The Ferryman

by John E. Siers

  “What? You’re saying you need another grant voucher?”

  “Don’t go there.” His voice held a stern warning note. “You know better than that. If you can’t help her, I’d be willing to do it pro bono. From what I can see, she needs the Ferry more than most of the people who walk in here with a fistful of money.

  “I care about the people who come through these doors, and I respect you for what you try to do to keep them out of here. If you’ve got something to help her—if you even think maybe you can help her—I’ll have her waiting for you out front in two minutes.

  “But if you can’t help her, there’s nothing I can do without putting her on hold for three days, unless…”

  “Unless I send you a Wait Waiver.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I don’t want to make that decision. Please don’t make me do it.”

  “You’re not making the decision. She’s already made it. I can put her on a three-day wait, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’ll be back here Saturday morning to finish it.

  “Or I can say no and send her back to you, in which case she’ll probably try to do it herself, like Lacrisha did. Then you’ll be beating yourself up for that—because you care about your people even more than I care about mine. I’m sorry, but you’re the one who has the answers here. Do you want me to say no to her, to send her back to you?”

  “No.” It was still a whisper, but now there were tears in her eyes.

  “Are you going to send a waiver?”

  “Yes…I’ll send it.”

  She broke the connection and picked up her pad. Connecting through the car’s system, she logged into her office network. She’d set up Tamara Jones as a separate account from her daughter. Must have known she would need me…but now I’ve failed her, too. Her tears continued to flow as she set up the Wait Waiver, checked it over carefully, and sent it to the Ferry.

  God forgive me…twice.

  Chapter Five

  Mother and Daughter

  “Why you gotta take my clothes off?” Lacrisha asked. “Not complainin’, just askin’…?”

  “We donate your clothing to charity, honey. When you die, the last thing you do is…well, pee and poop. Happens to everybody, no matter how they die. This way we don’t have to clean the clothes. Besides, you’re just going out of life the same way you came in. I don’t think anybody wears clothes in heaven.”

  Lisa congratulated herself on the rationality of her improvised explanation. Can’t very well tell you it’s because I like to look at naked girls. Lacrisha’s thin, battered body was nothing much to look at, but Lisa found the sight of her arousing. Hey…the kid’s been sexually abused, raped—try to make her last few minutes good for her. Save the orgasm for when you drop her.

  “Pee and poop? Never knew that.” Lacrisha shook her head as Lisa fastened the handcuffs behind her back. “Actually…I kinda have to pee right now. I’ll try to hold it…”

  “No, don’t hold it…you just go ahead and pee, sweetheart. I don’t know about you, but I always feel good when I pee. Don’t worry about the carpet…we have a machine that cleans that every night.”

  “You’re right…it does feel good.” The girl gave a little sigh as she gave in to her bladder’s demands. “Least I don’t have to poop just yet. Your machine probably wouldn’t like that.”

  Machine doesn’t care, Lisa thought, and a lot of people have peed and pooped here when they realized they were about to die. But you’re the only one who ever asked permission.

  She lowered the weight harness over Lacrisha’s head, a simple arrangement of straps holding padded weights that hung at waist level front and back. The rig added about 30 pounds to her, and the straps ensured that the weight pressed down on her shoulders, where it was needed.

  Lisa positioned Lacrisha in the middle of the red square and put the rope around the girl’s neck, lifting her curly, jet-black mop to keep it out of the noose. She snugged it tight, then gave Lacrisha a kiss on the forehead.

  “All set, baby girl. If I ever manage to get to heaven, I’ll look you up.” She stepped back to the pedestal and armed the release mechanism.

  “Of course you’ll get to heaven,” Lacrisha told her. “That’s where all angels go.” She smiled, showing Lisa the face of the happy little girl in the first file picture. She was still smiling as the trap opened, and she dropped out of sight.

  Lisa slid down the pole to the drop zone. Turning immediately to Lacrisha, she noted with relief that the weight harness had done the trick. The girl’s neck had broken cleanly. Her body twitched reflexively, her feet kicking like a swimmer, her toes pointed at the floor, but she was still wearing the childlike smile Lisa had seen when she dropped.

  As predicted, the girl emptied her bowels and what remained in her bladder, and Lisa stood back to avoid the mess. She already pissed on my shoes upstairs, but that’s no big deal. She opened the wall cabinet and pulled out her coveralls, then got out her pad and sent a message to Mark.

  The girl’s done. What’s happening?

  A few seconds later, the reply popped up on her screen.

  Need to do the mother as well. Got the wait waiver from SPC; doing the contract now. Can you clear the girl, bring the rope back upstairs, and close the trap? I’ll handle the drop—15 minutes, unless you need more time.

  Lisa was surprised. The mother? Whoa! Where’d that come from? It appeared that Mark had it under control, so she replied immediately.

  15 minutes OK—presume Mama doesn’t need the weight harness?

  The reply came back in seconds.

  No weight harness. See you in 15.

  Mark finished the contract. He looked at Tamara, who hadn’t spoken since he’d broken the connection with Mercer.

  “Ms. Jones…you were here when I went over this with Lacrisha, but I don’t know if you were listening. Can I go over this with you?”

  “OK.” She didn’t look up, and the sad look remained. She had no more tears, but the life had gone out of her.

  “We don’t notify anyone when you’re gone, except a death notice to DHS. Ms. Mercer will know to look for it. Is there anyone you want to notify…?

  “No. Long as Ms. Mercer knows. She’s the only one cares about me and ‘Crisha anyway.”

  “Also, your body becomes our property when it’s done. We’ll dispose of it properly, but there won’t be anything left to bury, no ashes to scatter. Is that OK?”

  “Yes. Wouldn’t be nobody to bury me anyway.”

  “Again, it’s our choice as to how we do it. We’re going to hang you like we did Lacrisha—same place, same rope.”

  “She dead already?” Tamara’s face was grief-stricken.

  “Yes. Lisa just notified me. It was quick, painless…believe me.”

  “Can I see her…please…before I go?” The tears were flowing again.

  How did I ever get myself into this? Damn! I can’t say no to her, but…Mark picked up the contract.

  “If I let you see her, there’s no turning back. You’ll be joining her a few minutes later. I need your imprint on this contract, or none of that will happen.”

  She licked a finger and provided the requested imprint. “I don’t mean to be so much trouble,” she said through her tears. “I know you done what ‘Crisha needed, but it’s hard. She’s my baby…”

  “I know. Give me a minute…” He dashed off a message to Lisa.

  She wants to see the body. Can you make her presentable? Is everything else ready?

  He waited a full minute, then the reply came back.

  Need 3 minutes. She’ll be on the gurney in front of the drop zone. I’ll be in the service room—don’t want her to see me in coveralls. Everything else ready.

  OK—it’s done, Lisa thought. She had arranged Lacrisha’s body face-up on the gurney, closing the girl’s eyes, but leaving the sweet smile alone. Want Mom to see she died happy. She’d placed the girl’s arms at her sides, hands folded over her belly, then straightened the head and put a small
pillow under it to minimize the appearance of the broken neck.

  Looks good. She draped a fresh white sheet over the body, then did a hasty clean-up of the drop zone floor. Satisfied that all was in order, she slipped into the service room and sent Mark the all-clear.

  “When you see her, she’ll be naked.” Mark walked down the hall with the girl’s mother on his arm. “We ask people to take their clothes off before we hang them because it helps us check to make sure we did it properly. There are some immediate bodily reactions that tell us the neck is broken and they aren’t suffering.”

  “It’s OK…don’t make no difference to her now,” Tamara said as they came through the door into the execution room.

  “We’ll ask you to do the same…in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t make no difference to me, either…is that her?” Her voice caught as she saw the sheet-draped gurney ahead.

  “Yes, it is.” Mark lifted the sheet to reveal Lacrisha’s lifeless face and upper body.

  “She smilin’…she happy…she in heaven now.” The woman’s tears fell on the dead girl’s face. “That’s all I need to see. We can go now.”

  She said nothing more as Mark took her up the elevator, then led her down the short hall onto the balcony. She didn’t resist as he removed her clothes and fastened her hands behind her back with the handcuffs.

  “Have to do this,” he told her. “Sometimes people try to grab the rope.”

  He positioned her on the square, and slipped the noose over her head, then stepped back to look her over. She was a little short of what he would have called “obese,” but not by much. Her jet-black hair was a mass of tight, natural curls, a bit longer than current fashion, and showing no evidence of styling or care other than washing. For that matter, she wore no makeup that he could see.

  She was still an attractive woman, in the prime of her life, but the sadness on her tear-streaked face was plain to see. She said nothing as he moved over to the console.

  “It’ll all be over soon,” he told her. “Give Lacrisha a hug for us.”

  She didn’t reply. Her expression didn’t change as he hit the release, dropping her through the floor.

  Mark slid down the pole to find Lisa sitting on the gurney, holding the dead girl in her arms.

  “She called me an angel…”

  “I know. I heard it.”

  “No…I mean she said it again, just before I dropped her. Said she’d see me in heaven.”

  “You are an angel,” he told her, “and I’m sure she will someday.”

  Mark turned to Tamara, who was still kicking and twitching as she dangled on the end of the rope. As expected, her neck had broken cleanly—no further attention needed. He turned to the cabinet and got out coveralls for himself.

  “Well, that’s done,” he said as he got into the garment and zipped it up. “All but the clean-up.” He turned to the second gurney Lisa had already brought out.

  “Let me help you get her down.” Lisa laid Lacrisha back down on the gurney. “This was a first for us—two in a row, including one we didn’t plan for.”

  “Yeah…I’d complain about it, but I think Eunice has suffered enough for today. She didn’t want to send us Lacrisha in the first place.”

  They removed the handcuffs and lowered Tamara onto the gurney. She didn’t have a happy smile like her daughter, but her dead face showed no sign of fear.

  They wheeled the gurneys over to the wall, where Mark opened the panel to the disposal chute. He turned on a pump to activate the spray nozzles as Lisa eased the first gurney over to the opening.

  “Mmmph…another fat-bottom girl,” she remarked as they eased Tamara’s heavy body into the chute.

  “I like fat-bottom girls,” he replied. “They have character.”

  “Hmmm…well then, maybe I need to put on about 30 pounds. My ass isn’t in the same league as hers.”

  “Correction…” he declared. “I like to look at fat-bottom girls, to admire them from afar. Where your ass is concerned, don’t mess with perfection.

  “Rest in peace, Tamara,” he added as they finally got her in position to send off.

  “Yeah…rest in peace, both of them,” she agreed. “So many people come here claiming to be suffering, using that as an excuse to check out. These two were really suffering—I actually think we did a good thing today. Maybe not enough to qualify me as an angel, but…”

  A splash from below announced Tamara’s arrival in the tank. Mark lifted Lacrisha’s body from the gurney and sent her down the chute as well, producing a much smaller splash.

  Chapter Six

  LifeEnders

  “Mark?” Eunice Mercer looked at him with apprehension. She rarely got calls from the Ferry—most of their conversations started with her making a call to him.

  “Eunice…I’m just calling to let you know that everything went well yesterday. The girl died with a smile on her face—said Lisa was an angel, and she’d see her in heaven. Her mother—well, not smiling, but we gave her the peace she was looking for. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I appreciate it,” she said. “I didn’t sleep well last night, with Tamara doing what she did and having to make that last-minute decision. I just keep thinking I failed her, that I should have seen this coming, and…I don’t know, done something…”

  “I think it was probably the best possible outcome,” he told her. “They were both pretty far gone. Tamara was just better at hiding it because she didn’t want Lacrisha to know.

  “Anyway, we broke another one of our rules for her—we let her see Lacrisha’s body. We never let anyone do that, but how can you deny a mother when she’s right there in front of you and about to follow her daughter to heaven—yes, Tamara said that, too. They really believed that’s where they were going. Don’t know if that helps you, but I thought you should know.”

  “It does…gives me some closure. I’ll try not to do anything like that to you again. Actually,” she gave him bleak look, “I’ll try my best not to send anyone to you again…ever. No offense, but…”

  “None taken. I know how you feel about it, but I think you’re a bad influence on me.” He shook his head. “You’ve got me breaking my own rules.”

  “Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” she told him, with what almost qualified as a smile.

  Yeah, there’s hope for me yet, he thought as he broke the connection. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have spent so much money on a CPSC contract. He opened the NorthStar report on his screen and began to read. Damn! These people are fast…and they’re good at what they do. Of course, that’s why they’re so expensive.

  NorthStar’s investigation had confirmed everything in Mercer’s file, but it filled in details with dates and times. It included contacts with people who knew Lacrisha and her mother, neighbors who had seen her taken away and returned. They’d seen her pushed out of a car in front of her house, often appearing to be drunk or drugged. On one occasion, she’d been dumped in the middle of the night and apparently slept on the lawn, waking only when the police arrived in response to a report of a dead body.

  In less than two days of investigation, NorthStar had painted a grim picture of the horror of Lacrisha’s life. But they’d done something else. As Mark requested, they’d identified her tormentors.

  “Lisa, can you come over here? Got something I want to show you.”

  “Be right there…” she acknowledged the call.

  Twenty minutes later, having read the report, she sat back in the chair and looked at him.

  “So now we know. LifeEnders?”

  “Yes, but you noticed there’s a problem, right?”

  “Right…” she nodded, “two problems, in fact—one aged 16, the other 17. But we can fix that. Want me to take care of that part of it?”

  “Yeah…and let me know when it’s done, so I can call Morgan. The UID numbers are in the file—that should be all you need.”

  Back in her own office, Lisa pulled up the file. There were three na
mes, three subjects NorthStar had investigated with their usual thoroughness. One was 30 years old…no problem. The other two required an adjustment.

  She prepared an email to be sent from a special account that was not associated with the Ferry, which was in fact an internal email address at the Department of Human Services. The recipient was also at DHS, a real person who worked for the state agency and was willing to do certain things for the Ferry in exchange for suitable consideration. Like all ‘foolproof’ government systems, the one governing the death industry was anything but.

  The message was simple: Correction to DOB—followed by two UIDs and two dates.

  Lisa sent the email, and less than five minutes later, got a reply: Correction accepted by system. She logged into the DHS system herself—using another ID that wasn’t supposed to exist—to verify that it was done, then advised Mark.

  “Hey, Marine, what’s up?” Jay Morgan answered the call with a smile. “I was just about to call you…got a little situation we need to discuss, need a favor from you, actually.”

  Morgan was a long-time friend and brother-in-arms from Mark’s Marine Corps days. By a non-coincidence, he was also Mark’s primary contact at LifeEnders.

  LifeEnders had come into existence when a group of ex-military special-forces types had taken it upon themselves—without government support or sanction—to assassinate some of the worst human garbage on the planet. Over a period of time, they’d killed virtually every terrorist leader and a wide range of foreign officials known for their support of terrorism.

  After a special election to replace a weak and unpopular president, the new government had declared the LifeEnders progenitors to be heroes and had set up a special government agency to screen applicants, grant licenses to kill, and oversee the death industry…all for a cut of the proceeds. The revenue was enormous for all involved.