When Forever Ends (Part 2: The Place with No Name)

XLII

∞{§}∞

Forty-Two

The strange, little man in the grey suit led me through a maze of corridors and rooms.

We were in a more modern-looking section of the airport, where the roof was still standing, and I saw yet more signs of disrepair. We passed several rectangular boxes that once dispensed food, their glass fronts smashed in. There were rows upon rows of benches, some overturned, the soft padding long since crumbled. At regular intervals, there were boarded-up doors with numbers above them. I would have asked why the place was falling apart, but the brisk pace the man had set left me struggling to keep up. For such an old man, he was surprisingly fast, his short legs moving a lot more swiftly than mine.

We entered an atrium, the ceiling stretching another floor higher above us in a large dome. There were a few large chunks of plaster that had fallen to the floor, surrounded by ash. In the center of the floor, some sort of small, open-topped vehicle lay on its side, suitcases spilling onto the floor. There were two long, dark streaks leading up to the toppled vehicle, implying that its driver had had to stop in a hurry. Ringed around the wall were many shops, all devoid of whatever they had been selling. Bent display racks and decapitated mannequins made up the bulk of the mess in one shop. In another, the sales counter had been smashed to splinters and there was an ominous stain in the carpet. A third shop, possibly a restaurant, was littered with upturned tables and chairs and the menus along the back wall were ripped and marked over with thick, black ink.

One wall was made of that tinted glass I had seen earlier, with a perfectly fine desk sitting in front of it, as well as two office chairs. There were a few papers stacked neatly on the desk and a small mug of water. Strangely, it seemed to be the only part of the airport that hadn't fallen into disrepair. The little man ran right over to the desk and plopped himself down in the chair facing me.

"Who... (huff)... are you?" I asked as I caught up. I took a moment to get my breath back, then continued. "What kind of person lives all alone in a derelict airport in a barren wasteland?"

"I don't always live here," he said. "But please," he gestured to the other chair. "Have a seat."

I sat, wondering if he had any intention of answering my question, and folded my arms across my chest.

"I am called the Wanderer," he said suddenly.

"Huh?" I asked. "Don't you have a name name?"

The man looked puzzled. "That is my name. It is all I have."

"Well then, Wanderer," I said. "Tell me. What is this place?"

He sat back and watched me carefully as he replied. "The Place with no name has many levels, and serves many purposes," he said slowly. "It has played a role in many lives and legends and religions, but it is all the same Place. This level is the one most often seen by mortals like yourself. All come here at some point in their lives. Some arrive earlier than others, but eventually everyone has to make the Choice." I got the feeling that he meant "choice" with a capital "C".

"And what choice would that be?"

The Wanderer suddenly leaned forward, placed his elbows on the desk, and rested his chin on his clasped hands. "Which path to take," he said cryptically.

"Path?" I repeated.

He spread his arms and gestured at the room around us. "Of course! Although, nowadays, it is an airplane, rather than a path that you must choose. This is the Airport, after all."

I looked around at all the halls branching off the atrium, then out the window, where I saw many long, narrow vehicles with large wings. "I'm assuming that those are the 'airplanes' you mentioned?"

The man nodded. "Correct."

"And if I choose one, and board it, where would it take me?"

"That depends. That one there, for example," he pointed to a shiny blue airplane considerably larger than the rest, and very fancy-looking, "will take you to reincarnation." Seeing my puzzled expression, he elaborated. "You know... To be reborn in another life."

"I know what it means," I said. "What I don't get is, why would I choose that?"

"Well, you could be like most other people and choose it simply because it is the most convenient and luxurious."

"No, I mean why can't I just wake up from this strange dream?"

"There is no waking up. You're dead."

I inhaled sharply, my mind reeling. I had suspected this before, but hearing it from a stranger's mouth seemed to make the idea shockingly real. It was like the difference between observing a dangerous animal from afar, and having it suddenly come flying at you to slap you in the face.

"No," I breathed. "It can't be."

"Do not deny it, for you know it is true. You need to accept that fact and move on." He turned back to face the window. "Continuing from where we left off, the next airplane over..." His voice faded behind the buzz of my thoughts.

I was dead. There was no denying it now. Tarron's dagger had done the deed. But I still had no idea why. I understood a little more after seeing the memory of his assault on Sarentino. Maybe he was after me because of what my dad had done. But if that were the case, why not go after my dad instead? And neither of us had destroyed any of his plans.

I mulled these thoughts over in my brain and eventually I realized that I was staring absently out the window at a much smaller plane. It was alone in the middle of the paved ground, not drawn up beside a covered walkway like all the others. It had a small ladder leading up to the door to enter and I noticed that the plane had a small propeller on its nose, unlike the others, which had much more modern-looking engines tucked under the wings. Faded yellow lettering on the side of the plane spelled out its name in loopy, fluid letters: Miracle.

"What about that one?" I asked, pointing.

The Wanderer paused mid-sentence. "What?"

"Where does that plane go?"

"Ah. I thought you might ask that." He took a breath, then hesitated a moment before continuing. "I once met a boy, (not so different from you, I might add,) who wanted to know about his fate."

Two thoughts flashed through my mind; What does this have to do with the plane? and then, I wonder if it was anyone I know.

I frowned. "When was this?"

He replied quickly, "Oh, this was years ago, lad, years ago. Though it seems like it was only yesterday when I gave him my answer."

Not someone I know, then, I thought. Nevertheless, I leaned forward, intrigued. "And what was it?"

"I knew he would go on to do terrible things, for one of my gifts is to glimpse the future of all who pass through here. So I told him this: 'Life or death, rise or fall, seven shall decide your fate.' For many years after, and to this very day, he remains terrified of the number seven."

"But who was it?" I asked. "And what does this have to do with that plane?"

"When I asked what he was called, his reply was, 'Forever. Forever is my name.' Then he made his decision and boarded that plane." The Wanderer gave me a very serious look. "Now it's your turn. You must chose a path. Know this, though. Only the most courageous take that flight," he nodded at Miracle.

"And why would that be?"

"That plane will return you to your old life."