Joshua Graham - Terminus

“Don’t you know what I am?” he said.

“I have an idea,” she said. “But it’s crazy.”

He knew that expression on her face—part wonder and part fear. He’d seen the fear in nonbelieving humans who just found out they’d sorely miscalculated their beliefs, or lack thereof during their wretched mortal lives.

And the wonder? That was for those who’d always believed and looked forward to the next step towards eternity—about which Nick’s knowledge was incomplete, since he’d never been allowed to board the trains that took souls to their final destination.

“I’m what you would refer to as an angel,” he said.

“An angel. Yes.” She stood up, went over to the bed and sat on its edge. “Now I understand. You really were there when Chloe died.”

“I was.” Nick went over to sit beside her. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Please, do you know if she…I have to know about my little girl.”

“She’s just fine,” he said. “I accompanied her to the Terminus—it’s where all souls go to get sorted out before they take the long trip to eternity. I’m sure Chloe went to heaven. I saw her off myself.”

Hope buried her face in his chest and sobbed. For a good minute or so. Something about a beautiful woman weeping always softened Nick’s heart, no matter how firm his resolve.

He put his arms around her and patted her back. Hope lifted her head and wiped her eyes with a Kleenex from the nightstand.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“When Chloe died, all that was worth living for died with her. You just gave me a glimmer. Will I see her again?”

In the time that elapsed—which according to the clock was all of one second—Nick considered her question. Saw the purity in her eyes, the innocence, the desperate need to be rescued, protected, loved —how could she possibly be a hell-bound danger to humankind? And even if that were the case, hadn’t he broken laws of his own? Was he any less a menace?

“I wish I could tell you,” he said. “Just know that Chloe is safe, happy, and in the best place she could be. You and I ought to focus on the here and now.”

“I suppose.” She wiped her tears with the back of a hand.

“We might start by leaving this place,” Nick said. “You’ve made a beastly mess.”

“I have, haven’t I?” She laughed, which brought a smile to Nick’s face.

“I’ll send for housekeeping,” he said.

“Wait a minute.”

“What now?”

Hope eyed him with the suspicion of a precocious girl he once knew, once loved dearly—arguably more than his own life. It was a look of absolute wit, sharp and quick.

“You’re an angel,” she said. “And I almost believe it.”

“As well you should.”

“But I don’t see any reason why.”

Nick sighed. “Truth is not contingent upon your belief, but as you mortals are so fond of saying: It is what it is. A most annoying phrase, if you ask me.”

“All right, then. If you’re an angel…” She put both hands on his shoulders. “Prove it.”

THE SOUND OF MUTED SNIFFLING and whimpers woke Jon. At first, he was disoriented. Golden light blinded him as he sat up and opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times before realizing he was on the sofa at home in the study.

Elaine, sitting in his desk chair, was staring at him with eyes reddened by tears.

“Well?” she said.

Jon groaned and rubbed his stiff neck.

“Well, what?”

She looked angry and at the same time, wounded.

Compassion urged him to go comfort her. Anger urged him to do no such thing—his own wounds were still fresh.

“What do you want, a detailed log of my every step?” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Aren’t you already tracking me with the built-in GPS?”

“What?” She looked bewildered. “Jon, what’s happened to you?”

He got up. Thought about the mess he’d made. What if someone saw him last night walking into the hotel with Maria or going into her room? What if someone snapped photos with an iPhone? They might go viral all over the internet, preceding the inevitable media fallout. What was he going to do? He hadn’t slept with the girl, but who would believe him?

He felt unbearably vulnerable.

Flight or fight.

“It’s your fault, you know.”

“Mine?” Elaine blinked several times in rapid succession. “What did I do to deserve you running out in the middle of the night and staying out until after midnight? Oh my God, Jon. I was so worried!”

“I’ll bet you were.” He swiped his jacket from the arm of the sofa and headed for the door. “You started to worry about who would pay for your Italian shoes, your designer wardrobe—”

“No! Jon, I really was worried about you!”

When he reached the door he turned, saw the despair on her face, and walked back to her.

“Oh, Jon…”

He came so close he could smell the scotch on her breath—occasionally, she drank when stressed out. And he’d caused her plenty of stress last night.

He reached straight over her, took the laptop from his desk, and walked out the door. But not before saying something he knew he’d regret.

“You’re a bad liar, Elaine.”

Back in his office, Jon shut the door and left instructions for Carla: No calls, no messages, nothing. He sat at his desk with a cup of Starbucks that had grown cold about an hour ago and gazed vacuously at his laptop screen.

Click, click, stare…

Click, click, stare…

And so it went, for the entire morning. He Googled twice for those damming pictures, but they hadn’t shown up. Yet. He thought about getting on his knees and repenting but his heart was still infested with bitterness—he’d just pray that he and his family would be spared the humiliation of a disgraced televangelist. What good would another one of those do for the kingdom of heaven? And what kind of prayer was that, treating God like…

If—when—the scandalous pictures came out, Elaine would own the high moral ground. I may not have been the best wife but I never shacked up in a hotel with some young buck!

His chest constricted. His lungs refused to fully inflate. Jon stood up, yanked loose his necktie, and fumbled with the top button of his shirt until he gave up and ripped the collar open so he could breathe.

He went to the window and slid it open.

In came a cool gust.

He sucked in air and tried to will his chest to expand sufficiently to inhale. In the years of his ministry he’d faced protesters, death threats, media criticism, and general discouragement, but nothing robbed him of his joy like his negative feelings for Elaine. How could one woman cause so much pain, weaken him to such an extent?

// YOU WANT A DIVORCE… YOU NEED TO DO IT //

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words whispered in his head, but he’d always pushed them away. Today, as he stood staring out at the Pacific, the seagulls flying free in the clear skies, Jon said it out loud.

“I need to do this.”

His phone buzzed—a new text-message.

Maria: Are you all right?

He didn’t particularly feel like answering it, but if he didn’t she might keep texting him—something he wouldn’t mind in another reality but had to discourage in this one.

Jon: I’m okay. How about you?

Maria: I’m so sorry about last night.

Jon: My fault entirely. Will you forgive me?

Maria: LOL. You’re a good man. Hope things work out.

Jon: What are you going to do next?

Maria: I don’t know. But we should forget about last night…about