Eventually the counselor claps her hands softly. “Let’s stretch our legs. Ten-minute break.”
Chairs scrape. People stand. Some cluster near the credenza for tea or coffee, others step outside for air.
Talon is the first through the door. He shoves his hands into his pockets and mutters something too low for most people to catch, but the shape of the words is frustration. Cassian follows, and they move down the short hallway toward the alcove near the restrooms.
I stand as well, though not to join anyone. I adjust my coat, step out of the room, and lean against the hallway corner where I can hear them without looking like I’m listening.
Talon exhales sharply.
“Man, what the fuck do you still want from me?” he says. “I’m just trying to grieve my shit and move on. Kill it with the cult talk.”
Oh? Not cops, then.
“It’s not cult talk,” Cassian says calmly. “It’s the truth. You asked how I know there’s more than what’s in that room. I’m telling you.”
Talon scoffs. “No, you’re feeding me weird metaphysical bullshit that sounds like something you’d hallucinate on mushrooms. The dead aren’t watching us. The dead aren’t whatever the fuck you think they are.”
“I didn’t believe it either.”
“Yeah? And then what?” Talon snaps. “You decided to become some fucking afterlife prophet? Cassian, I’m not doing this with you. Not here. I just want to sit in a stupid circle and grieve my people. Get off my ass.”
Cassian doesn’t let go.
“Grim Reapers exist,” he says. “I know, because I’ve seen one. There’s a whole system out there. A flawed system. It needs to be fixed, and it’s up to people like you and me to fix it.”
“Fix it?” Talon mutters, voice lower. “Man, I lost my grandmother. Then a girlfriend. Then another. You get that? I’ve been bleeding grief for years. Even if I believed you…” A pause. “I’m not the right guy to talk to. I haven’t fixed a damn thing in my life. I’m… fucked up, man.”
Neither of them moves.
“None of that matters,” Cassian says.
Talon lets out a short breath. “The hell does that mean?”
“It means everyone in that damn room is fucked up. Me included. If you’re not damaged, you just plant your ass down and live your life, letting all the wrong shit in the world keep happening, because it never touched you. If the pain never hit you, it turns into background noise. You and me, we’re not like that.”
Talon doesn’t answer.
“I watched my sister get murdered,” Cassian continues quietly. “A Reaper stood behind her. Cold. Detached. It collected her. I see them now. They do it all the time. Taking souls, collecting lives. Someone needs to do something about it. If I can see them, I can stop them.”
Talon lets out a weak, humorless laugh. “You want to do… God’s work? Death’s work? I don’t even know what to call this shit, man.”
“Call it whatever you want,” Cassian replies. “I want to help the people nobody ever helps.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re just crazy?” Talon asks. “That all of this is just in your head?”
“Maybe,” Cassian replies. “I’ve thought about it. But what if it isn’t?”
My body stiffens.
There’s one notion every scientist, regardless of their field, has to accept: there is a great deal we don’t yet know.
I suppose working with lives, trying to keep people from dying, death has haunted me more than it haunts most. I watched people die throughout my career. I got used to it early.
There is no denying that a human being is more than a constant exchange of electrons traversing between tissues. There’s something else to it. A factor X we haven’t understood yet.
Many call that factor a soul.
What if this man, Cassian, can truly see them? What if he can see what happens to a soul after the body gives up?
