by Colin Gigl
Charlie let his body slump down into his chair. So, those were his options: become a demigod or die. He laughed, only because, in one of life’s bizarre twists, it was a laughably easy decision. He’d only dreamed about it for years. Yet for a moment, his mind turned to Alice. It seemed that whichever he chose—Council or death—their time together had come to an end. What right did he have to see her, anyway? He couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would want anything to do with him. What was done was done. It was about time he got to ride off into the sunset and disappear for good. Alice would be just fine without him. Hell, it was probably for the best.
He raised his eyes to the group. “If those are my options, then I’d like to transfer out.”
Several members of the Council dropped their heads or shook them lightly in disappointment. Charlie felt slightly bad about that, but it was his decision to make. He wasn’t about to let them shame him into confirming his immortality for effectively forever.
Then he turned to Cartwright. Despite the look of misery carved into the man’s face, he still managed a smile for Charlie. “It appears, my old friend, that your just reward has finally arrived. I can think of no man who deserves that more than you.”
The moment was too bittersweet for Charlie to react. If there’d been one constant source of happiness in Charlie’s life, it had been Cartwright. The man had been there from the beginning—had guided him, taught him about the Institute, and, most importantly, been a friend in the truest sense of the word. It was impossible for Charlie to escape the feeling that Cartwright would miss him (the feeling was mutual), but there was something indescribably heroic about a man who would sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of a dear friend.
“Thanks,” Charlie said. His voice cracked ever so slightly. “For everything. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I mean that. Maybe if I hadn’t been so stubborn, things would have turned out differently.”
Cartwright shook his head definitively. “To ask for more out of your friendship would be nothing short of greedy. I am a blessed man to have been given the privilege of your companionship as it was. Never forget that.”
Across the table, Melissa withdrew a gold key from her bag and set it on the table. Charlie knew without asking whose it was. The familiar lines of the word PORTHMEUS gleamed underneath the light. “I had it tracked down before I arrived,” she said. “Figured you might be wanting it for a situation like this.”
Charlie gave a halfhearted smirk, but there was little warmth in it. He found it strange that he felt so sad. “You were always the one who kept me organized,” he said.
“Are you sure about this, Charlie?” Charon asked. “You’re passing up an opportunity that—”
“I’m sure,” he said. “While I’m beyond flattered by your offer, I’m not the man you want. Trust me. I have no business shaping mankind’s future. I couldn’t even shape my own.” He surveyed the room one last time, then exhaled a long, deep sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.”
This was it. This was the end. Having waited two hundred and fifty years, he’d always thought the event would seem more momentous, but now that it had arrived, it felt strangely . . . hollow. As if something was missing.
Melissa pulled out a sheet of paper from the folder in front of her. “It’s settled, then. The Council will serve as the required witnesses. This is binding and cannot be undone.” She looked at Charlie. “Are you ready?”
He nodded.
Melissa cleared her throat. “By the power vested in me by this Institute, I hereby acknowledge the termination of Ferryman Number 72514, Charles Ronald Dawson, effective immediately. May he find peace and—”
But Melissa never finished the invocation. A set of auxiliary doors across the room burst open, and in limped one Alice Spiegel and a completely embarrassed Begemot Koroviev.
“Jesus H. Christ, Charlie, you were actually about to go through with it! God, I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t think you were that much of one.” She hobbled in with the aid of a cane, clearly in a bit of pain. Koroviev reluctantly followed, looking unusually helpless. She surveyed the room casually before opting to stop in the middle of the floor. She waved her cane at the Ferryman Council with a lack of anything bordering politeness. “Howdy, gang. I’m Alice Spiegel, apparent subject of your messed-up little assignment. Pleasure all around, really. I think I’m supposed to say thank you for sending that weirdo over there to rescue me, but I’m a little annoyed that you were about to kill him, so try not to hold it against me when I don’t.”
If anyone said anything as Charlie stood up, he didn’t hear them. If they tried to stop him as he ran toward her, he didn’t notice. If all of existence had exploded in that very instant, he would have reassembled the particles of the universe atom by atom until he’d reconstructed this moment, because, as it turned out, this was the moment he’d waited two hundred and fifty years for.
He just hadn’t realized it until then.
As Alice went to speak, Charlie took her in his arms and kissed her. Really, really kissed her. The kind of kiss that invited no awkwardness or envy from those who happened to bear witness to it. The pull it exerted on those nearby was impossible to escape, and in that all-too-fleeting moment, there was only the kiss and nothing more. They burned with the singular intensity of those who had lost but found anew, who had walked to the very edge of the world and come to realize that, should they just turn around, the last step that would end it all suddenly became the first step of a new beginning.
In short, it was everything their first kiss wasn’t.
When they finally pulled away from each other, neither one spoke. They simply looked at each other with eyes devoid of judgment. Then, slowly, gently, Alice wrapped her good arm around Charlie’s neck and pulled herself close. She began to speak, her voice small and delicate, almost as if the bravado she’d barged in with had never been at all.
“You know, you’ve done a few stupid things since we’ve known each other. And I’m not sure it’s even right for me to say this. Your life is your own, you know, and it’s not like we’ve known each other for that long. But if you’d left just now, that would have been the dumbest, most hurtful thing you could have possibly done to me.” He could feel her squeeze him just a little tighter, hear the small sniffle that she tried to block out by pressing her face deeper into his chest. “I don’t know how you could possibly think it’d be all right to leave, forever, after what we’ve been through, without saying good-bye.”
An indescribable pang of guilt hit Charlie like a wave of frigid water. He knew she was right. He’d tried to justify his quick departure as being the bigger man, letting her go on with her life, but he saw it now for what it was: cowardice. He’d been trying to escape her, trying to run from her given what he’d done.
Except it was more than just that. It was such an alien concept to him, something he hadn’t dealt with in years—something so devastatingly human it just hadn’t occurred to him: the idea that she might reject him. As the realization took shape in his mind and presented itself to him, he knew it to be true. For hundreds of years, he simply hadn’t had to deal with that aspect of the human condition—so long that he couldn’t see it for what it was. His own words suddenly came flooding back:
In fact, you’re so scared of that future that you’re willing to erase any possibility of it happening by choosing not to play the game at all. Can’t lose if you don’t play, right?
There are few ways to feel like more of an asshole than to be reprimanded by your own advice. So it was.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. About everything. I just thought you’d never forgive me. I shot you, Alice. I had the gun and when you grabbed me—”
She raised her head up quickly and shushed him. “Stop,” she said. “Please. I know already, and I forgive you.” Then she kissed him sweetly on the forehead. “We’re even now, though, okay? You’ve shot me once, I’ve shot you once, so how about we stop shooting each other for a littl
e while? Deal?”
Being well and truly at a loss for words at this point, Charlie simply wrapped his arms around her and, as delicately as he could, just held her. “Sure,” he said. “I think I can manage that.”
Though it felt to Charlie as if the two of them were the only people in the room, it became clear a few seconds later they weren’t. “Care to explain, Begemot?” came Charon’s voice.
Before Koroviev could respond, Alice was already answering for him. She spoke defiantly, even as she wiped at her eyes. “Excuse me? Yeah, hi, me again. For the record, it was totally my fault. I made him do it. I told him I needed to see Charlie, urgently, that I knew something bad was going to happen. I mean, it turns out I was right, but still, I know what he did was against policy or whatever.”
Charon’s words were ice. “That doesn’t excuse this transgression.”
“Except,” Melissa said, “he saved Dirkley Dupine and the president of the Institute, that being me; tracked Javrouche as our eyes and ears; and most likely saved Ms. Spiegel’s life by informing Virgil about Javrouche’s impending arrest of Charlie. I think that should count for something.”
Charon merely sighed and shook his head. He, too, was looking increasingly helpless. “A matter of discussion for another time.”
Alice looked up at Charlie, still in his arms. “Who’s Virgil?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
He gave her good shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Long story,” he said. “Nice outfit, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she said, looking down at her ensemble, “they were out of pink.” She patted him on the chest before taking a step back and clearing her throat. “So, what happens now?”
Charlie honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead and wasn’t sure he wanted to. “I might be able to delay things for a while, possibly until you’ve recovered. Buy a little bit of time. Other than that, my options are pretty limited.”
Alice smiled weakly. “I heard through the door. Doesn’t sound like you really have much to work with.”
He shrugged. “It is what it is.” He was stalling, truth be told. It just felt like the moment he stopped talking to Alice, it would all be over. He’d have to go through with his choice and disappear into the afterlife beyond or, worse yet, consign himself to immortality. Suddenly, standing with Alice next to him, neither option seemed very appealing. The chance to leave—the option he’d always wanted—was finally on the table, and yet this girl standing in front of him made him reluctant to even consider it.
It seemed the moment was just about ready to slip away when Melissa jumped to her feet and turned to face the man whose team she’d managed for years. She’d been watching him and Alice, but Charlie realized only now that her eyes were slightly damp.
“There’s another option. A better option,” she said. She spoke with the same fervor of a preacher visited by God in the night. Melissa looked between Charlie and Alice, weighing something against the two of them. “I have a proposition. I want to offer you my position as president of the Institute.”
At this point, Charlie wasn’t even surprised anymore. The way things were going, he fully expected to be asked to take over as King of the Universe before the day was over. What was surprising, however, was Cartwright’s immediate and visceral reaction to her offer.
“Madam President, you can’t be serious!” Charlie couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen Cartwright this upset in person.
“No more, and that’s an order,” she whipped back, though the tone lacked anything harsh in it. “This is my decision and mine alone, Virgil. Not another word.” Cartwright almost visibly held his tongue.
She turned toward Charlie again, picking up her folder as she did. “So, the presidency. It can be a real pain in the ass, and the hours can be long, particularly when you have Ferrymen who regularly disappear on you, hint hint. It’s rewarding, though, and you get to focus more on the people at this place than the morbid stuff you’re used to dealing with. It’s not a perfect trade, but it’s a step in the right direction. However, there’s one perk that comes with the job that I think you’ll find particularly interesting. You see, Charlie, the Institute has this rule . . .”
As she spoke, she opened the folder and placed one of the edges in her palm.
“. . . that while the president runs the Institute, they must be a mortal. The presidency brings with it a lot of power in its own right, so it’d be too dangerous to put that in the hands of a person who doesn’t die. Again, checks and balances and what have you.”
Charlie flinched as Melissa ran the folder savagely across her palm. She grimaced as the thick edge dug into the fleshy part of her hand.
“What that means, though, is that I can offer you something no one else can.”
With her hand clenched in a tight fist, she held it over her glass of water. Just when Charlie was about to ask her what she was doing, he saw it. Dripping down from inside her hand, the color of pure crimson, was blood. A large drop hung daringly above the glass until, finally, it fell into the water with a tiny splash. The blood diffused throughout the liquid, spreading out among the water like sanguine smoke. Stunned, Charlie looked up from the glass to find Melissa’s eyes, glimmering with a kind of shimmer reserved for the mad geniuses of the world, locked on his own.
“I can offer you your humanity back.” A grin commandeered her lips, which only made her expression seem more frenetic. “So, what do you say?”
ALICE
* * *
HOPE
Alice didn’t really have any idea what was going on, but the word humanity had been used and suddenly the whole room seemed like it was going to collectively lose its shit. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that, one, nobody there had quite expected to be talking about this and, two, there was something else going on, something no one was addressing.
Apparently, Alice wasn’t the only one with that feeling, either.
“Madam President, surely this merits some discussion,” the woman with the blond hair said.
“I agree,” a man buried underneath a hood added, followed by the rest of the gathering more or less voicing the same opinion.
Melissa, however, didn’t seem too bothered by what they thought. She continued pulling files from the bag she’d brought with her. “As I told Virgil, this is my call.”
“Except the Council is to determine your successor,” a dark-skinned man replied. “You should be well aware of that. We picked you, after all. This isn’t your choice to make.”
“The other option is you lose Charlie for good,” Melissa countered. “Given every conversation we’ve had about him, including the one we literally just had a few minutes ago, do any of you really object?” She shook her head. “Not for nothing, but I’m making some pretty awesome lemonade over here with the lemons we’ve been dealt.”
Alice didn’t really know who this Melissa character was, but she approved of her spunk.
“Whether or not we object is beside the point.” The other woman, the one with dark hair, this time. “You’re overstepping your bounds here, Madam President.”
Melissa took a long look at the people circled around the table, then sighed. “I apologize if I’m coming off as a bit flippant. I don’t mean to be. However, this whole entire mess is my fault, and this feels like an opportunity to make amends. Besides, technically I can appoint my own successor. It’s just whether or not you decide to oppose my decision that matters.”
Alice leaned in close to Charlie’s ear. “Based on how you made it sound, I thought your job would be a lot more blood and thunder and a lot less . . . I don’t know, C-SPAN-y,” she whispered.
“It usually is. If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what’s really going on here, either,” he whispered back.
“Oh. Fair enough,” Alice said. She thought for a moment. “Why would that make me feel better and not, you know, mildly concerned?”
Charlie thought about that. “That’s a good question,” he said. He ne
ver provided an answer.
When Alice let her attention rejoin the conversation, Cartwright was speaking. “As long as there is an acting president, we cannot directly influence Institute matters. That fact is unavoidable. Our only recourse to overturning a presidential decision, then, is a unanimous vote opposing it. Much as it pains me to do so, if this is what our president has decided as her course, then I will support her in it. I shall not vote against her.”
A man sitting across from Cartwright rolled his eyes at the remark. “Of course you won’t. When this is all over, I’d like to open an examination into your own actions.”
“I await it with bated breath,” Cartwright replied.
“Enough. Regardless of the circumstances, with Virgil’s vote, the president’s decision stands,” said the dark-skinned man. “You have our consent, Ms. Johnson, begrudging though it may be.”
Melissa gave a short bow. “Thank you, Charon. I assure you I’m acting with the Institute’s best interest at heart.”
“Let us hope,” he replied.
As the immediate conversation seemed to die down, Charlie took a step forward. “Can I interrupt for just a second?” he asked.
“The floor is all yours,” said Melissa, who at that point had returned to sifting through folders in her bag.
“Great,” Charlie said. The lack of enthusiasm in his voice suggested he meant otherwise. “So, the president—that being you—isn’t immortal?”
“Correct,” Melissa said. “Remember: checks and balances.”
“Sure, I get that. But shouldn’t you have bodyguards or something? Aren’t you worried about . . . well, I don’t know how to put this any other way, dying?”
The dark-skinned man spoke next. “The primary reason both the president’s identity and mortality are kept secret is for their protection. As for death, every mortal dies eventually. The president is no exception. When their time comes, we choose a new president and move on.”