Wallace felt like he was on fire. “I…”

  “Yes,” the Manager said. “I thought as much. Let me help you answer that. Your being here makes you a distraction in ways Nelson and Apollo aren’t. A distracted ferryman is one who’ll make mistakes. Hugo has a job to do, one that is far more important than his feelings.” He grimaced. “Terrible things, those. I’ve watched and waited, allowing this farce of a happy little home to play out, but it’s time to move things along to ensure Hugo does what he was hired to do.” He grinned. “Which is why I’m going to tell you what’ll happen next.”

  Wallace didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”

  The boy cocked his head as he studied Wallace. “How to put this in ways you can understand. How … to … put—Ah!” He clapped his hands. “You’re a lawyer.” His lips quirked. “Well, you were. I’m like you, in a way. Death, my dear man, is the law, and I’m the judge. There are rules and regulations. Sure, the bureaucracy of it all can be a little tiresome, and the monotony is killer, but we need the rule of law so we know how to be, how to act.” The smile slid from his face. “And yet, it’s always why. Why, why, why. I hate that question above all others.” And then his voice changed, becoming a frightened woman’s. “Why do I have to go?” His voice changed again, becoming a man’s, old and frail. “Why can’t I have more time?” Again, this time a child. “Why can’t I stay?”

  “Stop,” Wallace said hoarsely. “Please stop.”

  When the Manager spoke again, his voice returned to normal. “I’ve heard it all.” He frowned. “I hate it. But never more so than I do right now, because I find myself asking why. Why is Wallace Price still here? Why doesn’t he move on?” He shook his head as if disappointed. “That leads to me asking myself why I should care at all. You want to know what I realized?”

  “No,” Wallace whispered.

  “I realized that you’re an aberration. A flaw in the system that’s worked so well. And what does one do with flaws as someone in charge, Wallace? To keep the things running as they should?”

  Fire them. Remove them from the equation. Replace the part so the machine can run smoothly. Distantly, Wallace thought of Patricia Ryan, sitting across from him in his office.

  “Exactly,” the Manager said as if Wallace had spoken aloud. He tapped his fingers against his knee. The bottoms of his feet were dirty. “Which is why I’ve made an executive decision.” He grinned, the violet of his eyes moving like liquid. “One week. I’ll give you one more week to put your affairs in order. This isn’t meant to be forever, Wallace. A way station such as this exists to allow you to regroup, to accept the inevitable. You’ve changed in the weeks since your arrival. So different from the man I saw fleeing in the dead of night.”

  “But—”

  The boy held up his hand. “I’m not finished. Please don’t interrupt me again. I don’t like being interrupted.” When he saw Wallace snap his mouth closed, he continued. “You’ve been given more than enough time to process your life spent on this Earth. You were not a kind man, Wallace, or even a just one. You were selfish and mean. Not quite as cruel as you claim I am, but it was close. I don’t recognize that man in you. Not anymore. Death has opened your eyes. I can see the good in you now, and what you’re willing to do for those you care about. Because you do care about them, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Wallace said gruffly.

  “I figured. And really, I can see why. They’re certainly … unique.”

  “I know they are. There’s no one like them.”

  The boy laughed again. “I’m glad we can at least agree on that.” He sobered. “One week, dear Wallace. I’ll give you one more week. In seven days, I shall return. I’ll bring you to this door. I will see you through it because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  The boy shrugged. “Then you do. I hope you won’t, but I can’t promise that this will go on for much longer. You aren’t meant to be here. Not like this. Perhaps in another life, you could have found your way to this place, and made the most of it.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Wallace said. “I’m not ready.”

  “I know that,” the boy said, for the first time sounding irritated. “Which is why I’m giving you a week rather than making you go now.” His face darkened. “Don’t mistake my offer for anything but what it is. There is no loophole, no last-minute bit of evidence you can fling upon the courtroom in a display of your legal prowess. I can make you do things, Wallace. I don’t want to, but I can.”

  Dazed, Wallace said, “I … maybe it’d be different. I’ve changed. You’ve said as much. I—”

  “No,” the boy said, shaking his head. “It’s not the same. You aren’t Nelson, the grandfather who guided Hugo after the loss of his parents. You aren’t Apollo, who helped Hugo to breathe when his lungs collapsed in his chest. You are an outsider, an anomaly. The options I’ve laid out for you—going through the door or running the risk of losing all you’ve gained—are your only options. You’re a disruption, Wallace, and though I’ve allowed certain … concessions in the spirit of magnanimity, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ll look the other way for you. This was always temporary.”

  “And what about Cameron?” Wallace demanded. “And all the others like him?”

  The boy looked surprised. “The Husks? Why do you care?”

  I’m still here. I’m still here.

  “He’s not gone,” Wallace said. “He’s still there. Part of him still exists. Help him, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

  The boy shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to bargain with you, Wallace. I thought you were beyond that stage already. You’re into the fabled land of acceptance, or at least you were. Don’t backtrack on me now.”

  “It’s not for me,” Wallace snapped. “It’s for him.”

  “Ah,” the boy said. “Is it? What would you have me do? Cure him? He knew the risks when he chose to leave the grounds.” He stood, wiping his hands off on the front of his jeans. “I’m glad we’ve had this talk. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, and believe me, that’s not something I say often.” He grimaced. “Humans are untidy. I’d rather keep my distance if possible. It’s easier when they agree with me, as you have.”

  “I didn’t agree to anything!” Wallace cried.

  The boy pouted. “Aw. Well, I’m sure you’ll come around to it. One week, Wallace. What will you do with the time you have left? I can’t wait to find out. Tell the others, or don’t. It doesn’t concern me either way. And don’t worry about the health inspector. He won’t remember a thing.” The boy tipped Wallace a jaunty salute. “See you soon.”

  And then he vanished.

  Wallace’s knees felt weak, loose, and he grabbed onto the railing to hold himself up as he heard yelling come from the bottom floor below him. He closed his eyes when Hugo began to shout his name frantically. “Here,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  Hugo said, “Alan. Wallace, where’s Alan?”

  Wallace looked at the door in the ceiling. “He’s crossed.”

  Hugo was bewildered. “What? On his own? How?”

  Wallace shook his head. “I don’t know. But he’s gone. He found his way through, and he’s gone.”

  Hugo stared at him. “I don’t … are you all right?”

  Wallace smiled, but the weight of it was heavy. “Of course.”

  * * *

  Back downstairs, Harvey said, “I do believe I lost myself for a little while. Excuse me, won’t you? I need to go home. I’ve got a terrible headache.” He was pale as he walked toward the door. “Keep this place up to code, Hugo. You won’t like what’ll happen if you don’t.”

  He walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him.

  “What the hell?” Mei muttered. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Nelson said, hands rubbing his forehead. “I feel like I’ve just woken up. Isn’t that strange?”

  Hugo didn’t say a word. His gaze never left Wallace.

  And Wallace looked away.

  * * *

  Seven days.

  What will you do with the time you have left?

  Wallace pondered this as the sun rose on the first day.

  He didn’t know.

  He’d never felt more lost in his life.

  * * *

  Grief, Wallace knew, had the power to consume, to eat away until there was nothing left but hollowed-out bones. Oh, the shape of the person remained as it was, even if the cheeks turned sallow, and dark circles formed under the eyes. Hollowed out and left raw, they were still recognizably human. It came in stages, some smaller than others, but undeniable.

  These were the stages of Wallace Price:

  On the first of his remaining days, he was in denial.

  The shop opened as it always did, bright and early. The scones and muffins were placed in the display case, the scent of them warm and thick. Tea was brewed and steeped, poured into cups and sipped slowly. People laughed. People smiled. They hugged one another as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, patting backs and gripping shoulders.

  He watched them all through the portholes in the kitchen, burdened with the knowledge that they could leave this place whenever they wished. The bitterness he felt was surprising, tugging at the back of his mind. He kept it in place, not allowing it to roar forward no matter how much he wanted it to.

  “It’s not real,” he muttered to himself. “None of it is real.”

  “What was that?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Mei stood next to the sink, a look of concern on her face. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  She didn’t believe him. “What’s wrong?”

  He laughed wildly. “Nothing at all. I’m dead. What could possibly be wrong?”

  She hesitated. “Did something happen? With Alan, or…?”

  “I told you already. He went through the door. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I don’t even know how he got there. But he’s gone.”

  “So you said. I just…” She shook her head. “You know you can talk to us, right? Whatever you need.”

  He left her in the kitchen, heading out the back door.

  He walked amongst the tea plants, fingers trailing along the leaves.

  * * *

  The first night was anger.

  Oh, but was he angry.

  He snapped at Nelson. At Apollo. They were hovering. Nelson held up his hands as Apollo put his tail between his legs. “What’s gotten into you?” Nelson asked.

  “None of your business,” Wallace snarled. “Leave me alone for one damn second.”

  Nelson was hurt, shoulders stiff as he pulled Apollo away. “You should see a doctor.”

  Wallace blinked. “What? Why?”

  “To get that stick up your ass removed.”

  Before he could retort, Hugo was in front of him, brow furrowed. “Outside.”

  Wallace glared at him. “I don’t want to go outside.”

  “Now.” He turned and headed down the hallway, not looking back to see if Wallace would follow.

  He thought about staying right where he was.

  In the end, he didn’t.

  Hugo stood on the deck, face turned toward the sky.

  “What do you want?” Wallace grumbled, staying near the door.

  “Scream,” Hugo said. “I want you to scream.”

  That startled Wallace. “What?”

  Hugo didn’t look at him. “Yell. Scream. Rage. As loud as you can. Get it all out. It’ll help. Trust me. The longer it sits in you, the more you’re poisoned. It’s best to get it out while you can.”

  “I’m not going to scream—”

  Hugo sucked in a deep breath and yelled. It was deep, the sound of it rolling through the forest around them. It was as if all the trees were screaming. His voice cracked near the end, and when his voice died, his chest heaved. He wiped spittle from his lips with the back of his hand. “Your turn.”

  “That was stupid.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Wallace sagged. “You know I do.”

  “Then do it. I don’t know what’s happened to cause this regression, but I don’t like it.”

  “And you think screaming into nothing will make me feel better.”

  Hugo shrugged. “What could it hurt?”

  Wallace sighed before joining Hugo at the railing. He felt Hugo’s gaze on him as he looked up toward the stars. He’d never felt smaller than he did at that moment. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

  “Do it,” Hugo said quietly. “Let me hear you.”

  He wondered when the threshold had been crossed that he couldn’t refuse Hugo anything.

  So he screamed as loud as he could.

  He put everything into it he had. His parents, telling him he was an embarrassment. His mother, taking her last breaths, his father next to him, though he felt like a stranger. When he died two years later, Wallace didn’t shed a tear. He told himself he’d cried over them long enough.

  And Naomi. He’d loved her. He really had. It hadn’t been enough, and she didn’t deserve what he’d turned into. He thought about the last good days they had, when he could almost convince himself that they’d make it work. It’d been foolish to think that way. The death knell had already sounded, they’d just ignored it for as long as they’d been able to in hopes that it wasn’t the end. They went to the coast, just the two of them, a couple of days away from everything. They held hands on the drive there, and it was almost like it’d used to be. They laughed. They sang along with the radio. He had rented a convertible, and the wind whipped through their hair, the sun shining down. They didn’t talk about work or children or money or past arguments. Deep down, he had known this was it, the last chance.

  It hadn’t been enough.

  They had made it a single day before they were fighting again. Wounds he long thought scarred over reopened and bled again.

  The car ride back was silent, her arms folded defensively. He ignored the tear that trickled down her cheek from underneath her sunglasses.

  A week later, she served him with divorce papers. He didn’t fight it. It was easier this way. She’d be better off. It was what they both wanted.

  He’d drowned, unaware that he’d slipped beneath the surface.

  And so here, now, he screamed as loud as he could. Tears prickled his eyes, and he was almost able to convince himself they came from the exertion. Spit flew from his mouth. His throat hurt.

  When he could scream no longer, he put his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

  Hugo said, “It’s life, Wallace. Even when you’re dead, it’s still life. You exist. You’re real. You’re strong and brave, and I’m so happy to know you. Now, tell me what happened with Alan. All of it. Leave nothing out.”

  Wallace told him everything.

  * * *

  The third stage of grief was bargaining, and it also came on the first night.

  But it wasn’t Wallace who bargained.

  It was Hugo.

  He bargained by shouting, demanding the Manager show himself to explain what the hell he’d meant. Mei stood speechless. She hadn’t said a word since Hugo had told her and Nelson the truth. Nelson’s mouth was still hanging open, hands curled tightly around his cane.

  “I’m calling you,” Hugo snapped as he paced the main room of the tea shop, glaring up at the ceiling. “I need to talk to you. I know you’re there. You’re always there. You owe me this. I never ask for anything, but I’m asking you to be here now. I’ll listen. I swear I’ll listen.”

  Apollo trailed after him, back and forth, back and forth, ears alert as he listened to his owner grow angrier.

  Wallace tried to stop Hugo, tried to tell him that it was fine, that it was okay, that he’d always known it would come to this. “This isn’t forever,” he said. “You know that. You told me that. It’s a stop, Hugo. One stop on a journey.”

  But Hugo didn’t listen.

  “Manager!” he cried. “Show yourself!”

  The Manager didn’t come.

  As the clock moved toward midnight, Mei convinced Hugo he needed to sleep. He argued bitterly, but in the end, he agreed. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he told Wallace. “I’ll think of something. I don’t know what, but I’ll figure it out. You aren’t going anywhere if you don’t want to.”

  Wallace nodded. “Go to bed. The day starts early.”

  Hugo shook his head. Muttering under his breath, he climbed the stairs, Apollo following him.

  Mei waited until the door slammed shut above them before she turned to Wallace. “He’ll do what he can,” she said quietly.

  “I know,” Wallace said. “But I don’t know if he should.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  He sighed as he looked away. “He has a job to do. Nothing is more important than that. He can’t throw it away because of me.”

  “He’s not throwing anything away,” she said sharply. “He’s fighting to give you the time you deserve, to make your own choice about when you’re ready. Don’t you see that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m dead,” he said. “There’s no going back from that. A river only moves in one direction.”

  “But—”

  “It is what it is. You’ve all taught me that. I didn’t listen at first, but I learned. And it made me better because of it. Isn’t that the point?”

  She sniffled. “Oh, Wallace. It’s more than that now.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe if things were different, we’d…” He couldn’t finish. “There’s still time left. The best thing I can do is to make the most of it.”

  Soon after, she went to bed.

  The clocked ticked, ticked, ticked the seconds and minutes and hours away.

  Nelson said, “I’m glad you’re here.”