Joshua Graham - Terminus

Jon stood there, waiting.

“I… I just want…”

“What!”

“I just want you to set some boundaries!”

He took hold of her wrist again. This time he lifted it off the door frame and put her hand down at her side.

“I’m setting some now: You don’t control me or my schedule.”

And without looking back, he left.

TRANSPORTED OUT OF THE HARTWELL’S HOUSE, he stood on the front lawn with Lena, who was massaging the back of his neck. Her fingers caused a prickling sensation he’d not experienced for a while. The rain had stopped.

“Nice work, Nikolai.”

“I’d still prefer it if you call me Nick.”

“Hope you don’t mind my help on your first assignment.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t need it.”

“You’re welcome, anyway.”

Hartwell’s Audi backed out of the garage and sped down the street, engine roaring as though fueled by the anger Elaine had ignited in him.

“Remember,” Lena said, “all you have to do is keep him distracted. As you can see, the land mines of his life will take care of themselves.”

“Well, that’s…grim.”

“This from a reaper?”

“Ex-reaper.”

“Whatever. Now, your next assignment—”

“About that,” he said.

Lena’s penetrating gaze made him uneasy.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Because this one is the most important of the three.”

She snapped her fingers and a three-dimensional image that looked like a holographic projection appeared before them: that same disheveled woman, oily hair snaking around her grimy face, eyes shut tight, lips moving like a crazy person’s—and he had enough experience to know what those were like.

“Something about this subject make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” Nick said. “I just…”

“Her name is—”

“Don’t tell me.”

Lena’s eyes opened wider for a moment and a curious smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She snapped her fingers and the image of the subject winked out of sight.

“Why?”

“I mean, knowing her name would only make it more difficult. You see, ushering someone to the Terminus is one thing, but causing a human’s death?”

Lena smiled. “You’ve got such a tender heart.”

“I’ve nothing of the sort.”

“I just adore that about you,” she said, gently taking his hand.

A tingling warmth ran through his hand, arm, chest. But rather than alarm him because it was so physical, the touch brought him comfort.

“Doesn’t sit well with me is all,” he said.

“You’ve got to remember a couple of things—things you can learn from human wisdom.” She drew quotation marks around the word wisdom . “First, looks can be deceiving. And second, you’re an accessory to a crime if you don’t seize the opportunity to stop it.”

“She’s just a poor homeless woman.”

“Nick, you’re not causing her death, okay? It’s suicide—her own doing. You’re just keeping her on track.”

“How?”

“By reminding her of what she feels about herself, her life. Look, she’s already condemned herself. It’s that simple. But if she talks herself out of it, if she lives, she’ll destroy the future of innumerable souls by misguiding them.” She stepped close and looked into his eyes, her red lips parted enough for him to see her pearly teeth, the tip of her tongue dancing as she spoke. “You don’t want that on your record, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“Come on, Nikolai. It’s just like ushering them to the Terminus, only a little earlier.”

For a brief moment his knees threatened to give out. His thoughts and feelings blurred, had no clarity. Lena’s voice, her eyes, her lips—they weakened him.

Like a wound .

Lena blinked. “A wound?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

She gave him a queer look.

“I only meant…well, allowing a dangerous person like this unnamed subject to go unchecked would be like allowing a wound to fester.”

“That really how you see it?”

“Is there any other way?”

“Good.” Much to his surprise, she pulled his head down to her and brushed her lips against his ear as she whispered. “Then you’re ready.”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Off you go, then.” With a gentle nudge, she prodded him to the sidewalk. There she opened a portal mid-air and Nick, dazed, stepped inside without looking back.

Without noticing the wisps of the dark vapor that followed him in.

LENA BREATHED A SIGH OF RELIEF as Nick left. The assignments seemed simple enough, but why did Morloch consider them prerequisites for consideration of her proposal? Did he really believe two humans at one stadium event could create so much damage to the cause?

It didn’t matter. Nick was more than capable of carrying out these orders, he just needed a bit of nudging and direction.

She turned to the house to find Elaine standing at the open window of her bedroom, gazing down at the street on which her husband had just driven away. She wore the expression of one who’d been devalued, maimed by cruel words and insensitivity. Feelings that resounded in that catacomb of memories Lena tried to keep sealed but could not help allowing to reopen on occasion like the old wounds they were .

“You have to hang on—I’m going to get help.”

“Be… strong, Punkin’…”

No! This is nothing like that.

A sob from the window brought Lena back to Elaine, her face laced with regret, sadness, guilt. This broken and contrite spirit within her could prove troublesome—better do something about it. Whispering to her soul, Lena projected the thoughts:

// WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS, JUST TOSSING YOU ASIDE LIKE THAT?//

A sudden alertness lit Elaine’s eyes. The sadness in her face yielded first to a neutral look, then a growing suspicion.

// IS HE REALLY GOING WHERE HE SAYS HE IS? //

It was working. Jealousy and suspicion were the silver bullets for this human. One last thought should do it.

// STOP KIDDING YOURSELF. IT’S ANOTHER WOMAN AND YOU KNOW IT. //

Elaine grabbed the window and slammed it shut so hard it awoke the neighbors’ dogs into a chorus of barking.

Lena smiled. With Elaine duly directed, it wouldn’t take much for Jonathan to fall into the final steps. Nick’s success was all but ensured.

THE HALLWAY LIGHTS WERE DIMMED and the janitors were starting in the offices at True North, Jon’s church. Seven thousand attended every Sunday, millions watched on television.

Carla looked up as he stepped into the reception area. Her eyes drooped from fatigue under the graying hair that made her look much older than her fifty-two years. She nodded at the door to the right of his office.

“In the conference room.”

“What’s going on now?”

“She’s distraught. Says you’re her only hope.” Carla shrugged. “Not sure how serious she was about killing herself, she said it like she was joking. But she’s real upset.”

It had been a while since anyone had expressed any need for pastoral counsel, especially since the television broadcasts had begun. He’d gotten so used to having his staff handle things that it was gratifying to make this exception and see someone himself for a change. It was good to feel needed again, in a way so-called celebrities aren’t.

“I’ll need you in there with me—mind staying a bit longer?”

“I’m already late to feed Charlie.” Carla’s cat, her only companion, was notorious for exacting revenge if he had to wait too long for his supper.