“You mean you don’t want to,” South says.
“Exactly.”
“Fine,” Lennox says, a harsh edge to his voice I’ve never heard before. “Then don’t come home tonight. Don’t ask us for favors, to get you out of the hundred jams you’ll be in next week. Don’t look to us when you’re bored or lonely or--”
“Hey.” Hawthorne raises a hand. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We can just go home and--”
“No,” South interjects, angry. “Give her what she wants. It’s clearly not us.”
“Fine.” I lift an eyebrow. Looking across the marsh, I see the stranger, the new soul, from earlier coming toward the porch, toward me. “Should I just go then?”
The guys follow my gaze, seeing it land on a stranger.
“For fuck's sake, Ten, really?” Hawthorne’s face is written with pain. I’m doing this to him.
But he doesn’t know why.
I know what’s been happening to me. More and more each day.
“I can’t do this,” I tell them, stepping off the porch, toward the stranger.
Under his breath, I hear South mutter, “But apparently she can do him.”
I don’t look back. I won’t hurt the ones I love with all my heart. I can’t bear to be with them as we all lose each other.
It’s better like this.
“Hey,” I say, reaching the stranger. My body twisting inside as I get closer. Why am I so drawn to this soul? It makes no sense, yet I come closer still, unable to turn my back on him, it’s as if my feet are cemented to this marsh. “I’m Tennyson. What’s your name?”
He lifts his chin, and I see his bright green eyes, his dark black hair. Gasping at the words, he says, “I’m Eric. And I think I’m dead.”
3
Tennyson
His words are familiar. How many times have I met someone here, who has only just arrived, and listened to their story; explained the situation? There is no rulebook for Styx, it’s a sink or swim kinda place.
People are usually only here for a day or two, a week maybe. Except for Hawthorne and me. We’ve been here since we were so young and for ages, it’s was just us against the world. Before yesterday, he knew everything little thing about me, and I know every little thing about him too. Each scar, each scrape, each bruise. Through thick and thin. When after what must have been fifteen years of getting through this place together, watching souls fade, always leaving us behind, we met Lennox and then South, shortly after.
One look was all it took. We were meant to be friends.
This man though seems more than confused; he looks downright ill.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he staggers backward. I reach for his hand, feeling something spark between us as our fingers meet.
He falls to his knees, head in his hands as if he has a headache. Then he looks up at me. “Are you real?” he asks, his breath ragged.
“I’m real,” I tell him.
At least, I think I am.
“Where are we? I drowned and then... I don’t understand. How did I?”
“This is Styx. The in-between.”
“The what?”
“Styx,” I repeat, then I tell him what this place is. Purgatory is a word a lot of new arrivals use.
“It doesn’t make sense. Gaia told me I was coming to help Harlow’s sister. I shouldn’t be here. I was supposed to... Acheron... I must... go...” He stops speaking again, and his hands fall to the ground, bracing himself on all fours.
I swallow, not exactly qualified to help.
Then he begins to roll on the ground, howling in pain. I jump out of his way, not wanting these heels to be wrecked. Though, looking down in the damp grass, I realize they are ruined already. Great.
“I feel sick,” he moans. “I’m exhausted and so worn out. She didn’t tell me it would be so hard to travel here.”
I grimace, biting my bottom lip. I just told my best friends things were over. And a few minutes later I already need their help. They know me so damn well.
No. I can do this on my own. I just need a witch doctor.
“Can you sit up?” I ask, just as Eric is rolling over in the marshy grass, on his back, moaning. I sink to his side, my knees covered in mud. I hold his face, trying to will him to get it together. Instead, his head rolls back, his eyes close.
I don’t know why I care, why I’m not content with letting his soul do what it wants here, but when I press my hands to his cheeks, I can’t help but feel, deep in my belly, that I can’t just let him go.
Groaning, I try to conjure him. “Come on, Eric, you got this, just...” His breath shallows and so I press my lips against him, my chest against his own, wanting to revive him somehow, some way. I breathe into his mouth, my only goal to keep him here, grounded. Among the half-living.