The Missing Boatman Part 21

Chapter 26.

The door opened.

"Come in," Lucy invited quietly. "And take your shoes off. The carpet is too nice to ruin."

"I always take my shoes off," Tony muttered with a frown, looking incredibly guilty. His mother had driven that discipline into him. If he ever ventured into the living room with his outside footwear on, his mother would unleash unholy h.e.l.l. He slipped out of his shoes and moved past the TV and bed, towards the small table where Lucy sat and another chair waited. Two cans of beer were opened and waiting.

Tony pointed to the beers. "Figured I was coming, did ya?"

"I guessed."

"You're pretty good at that."

"The best I know," Lucy dipped her head, but there was no smile on her face.

Tony sat heavily, sized up the room and reached for a beer. He fondled the cold Molson for a moment. "What's your name?" he finally asked her. "Is it really Lucy?"

She shook her head slowly. "I can't tell you my real name. If I did... your head would explode."

Tony sighed and drank. "So who do I owe my formal apology to?"

She smiled then, and the room lit up like a star had just exploded. A smile that would thaw any freeze the longest winter had to offer. "Lucy is fine."

"Lucy, then. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost it back there. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry for ... for swearing. I'll try to do better."

While he spoke, she watched him over the rim of her own beer. Her dark eyes glittered.

"That was nice," she finally said. "I believe you."

Another sigh left Tony. "Good."

"You don't like apologizing, do you?"

"No." He tossed his head to the side. "Who does?"

"True," Lucy agreed. "Necessary sometimes, though. As is the truth I have to tell you now. We no longer have any of your time left to let things go their natural course. Other pieces are in action."

"You said 'your time' again," Tony pointed.

"Time is," Lucy's eyes strayed to the closed curtains of her room, "a human measure. A mortal one. You made it. You abide by it. It's yours."

"A mortal measure?" Tony's nearly squeezed shut with the question.

"Mmmhmm."

"So... you're not..." he shrugged, "human?"

Lucy removed her toque. She shook her hair loose. It looked wonderful in the dim light of the room.

"What are you?" Tony whispered.

Her eyes strayed then, thinking on how to answer the question. Thinking on what she could tell this... man.

"I'm the help," she finally said with a tight lipped smile. "And that's good enough for now."

"Another one of those words that'd make my head explode?" Tony inquired good-naturedly.

"Can't chance it. Not here. The drapes are too nice. And I like the carpet too."

The carpet was maple beige and thicker than most hotel carpets he had seen. She was right. It was nice.

"So, why are you here?" He finally asked.

"To help you."

"How you gonna do that?"

"For one, setting you straight about everything. As I said, things are moving very quickly now. We have to move with it. There are those who don't want Frank to be found. They want him to stay missing."

"Alright. Fine. So, why do we have to find Frank anyway?"

Lucy drew breath, and Tony knew right then she was going to let him have it. The punch to end all punches. She knew she had to give it as well. The moment she got aboard the blue Mustang, she had known she would tell all. At least, he was accepting that he was in Alberta. That was a big start.

"You've been following the news?" Lucy asked him.

"You asked me this before, I think," Tony said. "Yeah. A little. Why?"

"What's happening in the news?"

"Aren't you supposed to be telling me something here?"

"I'm getting there," Lucy told him with infinite patience, despite the urgency inside. "So, what have you been hearing?"

Tony shrugged. "Same old s.h.i.+t. Stuff, I mean," he smiled an apology then. "Politics. Sports, robberies, people getting killed."

"What was the last news story you heard? Can you remember?"

"Ah..." he shook his head. "No. Sorry."

"It's ok," she said. "Let's watch some TV."

She turned it on. The channels flipped until she got what she wanted: CNN. She backed up and perched on the edge of the bed. Tony watched her move the whole time in silence. He noted her cheeks were shaped like little apples.

The news announcer was a familiar face to millions, but one that Tony could not place. He didn't watch the news all that much. He could not be bothered. And the news was so d.a.m.n depressing anyway. Today was no exception. A pickup had nailed a five year old kid on a motorbike (stupid f.u.c.king parents had actually bought the kid the bike, so they could make home movies). Some woman swimmer had been resuscitated after being hooked out from under lake ice for forty five minutes. A power man had been zapped by a fallen cable for ten thousand volts. Five German peacekeepers in the Middle East had been badly mauled in a car bomb blast.

Nothing. Same s.h.i.+t. Only thicker.

"What are we looking for here?" Tony asked.

"Don't you see?"

"No."

"Keep watching," Lucy instructed him in a whisper, as if they were trying to spot something moving in the night sky.

Tony sighed, but did as he was told. Fifty four people in the English Channel on a sinking ferry that caught fire. All were fished out the water. All suffered terrible burns and smoke inhalation.

Then, it was the weather.

Lucy frowned, then, while sitting only four feet in front of the TV, she pointed the remote at it and changed the channel. A movie was on. With an irritated grunt, she switched the TV off. She returned to the table and her warm beer, and faced Tony.

"What did you see?"

"Nothing really."

She held up a silencing finger. "Oh, no. It was there. C'mon, now. You're more observant than that."

"Not really."

"Try, then. Think on what you just watched. Think hard."

Taking a breath, Tony tried. The news reports were like a scattered jigsaw in his brain, and he was hunting for the edges-the frame pieces. Build the frame first. That's how his mom taught him. Then group the colours. The rest would fill itself in. The obvious.

"The obvious," Lucy whispered.

"A lot of people were hurt," Tony said after a moment of serious thought.

"Yes."

"Hurt bad," Tony continued, his brow knotting in concentration. He thought of the lady under the ice. That was pretty d.a.m.ned lucky. And the kid on the motorbike hit by the truck. Also fortunate. Peacekeepers. Incredibly lucky. He had seen pictures of the devastation a car bomb could do. It was f.u.c.king depressing.

Then it dawned on him. "They all lived."

Lucy slowly closed her eyes and opened them. She was pleased. "What else?"

"They all lived," he repeated. "Those were some pretty bad happenings, but they all lived. Really lucky. Miracles."

Tony drew back and slowly placed his beer back on the table. He looked at Lucy in revered awe and in a small voice said, "Are you... an angel?"

"No," Lucy replied with a lazy smile. "I'm not that lucky."

He closed his mouth. "Well, anyway, that's my guess. They were all miracles. They didn't die."

This wiped the smile completely from Lucy's face. "Were they miracles?"

"Well, yeah."

"You just said it then," Lucy pressed. "They didn't die."

"Yeah. Really lucky."

"Well, that's the problem, you see," Lucy said in a soft, slow voice like rich chocolate. "They should have died."

Tony stared at her. "That's a problem?"

"The biggest kind."

"What are you talking about? Those people got a second chance!"

"No, Tony," Lucy said gently. "They had their chance. Their games were over. Yet, they live on. Brain damaged, broken, crippled but all still aware of the terrible pain that is waiting for them once they regain consciousness, or are in right now; in the purest agony because they live when they should have died. Those people floating in the channel when the rescue boats came for them. Some were cooked, Anthony. Their flesh was black on the outside like a well-done steak. They practically had to be hooked to get them onto the boats because to touch these still living corpses with melted faces would cause whatever skin remaining on them to slide off. And when the boats found them, they were still screaming. What the report didn't say anything about was how eighteen of those people were burned. Melted, in fact, right down to the bone, and yet, they still live. Children, Anthony. Cooked children," Lucy finished with a sniff. Her eyes were welling up with tears. Tony fidgeted in his chair. Burned alive. And still living when they should have died.

"They... still have a right to live," Tony said weakly.

"Yes," Lucy said, a tear slipped down her cheek. "But this isn't about rights, Anthony. This isn't about what is right or wrong. What you saw there" -a nod towards the TV-"was only some of the highlights of today. In this province and around the world. Anthony, what would you say if I told you that no one has died as of three days ago?"

"What?" Tony stretched out in disbelief, his face crunching up.

"Just that. No one on the face of the earth has died. No one. Anywhere."

"That's impossible."

Lucy barely heard him, his voice was almost gone.

"Like being in Alberta?" She asked him.

"That's different," he said feebly, wanting to say more but clearly out of words to express himself. "But why is it bad? People want to live."

"Do they?" Lucy's eyebrows arched upward.

"Yeah, just like in that movie where the guys could only die when they got their heads chopped off."

Lucy reached across the table and touched his hand. The contact made Tony go very still. "What if I told you that immortality, in this case, would indeed allow you to live forever. But you would still age physically. Still grow old. Your organs would still deteriorate. Your vision fail. Your s.e.x drive wilt. But you would not die. Even after your frame has shrunk, and your bones are no more than twigs. Your flesh, the colour of the yellow pages in the telephone book. And still you live on. What if those realities were pressed upon your immortality? Would you still embrace it?"

"f.u.c.k, no," Tony whispered, forgetting about the profanity. This time, Lucy did not seem to mind.

"No, most would not. And then add to it whatever pain and suffering you are living with and would still have to endure. Eternally living like a roasted piece of meat. Not being able to die even when you want to? Or even just when you've had your fill of life? When you are simply too tired to see another sun rise?" Lucy paused for a moment, "but it won't come to that anyway, Anthony."

"What? What do you mean?"

She paused for moment, searching his face. Extreme concern and worry flooded it. "What I mean is that a lot of people are celebrating birthdays when they shouldn't be, while watching the same five o'clock news full of miracles. No one suspects anything. Some might, but they'll be scorned and mocked by the others. At first," she finished in a warning tone.

"And then?" Tony asked, but not wanting to know.