Despite everything, the world continued to spin. The first light of dawn painted the eastern horizon in pale lilac, but in the staff bathroom of the small thrift store I had broken into it was still dark. The single light bulb hanging from the ceiling was too weak to dispel the shadows that stubbornly clung to the corners. Leaning on the cold white sink with both hands, I slowly raised my head and looked at the grim, exhausted man looking back at me from the dirty mirror.
My eyes were lost in darkness, my skin pale, with sharp edges where there were none before. My clothes were torn and dirty. My face and hair were covered in dried blood. Now that the secret was out and the Protector knew about the full extent of my Ability, the mask I so carefully created to fool the whole world was finally gone, revealing my true self. I had worn it for so long that the person beneath almost looked like a stranger.
There was no grief on his face, no fear, no desperation. No human emotion at all. Just cold, indifferent resignation. Was this truly what I looked like behind all the lies and pretense? I guess I did. Actually, this bloodied, beaten man was more suitable to represent me than my usual fake, harmless self.
This is how a wraith was supposed to look.
I turned the water on and started to scrape the blood off my face. It was Mickey’s blood. Yet cleaning myself from it did not feel like something that was worth a mention. It was almost mundane. Maybe I was too tired and overwhelmed to feel any kind of emotion, or maybe it was just exactly what I have always expected my life to become, so it didn’t come as a revelation. I was always bound to end up in this moment. It was always the only logical conclusion.
Everything ends in destruction.
Now the only thing left to do was to decide the nature of my ending. By now, the Agency must have had enough time to turn the whole city into a giant mousetrap. Mickey’s attack on the testing chamber was bad enough, but the sudden appearance of a hidden Category 1 wraith would definitely make them mobilize their full force. Chances of getting out of the trap unnoticed were slim at best. Fighting my way out was equally as unlikely.
I took my clothes off and left them on the floor. My body was covered in scrapes and contusions. The whole right side of it was a mass of blue and red. Each breath sent a jolt of pain through my chest, telling me that I had broken at least a couple of ribs. I tentatively touched the blue bruises and flinched, exhaling sharply. Then I wriggled the fingers of my right hand, making sure that it was still working.
In truth, the few choices I had were either to give up without trying, go out in a blaze of violent glory like a feral wraith everyone expected me to be, or off myself like Mickey’s dad.
Also, there was Zero.
I could try to find him, either to beg him to save my life or to take him down to Hell with me.
These were the options for my own humble Death Pilgrimage.
Grimacing, I carefully put on the clean clothes that I had raided from shelves of the thrift store. I made sure to hide all bruises while trying to move as little as possible. Without the blood covering his face and dirt covering his clothes, the man in the mirror looked almost presentable. With a short sigh, I headed for the exit.
#
The address Claire had texted me before the catastrophe led me all the way to the fringes of the city, where, surrounded by a small park, a cozy building was hidden among the trees. I arrived almost on time and saw a small van parked in front of its gate. Dylan and Ted were busy unloading our instruments under Nelly’s silent supervision, while Claire stood a small distance away from them, fiddling with her phone. When she saw me, a wide smile appeared on her face.
’Matt!’
I smiled and gave her a small kiss.
’I texted you like a hundred times! Why weren’t you answering?’
With my best surprised expression, I patted my pockets.
’Really? Damn, I must have left the phone at the coffee shop!’
She rolled her eyes in exasperation.
’I swear to God, you’re becoming more absentminded with each month!’
She shook her head and then took me by the arm with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
’But for some reason, I still like you. By the way...’ I had to bite my tongue to hide the pain her gentle touch sent radiating through my battered body. ’... you look like shit, Matt! Didn’t I order you to get a good night’s sleep? Huh? What happened with that?’
I shrugged.
’Sorry. I couldn’t sleep. This is our... our first performance, after all.’
’So what?’
She gave me a careful look, her eyes lingering on my face for a second too long.
’Are you sure you’re alright?’
A reassuring smile appeared on my face.
’Yeah, of course. Just a bit nervous.’
Claire hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then all traces of worry disappeared from her mind.
’Great!’
She smiled brightly and squeezed my hand, turning to the building.
’What do you think about the venue?’
I looked at it, slow to understand what exactly that venue was. It was a medium-sized building, three stories tall. The architecture was quite old-fashioned, and the tall trees of the park confirmed its age. There were no signs, no flashy billboards, nothing to suggest any sort of commercial use. I was expecting to see something like a bar or a community center, but it was neither. Finally, my eyes stopped on a small plaque near the gate.
’Lakeview Home for the Elderly.’
Ted stopped in front of us, looking at me in disbelief.
’Can you believe this shit, Matt? It’s an on old folks’ home!’
Claire looked at him with contempt.
’Your point? Do old people not have ears?’
Then she turned to me, beaming.
’Well? Do you like it?’
I smiled again, but this time the smile was wide and genuine. That smile came from somewhere deep inside of me, from a place I wasn’t sure had still existed. I remembered the conversation we had at a diner after meeting by chance on the lake’s shore, and the story I told her about the girl who used to play piano to the old people at the retirement home.
’You remembered.’
Claire laughed.
’Of course I remembered! Who would forget your adorable Catcher in the Rye moment?’
I was silent for a few moments, and then looked her in the eyes.
’... I love it.’
Claire blushed, seemingly embarrassed by my serious tone.
’Uh... well, good. You heard him, people! This here is the venue where we’re going to perform our first gig. Old people are also people, so if it ain’t your idea of the rock’n’roll life... well, tough shit! We’re going unplugged, baby!’
Ted sighed in exasperation, but Dylan and Nelly just looked at each other and shrugged.
’Let’s do this!’
The dining room we were going to perform in was as large as the auditorium where the Coffee Bandit started. It was brightly lit, daylight streaming in through the tall windows, with a couple of dozen tables situated sporadically here and there. The makeshift stage was small and flimsy, with barely enough space for all five of us and our respective instruments. By the time we were done setting up, the elderly people living in the home slowly started to gather, looking at us with good-natured curiosity. The staff was also here, happy to witness something different from their everyday routine. After getting the green light from the administrator, Claire cleared her throat.
’Hmmm, hmmm. Hi there, folks! We are Coffee Bandit, and we will be your entertainment today!’
Her voice squeaked at the end, and somebody in the audience grumbled.
’Bandits? What bandits?!’
Claire looked at me in silent panic, and I nodded to her with encouragement.
’Uh... anyway, my name is Claire, and these are my friends: Dylan, Ted, Nelly and Matt. They’re all swell guys, so you’re in good hands!’
The old people chuckled at her spunk.
’Here we go! One, two, one-two-three-four!’
The moment we started playing, our nervousness and self-doubt started to evaporate. The acoustic arrangements we had prepared were not as well-practiced as our usual compositions, but we did spend a good amount of time preparing for today. Music streamed almost flawlessly from under our fingers, and soon Dylan’s soft voice drew the audience in. Seeing smiles on the faces of the old people, we were elated.
Everyone was having a good time.
I let go, losing myself in the music. Memories and emotions flooded my mind, and for the first time, I didn’t stop them.
I remembered my mother, her teaching me how to play the piano. Every wonderful thing we experienced together... and every horror. I remembered the long chain of jobs I worked to support myself, all alone in this world, with no one to trust or turn to. Washing the floors in the home for the elderly much like this one, observing the old men and women surrounding me with jealousy no human would ever understand. Feeling something sharp and cold cutting my heart into pieces every time the girl from the music school would come to play piano for them on the weekends. I remembered meeting Claire for the first time, becoming friends with Mickey. Talking with Tanya in the kitchen of her small, perfect house. Making her coffee while pretending to be a stranger.
Then I looked from the piano keys in front of me and secretly observed my friend.
Ted was carefully following the rhythm of the song with the drums, still as wiry as on the day I first saw him, with a wild look in his eyes. Back then, he was struggling to quit smoking. The cigarette he was always twirling with his fingers was long gone, usually replaced by one or two stray coins. Apart from being an anthropologist and a drummer, he was now an amateur magician. He was a good guy, and a great friend.
Dylan was singing. He had a certain inspiring presence, like the frontman should. Despite all the teasing, he refused to give up his attempts to grow a manly beard. So far, these attempts ended in failure, but he did manage to achieve a sort of artistic look. Dylan was the most steady member of the group and generally a very pleasant person, but that was exactly why he sometimes considered himself to be shallow. I regretted not telling him that he was anything but. He was a great friend too.
Nelly’s blond hair was not short anymore, but she still looked like a Norse goddess. Taciturn, beautiful and talented, she was the best musician out of all of us. I wished we could become closer, not only because she was Claire’s best friend, but also because I really liked and admired her. But the communication barrier never allowed us to.
And then there was Claire. Pure sunshine. The girl who brought warmth and color into my gloomy, unrelenting life. Everything about her made my heart flutter. Her olive skin, her unruly dark hair, her mischievous eyes, her radiant smile. Her black jeans and t-shirts, her flaws and insecurities, her tendency to tell tall tales, her bashful voice.
She was perfect.
I looked only at her as I was playing, weaving notes and melodies to create a fluid, pleasant flow of music. Our small concert continued, bringing joy, fun and entertainment to our elderly audience. We played song after song, slowly exhausting the small, but well-earned repertoire of our songs.
Everything was like in a dream.
And sometime in the middle of all of it, the door to the dining room opened, and the Protector walked in. She gave me a long look and then sat at an empty table. The Protector stretched her legs and assumed a relaxed pose, patiently waiting for the performance to be over.