Outcasts

by Claire McFall

  * * *

  It didn’t seem real, walking out of Dylan’s front door and down the steps of her building. Susanna led the way, with James behind her keeping a tight hold of Joan’s hand, urging the woman on. Dylan’s mum seemed to be in a state of shock, allowing her husband to tug her along like a child, but Susanna had the feeling that it wouldn’t last long. Whether she would return to the sharp, suspicious woman Susanna had first met, or whether grief at losing her life – and her daughter – would overwhelm her and drive her to break down again, was still to be seen.

  Joan and James’s wasteland started innocuously enough. The street they exited onto was wide and lined with red sandstone tenements. There was nobody around. Susanna led them down their street, away from everything that was familiar. The urban landscape continued for a long time. It was eerie and uncomfortable, even for Susanna. She didn’t mind wide-open vistas and sweeping landscapes, but the tall buildings made her feel penned in, and the sheer emptiness of all those doors, all those windows, was undeniably creepy.

  The two souls walked close enough behind her that she wasn’t worried about them disappearing, but far enough back that she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Their heads were bent close together every time she glanced back.

  “We’re not far from the first safe house,” she told them, just to break the silence. “After today, we’ll be out in the open.”

  “And that’s bad?” James asked.

  Susanna shrugged. There wasn’t much difference, to be honest. Here the endless empty buildings meant there were countless places for wraiths to hide, but so long as the daylight lasted, they couldn’t come out.

  It was a relief to have the rules of the wasteland back in place, though she would trade this urban graveyard for the burning sun and swirling sand in a heartbeat if it meant she could have Jack back.

  “So long as we’re in a safe house before the light fades, it’s fine,” she said. “We’ll have to move faster than we have been, though. We’ll have further to go.”

  With two souls, if they were caught out in the open by the wraiths, there was no chance of Susanna not losing at least one. Maybe both of them.

  The first safe house wasn’t a house – it was a ground-floor flat in a block of four. It was clean enough, the building nondescript, but still, Susanna couldn’t help thinking of Jack, of the first night they’d spent together. She’d had to work so hard to get him this far. A memory of him kissing her, thinking she was his old girlfriend Sammy, barrelled into her mind, along with the conversation they’d had in the safe house only days ago, Jack teasing her about being her first (and only) kiss.

  The memories were bittersweet.

  James and Joan didn’t really seem to take in where they were. They entered the flat, barely glancing around, and then sat on the grubby couch in the handkerchief-sized living room. They huddled close together, Joan holding tight to James’s hand.

  “We’re safe here,” Susanna told them. “We just need to stay inside, OK?”

  “Why?” James asked.

  “What?”

  “Why do we need to stay inside?”

  Susanna considered him, deciding how flagrant to be with the truth. He’d handled everything incredibly well so far, though.

  “There are… creatures out there. We call them wraiths. They… well, they consume souls, until there’s nothing left and you become just like them.”

  James looked at her, long and hard, and then he nodded. “I think I’ve seen one.”

  “I… what?” Susanna eyed him askance. “I don’t think so, they only exist in the wasteland.”

  “I’ve seen one,” James repeated. “There was a video online. I showed it to Tristan and he knew what it was. It was—” He shivered in revulsion, and that, more than anything, convinced Susanna that he had actually glimpsed one.

  She wanted to ask how, and when; wanted to hound him with details about what he’d seen. But Susanna had learned her lesson: she needed to stop fixating on the real world and instead live in the one she’d been given. The stakes were too high otherwise. Souls depended on her.

  Besides, she had access to James’s memories. Skimming through, she hunted through James’s recent past, but nothing jumped out at her, just more of those curious blank spots, like bits and pieces had been rubbed out.

  It was so bizarre.

  Taking a chair, Susanna sat and stared out of a window at the gathering dusk. She didn’t like this, being outnumbered by the souls. It made her feel unbalanced, strangely vulnerable. James and Joan weren’t speaking either, and the silence between the three of them was so heavy it was almost suffocating.

  Apparently, Susanna wasn’t the only one to feel it.

  “I can’t do this!” Joan jumped up, drawing the cardigan she wore more tightly around herself and turning to face the door. “I can’t stay here. I can’t. Dylan is on her own; she’ll be so frightened. She needs me.”

  She took a step towards the exit and Susanna leapt to her feet. She got in front of Joan as James approached her from the back, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  “You have to stay inside,” Susanna repeated. “I told you, it isn’t safe.”

  “No.” Joan shook her head. “No, it doesn’t matter what you say to me. My baby needs me, I have to go!”

  “Go where?” Susanna asked. “You’re not in your world any more! You can’t go back!”

  Only Susanna now knew that was a lie. A big fat lie that the ferrymen had fed to endless souls, a lie they’d been fed themselves. The souls weren’t allowed to go back, and that wasn’t the same thing at all.

  Although… something about Joan and James’s flat had seemed off, not quite right. It hadn’t really penetrated at the time; Susanna had been too distraught about Jack, and then too thrown by her latest assignment, but now it whispered at her, demanding attention.

  The street had been too quiet. The flat, it hadn’t been a ghost of the real world: a hairsbreadth to the left, a step out of time. Normally, when Susanna picked up a soul, she could almost feel, almost touch, the real world. It tickled her skin like the faintest breeze.

  The air in the flat had been dead, like someone had slammed the door on the real world, as if whoever had taken Joan and James’s life had wanted to thrust them deep enough into the wasteland that they’d never reappear.

  How did you die? Susanna wondered.

  Now wasn’t the time to ask, though.

  “I have to try,” Joan said flatly. “You don’t understand, she needs me!”

  “I’m sorry,” Susanna said. “I really am.” The words were sincere, but they still sounded hollow. “If you go out there, that will be the end of you. You lose your chance of ever seeing Dylan again, once her time comes.”

  “What’s she supposed to do, all on her own?” Joan demanded.

  Susanna pressed her lips together; she didn’t have an answer.

  “She’s not alone, sweetheart,” James put in. “She has Tristan.”

  “He’s just a boy!” Joan shouted. She whirled, standing so that she could keep the two of them in sight and Susanna knew she was gearing herself up for battle. It didn’t matter, and in days gone by Susanna would have just let her rage, but she owed Dylan and Tristan. She’d caused trouble for them, and yet they’d helped her. And Tristan had Susanna’s loyalty, always.

  “He’s not just a boy,” she told Joan. “He’s a ferryman, like me. He’s strong, and he’s brave. He loves her, he won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Can he pay bills?” Joan threw back. “Can he keep a roof over their heads? Can he make enough to keep them both fed? Of course he can’t!” She tossed her head. “He can’t even get a job without ID. I had a hard enough time getting him enrolled in the school! They’ll be out on the streets, vulnerable. I. Can’t. Stay. Here.”

  Susanna thought Joan would storm out, that she’d have to run after her, do her best to save the woman from her own stupidity. Instead, Joan crumpled. The scowl melted from her face a
s tears filled her eyes, and she just dropped right down onto the faded, threadbare carpet and folded in on herself. Sobs wracked her, and to Susanna’s shame, she wanted to flee. She’d rather face a swarm of wraiths than stand and listen to Joan cry over her orphaned daughter.

  “I’m sorry,” Susanna whispered. It wasn’t enough, but it was all she could say.

  A thought occurred to her as she stood and forced herself to witness Joan’s grief: Was this how Jack’s mother felt? Had she stood in a morgue somewhere, hollow and broken? Had she comforted herself by thinking he’d gone on somewhere, to a better place?

  “Joan, come on. Up you get.” James’s voice was gentle. He bent down and swept her up in his arms, glancing at Susanna before carrying his wife into the single bedroom of the safe house. He closed the door on Susanna, but not before she saw that his eyes were just as bleak, just as pain-filled, as Joan’s.

  She was alone.

  She should be relieved. Grateful. But Joan and James’s grief pierced the wall, crept beneath the closed door, finding an echo in Susanna’s heart where she still bled for Jack.

  She wished for one brief moment that she could go back to who she’d been – that she could be the cold, cruel ferryman who’d watched Michael, and countless souls before him, break down and cry, throw things and rail, and feel nothing. No pity, no empathy. Just a sense of urgency to get rid of them, to move on to the next.

  She wouldn’t, though. Even if the chance was offered to her. She owed Jack the pain she was feeling, and she owed it to Dylan and Tristan to grieve for them, for their loss.

  Flopping down onto the sofa that Joan and James had vacated, Susanna dropped her head into her hands. Her head was as heavy as her heart, a fierce thumping at her temples impervious to her fingers as they gently massaged. Suppressing her own tears, she slid down until she was lying down, her back up against the cushions. Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend that Jack was there, hugging her. That the cold fabric of the couch was the warmth of his chest, that his arm was draped around her, holding her together.

  Before, she’d lived for these quiet moments to herself, had basked in the quiet. The peace. Now, she just felt so very, very alone.

  Susanna closed her eyes. Would she drop into one of her ‘dreams’? She hoped not, because if she did, she knew exactly what she would see, what she would be forced to relive. Breathing through each hitch in her breath, she concentrated on relaxing her muscles, on inhaling and exhaling… on surviving each moment. Slowly, gradually, her breathing evened out and she drifted.

  “Susanna, I can’t swim.” Jack’s voice was thin, frightened.

  Another bone-jarring thump from beneath them, hitting right on the already fractured plank. Water, seeping into the boat. Swelling alarmingly fast.

  “Jack,” she said, “we need to—”

  “No!” A terrified shake of his head. “No, no I can’t, Susanna. I can’t.”

  “I’ll help you.” She reached for him, but the boat was tilting and—“Jack!”

  Something erupted out of the water. It wrapped around one of Jack’s arms… and pulled. Jack wrenched backwards, his free hand reaching desperately for any kind of grip on the boat, but his searching fingers failed to find purchase.

  Then he was gone.

  “No!” A scream, that went on and on. That came from the depths of Susanna’s soul. “No, no, no. Jack!”

  The water was black and turbulent. It roiled and rolled.

  She didn’t even think about it. She threw herself over the side.

  Where was he?

  Susanna’s hands found nothing but the thick, viscous water. Her eyes saw nothing but the dark.

  Susanna broke through the surface, dragged in enough air to fill her lungs, dived again. He had to be here, he had to be.

  The water was so, so deep.

  No. No, please!

  Susanna surfaced once more. The lake was calm, a violent contrast to the storm of emotions surging in Susanna.

  “Jack!” she screamed. “Jack!”

  The wraiths laughed. They laughed at her pain, her panic.

  “No!” Susanna yelled. “Jack, where are you?”

  She jackknifed on the surface, plunging into the darkness, but even as she did so, the black started to bleed into grey…

  CHAPTER 17

  Dylan lay quietly in Tristan’s arms. They were on the sofa in the living room, the door to Dylan’s parents’ room firmly closed. It was dark, but neither of them had gotten up to switch on the light. Instead, the room was lit by the glare of the television. It was turned to a sitcom, but Tristan wasn’t paying any attention to the actors on the screen and he knew Dylan wasn’t either. It was on simply to provide comfort, to cover the silence so that neither of them would have to speak.

  They hadn’t phoned for an ambulance, or for the police. They hadn’t called any of Dylan’s family, or knocked on any of the neighbours’ doors. They hadn’t done anything about the two bodies lying in the flat’s master bedroom.

  Dylan refused to. They weren’t dead, she said. The Inquisitor might have taken their souls – temporarily – but their bodies weren’t dead; they were simply waiting for their souls to be returned.

  And Dylan was adamant that was going to happen.

  She was going to trade her life for theirs; trade Tristan’s life, too.

  That was why the television was on. Why the silence between them was so thick, so heavy.

  The dials of the clock on the wall told Tristan it was well past midnight. They needed to go to bed soon and get some rest, especially if they were going to be thrust into the unforgiving landscape of the wasteland once the Inqusitor returned, but Tristan held off. He knew what he’d see as soon as he closed his eyes: Dylan, begging the Inquisitor to give her parents back. To take her instead. If she’d had her way, they’d already be back in the wasteland. Instead, the Inquisitor had given them the night to think about it, to be sure.

  Which meant, unless Tristan convinced Dylan otherwise, he only had mere hours left to hold her and know that they were safe, alive and together. Because once they were in the wasteland, all that would change.

  Dylan suddenly sighed and sat up, surprising Tristan, who thought she’d been fading into sleep. She reached over and snagged the remote from the coffee table, muting the television.

  “You think I’m making the wrong choice,” she said quietly. There was no accusation in her voice, only the hollowness of grief and a hint of disappointment, as if she was upset that Tristan didn’t see things the way she did.

  “I do,” he said. There was no pretending otherwise: he couldn’t support anything that would take Dylan away from him. Or anything that would take her life – a life that was just beginning ‒ from her. She’d fought so hard for a second chance; how could she give it up now?

  Dylan made a frustrated noise. “It’s our fault,” she said. “You heard what the Inquisitor said. All these things that have happened, they’re because we’ve messed with the balance. We’re the ones who are responsible, we’re the ones who should pay the price. Not my parents.”

  “If you asked them, what choice do you think they would make?” Tristan asked.

  “I can’t ask them, can I?” Dylan snapped. She caught herself, deliberately pulling in a calming breath. “They didn’t get a chance to choose, and that’s not fair, but I do.”

  “They would never choose this.” Tristan stared at her, daring her to suggest that her parents, either of them, would ever steal her life so that they could live. She didn’t, accepting the truth of his words.

  “I won’t take their happiness away, Tristan. I won’t.”

  “Do you think they’ll be happy, without you?”

  “They’ll have each other. They deserve a chance to be together. You don’t know what it’s been like for my mum, being alone all this time.”

  “I have some idea,” Tristan said solemnly.

  Dylan opened her mouth, already ready with her next argument, but she paused. Rea
lly looked at him for the first time in their conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last, her voice cracking. “I offered you a chance at life only to take it away again, but I have to make this choice. Can’t you see?”

  “You think that’s why I’m upset?” Tristan asked, astounded.

  Dylan gazed at him, genuinely puzzled, and for the first time it dawned on Tristan that Dylan truly didn’t understand the deal the Inquisitor was offering her.

  “Do you realise what will happen if we take your parents’ place in the wasteland, Dylan?”

  “It’ll be risky, I know,” Dylan agreed. “But you got me to the line once, you can do it again.” She reached out and grabbed Tristan’s hand. “I have faith in you, you’ll get us there. Both of us.”

  “I would,” Tristan choked out.. “I’d get you there – and I’d leave you there.”

  One, two, three heartbeats of silence.

  “What?”

  She didn’t. She really didn’t understand the bargain the Inquisitor had offered.

  “If we go back to the wasteland, we’ll go together.” He swallowed. “But we won’t stay together. I’ll be your ferryman, you’ll be a soul again. And when we get to the line, I won’t be able to cross. You’ll have to go on without me.”

  “No.” It was a whisper of denial.

  “Yes.”

  “But—” Dylan shook her head, hair flying across her face. “But it wouldn’t do that. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

  “It would,” Tristan disagreed. “Especially after the trouble we’ve caused. You said yourself, the problems in the wasteland are our fault.”

  “You don’t know you won’t be able to cross over,” Dylan argued. “It didn’t say—”

  “I’m sure,” Tristan replied firmly. “So when you make the choice, be clear what you’re choosing.”

  She was quiet for a moment, staring sightlessly at the bright light of the television screen.

  “What I’m choosing?” she asked carefully.