Greg knew what he was doing.
“Hello, Marco,” he said softly. “My name is Greg. I'm here to help you.”
Marco's eyes stayed closed. His body didn't move.
But something else happened.
Dustin struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, but it was like a heat shimmer, or a double exposure—Marco was still lying in the bed, but there was something else there too. A shape overlaid on his body.
And then the shape sat up.
No way.
Dustin blinked hard, but the imagedidn't go away. If anything, it got clearer. Marco's spirit or his soul or whatever had left his body and sat up on the bed.
The spirit looked around the room with confusion. His gaze passed over the machines, and the bed, and his own body still lying there. Then his eyes landed on Greg.
“What's happening?” Marco's voice was strange. Thin. Like it was coming from very far away. “I don't understand.”
“You're dying,” Greg said. The words were blunt, but his voice was gentle. “I'm sorry. I know that's not easy to hear.”
“Dying?” Marco looked down at his own body. At the chest that was barely rising now. “But I don't feel…” He struggled with his words. “I thought it would hurt more.”
“It doesn't have to hurt,” Greg assured him.
“What happens now?” Marco's face crumpled. “I'm not ready. I need more time.”
“There’s never enough time,” Greg said. “That's not your fault. That's just how it is.”
The machines beeped faster. Marco's physical body shuddered, and the soul-shape flickered like a bad signal.
“I messed it all up.” Marco's thin voice cracked. “Forty years I worked at that plant. Forty years, and for what? I never went anywhere. Never did anything. I just worked and came home and sat in front of the TV and told myself I'd do the other stuff later.”
Greg reached out and took Marco's hand.
Dustin watched their fingers interlock—Greg's solid and real, Marco's flickering and strange—and something tightened in his chest.
“Later doesn't matter,” Greg said. “Later was never real. There's only evernow, and now you are with me, and you are safe.”
“I'm scared,” Marco whispered.
“I know.”
“I don't want to go.”
“I know that too.” Greg squeezed his hand. “But I promise you—what comes next isn't something to fear. I've seen it, Marco. I've seen hundreds of people walk to that door. And every single one of them, when they got there...” He paused. “Every single one of them wished they hadn't spent so long being afraid.”
The body in the bed went still.
Marco's soul flickered violently, and panic flashed across his face.
But Greg kept holding his hand and looking at him with that steady, gentle certainty.
“It's okay,” Greg said. “I've got you. Look.”
Marco turned toward something Dustin couldn't see.
Whatever it was, it changed his face. The fear melted away, along with the grief and regret. What replaced those emotions was something Dustin didn't have a word for.
