Alan turned back around. “And if I don’t want this crossing?”

  “You will,” Hugo said. “Eventually. But there’s no rush. We have time.”

  “Time,” Alan echoed. He looked down at the teacup. “Is it ready?”

  “It is.” Hugo sounded relieved, but Wallace was still wary.

  “And I can touch the cup?”

  “You can. Carefully, though. It’ll be hot.”

  Alan nodded. His hand shook as he reached for the cup. Mei and Hugo did the same. Wallace thought back to how it’d been for him, the scent of peppermint in the air, the way his mind had been racing, trying to find a way out of this. He knew Alan would be the same.

  Hugo and Mei waited until Alan took the first sip. He swallowed with a grimace.

  Hugo drank from his own tea.

  Mei did too, and if she didn’t like the taste, she didn’t show it on her face.

  “I’m dead,” Alan said, looking down into his cup. He swirled it around. Tea sloshed onto the table.

  “Yes,” Hugo said.

  “I was murdered.”

  “Yes.”

  He set the teacup down on the tray. He flexed his hands. He took a deep breath, letting it out slow.

  Then, Alan swept his arm across the tabletop, striking the teapot. It fell to the floor and shattered, liquid spilling. He took a step back, chest heaving. He raised his hands to the side of his head, clutching his skull before bending over and screaming. Wallace had never heard such a sound before. It burned as if the hot tea water had scalded his own skin. It went on and on, Alan’s voice never breaking. The lights in the sconces flared brightly before they went out, casting the tea shop into darkness. Apollo growled, standing in front of Nelson and Wallace, hackles raised, tail ramrod straight.

  Alan tried to overturn the tables, the chairs, anything he could get his hands on. He grew angrier when the chairs barely moved, the tables not at all. He kicked at them, but it was no use. He stalked around the room. Apollo snarled when he got too close to them. Wallace stood quickly, putting himself between Nelson and Alan, but Alan ignored them, eyes blazing as he tried to destroy as much as he could to no avail.

  He tired himself out, eventually, hair hanging around his head as he bent over, hands on his knees, eyes bulging. “This isn’t real,” he muttered. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”

  Hugo stepped forward. Wallace tried to stop him, but Nelson grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Don’t,” he whispered in Wallace’s ear. “He knows what he’s doing. Trust him.”

  Hugo stopped a couple of feet away from Alan, looking down at him with a sorrowful expression. He crouched down in front of Alan, who sagged to his knees, hands flat against the floor, rocking back and forth. “It’s real,” Hugo whispered. “I promise you. And you’re right: it’s not fair. It never really is. I don’t blame you for thinking that. But if you let me, I’ll do what I can to show you there is more to this world than you ever thought possible.”

  The man sat back up on his knees, tilting his head back toward the ceiling. He screamed again, the cords in his neck jutting out in sharp relief.

  It never seemed to end.

  * * *

  Wallace tried to argue when Hugo asked them to leave, telling them that Alan needed space. He didn’t like the idea of Hugo being left alone with him. He knew deep down that Hugo was more than capable, but the wild look in Alan’s eyes was almost feral. Mei stopped him before he could tell Hugo in no uncertain terms that they weren’t leaving. She jerked her head toward the back of the house.

  “It’s okay,” Nelson said, though he too sounded worried. “Hugo can handle him.”

  Apollo refused to budge. No matter what Mei did or said, he wouldn’t move. Hugo shook his head. “It’s all right. He can stay. I’ll let you know if I need you.” He and Mei exchanged a look that Wallace couldn’t parse. Alan growled at the floor, flecks of spittle on his lips.

  The last thing Wallace saw was Hugo sitting cross-legged in front of Alan, hands on his knees.

  He followed Nelson as he shuffled after Mei. They walked down the hall toward the back door. The air was colder than it’d been the last few nights, as if spring had momentarily lost its grasp. Wallace was dismayed when he realized he didn’t know the date. He thought it was Wednesday, and it had to be April by now. Time was slipping here. He hadn’t noticed, so wrapped up in living the life he found himself in. He’d been in Charon’s Crossing for almost four weeks. Mei had said the longest anyone had stayed at the tea shop was two weeks. And yet no one had pushed him toward the door. No one had even mentioned it since the early days.

  “You all right?” Nelson asked Mei as she paced back and forth on the deck. He reached out and took her by the wrist. “That had to be difficult.”

  She sighed. “It was. I knew it could be like that. The Manager showed me as much. He’s not the first person I’ve dealt with who was murdered.”

  “But it’s the first time you’ve been on your own,” Nelson said quietly.

  “I can handle it.”

  “I know you can. I never doubted that for a second. But it’s okay not to be okay.” She slumped against him, her head on his shoulder. “You did good. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered. “I was half-convinced he was going to listen. At least at first.”

  “Where did you find him?” Wallace asked, looking out at the tea garden below. No one had thought to switch on the lights, and the moon was hidden behind clouds. The tea plants looked dead in the darkness.

  “Near where he was murdered,” she said. “He was … yelling. Trying to get someone’s attention. He looked so relieved when he knew I’d heard him.”

  If Alan were anything like Wallace, it would have only been temporary. “Did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  He didn’t look back at them. There was a thread he was pulling in his mind, one that he knew he should leave alone, but it was insistent. He worried at it as he chose his words carefully. “Was he already dead when the file came?”

  There was a beat of silence. Then, “Yes, Wallace. Of course he was. It wouldn’t have been sent to us otherwise.”

  He nodded tightly, hands gripping the deck railing. “And you … what? Take it on faith?”

  “What are you talking about?” Nelson asked.

  He wasn’t sure. He tugged on the thread. “You get sent the files. Our files. But only after we die.”

  “Yes,” Mei said.

  “Why couldn’t you get it sooner?” he asked into the night. “What’s stopping the Manager or whoever from sending it before it happens?”

  He knew they were staring at him. He could feel their gazes boring into his back, but he couldn’t turn around. He was struggling, and he didn’t want them to see it on his face.

  “That’s not how it works,” Mei said slowly. “We can’t … Wallace. There was nothing that could have been done to save y—him.”

  “Right,” Wallace said bitterly. “Because it was his lot in life to die bleeding out in an alleyway.”

  “It’s the way things are,” Nelson said.

  “That’s messed up if you ask me.”

  “Death is messed up,” Mei said. She moved toward him, the deck creaking with every step she took. “You won’t hear me trying to argue otherwise, man. It’s not … there’s an order to things. A process we all have to go through. Death isn’t something to be interfered with—”

  Wallace scoffed. “Order. You’re telling me that man is part of an order. That man who suffered and no one stopped to help him. That’s what you believe in. That’s your faith. That’s your order.”

  “What would you have me do?” she demanded. She leaned on the railing next to him. “We can’t stop death. No one can. It’s not something to be conquered. Everyone dies, Wallace. You. Nelson. Alan. Me. Hugo. All of us. Nothing lasts forever.”

  “Bullshit,” Wallace snapped, suddenly enraged. “The Manager could have stopped it if he wanted to. He could have told you what was going to happen to Alan. He could have warned you, and you could have—”

  “Never,” Mei said, sounding shocked. “We don’t interfere with death. We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s always there. No matter what you do, no matter what kind of life you live, good or bad or somewhere in between, it’s always going to be waiting for you. From the moment you’re born, you’re dying.”

  He sighed tiredly. “You have to know how bleak that sounds.”

  “I do,” she said. “Because it’s the truth. Would you rather have me lie to you?”

  “No. I just … what’s the point, then? To all of this? To any of it? If nothing we do matters, then why should we try at all?” He was spiraling, he knew. Rattled and spiraling. His skin was like ice, and it had nothing to do with the air around him. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

  “Because it’s your life,” Nelson said, coming to the other side of him. “It is what you make of it. No, it’s not always fair. No, it’s not always good. It burns and tears, and there are times when it crushes you beyond recognition. Some people fight against it. Others … can’t, though I don’t think they can be blamed for that. Giving up is easy. Picking yourself up isn’t. But we have to believe if we do, we can take another step. We can—”

  “Move on?” Wallace retorted. “Because you haven’t. You’re still here, so don’t you try to spin the same bullshit. You can say all you want, but you’re a hypocrite with the best of them.”

  “And that’s the difference between you and me,” Nelson said. “Because I never claimed not to be.”

  Wallace deflated. “Dammit,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Neither of you do. I…” He looked at Mei. “I’m proud of you. I’ve never said that before, and that’s on me, but I am. I can’t imagine doing what you do, the toll it must take on you. And dealing with people like him.” He swallowed thickly. “Like me…” He shook his head. “I need a moment, okay?”

  He left them behind, thoughts swirling in a massive storm.

  He walked up and down the rows of the garden, letting his fingers pass gently over the tops of the plants, careful to avoid the delicate leaves. He stared beyond, into the forest. He wondered how far he could get before his skin began to flake. What would it feel like to give in? To let himself drift away? It should have scared him more than it did. From what he’d seen, it was empty and dark, a hollow husk of a life once lived.

  And yet he still thought about it. Thought about finding a way to rip the hook from his chest, and rising, rising, rising up through the clouds into the stars. Or running, running until he could run no longer. It was fleeting, this, because if he did just that, he could become lost, turning into the one thing Hugo feared most. A Husk. What would that do to him, seeing Wallace dead-eyed and vacant? The guilt would consume him, and Wallace couldn’t do that. Not now. Not ever.

  Hugo was important. Not because he was a ferryman, but because he was Hugo.

  Wallace started to turn back toward the deck, another apology on the tip of his tongue. He froze when he heard a sigh, a long, breathy sound like wind through dead leaves. The shadows around him grew thicker as if sentient, the stars fading until there was only black.

  Movement, off to his right.

  Wallace looked over, spine turning into a block of ice.

  Cameron stood among the tea plants. Only a few feet away. Dressed as he’d been before. Dirty pants. Scuffed sneakers. Shirtless, his skin sickly and gray. Mouth open, tongue thick, teeth black.

  Wallace didn’t have time to react, didn’t have time to make a sound. Cameron rushed forward, hands outstretched like claws. He grabbed Wallace’s arm, and everything that made Wallace who he was whited out as fingers dug in, the skin leathery and cold.

  Wallace whispered, “No, please, no,” as Mei screamed for Hugo.

  Cameron leaned forward, face inches from Wallace’s, his eyes pools of inky black. He bared his teeth, a low growl crawling from his throat.

  The dark colors of the world at night began to bleed around Wallace, melting like wax. He thought about pulling away, but it was a distant, almost negligible impulse. He was a tea plant, roots deep in the earth, leaves waiting to be plucked.

  Great flashes of light crossed his vision, the brightest stars streaking across all the blackness. In each of these stars, a glimpse, an echo. He saw Cameron and then he was Cameron. It was discordant, harsh and rough. It was brilliant and numbing and terrible. It was—

  Cameron laughed. A man sat across from him, and he was like the sun. On the hazy outskirts, a violinist moved by, the music from the strings sweet and warm. There was nowhere else Cameron wanted to be. He loved this man, loved him with every piece and part of him.

  The man said, “What’s that smile for?”

  And Cameron said, “I just love you, is all.”

  Another star. The violin faded. He was young. Younger. He was hurting. Two people stood before him, a man and a woman, both severe. The woman said, “Such a disappointment you are,” and the man said, “Why are you like this? Why are you so damn ungrateful? Don’t you know what we’ve done for you? And this is how you choose to repay us?”

  And oh, how crushing that was, how it devastated him. He was heartsore and nauseous, wanting to tell them he could be better, he could be who they wanted him to be, he didn’t know how, he—

  A third star. The man and woman were gone, but their disdain remained like an infection coursing through blood and bone.

  The man like the sun rose again, except the light was fading. They were fighting. It didn’t matter about what, just that their voices were raised, and they were clawing and scratching, each word like a punch to the gut. He didn’t want this. He was sorry, so sorry, he didn’t know what was wrong with him, he was trying, “I swear I’m trying, Zach, I can’t—”

  “I know,” Zach said. He sighed as he deflated. “I’m trying to be strong here. I really am. You need to talk to me, okay? Let me in. Don’t leave me guessing. We can’t keep going on like this. It’s killing us.”

  “Killing us,” Cameron whispered as the stars rained down around them.

  Wallace saw bits and pieces of a life that wasn’t his. There were friends and laughter, dark days when Cameron could barely pull himself out of bed, a pervasive sense of acrimony as he stood next to his mother, watching his father take his last breaths from his hospital bed. He hated him and he loved him and he waited, waited, waited for his chest to stop rising, and when it did, his grief was tempered by savage relief.

  Years. Wallace saw years flashing by where Cameron was alone, where he wasn’t alone, where he was staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if it would ever get any easier as the dark circles under his eyes bloomed like bruises. He was a kid riding his bike in the heat of summer. He was fourteen and fumbling in the back seat of a car with a girl whose name he couldn’t remember. He was seventeen when he kissed a boy for the first time, the scrape of the boy’s stubble like lightning against his skin. He was four and six and nineteen and twenty-four and then Zach, Zach, Zach was there, the sunshine man, and oh, how his heart skipped a beat at the sight of him across the room. He didn’t know what it was about him, what drew him so quickly, but the sounds of the party faded around him as he walked over to him, heart tripping. Cameron was awkward and tongue-tied, but he managed to get his name out when the sunshine man asked, and he smiled, oh god, he smiled and said, “Hi, Cameron, I’m Zach. Haven’t seen you around before. How about that?”

  It was good. It was so damn good.

  In the end, they had three years. Three good, happy, terrifying years with ups and downs and blinking slowly in the morning light as they awoke side by side, their skin sleep-warm as they reached for each other. Three years of fights and passion and trips to the mountains in the snow and to the ocean where the water was cerulean and warm.

  It was toward the end of the third year when Zach said, “I don’t feel good.” He tried to smile, but it split into a grimace. And then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed.

  One moment, everything was fine.

  The next, Zach was gone.

  The destruction that followed was catastrophic. Everything they’d built was razed to its foundations, leaving Cameron screaming in the rubble. He howled and raged at the unfairness of it all, and nothing, nothing could pull him out of it. He faded, he faded until he was a shadow moving through the world by pure force of habit.

  Wallace said, “Oh no, please no,” but it was too late, it was already too late because this was in the past, this had already happened, it was already done.

  Another star in the distance, but it wasn’t Cameron’s.

  It belonged to Wallace.

  What’s the longest someone has been here?

  Why? Thinking about setting down roots?

  No. I’m just asking.

  Ah. Right. Well, I know Hugo had someone who stayed for two weeks. That was … a hard case. Deaths by suicide usually are.

  He said, “Cameron, I’m so sorry.”

  And Cameron said, “I’m still here. I’m still here.”

  The stars exploded, and he was pulled away, away, away.

  Wallace jerked his head. He was in the tea garden, Mei’s hand wrapped around his arm, and she was saying, “Wallace? Wallace. Look at me. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  He struggled against her. “No, don’t, you don’t understand—” He looked over his shoulder to see Hugo standing in front of Cameron amongst the tea plants, near the one he’d been so proud of, the one that was ten years old. The Cameron he’d seen in the stars was gone, replaced by the horrible shell. His black teeth were bared, his eyes flat and animalistic.

  “Cameron,” Hugo said in a hushed whisper.

  Cameron’s fingers twitched at his sides. No sound came from his open mouth.

  As Mei pulled Wallace up onto the deck, Apollo barking furiously, Nelson’s eyes wide, Cameron turned and walked slowly toward the trees.