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I push the thought from my mind.
No point in dwelling on desires that will never come to pass.
I reach for Eric, forcing his arm over my shoulder, helping him stand. Hawthorne comes to the other side of me and props the guy up.
Together, we pull him from the boat as he weakly manages to put one foot in front of the other.
“Ohh, God,” he groans, his head dropping to his chest.
“Come on, buddy,” I say. “Stay alert.”
Tennyson’s eyes meet mine and it’s clear she’s scared.
Ten is never scared.
Lots of newcomers have a hard time transitioning. But usually, if a soul is struggling, it’s a clear indication that they don’t belong here. Why the hell does she care about this guy anyway?
“Do we trust this witch?” Lennox asks as we walk toward a decrepit house nestled in the trees. When our feet leave the dock and hit the ground, they squish in the marshy ground.
“Where else would we go?” Tennyson asks. And it’s a legitimate question. I was in the real world until I died at twenty-one. I have strong memories of hospitals and doctors’ visits. Things like that don’t exist here. Everyone who arrives is dead already. And most people, if they got really ill in Styx, their souls would relieve them of any agony before a doctor would be called.
“I just remember doctors after being sick for so long,” Lennox says. “So, I just get a little spooked out at the idea of seeing one again.” His words come out in a rush. Tennyson reaches for his hand, taking it in her own.
“From what you’ve told me about the doctors at the cancer center, they are going to be a lot different than this old witch. I promise.”
“A good different?” Lennox asks. It’s unusual seeing this confident guy need reassurance, but he does, and thank God he gets it from Tennyson. That’s the thing, why we must stick together, no matter what she might think right now. We need one another to work, to survive down here in Styx.
Otherwise, we’re all going to our final resting place alone.
5
Tennyson
Barefoot, I walk toward the shack, the dank swampy water around us and fireflies dancing between tree branches. The air isn’t musty; instead, a familiar scent of sandalwood and thyme lingers around the place.
I swallow, remembering this scent from another time, another place. It was one of my mother’s smells: her kitchen, her potions. Her magic.
My heart aches for what I don’t have, what I’ll never have again.
Lennox fades in and out, and I look around, startled, wondering if anyone else noticed, but they didn’t. Everyone is focused on putting one foot in front of the other right now.
Scared, I reach for Lennox, squeezing his bicep tightly, then pressing my face to his chest, breathing him in -- needing the reassurance that he is still here, with me.
“You okay?” he asks concern in his voice, brushing my pale purple hair from my face, looking down at me. I breathe him in, loving the way he looks at me and hating that I can’t have what I want.
A real life, a real future with these men.
“I’m okay, just not feeling myself.”
“Is that why you made us drag this stranger to the middle of nowhere?”
“I asked you to do that because there is something about him.”
“Right. Something special.”
I see the hurt in his eyes. “Hey, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Jealous.”
He scoffs as we make it to the front steps. Behind us Hawthorne and South drag Eric, and I knock on the door, noticing the way Eric’s eyes are rolling back ominously.
“He’s practically dead,” South grunts. “Tell me again why we aren’t just letting his soul do what it wants?”
“I don’t know. Just trust me. He is important.” I knock again, my body on edge as I wait for an answer.
Finally, the door creaks open and a small, frail woman opens peers out from behind a thick wooden door.
“Yes?” she asks, her voice distant and her body growing hazy before our very eyes.
“We need help, with our friend,” I tell her. “Something is wrong with him. He just arrived and is... Well, I don’t know what. But it’s not good.”
“Come, come, my child,” she whispers, motioning us closer with her finger. I can already see the translucent covering over her body. “Let me see if I can help in the time I have left.”
She pushes open the door and we walk inside, her shack looking more cottage-like now that candlelight fills the room. The place has probably been here for centuries. When one soul departs, a new one takes up residence in the homes left behind. This one has probably seen thousands of witch doctors over the years. Apothecary jars line the shelves and a big witch’s cauldron-like pot hangs in a fireplace.
It is hard to know what is real in Styx, and what is fabricated in the in-between. But this cottage, and the witch living in it feels substantial as if there was anyone here that was going to help us, it would be the woman before us.
