“Waiting area two,” the Gatekeeper intoned solemnly.
I expected him to say more. When he didn’t, I asked, “How long do they have to wait in there?”
“Until they have tickets,” he stated. “They were issued tickets on the Number Nine train and they don’t have them now. The punishment for selling Double-N tickets is very severe.”
“But they didn’t sell their tickets,” I protested. “Their tickets were stolen!”
“By whom?”
“Hector LeMans stole them to sell to rich people who don’t deserve them.”
There was a long, low whistle in the distance behind me. The Number Nine again.
“That might be them now,” the Gatekeeper said. “Let’s see just what they deserve.”
The train was still a long way off. I looked down the track, seeing only a speck, then back at the Gatekeeper. He gazed steadily at the distant train, content to just watch and wait. So we waited. As the train got closer, the switch at the platform crossing began to flash and ring. I didn’t notice right away, but the sound changed with each ring. It started out a hollow clanging before turning into something more… portentous. As soon as I noticed, I turned to see the switch quivering, changing shape. It became a gnarled red arrow pointing down.
And then there was an unholy scream.
I spun back toward the train and saw its smooth metal skin peel away and vanish, leaving behind a blood-red metal skeleton rippling with flame and smoke. There seemed to be a leering face on the front of the train with a vandyck in place of a cow catcher. In the air beside the track, below the platform, a bright spot appeared, growing into huge disk of flame. The train began to rock left and right, finally coming off the rails to dive into the disk which curled in upon itself and vanished with a shrieking inhale.
In the sudden silence I turned to the Gatekeeper and asked, “What happened to that train!?”
“Your destiny cannot be purchased,” he answered tonelessly.
I started laughing, although I wasn’t sure what was so funny.
“I don’t understand,” I asked, returning to the original subject after I had gotten myself back under control, “why has everyone been detained?”
“Given a ticket, a soul may not sell it,” the Gatekeeper answered.
“But they didn’t sell them!” I protested. “Someone else has… or is selling counterfeits, anyway. I’m not sure what happened to the tickets after they were stolen, but they were stolen. You can’t hold that against these people!”
“Bring the tickets,” the Gatekeeper said. “That is all.”
“The tickets must be in El Marrow!” I exclaimed helplessly. “I can’t get there and back quickly.”
“These rails are already there,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said with biting sarcasm. “That helps a lot.”
“The gate opens,” the Gatekeeper said, “the gate closes. It does not ‘help’.”
I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t bother trying. I just went through the arch, intending to find the ominous-sounding waiting area two.
Through the arch was a train station, which made sense since the Number Nine passed under the arch on its way to the next world, but I still didn’t expect it. I suppose natural stupidity explains my surprise. The walls were full of giant murals depicting the Land of the Dead, including the stuff we didn’t put in the brochures. Too bad we didn’t have this in El Marrow, I thought. It even had a depiction of the Number Nine jumping its tracks. That’d put a crimp on Hector’s scam if people could see in advance what they were really getting with his phony tickets.
I found a door marked with an arrow saying ‘Waiting Area Two’. I tried to go through but I couldn’t make my feet move across the threshold. Something wouldn’t let me go in.
That is I, the Gatekeeper’s voice echoed in my skull, the keeper of the gate.
“I need to get my friends,” I said aloud.
You need to get your friends their tickets.
I grumbled and turned away. I walked further into the station, thinking maybe there was another way in; although, even if there was, the Gatekeeper would probably stop me again. As I looked around, I spotted movement. There was another soul in the station, marching clockwise in a fountain. Weird.
I went closer and found a familiar figure.
“Chepito!” I exclaimed. “How’d you get free?”
“I was born free, boatnik,” he answered. “Nobody gave me no ticket, so nobody can take it away.” I should have remembered that.
“So what are you pacing around here for?”
“Trying to unwind a little bit. All those years, circling in one direction, gotta even out my life in this world before I go on to the next, you know. Well,” he suddenly exclaimed, climbing out of the fountain, “that oughta do ’er!” He started to amble toward the dark archway opposite the one leading outside.
“Goodbye, Chepito,” I called out after him.
“Happy trails, cap’n,” he returned. As he got to the arch, he turned back to me and said, “And thanks for settin’ me straight back there in the drink.” He waved and went through.
It was an amazing moment. All those years as a reaper, sending people on to this place, encouraging Jesus and others to move on, and this was the first time I’d ever seen anyone complete the journey. If only Membrillo could have seen it. If only Lola… but I pushed that thought away.
I found myself standing by the arch, staring into the blackness—seemingly solid as a wall—that stretched beyond. There was no sign nor sound of Chepito. Or of anything else. What was really through there? I only had to take one step forward to find out. Just one step, and it’d all be over. No more malevolent demons, no Hector threatening everything, no Lola haunting me. To finally find peace. I simply had to put one foot in front of the other.
I couldn’t do it.
I turned around and marched toward the other archway. I wasn’t leaving without the people I promised to save.
Rubacava or Bust
I barely glanced at the Gatekeeper as I strode past.
“Recently,” he said before I got to the steps, “I was visited by a bird with a human head.” I shivered at the image. “Do you know such a bird, Manuel Calavera?”
“No,” I said, startled by the sound of my own name. “How did you—?”
“He knew you,” he answered before I could finish the question, “and for you he left this note.” The Gatekeeper opened his hand and let a scrap of paper drift down to the platform. I picked it up.
I know what you’re up to. I’ve been watching. Stay there. I’m coming to sprout you myself.
“¡Híjole!” I exclaimed to myself. I stuffed the note into my pocket and continued down to the gondola platform. When I got there, I was surprised and relieved to see Glottis half sitting up, scribbling on a piece of paper on a clipboard.
“He’s had an idea,” Meche whispered to me, “something inspired by the gondolas. If it works…” she sighed. “What did you find out?”
“Your feelings were on the money,” I whispered back. “Everyone’s being held until their tickets get here. The Gatekeeper thinks they sold their tickets. I tried to explain, but he wants the tickets before he releases anyone.” I shook my head.
“What are we going to do?” Meche hissed, sounding frustrated.
“Get the tickets, I guess. Somehow.”
“Manny,” she said urgently, “it took us a year to walk here from Puerto Zapato, and it’s another year to Rubacava. On top of that, we don’t really know what happened to those tickets. These people are our responsibility!” Talk about kicking a man when he’s down. “We can’t leave them in limbo, no matter what that Gatekeeper says.”