by Colin Gigl
“I can’t help but feel like there’s a catch here,” Charlie said matter-of-factly. He looked around the room, searching for affirmation, but when there was none to be had, it only deepened his suspicion. “Right, then. What’s the catch?”
Melissa was now carefully laying out sheets of paper, signing them in spots before placing them into orderly rows. “No catch,” she said, answering quickly without even looking up. “If you become president, you still obviously can’t live a normal life, per se, but it’s much closer to the real thing.” There was an eerie silence that followed her words, and for her part, it seemed like Melissa was trying to look as busy as possible signing papers.
“Mel,” Charlie said. When she didn’t look up, he raised his voice, speaking firmly and with conviction. “Mel!” That did the trick. “What’s really going on here?”
“You’re becoming president of the Ferryman Institute,” she replied, as if they were going to get ice cream. Without missing a beat, she was back to doing paperwork.
Alice eyed her carefully. The expression on her face seemed completely neutral . . . almost too neutral. Was that even possible? Was she reading too much into this? That was definitely possible, but something about this just didn’t seem right. Not that she wasn’t rooting for this to happen, even if she felt slightly guilty that it was a somewhat selfish motivation. It was just that, if Charlie became president, he’d be just an ordinary guy again . . .
Her thoughts trailed off as she surveyed the room. The Council members were either talking quietly among themselves or keeping busy with what seemed to be computers built into the surface of the table they sat around. As her gaze shifted, no one seemed willing to meet it. She caught Koroviev’s eye and raised her eyebrow. He responded with a shrug. Alice moved on to Cartwright, or Virgil, or the Artist formerly known as Cartwright, or whatever it was he was going by these days. Their eyes met briefly, but he immediately looked away. For some reason, that struck her as odd. She let her focus linger there, and after a moment or two, he looked back again. He seemed tormented by something and her eyes were only making it worse, almost as if they’d assumed the same power as the beating of the telltale heart. Sure enough, after a few seconds, Cartwright practically jumped out of his chair.
“Madam President, I apologize, but you can’t do this without telling Charles the whole truth. He has a right to know.”
Charlie looked back at him in confusion, and Melissa’s expression turned sour. A few of the other Council members looked over, apparently trying to appear uninterested when Alice guessed they were anything but.
“Virgil,” Melissa began slowly, like she was trying to put together the words one at a time as they came to her, “I gave you an order—”
“That I have disobeyed willingly, for which I apologize from the depths of my heart. But Madam President—nay, Melissa—I think your current plan is a recipe for more harm than good, and I simply cannot sit idly by and watch it happen. You are the president, yes, but you are a friend first.” He exhaled loudly, perhaps physically letting out what he’d been keeping bottled in his chest. “Please, tell him. He deserves to know.” And with that, he reclaimed his seat.
Melissa’s eyes fixed themselves on the table she currently stood above. She lightly tapped the pen she’d been using against the glass surface, tap taptap tap, in no particular rhythm.
“I wouldn’t call it a catch,” she said, raising her face to look at Charlie, “but there is something you should be aware of. Before I tell you, I want to reemphasize that this is a decision I’m making willingly, by myself, without any external pressure.” She finally stopped tapping her pen and sighed. “When a president voluntarily resigns and signs over the position . . . that person must then transfer out.”
The words filled the room, ghosts that haunted the silence that followed. Alice didn’t realize what that meant at first, but slowly, as she remembered the conversation she and Begemot had been eavesdropping on, it occurred to her: this woman was quite literally going to die for Charlie.
Holy shit.
But Charlie never flinched. He stared right at her, unmoving. “You’re killing yourself. For me.”
Melissa stood and began walking around the table to where Charlie was standing. “In a way I am, yes. Tempting as it is, I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass and tell you I’m not. It’s also incredibly scary, finally facing your own mortality. I always believed I’d be ready for this, and truth is, now that it’s here, I don’t feel quite as sure as I thought I would. But here’s the thing, Charlie. We’re all going to die. Even for these guys here”—she motioned to the circle of Council members, all listening now—“it’s going to happen eventually. The universe will end at some point, or the human race will drive itself into extinction. Who knows. But I’ve been here for a while. I’ve gotten to see how you operate up close. And frankly, I look at the two of you and I want to give this to you. Am I afraid of what’s waiting for me on the other side? Abso-fucking-lutely. But I’m much more afraid that if I don’t do this now, I’ll regret it for however many years I’ve got left.”
Mere feet away from him now, she held out both her hands. In one, a single sheet of paper and a pen; in the other, a golden key with a note attached to its handle. “You’ve always been a bit of a mystery to me, you know that? It seems like you’ve always held so much back. It’s like you can’t let anyone else bear the weight but you. You’re still human, though, Charlie. Don’t force yourself to be a martyr. You’re a good man. Let me do this for you.”
Melissa and Charlie stared at each other, neither one willing to be the first to look away.
With an unexpected swipe, Charlie snatched the sheet of paper, signed it, and slammed the pen on the table. His mouth was clenched tight as he glared at Melissa. Then he wrapped her tightly in his arms in a strong bear hug.
“Goddamn you,” he whispered, loud enough for the room to hear, though Alice was sure he didn’t care one iota who heard him. “Just . . . fuck.”
Melissa lightly pushed him back so he was at arm’s length. Her lips curled in one of the gentlest smiles Alice had ever seen, as if Melissa’s benevolent act were manifesting itself on her lips. Alice could practically feel her heart melting in gobs inside her rib cage.
“Don’t be afraid about what’s going to happen, Charlie,” Melissa said. “You and Alice weren’t listed. Be brave.”
The moment she finished speaking, the gunshot rang out.
Alice screamed reflexively at the sound, not knowing where it had come from. Melissa’s body spun around, ending in a crumpled heap on the floor. Charlie’s eyes went wide, unable to comprehend what had just happened. But even before the crisply enunciated voice spoke and confirmed her worst fears, Alice knew.
“My apologies for interrupting, but I’m afraid I have some unfinished business that needs attending to.”
Alice turned slowly to see Inspector Javrouche marching into the room with a measured tip-tap across the hard floor. Both the pistol in his hand and the hard, thin line on his face were drawn and leveled at Charlie. With his other hand, he’d propped a long, futuristic-looking rifle against his shoulder.
“What an eventful day today has been. To think—on the very day I learn of the Ferryman Council’s existence, I get to meet them. Will wonders never cease. So, my first question: How long does it take for Mssr. Dawson’s new mortality to take effect?” Another gunshot, but this one was followed by a short, guttural scream of pain from Charlie. Alice watched in compounding horror as he fell to the ground, clutching his leg.
“I suppose that answers that,” Javrouche said. “I have to ask—how does it feel to be human again, Mssr. Dawson?”
There was a blur of motion off to Alice’s side, and it took her a moment to make out the form of Begemot rushing toward Javrouche. As he closed in on the Inspector, she prayed that he would make it in time. But Javrouche saw him coming. Alice watched in bewilderment as the Inspector swiftly stuck the pistol into his belt, then, in
the same motion, aimed the rifle at the onrushing Koroviev and fired. With barely two steps of distance to close, Koroviev’s body abruptly seized up in a massive spasm. His forward momentum carried him past Javrouche in a series of dramatic tumbles until his body eventually settled to the ground in a fit of convulsions.
“Greetings, Koroviev. I was actually about to thank you for leading me to this tucked-away little cubbyhole. You were easy enough marks to follow, especially given Mlle. Spiegel’s rather pronounced limp.” Javrouche continued to move toward the Council’s table. “And what a reward it was, to be able to listen in on a conversation like that. Who knew the Institute had set so many furtive plans in motion?”
Alice instinctively backed away, trying to stay close to Charlie but at the same time trying to get as far away from Javrouche as she could. At the head of the table, Charon rose to his feet in a majestic but incandescent rage.
“What is the meaning of this, Inspector?!” he bellowed, his eyes wide but his eyebrows drawn into lines of fury.
“Bonjour, Mssr. Charon. It is an honor.” Javrouche stopped his march several feet from the table’s edge. His gaze shifted from face to face, each expression twisted into some form of anger or shock. “As well to the rest of you, Council members.”
“What you are doing is an outrage,” snarled the blond-haired woman. Other members took to their feet. Not a single pair of eyes focused anywhere but on Javrouche.
“I can’t help but agree—Mme. Freya, I assume? Horrifying, isn’t it, that ensuring the safety and protection of the Ferryman Institute has come down to me.”
Alice glanced down at Charlie, who was rolling over onto his knees. A small streak of blood traced where he’d dragged his leg across the floor.
“What do you know of saving the Institute?” Cartwright asked.
“By the shape of things, I’d say a considerable amount more than you, Mssr. Virgil. Or is it Mssr. Cartwright?” He allowed himself a quick smirk before it melted away. “This Institute means everything to me, and I will not let it fall apart willingly. Fortunately, it appears that fate hasn’t abandoned me just yet.”
“You’re making a mistake, Javrouche. There’s no need for this.” It was the strange-looking man standing next to Freya who’d said that.
“There was no need—I was happy enough to leave unnoticed after I’d heard Mssr. Dawson agree to transfer out. Except that never happened, and instead your Council essentially said, ‘Thank you for nearly exposing our Institute to the world, Mssr. Dawson. Here is the most powerful position we have.’ I couldn’t stand idly by after that, messieurs and mesdames. In time, when you look back on this moment, you’ll see the truth in that.”
“I could not possibly disagree with you more, Inspector,” Cartwright said as he steadily circled the table.
“Is that right?” The Inspector responded by retrieving the pistol from his belt and pointing it at Charlie’s head. “You’re more than welcome to stop me, then. Any of you.”
Acting on what appeared to be pure reflex, Cartwright jumped forward, his hand extending as he tried to grab the pistol gripped in Javrouche’s hand. However, just as the tips of Cartwright’s fingers would have made contact with the weapon, they suddenly disintegrated into a thousand orange and black particles, bursting into the air in wispy strands. As his momentum carried him forward, Cartwright’s fingers continued to split apart, until they’d completely dispersed into a cloud of specks. It was as if an invisible sieve surrounded Javrouche’s gun, and Cartwright was pushing his hand farther and farther into it—like pushing cheese across a grater, only one so fine that it didn’t shred cheese so much as turn it into granules akin to grains of sand. The particles that had once composed Cartwright’s hand floated in the air nearby as if they were embers being blown around a campfire on a breezy night.
By the time Cartwright was able to stop, he’d lost everything at and above his wrist. He pulled his arm back from Javrouche immediately, and as he did, the particles followed, each one darting back into the place it had originally been. In no more than a second, Cartwright’s arm was whole again, hand and fingers back where they belonged. Cartwright clenched his teeth in seething anger, eyes smoldering, but he moved back several feet from where Javrouche stood. The Inspector saw it all, and a daring grin broke out across his face.
“Except you physically can’t, can you?” Javrouche said. “As long as there is an acting president, we cannot directly influence Institute matters, or something to that effect, no? I had no idea you meant it so literally. I take it that was the same reason nothing could be done while Mme. Johnson was in my care. Here you are, bound by your own ridiculous machinations. The irony is almost too much.”
Alice almost didn’t recognize the voice that responded. It was Cartwright’s, but distinctly hushed, a subtle quiver embedded in it. Each word he spoke seemed to carry with it an assurance of abundant wrath. “I swear to you . . . you will be judged for this, good sir.”
Javrouche advanced several steps closer to Alice, gun still drawn. “Judge to your heart’s content. I follow the law, Mssr. Virgil. I don’t fear justice.”
The gun remained pointed at Charlie as he pulled himself up to his feet. A small hole perforated his right leg about midthigh, the pant leg that surrounded it quickly turning red. However, Javrouche then began to methodically turn until the business end of the pistol was pointing squarely at Alice’s forehead. Frankly speaking, she would have preferred it pointing just about anywhere else.
“Let’s talk, Mssr. Dawson. I have some requests.”
Alice didn’t know what to do. Really, what could she do? If she moved, she’d probably be shot. If she didn’t move, she’d probably be shot. Stuck between a rock and a hard place or, in this particular case, a head shot and a dead place. She stood there, trying not to look as petrified as she felt.
“I’m listening,” Charlie said.
“I figured you would be.” Javrouche indicated the Council with a flick of his head. “Instruct them that this is between us. They are to all move away from their table; then there is to be no speaking, no moving, no interruptions of any kind on their part. Breaking that will end this conversation abruptly with a bang, if you catch my drift.”
Charlie looked over at the Council, spent a moment studying their faces, before returning to Javrouche. “They heard you,” he replied.
The Inspector shook his head. “It has to come from you. A president’s orders, as they say.” Since his arrival, Javrouche had remained eerily even-tempered, a trait Alice couldn’t help but think made him even more dangerous. However, she caught the rather obvious note of disgust in his last remark.
“Charles—” Cartwright began, but he was stopped by Charlie’s raised hand.
“Do as he says. That’s an order.”
It was impossible to decipher the expression on Cartwright’s face then—hurt, ashamed, furious . . . There were shards of each there, distinct pieces that shifted in the light. He bit his trembling lower lip as if to steady it, and said nothing. Alice didn’t think he needed to—she understood how he felt perfectly. Per their instructions, the Council members moved away from the desk, standing several feet away now in one irate-looking pack.
“Congratulations on your first official act as president, Mssr. Dawson,” Javrouche said. “I’d say your tenure is off to a wonderful start.”
Charlie’s face remained neutral. “Alice has nothing to do with this, Javrouche. I’ll cooperate, but only if you leave her out of it.”
“Unfortunately, I disagree, Mssr. Dawson—Mlle. Spiegel has quite a bit to do with this. She also makes an excellent bargaining chip.” Javrouche carefully set the long rifle against the Council’s table, his focus alternating between Charlie and the sights of his pistol. Alice tried to subtly step out of his aim, but the Inspector kept the gun trained on her. She was really beginning to hate how good he was at that.
“Next order of business,” the Inspector continued. “I want you to relinquish your
position and appoint me as president.”
Charlie let out a bark of laughter, but cut it short when he realized Javrouche wasn’t joking. “You can’t be serious. The Council will overrule that decision immediately.”
“That’s certainly one possibility. However, I see it this way—if they unanimously object to your decision, I’ll kill Mlle. Spiegel, shoot you in your other leg, and be on my way. With you still alive as president, the Council can’t act to stop me, nor would you be in any physical shape to. By the time you move against me, I’ll have already made an announcement to the Ferryman Institute detailing all of this—all the deceit, the schemes, the plotting. Your first day as president, and you’ll be contending with a civil war.”
Javrouche moved a step closer to Alice. “So can you really assume then, monsieur, that everyone will object to my presidency? As Mssr. Virgil said, all eight Council members must oppose your decision for the objection to stick. All it takes is one sympathetic voice—one Council member with a bit of foresight—to see how I could raise the Institute to new heights . . . or one who sees the ramifications of my plan and simply won’t take that risk.”
It was clear from the look on Charlie’s face that the Inspector’s argument had struck home. He stared at the Council members, eyes searching their faces for any hint of a suggestion. Alice, however, couldn’t see any way he could play this hand without losing.
“So, Mssr. President,” the Inspector said, “what’ll it be?”
Charlie’s gaze returned to Javrouche. “So this is your version of justice, huh? Running around, shooting people left and right, threatening everyone? This is how you right all my wrongs?”
But Javrouche only sighed. “Come off it, Mssr. Dawson. I’m no idiot. Stop stalling. The presidency or the girl. Time is running out. Choose before I choose for you.”
Alice’s eyes shifted over to Charlie, who she just now noticed wasn’t even looking at her or the Inspector. He seemed to be looking down at his right hand on the table, which he was using to support himself. There was something in his expression, though, something odd . . .
