Outcasts

by Claire McFall

  “Yes.” Perhaps it wasn’t fair, putting the full weight of the decision on Dylan’s shoulders, but it was taking everything Tristan had not to beg, plead, convince, coerce… anything to get Dylan to let them stay here, stay alive. Stay together. He was willing to take her back if that was what she wanted, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, do anything to push in her in that direction.

  He’d follow her anywhere – and protect her as best as he could – but if she wanted to walk down this path, she had to take the lead.

  She took her time, thinking it through. Arguments drifted round Tristan’s head, but he held them in. If he tried to sway her, and then later, she regretted the decision…

  “I’m sorry,” she said eventually. She kept her head turned away from him, staring at the television so that he couldn’t see her face. “I’m so sorry, Tristan, but I have to. I can’t let them give their lives up for me. I was supposed to die, anyway. If this is the cost of getting a second chance at life, then I don’t want it. I know that isn’t fair to you—” She broke off, her voice tight and high, and Tristan saw tiny tremors run through her frame. “I brought you with me to give you a chance at life, to give us a chance to be together, and now I’m taking that away. But I can’t stay here; I can’t just carry on, living my life, knowing that they paid with theirs to give me the chance. I couldn’t live with myself.” She did turn, at last, showing him a face wet with tears. “What if they don’t make it? Or what if only one of them does? My mum could become a wraith, or my dad. Can you imagine? My mum, on the other side of the line, alone for God knows how long, maybe for ever if I don’t manage the journey when it’s my turn.” She reached for his hand and squeezed, her eyes boring into his. “They’ve only just found each other again. They need to have this time. They deserve it.”

  Don’t I deserve it? The question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he held it in, along with all the other things he was desperate to say. He’d told Dylan it needed to be her decision, and she’d made it.

  Now they would both have to live with the consequences.

  “All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It isn’t what I want,” Dylan hiccupped, fresh tears trailing down her cheeks. “It’s what I have to do.” Her lip trembled but she kept on going. “I need you, Tristan. Will you help me?”

  What else could he say?

  “Yes,” he promised. “I’ll help you.”

  * * *

  Dawn – the last real dawn that they would ever see – came not in a blaze of yellow and orange, but with an ooze of slate grey that slowly lightened until the world was revealed. Tristan watched it from the living room window. Dylan lay on the sofa, watching him. Neither of them had slept, which was stupid. Dylan could feel a heaviness in her limbs, grit in her eyes. They were going to start their journey in wasteland bone-tired, but Dylan couldn’t feel sorry about that: she didn’t want to miss a second of this, of Tristan.

  When Tristan turned to check on Dylan – as he had every five minutes through the night – she sat up, the blanket she’d huddled under during the night slipping off her shoulders. She gathered it to her stomach like she was drawing on its warmth, though it wasn’t cold in the flat.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  “Hey,” he replied. He tried to smile at her, but it was a poor effort and after a moment he dropped the attempt, along with his eyes, and stared down at the carpet. “It’s morning.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said, standing up and stretching out. The sofa hadn’t been comfortable. Walking over to Tristan, she pressed her front to his back and rested her chin on the top of his head, her arms wrapped around his neck. He reached up and wrapped a hand around her left wrist, anchoring her to him, and together they stared out of the window.

  Witnessing the beginning of their very last day.

  They watched neighbourhood cats stalk along the pavements, watched lights begin to dot the windows of the tenements on the other side of the street as people got up and started getting ready for the day ahead. Then, a little later, they watched weary heads bow as those people trudged out of doors, on their way to work. The odd car turned into a constant trickle as the clock on the wall ticked on towards 8 a.m.

  Life, going on as normal.

  Just like it would when they were no longer part of it.

  “What time do you think the Inquisitor will come back?” Dylan asked softly.

  Tristan could only shrug. “Soon.”

  Dylan made a face, not liking the vagueness, but the Inquisitor had simply told them that it would give them the night to think about it, to be sure. Now that it was morning, they probably didn’t have much time left.

  “Do you want breakfast?” Dylan asked.

  Tristan shook his head. “I’m not hungry,” he said tonelessly.

  The resignation in Tristan’s voice had tears rising up to sting Dylan’s eyes. Dropping her head to tuck it into his shoulder, she squeezed him tighter. How could she do this to him? How could she throw him back into the empty, endless existence he’d lived before her?

  Given the situation, how could she not?

  It was an impossible choice.

  “Tristan, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I have to.”

  A little sob hiccupped out at the end, swiftly followed by another. Shifting position in his chair, Tristan peeled himself out of her stranglehold and pulled her down into his lap. One arm curled around her back, his other hand going under her chin, lifting her face until she met his gaze.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I understand.”

  That just made things worse. Tristan’s face blurred as the tears overflowed, streaking down Dylan’s cheeks.

  It wasn’t all right, not at all. She was doing the worst thing possible to the person she loved most. And expecting him to help her do it.

  He’d live an eternity without her, ferrying soul after soul; and she’d spend an eternity in the afterlife, waiting for him but knowing he was never going to come.

  She was damning them both to hell.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked out again.

  “Shhh.” Tristan wiped the tears from her cheeks, but more kept on coming. Smiling sadly, he kissed the new ones that fell, chasing them down towards her mouth. Little butterfly kisses turned into longer, deeper ones.

  Dylan leaned into him, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Her nose was stuffy from crying and her lungs screamed for air, but she would rather have suffocated than pulled away. If the kiss didn’t end, they didn’t have to face what was coming.

  If the kiss didn’t end, they didn’t ever have to leave this moment.

  Dylan’s hoped were dashed when Tristan suddenly tore away from her. She whined out a protest, but one look at his face had the sound dying on her lips.

  “Is this it?” she asked breathlessly. “Is it here?”

  Tristan nodded.

  The Inquisitor materialised in the middle of the room. Tristan lurched to his feet, putting a hand on Dylan’s shoulder in a vain attempt to push her into the seat behind him, protected. It was a wasted effort. She shrugged off his grip and stood so that they were side by side. Facing it together.

  “Your time is up,” it said.

  “We haven’t changed our minds,” Dylan replied. She glanced quickly at Tristan, guilt heavy in her chest, but then she turned back to the Inquisitor, her back rigid with determination. “Bring them back. We’ll go in their place.”

  The Inquisitor didn’t look surprised, or disapproving. Or pleased. It didn’t look like it felt anything. It just gave a low “Very well” and raised a hand.

  Dylan felt a pitching sensation in her stomach, like free-falling, and she gasped. “Wait!”

  The feeling subsided as the Inquisitor paused.

  “I have questions,” she said. It waited, and Dylan took that as a sign to ask, continuing, “My mum and dad—”

  “I will bring them back,” the Inquisitor said. “That is what we agreed.�
��

  “Will I get to say goodbye? Will I get to see them again?”

  Oh God, she hoped so. She needed to see them, alive and breathing, to wipe out the horrible memory of them lying there in their bed, still and lifeless.

  “You will see them,” the Inquisitor confirmed. “You will need to, to send them back.” It paused and Dylan frowned, not following.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You must find them, in the wasteland. They will not return until you do. Touch them, any part of them, skin to skin, and I will know you have completed your task. I will bring them back to the real world then.”

  “Wait – are they together in the wasteland?”

  “Yes.” The inquisitor nodded. “An exception”

  “What if we don’t catch them, before they go over the line?” Dylan asked, starting to panic. “Or what if a wraith gets them?”

  “If that happens, you will be too late.”

  “But—”

  The Inquisitor cut her off. “This is the deal I am offering you. Whether you reach them or not, you will not be allowed to return here. Not again. If you decide to go after the souls of your parents, you forfeit the bargain we made. You forfeit your life, no matter the outcome.”

  Dylan sucked in a breath. It could all be for nothing. Hours and hours had passed, giving her parents a huge head start on them. What if they’d already been consumed by the wraiths?

  No, she refused to accept that.

  They were there, and she would find them.

  “All right.” Her voice wobbled, her eyes drawn to Tristan, who stood, stoic, at her side.

  He must have seen the entreaty in her eyes, because he reached out and grabbed her hand. “We’ll do it,” he swore to the Inquisitor.

  He turned to Dylan, “If this is what you want…” He paused, giving her the chance to tell him that it wasn’t… but she didn’t. She couldn’t. He ploughed on. “If this is what you want, I promise you, I’ll make sure we succeed.”

  Dylan offered him a watery smile.

  “We’re ready,” he told the Inquisitor, never taking his eyes off her.

  The Inquisitor didn’t wish them luck. It didn’t utter any words of encouragement or disapproval, or even of farewell. It simply disappeared.

  “Wait!” Dylan cried to the empty air. “What?” She turned to Tristan. “Did it change its mind? What’s going on?” She spun in a circle, eyes darting round the living room. “Why didn’t it take us to the wasteland?”

  Tristan closed his eyes, dropping his head.

  “It did,” he whispered. “We’re here.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “I knew your daughter.” She’d been swithering over whether to say it, but not admitting her connection to Dylan felt like a lie. Susanna had lied to souls plenty of times before, but this one had sat on her shoulders like a devil, whispering in her ear until she had to confess.

  It was like a weight being taken off her, her devil spreading tiny wings and taking flight. The steep incline they were struggling up suddenly seemed less of an impossible obstacle – though Susanna still gasped for breath, her legs burning.

  “What?” It was James who answered her, his long legs making short work of a hill which, if the angry muttering and heavy panting was anything to go by, Joan too was struggling with. “How?” He frowned. “Here? You were her ferryman here? I thought Tristan…”

  He tailed off as Susanna shook her head. She didn’t respond at once, pretending to focus on the climb. She wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question, how much she was allowed to say.

  Which was why she should probably have kept her mouth shut. It was too late now, though.

  “I met her, in the real world. I was there with, well—”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Both her actions at the time and mentioning it now.

  “I had a soul that I tried to take back, like Tristan did with Dylan, only we… we weren’t successful.”

  “I see.” A pause as James considered her words. “Where is this soul now?”

  The words didn’t want to come out, but Susanna forced them. “He’s gone.”

  “Is he… where we’re going? Across the line?” James waved vaguely, showing a hint of his frustration with Susanna’s inability to tell them exactly what lay beyond the wasteland.

  “No.” Susanna shook her head, struggling to say the words. “He’s just… gone. He didn’t make it across the wasteland. He’s one of the creatures I told you about, the wraiths.” She swallowed the darkness threatening to surge up, take her under. “The thing you said you saw? That’s what’s become of him.”

  James didn’t respond, not for a long time. They were at the top of the hill, halting to catch their breath and let Joan clamber up the final few metres to join them, when James reached out and dropped a large, warm hand on Susanna’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Susanna smiled grimly at him, then stepped away. She was grateful for his sympathy – few souls ever bothered to put aside their own feelings and consider hers – but she couldn’t accept his comfort. Even the small gesture of touch, connection, had a riot of emotions swirling up inside her again, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Any more, and she’d be a sobbing mess – and that was not the ferryman James and Joan needed right now. She had a job to do, and she had to focus on that. Not on her mistakes.

  Not on Jack.

  But oh, how she wanted to let herself soak up James’s kindness, his compassion. To let him hug her. To let him be her parent, and she be the teenage girl that she looked like.

  But it didn’t matter what she wanted. She was the ferryman, he was the soul. That was that.

  Besides, an ounce more sympathy and she’d be confessing everything: how she’d tricked Jack, the lives that had been lost when wraiths snuck through the hole she and Jack tore in the veil, the trouble she’d caused Dylan and Tristan – and the danger she put them in – when they had to step in and help her and Jack to salvage the bargain they made with the Inquisitor. She didn’t think James would be quite so kind-hearted once he heard that.

  “Your daughter,” she said, going back to the reason she’d decided to make the confession in the first place. “She was really brave. What she achieved – surviving the wasteland and fighting her way back to the real world – it was incredible. No one had ever managed it before.” That Susanna knew of, anyway. She no longer took the ‘facts’ of the wasteland at face value any more. “And Tristan,” pulling her lips into a smile took a monumental effort, but Susanna managed it, “he really loves her. They’re connected, the two of them. They’re meant to be together. He’ll look after her, I promise. He’d give his life for her.”

  She addressed her comments not just to James, but to Joan too, who’d crested the hill and now stood just a step back from them, listening. Susanna hoped that her words might provide some comfort, alleviate some of the pair’s worries, but she could see that, for Joan at least, it wasn’t enough. All she had managed to do was remind them that they’d had to leave Dylan behind.

  Susanna waited, sure beyond any doubt that one of them would say it, the thing souls always said, at some point or other in their journey.

  Undo it. Take me back.

  It was worse this time, because Joan and James knew that she could. They knew it was possible – their daughter had done it. Susanna, the ferryman standing in front of them, had done it. She would not make the same error of judgement again, but they didn’t know that. Susanna braced, preparing herself for the inevitable, and the gut-wrenching helplessness of telling them that she couldn’t.

  But they didn’t. Instead, James just reached out and grabbed Joan’s hand and they gazed at each other, grief etched across their features. Feeling like she was intruding, Susanna turned her face away.

  “How did you die?” she asked.

  She could have clapped her hand over her own mouth. She was utterly horrified at herself, but the truth was, she hadn’t known
the words were going to burst out. They’d been there, front and centre in her brain since they’d started their journey. She just couldn’t understand it – what were James and Joan doing here? What had happened to them? The information should have been there in Susanna’s head, but it wasn’t. That there was nothing but a big empty space, a surge of buzzing white noise when she tried to see. It was driving her crazy.

  Still, to ask… especially so bluntly. Right after highlighting the fact they’d had to leave their daughter in the real world, effectively alone in their eyes, as Tristan apparently didn’t count. Seriously, Susanna!

  Still, it was out now and there was no taking it back. Susanna waited, heart thumping, for the answer.

  “What?” Joan asked blankly.

  James, too, looked nonplussed.

  Susanna was confused. It was a simple question, wasn’t it?

  “What happened to you? How did you die?”

  “I don’t…” Joan looked uncertainly to James, “I don’t remember.” She turned her gaze back to Susanna. “Should I? I just thought, I assumed that was part of it. Am I supposed to remember?”

  Yes. She was definitely supposed to remember. Often, Susanna would hide the soul’s fate from them in the early part of the journey across the wasteland. It made life easier, made them less likely to do something stupid through grief or panic, but the truth always came out in the end. And the soul’s final memories were always intact. They just might not fully understand what it was that had happened to them until their ferryman explained that they’d left the world of the living behind.

  “What do you remember?” Susanna pressed. “What’s your last memory?”

  Joan coloured, red racing across her cheeks, and Susanna had to scroll through the last memories of the souls that were in her head. Oh.

  “We were sleeping,” James said firmly. “We were having a nap, and when we woke up, we heard you crying.”

  Two healthy people, dying for no reason. It sounded strange, incredible, but then, Susanna had been around for a long time and ferried countless souls. There had to be an easy answer, something obvious that she was missing.