The Ferryman Institute

by Colin Gigl

  Suddenly, Charlie started to laugh. It was a quiet sort of chuckling, the type that often comes with a slow and steady head shake, as this one did. Alice went from confused to scared. Javrouche, however, was not amused.

  “What’s so funny?” His eyes burned holes in Charlie, but the Ferryman continued laughing to himself. With a click, Javrouche pulled the hammer back on the pistol and thrust it in Alice’s direction. His voice boomed as he finally appeared to lose the tenuous hold he’d still had on his sanity. “I asked you what is so goddamn funny?!”

  With three long but quick strides, he wrapped his left arm around Alice (who shrieked wildly in response and no, she wasn’t proud of it, thanks for asking) and pressed the barrel into her temple. “So help me, I will paint the floor with her brain matter! Answer me!”

  Charlie finally looked up from the table, and Alice was stunned to see tears rolling down his face. “Go ahead,” he said nonchalantly. “Pull the trigger.” He punctuated the last words with a sniffle, but his expression was steel resolve.

  It wasn’t the answer Javrouche had been expecting. Even more so, it wasn’t the one Alice had been, either. What did he just say? It couldn’t have been what she thought he’d said, which was Pull the trigger, because if that was supposed to save Alice’s life, she was having a hard time figuring out how. Unless . . . he’d chosen securing the presidency over saving her? Rationally, it made sense—the good of the many over the needs of the few. Was that why he was crying? But—oh God, no—he wouldn’t . . . would he? She felt a wail of despair welling up inside her as tears of her own began to rush down her cheeks.

  Jesus, how many times could she almost get killed with these people? All right, so she had made the mistake of wanting to die not so long ago, but she knew better now. I get it already! she thought. Whoever you are out there, you win. I don’t want to die anymore, okay? I haven’t for a while. I’m sorry. Please, just get us both out of here alive!

  “Charlie—!” Alice started, but cried out in pain as Javrouche ground the gun harder into her temple. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the barrel had broken her skin. Her breath came in short drags, his arm an anaconda wrapping tightly around her neck.

  “You think I won’t do it?” Javrouche asked, the calmness in his voice a stark contrast to the frenetic style of his actions. “Is that what you think? Do you take this for a bluff, Mssr. Dawson?” He twisted the gun, eliciting another shot of pain from the side of Alice’s head to her mouth.

  However, Charlie seemed completely unfazed by the entire situation. He took a hobbling step forward, then another one, then another. “I don’t care what you do, Javrouche. I never have. Honestly, right now, I just feel sorry for you. You haven’t tried to be a bad guy. Shit, I’m not even sure I think you are one. You’re just someone trying to do his job to the best of his ability, and if nothing else, I can respect that. In fact, it took me until now, but I think I’ve finally figured it out. You’re as much a victim of this place as I am. The other side of my coin, if you will.”

  Javrouche scowled. “Don’t insult me.”

  “We are, though, aren’t we? I’ve been wanting to leave this place for years, Inspector. Did you know that? But they never let me, and so I had to keep going. Had to keep moving souls on. Had to keep watching people die. And all the while, the only thing I could do to stop myself from completely breaking down was run away.” He hesitated there, apparently unconcerned by Alice’s precarious position. “If all those years ago, I’d have known that assignment was your son, I would have taken it in a heartbeat. I didn’t, though. I only found out a few days later. Sometimes I think about it and tell myself I was so worn down, I wouldn’t have been able to save him anyway. In the cold light of day, I think that’s me just trying to cope. Your son’s case . . . I know I’ve said this before, but I want you to know—really know—that I truly regret not taking your son’s case to this day. People say I’ve never failed a case, but I know better. But even though I regret it, I’ve stopped blaming myself for it. I’m no Council member, no god. I’m only me. Just an ordinary guy in an expensive-looking suit who happens to be good at talking to dead people. And maybe one live one. But that’s all I am.”

  The vise grip on Alice’s neck loosened marginally as Javrouche’s sneer finally disappeared. “Do you know what I think, Mssr. Dawson? I think this is bigger than that. This is our destiny, you and I, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. You will destroy this Institute, or I will save it. Either-or.”

  Charlie turned to Alice, her nose sniffling something fierce, her eyes burning and her head aching from the cold iron being forced into her skull. His look was solemn then, before he turned his attention back to Javrouche.

  “There is no such thing as fate or destiny. The man who searches longest for the strings of fate often finds them, while the man who seeks them not knows himself to be free. I finally get that now. What happens next is what you decide to do, nothing more.” Charlie exhaled. “Your call, Claude. Go ahead and pull the trigger. I promise I’ll ask them for leniency when this is all over.”

  For the most fleeting of moments, the Inspector seemed to lose all of his energy. Alice could understand the feeling—she had quickly grown to hate when Charlie pulled that shit, too. It would be nice if she could understand what he was talking about before she had her brains blown out.

  But then Javrouche snapped back to himself, squeezing Alice’s neck viciously with his left arm, wrenching her head closer. “Suit yourself. Using Mlle. Spiegel as my volunteer, please allow me to demonstrate what it feels like to watch something you love slip away.”

  A thick line of pain ran straight through Alice’s skull, the sirens in her brain blaring in alarm. She tried to cry out, but she couldn’t breathe now, the anguish catching in her throat as it pulled closed. Her hands shot to Javrouche’s arm, tugging wildly in an attempt to loosen the iron grip on her neck, but it was no use. This is it, she thought. My luck has finally run out. Really, honest-to-God run out. She struggled to look up, trying to get one last glimpse of Charlie. She succeeded, but his eyes were locked on Javrouche. A pang of a million different emotions flooded her system.

  So be it, she mused.

  Those words again, still just as fitting. This time, however, she refused to close her eyes. She would give herself every last second she had left. That’s how she wanted it.

  Click.

  Alice could feel Javrouche stop moving.

  Click click.

  “No . . . ,” he breathed.

  Click click click click click . . .

  The gun was empty.

  And that’s when Charlie punched the Inspector square in the throat.

  Alice immediately felt the pressure on her neck loosen as the force knocked the Inspector off balance, allowing a pinhole of air to weasel its way into her lungs. It was now or never—Alice gathered what strength she had and pushed upward with both hands against Javrouche’s arm while simultaneously ducking. To her unbridled relief, she slipped out from his grasp. She followed it up with her best action-hero impression by diving for the nearest chair and hiding behind it, coughing all the while—so, all in all, a pretty lousy one.

  Charlie followed up his first effort with another haymaker, this time from the left side. Javrouche seemed to have been caught completely off guard by the first punch and therefore was blindsided by the second. Charlie’s knuckles connected cleanly with the Inspector’s jaw, distorting the man’s face into an odd contortion. With his balance already off, the second hit sent the Inspector to his knees.

  As Alice began piecing together a picture of her surroundings in her head, she caught sight of the Council. Some of them stood looking on, either completely captivated or just mildly interested. Cartwright and the dark-haired woman had used the commotion to sneak over to Melissa’s prone figure. Charon, meanwhile, had darted back to the Council’s table. His eyes never left the fighting pair, but his fingers worked furiously over the desk’s surface.

 
It was then that she noticed the rifle leaning against the table. Charon glanced in her direction, and for a moment, they made eye contact. Without a word between them, he slowly nodded.

  The Inspector halfheartedly tried to push himself up, but Charlie lashed out with a standing kick that landed just behind Javrouche’s right ear, knocking him and his pistol down.

  “Fuck, that hurt!” Charlie yelled as he clutched his bleeding leg. “I totally forgot about my leg. Fucking hell!”

  The doubled-over Ferryman never saw Javrouche coming.

  The Inspector charged shoulder first, connecting with Charlie like an irate battering ram. The two tumbled to the ground in a heap, bouncing and rolling along the floor. As their momentum ran out, the two men grappled, each struggling to get a solid grasp. As time passed, however, it was clear that the Inspector’s lack of both pain and fatigue was swinging the pendulum in his favor.

  “Do you remember making a joke about using me as your piñata, Mssr. Dawson? I’d love to hear it again.”

  He snuck in a left jab that pummeled Charlie right in the nose. The Inspector used that moment to square up, pinning Charlie beneath him with his legs and opening up the chance for him to use both of his hands. Even without his various supernatural abilities, his position gave him the clear advantage.

  Alice, however, hadn’t been idle.

  “Hey, asshole!” she called.

  Javrouche feinted with his left hand, then cut across Charlie’s nose again with his right. Even Alice heard the vague crunch his fist made when it plowed into the cartilage there. Only after the punch connected did Javrouche glance over, expecting nothing but instead getting a full view of Alice aiming the capture rifle straight into his left eye. He froze.

  Alice readjusted her grip on it. She’d never fired a gun this large before. Even after a considerable amount of time spent at the range, she hadn’t the faintest idea what kind of kick to expect. As she pressed the butt harder into her shoulder, she said a quick prayer that Javrouche didn’t notice her wincing.

  “Must be difficult pressing that into your injured shoulder, Mlle. Spiegel.”

  So much for that. Well, fake it ’til you make it. This was only going to work once—if that—and she had to make it count.

  “It could hurt ten times as bad and I’d still be able to make this shot,” she said. It was a bluff: the distance was short, maybe ten to fifteen feet, but the rifle felt unwieldy even propped against her shoulder—not to mention she wasn’t entirely confident the gun had any ammo left to dispense.

  The Inspector seemed to consider her statement. “It’s out of rounds, you know.”

  Jesus, what was with these people seeming to always know exactly what she was thinking? Was her poker face really that bad? Maybe that’s why Marc always refused to take her to Atlantic City. Alice forced a Cheshire grin to spread out greedily across her face. “Nice try. I almost believed you for a second there,” she said, and repositioned the gun, lining up her shot.

  Despite her bravado, Alice’s arms were getting tired and it was taking everything she had to keep them from shaking. Should she take the shot? What if Javrouche was right and the gun turned out to be empty? The only thing keeping him occupied appeared to be the threat of a loaded weapon. Or what if she missed? She had no idea how long it would take for the rifle to cycle, or if there even was another round to cycle, and anything longer than a second was probably too much.

  Alice took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves and focus on the sight at the end of the rifle. It dipped and weaved like a moored boat floating on rough seas. Her finger felt for the trigger, sliding its way across the guard, inching toward the little metal hook that made all the magic happen. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Javrouche’s body began to tense up, rising discreetly, standing.

  Now or never. Her finger felt the resistance on the trigger as she slowly started to squeeze.

  Before she could fire, Charlie pistol-whipped the Inspector right across the face.

  The sandalwood-gripped steel shattered the Inspector’s jaw, snapping the mandible like a dry wishbone as he fell to the floor. Charlie quickly struggled to a sitting position, a vibrant stem of blood blooming from his very broken nose. When he’d gotten ahold of the Inspector’s other gun, she couldn’t say, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.

  “Alice!” Charlie barked. However, his follow-up to that (Alice’s mind instantly assumed B movie fluff, something like Shoot the bastard! or Avenge me! or Get to the chopper!) was turned into a muffled grunt by Javrouche’s foot. The Inspector had rather cannily used his momentum to tuck into a tight spin, wheeling around his back leg with a vicious strength that caught the Ferryman right in the head.

  Javrouche wasted no time getting to his feet, Charlie sprawled out before him like a red carpet. If before Alice had had a suspicion that the Inspector was being cautious because of the rifle, his eyes clearly stated that was no longer the case. He worked his jaw methodically, a proud prizefighter awaiting the bell to signal the final round. Or maybe it was just repairing itself. Alice couldn’t really tell with these weirdos.

  Focus, she thought, reminding herself just where she was. She inhaled again, propping the rifle up, but the end of the barrel traced a stumbling path in the air, a drunken bumblebee trying to find its way home. There was a vague commotion behind her, but she ignored it.

  Javrouche, however, did not.

  With a look composed of equal parts disdain and resignation, the Inspector bolted for the door Alice and Begemot had entered from, taking off at a rather impressive pace. Alice straightened in surprise for a moment before instinct took back over, her body naturally tracking him from behind the sight as he sprinted across the room. Her finger slipped back in front of the trigger, teasing it, waiting. Javrouche reached the door and turned.

  The adrenaline pulsed to the very tips of her fingers, then seemed to evaporate, a surreal sense of calm taking control in its absence. The helter-skelter pattern of her rifle ceased, giving way to a compact figure eight. She closed her left eye and watched as the world quietly drew to a standstill. She stared into the face of the man who had tried to kill her several times over. Her index finger twitched over the trigger.

  Now, her brain shouted. Now!

  She couldn’t do it.

  Time resumed its normal flow, and two men rushed past her, chasing after the fleeing Inspector. “That’s your man!” Charon shouted after them. “I want him brought down!” Alice stayed standing, letting the rifle down slowly. Then, without consciously realizing it, she quietly sat on the floor.

  Moments ago, she’d had every intention of shooting Javrouche. On evidence, the bastard deserved it. And yet she saw the look on his face—the last one before he made his final escape, for what must have been only an instant in the real world—and recognized it immediately.

  It was the same awful, pathetic look she had seen staring back at her in the mirror of Cartwright’s apartment seconds after she’d accidentally slit her wrist.

  Translated, it read: My God, what have I done?

  Once she saw that look, she knew, for good or ill, that she wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. She had discovered a small piece of herself reflected in Javrouche’s expression, and suddenly, Alice had found herself pitying him. Maybe they weren’t as different as she’d believed—two wayward souls who, in their own time, had seen the error of their ways. Maybe there was hope for him yet, like there had been for her. If ever there was a person who’d come to believe in redemption, it was Alice. And so, with her mind unable to decide which choice was the right one, she’d let the Inspector go. She simply couldn’t bring herself to judge him.

  With Javrouche gone, a few of the remaining huddled Council members hurried to their desks, typing feverishly. They spoke in hushed tones to each other, and though Alice couldn’t quite make out the words, their sense of urgency was obvious. Freya joined Cartwright and the other woman next to Melissa, the two wearing notably grim expressions as they c
rouched over her. Alice made a note of it, her brain taking stock in a way that made her feel like she wasn’t even there. Just a casual observer, watching it all on TV from somewhere far away, wondering when the next commercial was so she could go pee.

  “Don’t bother,” Charlie said to Cartwright as his small group tried to revive Melissa. He’d gotten himself standing again but certainly looked worse for wear. A messy blotch of blood was smeared across the lower half of his face, a welcome back to mortality gift from his swollen and slightly crooked nose. When Cartwright turned, his expression one of plain anger at Charlie’s words, the Ferryman flipped him a key with a note attached.

  “It says I’m to be her Ferryman when she dies. She’s still alive, but she’s only got another hour if the ETD is anything to go by. I would just do your best to make her comfortable.” He shook his head dismally. “She walked into the room knowing she was going to die. She kept it a secret from us the whole damn time. With giving me the presidency, with everything . . .” His voice trailed off.

  As Charlie moved gingerly over to Alice, Cartwright read the note. His expression changed before her eyes, his jaw slightly agape. “Good heavens. I had no idea . . . ,” he whispered.

  “That makes at least two of us.” Charlie pointed in the direction that the Inspector had fled toward. “Who were those guys chasing after Javrouche?”

  “They would be Charon’s retinue,” Freya replied. Though she was speaking to Charlie, Freya’s eyes remained fixed on Melissa as she gently stroked the injured woman’s hair. “We all have an Institute member or two at our disposal. For example, Koroviev has been working with Virgil for quite some time. It’s a . . . convenient way for us to circumvent the issue of directly interfering with the Institute’s affairs. Unfortunately, they’re not always free and available when we need them—they have positions of their own to hold. Luckily for us, it seems Charon was able to get in touch with his during your scuffle.”