,” Wallace said, face hot.
“Oh boy,” Nelson said. “Something on your mind you’d care to discuss?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Nelson sighed. “I don’t know what’s worse. Whether you believe that or you don’t and said it anyway.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Nelson smiled sadly. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”
* * *
The day went on as it always did, even if the tea shop felt a little more charged than normal. It wasn’t as if Alan were threatening any of them. He wasn’t. In fact, he barely spoke at all. He wandered around the tea shop as he had the day before, listening in on conversations, studying the customers. There were times he’d bend over in front of them, the tip of his nose inches from their own. No one knew anything was amiss, and rather than growing angrier, Alan looked delighted, and not in a way that seemed to be terrifying or menacing. It was an almost childlike glee, his smile appearing genuine for the first time since he’d arrived at the tea shop. Wallace could see the man he might have been before his decisions led him into that alley.
“It’s like when I was a kid,” Alan told Nelson. “You know when you think about wanting to be a superhero? Like lasers from your eyes, or the ability to fly. I always wanted the power to turn invisible.”
“Why?” Nelson asked.
Alan shrugged. “Because if people can’t see you, they don’t know what you’re doing and you can get away with anything.”
And on the third day after Alan’s arrival, Nancy came back to Charon’s Crossing.
She walked through the door as she always did, mouth tight, the circles under her eyes like bruises. She went to her usual table and sat without speaking to anyone, though a few of the customers in the tea shop nodded at her.
Hugo went back into the kitchen, and before the doors had a chance to stop swinging, they opened again as Mei came out, standing at the register.
“Poor dear,” Nelson murmured from his chair. “Still not sleeping. I don’t know how much longer she can stand it. I wish there were more we could do for her.”
“So long as it has nothing to do with Desdemona,” Wallace said. “I can’t believe she—”
“Who’s that?”
They turned to look at Alan. He stood in the middle of the tea shop next to a table filled with people around his age. He’d been circling them since they’d arrived. He was stopped now, gaze trained on the table near the window and the woman who sat there.
He started to take a step toward her. Wallace moved even before he realized it. Alan blinked when Wallace appeared in front of him, a hand pressed against his chest. He looked down, frowning, and Wallace pulled his hand back. “What are you doing?”
“Leave her alone,” Wallace said stiffly. “I don’t care about what you do to anyone else here, but you stay away from her.”
Alan’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” He glanced over Wallace’s shoulder before looking back at him. “It’s not like she can see me. Who gives a shit?” He started to move around Wallace but stopped when Wallace gripped his wrist.
“She’s off-limits.”
Alan jerked his arm away. “You can feel it, can’t you? She’s like … a beacon. She’s on fire. I can taste it. What’s wrong with her?”
Wallace almost snapped that it didn’t concern him. He course-corrected at the last moment, even though the idea of playing to Alan’s humanity seemed so farcical it was ludicrous. “She’s grieving. Lost her daughter to illness. It was … bad. The details don’t matter. She comes here because she doesn’t know where else to go. Hugo sits with her, and we leave them alone.”
He was pleasantly surprised when Alan nodded slowly. “She’s lost.”
“Yes,” Wallace said. “And whether or not she’ll find her way isn’t up to us. I don’t give a crap who else you go near, but leave Nancy alone. Even if none of them can hear us, you don’t want to run the risk of making things worse for her.”
“Worse,” Alan repeated. “You think I’m the one who could make things worse.” He cocked his head. “Has Hugo told her about all of this? Is that why she comes here, because she knows Hugo helped her daughter cross?”
“No,” Wallace said. “He hasn’t. He’s not allowed. It’s part of being a ferryman.”
“But he did help her girl cross,” Alan said. “And somehow, part of her knows that, otherwise she wouldn’t be here. What does that make Hugo if he’s lying to her? And if part of her does know, that means she isn’t like everyone else. Maybe she can see us. Maybe she can see me.”