Chapter Text
Mrs. Henderson did not want to go to hell.
Andrew had learned a good many things from the ghost of Mrs. Henderson but first and foremost was that she did not want to go to hell. It followed most of her major statements, though she didn't do much talking anymore, none of the older ghosts did. Still, whenever she greeted Andrew it was Hello young man . Then a moment of silence as she realized yet again that she was dead. Then a clipped, decided, I don't want to go to hell.
From what Andrew could tell, Mrs. Henderson was absolutely sure that her late husband had gone down into h-e-double-hockey-sticks since he was a pardon my french dear, a no good, cheating sonuvabitch . She was certain that she would join him. Andrew didn't have the heart to tell her that if she was absolutely certain that she would go to hell, then that was probably where she would go.
Today was the day.
In the small kitchen of the morgue, Andrew packed up a picnic to take to Mrs. Henderson’s grave. A small jar of jam, a small wheel of cheese, a loaf of bread, a tin of shortbread cookies, and a bottle of wine.
Kevin walked in and surveyed Andrew as he prepared. He poured himself a coffee and held the pot out to Andrew in offering. Andrew shook his head and returned to his preparation. The first rays of sun were filtering through the window. Gray. Everything was gray in the morgue. The walls, the air, the corpses. Even the blank faces of the workers were gray in the morgue. Andrew didn't mind, he had been gray long before he had entered this place. It didn't feel stifling to him, like it did with some of the more colorful morgue workers, it felt like a confirmation of what he had already been.
“That's more food than usual,” Kevin said, breaking the silence. He had meant it to be conversational. It sounded accusatory instead. He wanted Andrew to look him in the eye.
“Henderson is Moving On today,” Andrew replied, not looking at Kevin. He could never look Kevin in the eye again.
Kevin gave a hmm of acknowledgement and continued to pour whiskey into his coffee.
Andrew, as slowly as he could, raced out of the room, picnic in hand. He marched up the rows of graves, old and new, large and small, sleek and crumbling, until he got to Mrs. Henderson's. She was waiting for him there, dressed in her bloodstained Sunday best. What she had been wearing when her cab crashed.
“You're late.” she said.
“No, I'm not.” Andrew replied.
Mrs. Henderson gasped as she realized. Then she furrowed a brow and lifted a warning finger.
“I don't want to go to hell.”
Andrew sighed “I know, Mrs. Henderson. I brought you your food.”
“Alcohol?” Mrs. Henderson
“Some wine. Eat your dinner if you want dessert.”
Mrs. Henderson helped him to set up the blanket and lay out the food. She had some cheese, he had some jam. It was a companionable silence. It was important to be good to the dead.
Andrew looked out over the graveyard. “Anything to declare?”
Mrs. Henderson shrugged “What does that mean?”
“If you don't say it, maybe no one else will ever say it.” Andrew shrugged back.
Mrs. Henderson took in the information and looked, with Andrew, over the graveyard. “I didn't want to die you know. But now that I've done it, I suppose it can't be helped.”
Andrew took in the information and nodded. “Well then, Mrs. Henderson-”
“Call me Joan.”
Andrew nodded again “All right. Joan. A toast to your life, and your death.”
They clinked their wine glasses and drank. Andrew took a sip, and Joan drained her glass.
They regarded each other a moment. The living that wanted to die and the dead that wanted to live.
“Will it hurt?”
Andrew tilted his head “did dying hurt?”
“The injuries from the crash did,” Joan speculated. “But not dying.”
Andrew gestured vaguely.
Joan sighed “all right, I'm ready now,”
Andrew took one last sip of wine and readied himself. He tugged at something inside himself, the little irregular bits that had settled themselves in the far parts of his mind. He pulled them up to his heart, then focused them into his pointer finger. “Well Joan,” he began, placing his finger on her forehead. She closed her eyes and let out her last, shaky breath. Andrew said, surely and firmly “ Adieu .”
Joan Henderson passed peacefully, and Andrew poured out his wine. He packed up his food and the picnic blanket, and went back to the morgue.
Matt was waiting for him.
“How do you get them to go quietly?” he asked when Andrew set his things down. Andrew fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. An orange glow in this gray place. He didn't say anything, but Matt persevered. “They always fight me when I try to get them to Move On, I have to beg, how do you get them to Pass so quietly?”
Andrew took a drag from his cigarette and Matt sighed. “If you're headed to see Renee, I've got something for Dan. Could you drop it off for me?” Andrew held out his hand and Matt beamed. He rummaged in his bag dropped a powder blue envelope in Andrew's hand. “see you tonight.”
Andrew put it in his own bag and checked out of the morgue. The world was brighter outside of the graveyard, but Andrew was good enough only seeing it for a few hours each day. He drove over to the cafe where Renee and Dan worked. The building didn't look large, but he knew better. He entered through the back of the cafe’s kitchen.
“Delivery.” he called out sardonically. Dan turned and sighed. Andrew handed her the envelope from Matt as he headed to the counter.
From the counter, Renee turned and smiled. Andrew hated when she smiled at him like that, it made him feel like a fraud, making someone so happy when he was so awful. She greeted him with a cup of tea.
“There's Calm in this, so drink it slowly, or make sure you're sitting, or you'll fall asleep standing up.” Renee warned.
Andrew nodded, took the tea, and went up the stairs to the apartment.
The apartment above the cafe was less an apartment and more a rat’s nest that someone had placed on top of a cafe. The architecture changed by the day, suited to the needs of the owners.
Allison, Aaron, and Nicky were in the apartment and Nicky smiled as Andrew entered. Andrew dropped his bag by the foot of the door and Nicky's smile diminished a little. Andrew took a small sip of tea and felt the Calm wash over him, but there was a hint of something else. Contentment maybe, or- yes, that was it. There was a trace of Happiness in the tea. Andrew dropped the cup and watched the ceramic shards and tea fly over the floor.
There was a mangled cry and then “Jesus, Andrew!”
Andrew looked at Nicky and Nicky fell silent and sad. Andrew didn't like the way Nicky looked at him either. It wasn't the absolute faith Renee gave him, but concern. Pity. Andrew didn't want it.
Aaron was already getting a mop and broom. He was used to cleaning up messes.
Allison looked furious.
Andrew didn't care. He walked to his room, shards crunching under his shoes. It looked like Andrew's room was a tower today. He climbed a spiral staircase into a dark room. He was exhausted. He kicked his shoes off and fell into his bed.
He started at his door and heard someone coming up the temporary stares. Allison threw his door open, took in his windowless dungeon and scoffed in disgust.
“Of course you're fucking moping, what else would I expect.”
Andrew felt himself hardening to stone under Allison's gaze. “Go away Allison.”
“No. Why did you drop the cup.”
Andrew frowned “Renee spiked my tea.”
“No, I spiked your tea. You've been like this for a week. We're all worried about you.” Allison crossed the room in two deft strides and crouched down so that she was on face level with Andrew. “This has to stop.”
“You don’t get it.” Andrew said.
“No, you don't get it.” Allison snapped. “We all fail. Even you. And you need to let this one go.”
“You wouldn't be saying that if it was Seth.” said Andrew, hitting where he knew it would hurt.
A look of betrayal flitted over Allison's face, followed by one of pain, followed by hardened anger. “Listen, you pompous ass. Seth is dead. Kevin is not, no matter how guilty you are about what happened, and the faster you get that into your obstinate little head, the better.”
Andrew turned in his bed to face the wall. He found himself wanting a window, to let some light in. And so, one appeared, but it showed the world outside in grayscale.
Allison sighed, and her voice sounded from the door now. “You know, you can lash out and try to distance yourself all you want. We're not going to stop caring about you. But we will tell you to get your head out of your ass and get your fucking job done. What happened to Kevin was not your fault. He doesn't blame you. No one blames you except you.”
And with that, she was gone. Andrew turned, and in Allison’s place was a mended cup of tea. Calm laced with Happiness. Andrew took it, stared into it for a moment, then downed it like a desperate man. His consciousness flickered in the way of a dying candle, before fading.
Kevin was laughing at something Andrew had said. Andrew wasn't laughing, but he was pleased that Kevin was laughing.
“Hey, Andrew,” Kevin grinned, drunk on giddiness.
“Yes?”
Kevin moved in close, very close, the tips of their noses touched, giggling all the while. “I like your face.”
Andrew laughed. “I would hope.” Then he closed the distance between them.
When Andrew awoke, he didn't remember what he had dreamt. Just that the dream had been vaguely comforting. He checked the clock. Time for work. He descended the spiral staircase and noted that there were fifteen fewer steps this time.
Nicky was down in the cafe, mixing luck and charm into pie dough. Aaron had grown hope into some blueberries. It would be the perfect pie for presentations or auditions or job interviews. Andrew snuck a peach that had been grown with comfort. He didn't know if he would eat it or give it to Kevin. One of them had to move on.
Maybe it was time to take Allison's advice.
“Hey Allison?” Andrew called in to the kitchen.
Allison's head popped up from around a cooling rack of pastries.
“Thanks. Fuck you, but thanks.”
“Fuck you too, Minyard, now get out of here, the sun’s setting and your shift starts soon.”
Andrew was at the morgue within minutes. Kevin was waiting for him and Andrew rummaged around in his bag for the peach. He handed it to Kevin.
Kevin looked at Andrew like he wanted to say something.
“Just take the peach, Kevin.”
Kevin just took the peach.
Andrew walked in and deposited his bag into his locker. The roster for today was no different than any other day. No one would be Moving On today, but there was one new soul that Andrew would have to re-orient.
Andrew pulled a loaf of bread from the pantry and cut it into thick slices. The only magic in the bread was some Stability that Matt had baked into it. It helped new souls to gain awareness of their surroundings.
Andrew decided to deal with the new ghost first. He trudged up the hill to the newly dug grave. The moon rose slowly, but surely, and so did the ghost.
Andrew was ready to offer his meager portion of bread, but the ghost looked at him and he froze. Piercing blue eyes looked back at him. For one haunting moment, they stared at each other, and Andrew was afraid that someone had made a mistake, that this boy was alive.
Then the boy ran right through him.
There was an instant, when he and the boy occupied the same place in the universe, and Andrew felt more complete than he had ever felt. Then the boy pushed through him and Andrew just felt cold.
The boy was fast, he was running down the hill, pushing through gravestones and trees, just trying to get out. Andrew walked after him, slowly, leisurely. The Border would stop him.
Andrew watched the boy reach the edge of the graveyard, bang into an invisible wall, and reel back. The boy put his hands on the barrier, he banged on it desperately, and when it was made clear that he wouldn’t be escaping any time soon, he crumpled to his knees. His right hand banging rhythmically, pitifully, against The Border.
Andrew made his way down the hill, swinging his picnic basket. He moved to stand next to the beautiful ghost boy.
“Better luck next time,” Andrew offered, as a meaningless comfort.
“Fuck you,” The boy replied, and his voice sounded wretched and torn, like he was about to cry.
Well, Andrew had a job to do. He crouched next to the boy and took him into his own arms. The boy stiffened, then relaxed into Andrew’s grip. His shoulders shook with the sobs only a ghost could shed. There was a realization that ghosts had, where they find out that everything that was meaningful when they were alive, loses meaning in death. That everything they had ever worked towards would never be achieved. That they were dead. This realization was usually followed by tears of the sort that each person cries when they are born, and thrust into a world that doesn’t care about them.
Andrew let him cry. If he shed a few tears as well, the ghost boy would not say anything.
The dead tell no tales, after all.