“Tenants of Purgatory, may I have your attention, please?”

  At the sound of the intercom crackling in, the chorus of sobs and groans ceased immediately. Everyone shut up, sat up, and perked their ears, hoping to hear the magic words.

  “There has been a death—"

  The room devolved into a blur of silent motion. The billions of trapped souls flitted through the dim crawl space like mad, pushing and shoving in their rush to find their ID cards in time to hear the lucky number. “And as such, we will be admitting one soul back onto the surface. Please listen closely to the following Soul ID number.”

  Mister Id carefully shimmied his eyeball from where it was squeezed into the crack of the ceiling, blinking away the pain of the pinch.

  He languidly flipped through the dividers of his notebook, humming a little ditty as he landed on the ‘Hungry Spirit’ section. With his pen clicked open and poised to scrawl at a moment’s notice, he turned his attention to the chaos in front of him.

  It was a scene he’d seen countless times during his time there, but each time there was something just slightly different.

  If a new soul was recycled too quickly, the Hungry Spirits would pelt the poor sap with sullied tissues and insults. If a new voice over the intercom misread the ID number, they’d pound the door of the Eternal Affairs office off of its hinges, demanding early readmission for their pain and suffering.

  No matter what, there was always something that shifted the dynamic of the Post-Death Shuffle by just a fraction of a degree. And Mister Id was always there, nostrils splayed wide, ready to catch it all.

  “14,675,812,345. If your Soul ID is number 14,675,812,345, please make your way to the Staircase.”

  There were the usual round of sighs, mutters, and glares as envious eyes scanned the room, searching for the lucky one.

  But no one moved.

  Mister Id’s breath hitched as he looked around the room, watching expressions shift from hatred to curiosity, then finally to confusion as the number is shouted with greater irritation each time.

  “Tenants of Purgatory, I repeat, Tenants of Purgatory. If you have not done so, please, check your Soul Identification card for the number 14,675,812,345. We cannot hold the doors open all day.”

  With bated breath, Mister Id watched as eyebrows knitted together, eyes peeked open from where they had been resting for years.

  But still, no one moved.

  A heavy sigh came over the intercom.

  “If your soul ID number is 14,675,812,345 and your given name is Mister Id, please, make your way to the Staircase. We would like you to begin your transition without further delay.”

  Oh!

  Mister Id scrambled to his feet, gathering his notebooks as quickly as possible while maintaining the keenest of eyes on his neighbors. He tripped on air and cheekily extended legs alike as he kept his head on a swivel. He made sure to burn each set of narrowed eyes, each huff of irritated breath into his memory to be cataloged later.

  “Mister Id, please, just make your way to the Staircase.”

  At that, he reluctantly faced forward and tightened his pace.

  The Staircase was enclosed by a heavy ivory door, highlighted with gold accents and the putrid stench that Mister Id recalled as ‘sewage.’ With closed eyes, he inhaled deeply, relishing in the full-bodied retch that coursed over him.

  Is this what freedom smells like? The undying scent of boundless Essence, ripe for the taking? Of vitality? Of—

  “Mister Id, open the door. And leave. Now.”

  Bracing himself for the blinding beauty and opulence of the winding Staircase, Mister Id cradled his notebooks to his chest, gently tugged on the door, and peeked in.

  And.

  He was greeted by the sounds of honking horns, hollered profanities, and tires skidding. Heavy rainfall blinded his vision, and muddy terrain halted his steps.

  What in the world?

  He scrubbed his eyes, trying to convince himself that he was seeing things.

  But he wasn’t.

  Mister Id was standing at the top of a hill on the side of a highway, with nothing but that doorframe to cling to.

  Before he could get his bearings, there was a sharp push behind him, sending him, and more importantly, his (after)life’s research tumbling down the hill.

  Mister Id rolled onto the shoulder of the road and landed on his back, grimacing at the pain throbbing along his spine. With an old man’s groan, he clambered up onto his rickety joints, stiff, and shaken to his core.

  Confused and betrayed, he looked up at the hill, just in time to watch the door vanish into thin air with an audible poof.

  Disoriented, he gently patted himself down for scrapes and bruises when his eyes landed on the notebook he was stepping on. Mister Id’s eyes immediately flew open in recognition.

  He wheeled around, wiping his eyes and squinting into the grayness—all of his notebooks were scattered in the road, flying onto windshields, and snagging on tree branches. With no hesitation, Mister Id ran into the road and began salvaging what he could.

  As if taunting him, the rain poured harder as cars swerved out of his way. He dove at puddles and tires alike, heart pounding in his ears, body aching viciously. He pushed himself to exhaustion trying to save his life’s work from track marks and sludge.

  In the end, he’d only recovered his 5, 15, and 50-year Planning Books and had just laid eyes on his Big Book of Body Language when a car came to a sharp stop right in front of him, splashing rainwater all over his lower half.

  “Are you crazy?” A gruff voice hollered from the driver’s seat, just loud enough to be heard over the rapidly approaching sound of police sirens.

  Mister Id pulled himself up to his feet and leaned down into the passenger’s side window. He did a poor job of concealing his excitement as he locked eyes with the young man at the wheel.

  So young of a man that Mister Id was inclined to call him a ‘boy.’ Mid-20s at the oldest. His eyes were still wide with empathy for others, face still an open book. He seemed to be the perfect test subject for the ‘Sob Story’ mechanism he’d heard so much about.

  Initiating phase one.

  “No, I’m not crazy,” Mister Id started, “I just lost some things that are very important to me.”

  The boy blinked at him in disbelief. “Dude, I don’t know what your deal is, but there’s nothing in those notebooks that’s more important than your life.”

  As he’d practiced, Mister Id turned away at a 45-degree angle and forced tears to well up in his eyes. “You know, you're right. But sometimes, it just doesn’t feel that way.”

  The boy groaned, eyes flicking between the squad cars getting closer in his rearview mirror and the hot mess hanging onto his car. “Look, man. You’re gonna get killed running around on the highway,” he scrubbed his hand over his face, considering his options. While he was preoccupied, Mister Id briefly dropped the act in favor of watching him with hungry eyes.

  C’mon, kid. Say it, say it…

  “Just get in.”

  Mister Id’s fingers instinctively twitched for his pen.

  He couldn’t believe his luck; less than 5 minutes on the surface, and he’d already extracted enough Essence to get a free ride! He gave a grateful grin as he quickly opened the door and slid into the passenger’s seat.

  The boy peeled off unceremoniously, eyes glued to the police cars as he swerved off of an exit, losing them.

  Taking a cursory glance around the car, Mister Id’s nose scrunched up. There were smells.

  Some subtle ones that he remembered very fondly, cakes and coffee, that he only caught little whiffs of. And some that he wished to never smell again, marijuana and nicotine, that seemed to be baked into the seats, wafting out in big huffs each time he moved.

  There were candy wrappers and soda cans discarded at his feet. Stains on the dashboard. Mister Id knew not to stare directly at the boy but judged him very harshly in his periphery.

  And, unbeknownst to him, the boy was doing the same.

  He gave Mister Id a once over. Older guy. Freshly cut, neatly-styled firetruck-red hair with white accents that, strangely enough, complimented him. Sharply dressed, down to the leather shoes. The man was obviously a bit touched in the head, but not strung out on drugs. Not the typical type you see flailing in the streets.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat, still trying to process the fact that he let a potentially crazed stranger in his car. “So. Do you live nearby? I’m on my way to work, but I can drop you off at home if its close.”

  Mister Id dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m a bit down on my luck, actually.” He waited a moment before shaking his head to himself. “I won’t dump my problems on you, but I don’t exactly have anywhere to go.”

  God graced Mister Id with a perfectly timed red light.

  The boy blew out a deep sigh and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, stealing quick, uncertain glances at the pitiful, soaking man in his passenger seat. “Listen, man. I don’t have much myself. But I can make you a cup of coffee and give you somewhere to wait the rain out.”

  Mister Id gave the boy a warm smile. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you, young man,” he stuck his hand out for him to shake. “You can call me Mister Id.”

  The boy mouthed ‘Mister Id’ to himself as if testing it out. “Cool name.”

  He slapped his hand on Mister Id’s, slid his sweaty palm against his, then curled his fingertips, initiating some strange handshaking maneuver that Mister Id didn’t understand. The boy sent a sidelong glance at the older man before mumbling an ‘oh’ to himself. “That’s called, ‘dap.’ But don’t worry about it, we’ll work on it later.” He gave Mister Id a fist bump to the palm instead. “I’m Freddy.”

  Mister Id awkwardly retracted his hand, confused, but kept the momentum. “Freddy. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Freddy.” He angled himself to sneakily observe the boy as the car started moving again. No tension in the eyebrows, absentminded smile on the lips.

  Time for phase two. Data mining.

  “You’re a very kind soul to help out a stranger, Freddy. Your mother must be very proud of you.”

  Freddy’s smile faltered.

  Bingo.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I not mention your mother?”

  “No, it’s fine. She’s just, uh,” he starts nervously tapping his hands on the wheel again.

  Just what? Dead? Near dead?

  “We’re not on the best of terms at the moment. So.”

  Mister Id internally deflated; it wasn’t the optimal set of mommy issues, but. He could work with it.

  Freddy shrugged, tossing a reassuring glance at Mister Id as they pulled into an empty strip mall parking lot. “But thank you. She always was the ‘do unto others’ type.”

  Freddy took the keys out of the ignition with a sigh and reached behind them to rummage around in the backseat. Mister Id peered under the visor to get a good look at the storefronts. Tacky, peeling signs; all of the lights were turned off; the doors were made of dirty glass. Not a single one of them looked like they wanted any business, let alone Essence.

  Mister Id would have sighed if he were alone. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.

  Freddy reemerged with an umbrella. “Alright, Mister Id, let’s rock ’n’ roll.”

  The man chuckled in response as they climbed out of the car. He joined Freddy at the front of the car, sidling in under the umbrella. “‘Aren’t you a bit too young for sound like someone’s dad?”

  Freddy deadpanned, “I’ll have you know, sir, that I am a proud father of three.” He locked the door and led him towards the storefront with a sorriest sign, reading Empire’s Espresso.

  Freddy fumbled with his keyring while Mister Id took an incredulous look at him.

  Father of three?

  He examined the lonely little ringlets poking out of the boy’s chin. Kids? The kid couldn’t even grow decent facial hair yet. And the coils in his afro were dark brown from root to tip. Hairline was nice and full. There was no way he had kids as a teenager, not without thinning or grays to show for it.

  “One dog and two cats?”

  Freddy laughed. “Three betta fish. Don’t overestimate me.” He unlocked the door and gestured for Mister Id to step in first.

  He was immediately struck by the welcoming scent of fresh coffee beans, cinnamon, and vanilla. Freddy flipped a light switch, revealing a charming setup. The store was just big enough to fit a couch and two decently-sized four-seater tables along one wall and a modestly sized counter-display hybrid across the way.

  The walls were covered in a pastel yellow floral wallpaper, making the place seem even more drab than it appeared to be from the outside. The floor tiles looked like the safe-grip ones found in senior citizens’ bathrooms.

  But despite the flurry of criticisms floating in his head, Mister Id kept an appreciative, mildly impressed expression on his face.

  “Nice place,” he called out as Freddy rushed to the back. Even the equipment looked unappealing and outdated; one of the knobs on the espresso machine had fallen off and the coffee dispenser was missing a spout. He took a seat on the couch, cringing at the rubbery squelch the leather made under him.

  “Don’t lie to me, Mister Id,” Freddy teased in response, coming back in a hairnet and an apron. “This place is a dump.”

  Mister Id put up his hands defensively. “I mean it, it is nice. Nicer than what I’m used to, at least.” He watched closely as the tension settled in the air, making Freddy gulp guiltily.

  He was surprised that the kid hadn’t called his bluff yet. He couldn’t decide if the kid was too polite to do so, or if he just lacked critical thinking skills.

  Either way, I lucked out. Gullible, naive, vulnerable. And he’s a potential connection to his ideal job position in a severely untapped market.

  Mister Id’s musings were abruptly disrupted by a flash of white over by Freddy.

  It must have been a trick of the light, but Mister Id could have sworn that he saw something floating around Freddy’s head as he darted around the café. Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it came—if it were really there at all.

  While Mister Id was trying to remember the diagnosis criteria for dementia, Freddy laid two overfilled mugs on the table with the practiced ease of a barista who’s truly worth his salt. Mister Id let out an impressed hum at the perfectly crafted cappuccino before him, topped with a silky swan design.

  “It’s almost too pretty to drink,” he admitted, grabbing the mug and wiggling it, watching the firm foam chase after the rim. He was never much of a caffeine guy, but with the way Freddy’s big brown puppy dog eyes were looking at him expectantly, he didn’t seem to have a choice.

  He took a small sip that scorched his tongue, but bit back the grimace. It tasted like ashes and disappointment.

  “Do you like it? I roasted this batch of beans myself.”

  Mister Id nodded furiously, bringing his lips back to the mug, tipping it backward to fake a second taste. “I love it, Fred. What’s that note I’m tasting,” he smacked his lips and squinted off into the distance as if deep in thought. “Something sweet?”

  On cue, Freddy chimed in enthusiastically, “It’s marshmallow! I’m impressed; no one ever tastes it.”

  And there it was again! The white thing! Or, Mister Id realized, the white things. They were some sort of wisps were again! Fluttering around Freddy’s head like little gnats.

  Mister Id’s mind raced, flashing through all of the fractured scenes he’d witnessed through that crack in the Earth. White wisps… white wisps… And then it clicked. He realized that from his point of view underground, he never saw the top of anyone’s head.

  Could it be? This is what Essence looks like?

  He chewed the inside of his cheek, mesmerized, wondering what would happen if he reached out to touch one. Would he feel stronger? Grow taller? Would one of the wrinkles weighing down his browline suddenly disappear?

  He had to know.

  “Hey, Fred, I think you have a little something in your hair.”

  Before the boy had time to react, Mister Id surged across the table, grabbing at a fistful of the wisps, watching in wonder as they slipped right through his skin.

  “Ah, sorry,” he said, sitting back down, disappointed. “Just a piece of dust in the air.”

  Freddy nodded, “Well, I appreciate it anyway, man. Good looking out.”

  He paused to take another sip of his cappuccino. “So,” he drawled, eyeing Mister Id over the rim of his mug. A beat passed before he asked, “Is it too soon to ask what brought you to the side of the highway at 6:30 a.m.?”

  Mister Id let out a long sigh, trying to buy himself some time.

  He didn’t expect the kid to cut to the chase so quickly.

  He matched Freddy’s pace, feigning another long sip before coughing out an embarrassed chuckle, “Can we take a rain check? It’s a long, messy story.”

  Freddy looked deeply into his eyes, searching for something before he pushed a little harder. “I mean, all we have is time.” He nodded his head over to the door being beaten down with the pouring rain. “Nobody’s coming in today; with this kind of rain, we’ll be lucky if the owner stops by.”

  Thank God. Mister Id gracefully pivoted the conversation. “Does she come around often?”

  “He,” Freddy corrected. Then he rolled his eyes. “And define ‘coming around.’ ‘Cause he drives all the way here from The City, and, I swear on life itself, right hand to God,” he paused, leaning in for added emphasis. “The man sits in his car for the entirety of my shift. Ten whole hours. Doesn’t say hi. Doesn’t even come inside to piss. Then he drives back home. It’s ridiculous.”

  The more animated Freddy got, the more wisps appeared over his head.

  He hadn’t pegged the kid for it, but there was a chance that Freddy was a ‘Gossiping Spirit.’ Mister Id had extensive notes on their kind. Sweet-talks to your face, smiles while they stab you in the back.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Fascinated, Mister Id egged him on. “That is ridiculous. The nerve of him.”

  Freddy scoffed, taking his last sip. “Tell me about it.”

  He stood up and walked his mug to the back. “What I think,” he started, “is that he’s hiding from his wife. They bought this place earlier this year and blew her life’s savings on it. She’s at home working on marketing, while he’s” Freddy reappeared, miming air quotes, “‘managing’ this place. It’s kinda sad.”

  He sighed wistfully and sat back down, resting his head in his palm as the wisps raged on like an angry hive of bees.

  With all of that Essence up for the taking, Mister Id couldn’t help but see his opening. It was glaring at him begging him to take the plunge. But deep within him, the dormant memories of the way that he awkwardly blundered through his first life told him to hold off. Take it slow.

  Be a bit more subtle.

  So, he hummed empathetically and paused for a moment to make the subject change seem natural. “How can they afford to pay you when business is so slow?”

  Freddy barked a rough laugh at that. “They can’t. I’m two checks in the hole at the moment,” Mister Id’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. Freddy instinctively reached over, putting his hand over Mister Id’s in reassurance.

  “They’re trying their best, I promise. Don’t report them or anything. It’s just,” he looked down at the table as if searching through the stains for an answer. He dropped his head against the table in defeat. “They picked the worst possible location. Like. This is the worst, sleepy little podunk town ever. But it was the only spot they could afford to rent, apparently.”

  Mister Id hesitated before laying his hand on top of Freddy’s, reciprocating that comforting gesture. “Well, like you said, all we have is time. Why don’t I help you get things started around here?”

  Freddy slowly raised his head, narrowing his eyes at Mister Id suspiciously, “Tell me more.”

  …

  Mister Id conjured up tales of a past life for Freddy, serving him little white lies that wouldn’t complicate matters too much.

  He led with a coy, “I’ll spare you the boring details,” watching as Freddy’s face, open and curious, lit up at the prospect of finally hearing something about the mysterious man in front of him.

  Like that he was born into a family of restauranteurs.

  And that he handled their marketing operations.

  And that he may or may not have generated seven-figure revenues over the course of his career.

  And when the boy’s appetite was sufficiently whetted, he finished with, “So I think it’s fair to say that I have a bit of experience with drumming up business. And I have some ideas for this place.”

  Freddy frowned. “I don’t think I have permission to do any sort of work like that, Mister Id. I got in trouble for making an off-menu drink one time.”

  Mister Id tuned him out, again.

  He couldn’t bear to listen to the rambling. He gently brought his eyebrows together, just enough to make his forehead wrinkles seem emotionally affected by Freddy’s words, and nodded every once in a while.

  There was a pang of pity in his shriveled heart for the boy.

  Such a bright personality. With all the freedom in the world to make this café his own; to double, even triple, his earnings with cash tips… he wouldn’t.

  Dear God, he is such an employee.

  Well, if these people didn’t want to run their café, Mister Id was going to do it for them.

  He tuned back into the conversation when Freddy sighed. “Listen, how about this,” he leveled a steely look deep into the boy’s eyes. “Give me one afternoon. If I can’t make magic happen, then, hey,” Mister Id shrugged, “no harm, no foul.”

  Freddy quirked an eyebrow but slowly extended his hand to the man. “As long as we won’t get in trouble… You’ve got a deal.”

  They shook on it just as the rain began to slow and a rainbow beamed against the door, highlighting all of the fingerprints and streaks crusted on it. Mister Id stood up, taking a final sip of his lukewarm cappuccino before passing it on to Freddy.

  “Alright, I’ll be back. Do me a favor, though, and clean up a bit, will you?”

  …

  The post-rain haze and sun shone down on the otherwise depressing strip mall as if inviting Mister Id’s meddling. A warm, strong gust of mid-morning air swung against his frail body, sending him stumbling backward as he approached the store next door.

  The pitiful sign out front, faded and scratched, gave no indication of what he was stepping into. He pressed his hand to the window, making a visor for himself before planting his face against the glass, squinting into the darkness.

  Before he could get a good look, a big, shadowy figure came rushing at the door, swinging it open. And for the second time in 30 seconds, Mister Id went stumbling backward. Only this time, it was right onto his aching spine.

  The door was delicately clicked closed before a rush of slurred, spittle-coated words was hurled at him.

  Mister Id cracked his eyes open to see a hulking man with a beet red face, still screaming words that the man couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

  He squatted down and jabbed a muscular finger centimeters away from Mister Id’s nose in a clear threat. Bewildered, Mister Id just blinked at the man in disbelief, watching his face contort from anger into fury.

  Just in time, Freddy came running out of the café, hands up, screaming, “Mr. Daisy, wait! Please!”

  Mr. Daisy’s sweat-soaked eyebrows came together in confusion as he turned to Freddy. Mister Id still couldn’t make out half of what the man was saying, but he did catch the phrase ‘peeping Tom.’

  Peeping Tom?

  Me?

  How? What kind of business is this guy running in there?!

  In spite of the pain, he leaned up on his elbows and grunted, “Look, I wasn’t—”

  Freddy slipped between them, gently helping the old man up, giving him a serious look that begged, “Let me handle this.” Freddy turned his back to Mister Id and stepped closer to Mr. Daisy.

  “Dude, Mr. Daisy, calm down. Look,” He grabbed at the man’s arms, forcing him to look into his eyes. “He’s my friend. Not a peeping Tom—”

  And.

  Mister Id had to tune him out again. He didn’t want to hear a little boy talk an adult man off of the ledge. It would make him sad.

  And more importantly, it would spoil the mirth spreading in his chest at the sight of the ball of wisps overwhelming Freddy’s afro.

  He’d only known the boy for half a day and he was already invested enough to put himself in between him an angry drunk. It didn’t seem like it from underground, but humans were so easy these days. Earning Freddy’s Essence was like taking candy from a very tall baby.

  And don’t get him started on this Mr. Daisy character.

  Smug, he angled himself to the side, ready to admire the mountain of wisps in Mr. Daisy’s unkempt blonde nest. But he didn’t see anything at all.

  Mister Id frowned, training his eyes on the man’s scalp, waiting impatiently. More than anything else, he was sure of how this kind of thing worked.

  Even before he dropped down to Purgatory, he knew one thing for a solid fact: humans are drawn to conflict as moths are to flame.

  The man was livid. Trembling. Affected.

  Well, then, Mister Id wondered, where’s my reward?

  Incensed, Mister Id stepped from behind Freddy’s protective stance, resting his hand on the boy’s shoulder in a signal for him to stop rambling. He stuck his hand out to Mr. Daisy with a saccharine sweet smile.

  Because nothing triggers an angry drunk like pleasantries.

  “Let’s start over, shall we?”

  Freddy looked on in horror, eyes flickering between the seething mass of heavily inebriated man in front of him and the socially inept little geezer next to him.

  “My name’s Mister Id. I’m new in town and wanted to introduce myself to the local shopkeepers. Might I ask your name?”

  But to his chagrin, Mr. Daisy didn’t fly off the handle. Instead, his glare cooled into an apprehensive gaze. He reached out and drunkenly slapped his hand into Mister Id’s.

  “Daniel Daisy,” he rasped, trying to lock his jumpy gaze onto Mister Id’s eyes. “Lis’en, ’m sorry about earlier, m’man. Jus’ had a few too many.”

  Mister Id hid his disgust with a sympathetic laugh. “No judgment.”

  But there was, in fact, judgment. Especially on account of the dragon breath he’d been assaulted with.

  Mister Id sighed internally as he checked back out of the conversation. There was an awkward silence, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Mr. Daisy’s kind, those afflicted with a ‘Broken Spirit’, were usually so empty inside that they didn’t have enough Essence to spare.

  Freddy, again, with expert timing, slid in, redirecting the conversation. “Mr. Daisy owns the town cattery.”

  And.

  Huh.

  Mister Id couldn’t help but quirk up eyebrow and give the man a once-over. He fancied himself a good read, but he was pleasantly surprised by his miscalculation.

  A big man with a big heart. Calm enough to earn a cat’s affection, but wild enough to attack a potential customer. Obviously drinking some sort of pain away.

  He’d seen a few of his kind. Tough nuts to crack, but worth it in the end.

  The man scratched the back of his neck, gesturing back to the store. “They’re sleepin’ right now. They get a lil’ scared at loud soun’s. But if you ca’ keep quiet, I’ll show ya around.”

  Freddy spared a glance to the road, clicking his tongue as he decided whether or not he should close up shop for a little adventure. It took him a hair of a second before he reached into his pocket for the store key, and jogged back to the café.

  Mr. Daisy grinned, delicately sliding the door open, whispering, “After you, Mister Id.”

  The smell of cat dander, rotten fish, and pure neglect greeted the group as they walked into Mr. Daisy’s store.

  The man gingerly closed the door behind himself, vacuum-sealing them in the room’s putrid stench. Mister Id took a deep breath that he vowed to hold until it was safe to inhale again.

  He’d sooner die again than retraumatize himself with that scent.

  He could hear Freddy’s quick, shallow breaths from behind him. “It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Daisy,” he gritted through his teeth. “Thanks for having us.”

  He may be a liar, but Mister Id had to admit, the kid had heart.

  The front room—and ‘room’ was a very gracious description of the glorified closet space—was completely dark, save for the bit of light bleeding in from the heavily tinted front door. He could see the outlines of rows of cat hammocks tacked onto the walls, jutting out into what little walk space the place had to offer.

  “These are the kiddos,” Mr. Daisy announced.

  Far too many pairs of yellow eyes peeked open at once. As if they had coordinated beforehand, the cats took quick, lazy glances at the trio before closing their eyes again and vanishing into the darkness.

  “Pardon me, fellas,” Mr. Daisy muttered before squeezing his way past the two of them, bumping into lazily outstretched paws along the way. “Lemme show you the back.”

  Guided by the man’s heavy footsteps, Mister Id and Freddy made their way through the hallway and into a corridor that, thankfully, had a window facing the parking lot.

  Without thinking, Mister Id lifted the window open and shoved his face in it. He flared his nostrils and unhinged his jaw like a snake, greedily taking in as much air as possible. After he recovered, he realized that both Mr. Daisy and Freddy paused on either side of him.

  “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I have an allergy to cats. I wouldn’t want to wake them with a sneezing fit.”

  Mr. Daisy waved him off. “No worries. This place needs a lil’ fresh air, huh?”

  Thanks to the window’s light, Mister Id got a clear view of the corridor. It housed a robust (but dusty) and cleaning supply closet and led into an absolutely filthy playroom for the cats.

  Mister Id felt like he was going to short circuit, seeing the solution so close to the problem.

  But he kept his cool. The wispless crown of golden curls in front of him reminded him of the bigger picture.

  With Mr. Daisy’s back to him, he took one parting swig of fresh air from the window, nudging an amused Freddy to do the same, before following the man into the back room.

  “And this is where the magic happens.” He said sarcastically, waving his hands in a weak celebration as he entered the nearly empty room.

  It took every iota of self-control in Mister Id’s body to stop him from running away from the room.

  With diabolically unkempt open-air litterboxes lining the walls, rogue specks of urine-soaked pellets sprinkled all over the floor, and a couch covered in fur, the room should have been sealed off as a health hazard.

  Mister Id gaped at Mr. Daisy with bewildered eyes as the man released a deep sigh and settled onto the couch. He settled his face into his hands, hiding what seemed to be a sober-minded flush spreading across his cheeks.

  I see.

  Wordlessly, Mister Id doubled back into the corridor, gunning for the supply closet. He grabbed two plastic bags and two brand-new litter scoops, then rushed back into the room. He shoved one of each into Freddy’s unsuspecting hands and immediately got to work.

  “Hey, you don’ have to do that,” Mr. Daisy protested, looking mortified as the two men began cleaning up after him. “You’re m’guests. I’ll get to it in the af’rnoon.”

  Mister Id shook his head, mentally preparing himself for the dreaded inhale he’d be forced to take once he replied. “It takes a village, doesn’t it?”

  The drunk man went silent, watching the men refresh the litterboxes. He mumbled something to himself before leaving the room.

  “Hey,” Freddy whispered.

  Mister Id sighed, annoyed that the boy would even dare to start a conversation with this foul odor in the air. But when he looked over at him, he was stunned by the sight of the wisps appearing again, in a ridiculously huge swarm. “Just wanted to say that that was really nice of you, man. You’re really cool.”

  Don’tcringedon’t cringedon’t cringe.

  “We’re only doing what’s right.”

  Mr. Daisy came back in, cradling boxes of fresh litter, his own scoop, and a roll of trash bags. He quietly joined the two of them, working on the boxes on the far side of the room.

  The three of them made quick work of the playroom. Several runs to the dumpsters out back. Sweeping, mopping, and disinfecting. Mister Id and Freddy settled down on the floor, smearing a little catnip on the toys to entice the cats to come enjoy their new space.

  Watching the man pet the cats that wandered onto his lap as he lounged on the couch, no wisps in sight, Mister Id’s eyes started twitching.

  Because while there were very few things he loved more than being right, he would have loved to have been wrong about Mr. Daisy.

  Freddy clearing his throat dragged Mister Id’s attention away from his bitter thoughts. “All we need now is a little light,” the boy suggested, reaching up to flip the light switch.

  When nothing happened, he looked at Mr. Daisy for an answer.

  Mortified, the man hid his ruby-red cheeks in the cat’s fur. “The, uh. The electricity is off.”

  Mr. Daisy quickly excused himself to rummage through the supply closet again. Mister Id and Freddy traded blank, awkward looks, only stopping when the man returned with an armful of half-burned candles. “So we’ll have to work with these.”

  Mister Id and Freddy stayed quiet as the man lit them and sat them all over the room. Once Mr. Daisy rejoined them, settling into what looked like a seance, Mister Id decided it was as good of a moment as any to make his last attempt at a move.

  “Daniel, if you don’t mind me asking,” Mister Id’s voice broke through the tension. “What exactly was the plan for this place?”

  “Well, we wanted this to be a no-kill cat shelter.”

  We?

  “There’s only one shelter in The City, and they put the poor things down if no one adopts them. They claim it’s because of space, but…” He reflexively tightened his hug around the cat, shaking his head. “It’s sick.”

  Mister Id nodded emphatically, knitting his eyebrows together in concern, ticking all of the boxes necessary to encourage the man to continue. He could practically smell the Essence blossoming.

  “So, me and my wife,” the man interrupted himself with a dry laugh. “Now, how’s that for a good ol’ Freudian slip?”

  Mr. Daisy grimaced before continuing, “My ex-wife and I opened this place up about two years ago. She did all of the heavy lifting.” He sighed and fixed his eyes to the ground. “The grant applications, meetings with investors, all of the logistics,” he chuckled. “And I was just the cat dad through it all.”

  Mister Id tracked his body language closely, watching him hunch in over the cat as he shared more of his story. It was undoubtedly cathartic; Mister Id could see it in the deep, shuddering breaths the man let out as he finally gave air to what was clearly eating away at him.

  But it was also deeply embarrassing, doing it in front of a perfect stranger and some neighborhood kid.

  How pathetic!

  Mister Id was mesmerized, glued to the spectacle in front of him, trying to memorize this once-in-a-lifetime show of vulnerability to jot in his notes later.

  “So. To answer your question, her plan was to use the grant money to set ourselves up, do some marketing, I think? Honestly, she didn’t tell me too much about that stuff.” Mr. Daisy went quiet for a long moment. So long of a moment that Freddy got up and patted the man’s muscly back reassuringly.

  Choked up, he continued, shooting a watery, but appreciative glance up at the boy. “But, uh, Jamie left me before we could,” his voice cracked, stopping the story in its tracks.

  Mister Id was trembling with excitement as the man’s face screwed up. Here come the waterworks!

  But if he was understanding things correctly…

  “Daniel,” Mister Id cut in incisively before the man lost what composure he had left, “do you know the couple that owns Empire’s?”

  He managed a small nod through the sobs racking the his chest. Mister Id raised his eyebrows conspiratorily at Freddy. “Well, I have an idea for you.”

  …

  He cleaned the man’s store.

  Listened to his sob story.

  Set him up with an sure-shot angle to save his failing business.

  He even pretended to care throughout it all, which was, undoubtedly, the most difficult task of all.

  And still, not one wisp of Essence.

  Mister Id stared straight ahead, eyes boring a hole into the espresso machine as Freddy blabbered his way through his closing tasks.

  “A cat café is such a great idea, Mister Id!”

  “We don’t even have one of those in The City; it’ll bring people from all over to visit us!”

  He tuned the boy out. But still, Mister Id’s thoughts were interrupted by the murmurs of the meeting bleeding through the thin walls.

  And it pissed him off.

  The lilting voice of that unequally yoked woman, sounding as if she was prepared to put the pedal to metal on the idea, but being slowed up by her so-called business partners.

  The low grumbling of that lazy oaf, getting caught up in the details, as if his saving grace hadn’t just been spoon fed to him.

  And worse of all, the resounding silence from that unsettling shell of a man she called a husband.

  Strangers were discussing his business plan without him, as if he were some overeager, unpaid intern.

  When Freddy started to look at him quizzically, he snapped back into the moment, shaking his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Fred. Got lost in my thoughts for a moment there. What were you saying?”

  The boy gave him a half-smile, nodding. “Just asking if you had a place to stay tonight.” Mister Id didn’t react as he marveled at the tornado of wisps above the boy’s head, so Freddy continued. “‘Cause you can crash at mine tonight. Or, until you figure things out, really. It isn’t much, but we do have a clean couch and a decently-full fridge.”

  Oh boy. ‘We’? Roommates?

  Of course, a couch is preferable to the sidewalk, in most cases.

  But Mister Id was considering.

  It was just that he envisioned better options at this stage in the Game. After all, he had been grinding for twelve grueling hours. Ideally, he would’ve been in a luxury car by now, sitting next to a pitying, but aloof, high-class Somebody who’d keep him at arm’s length.

  Truthfully, he even would’ve settled for an Average Joe or Plain Jane, someone who would be too busy with the minutiae of their daily life to disturb him as he reviewed his notes and plotted his next steps.

  But with the sun setting at warped speed, Mister Id was stuck.

  To make matters worse, Freddy came and sat across from Mister Id, eyes wide like a little kid proposing a sleepover. “We have board games… Or, a decent bookshelf, if that’s more your speed. And we have the fish I was telling you about earlier: Tom, Dick, and Jerry. They’re cool… The neighborhood’s nice to walk in. And we can cook dinner together. But only if you’re into that sort of thing… Oh, oh, and—”

  Mister Id reached across the table, grasping the boy’s hand with a little too much pressure. “I appreciate the offer, Freddy.” He pressed his lips together, swallowing deeply as if he were moved by the offer, “Thank you.”

  The boy perked up, flashing all 32 of his pearly whites. “Only doing what’s right!”

  The full-bodied cringe slipped out before Mister Id could get a hold of it, but thankfully, the door opened, distracting Freddy.

  The wife sauntered in with a wad of papers clasped in her hand, beaming at the new prospect on the horizon. Her smile dropped when her eyes landed on Mister Id.

  The husband shuffled in behind her. Bored, indifferent.

  Daniel filed in last, eyes still red around the rims and fixed to the ground. And still without a single wisp over his head.

  “Friedrich, my dear,” she called out, arching her eyebrow, “Would you like to introduce us to your guest?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” He stood up, gesturing for Mister Id to follow his lead. They approached the group lingering by the door. “Mrs. and Mr. Evermore, meet Mister Id. Mister Id, Mrs. Niamh and Mr. Roarke Evermore.

  “Mister Id’s a new friend of mine. He’s actually the one that suggested the cat café! He’s a really great guy; it was his idea to help out over at Mr. Daisy’s, too. I hope we’ll be seeing a lot of him around here.”

  Mister Id could’ve done without the cheesiness, but with all eyes on him, he figured it was his turn to say something equally sentimental about Freddy. But before he could, Niamh whipped her head in a pointed look at Mr. Daisy, whose eyes were still glued to the tiles.

  “Daniel,” she snapped, “why didn’t you tell us about this kind man?” It was a rhetorical question, and Mr. Daisy knew it. He briefly made eye contact with her, shrugged, and turned his face back to the ground.

  She straightened her head back to Mister Id as soon as she made her point. Visibly perturbed, she quickly shook it off with a huff, extending her hand to shake Mister Id’s.

  “Pleasure to meet, you, Mister Id. I would have approached you first, had I known this was your doing. You seem to be quite… inspired. And we’d love to have you in our corner for this project. As an advisor, at the very least.”

  And.

  She was Mister Id’s kind of woman. To a ‘T’. Sharp, unafraid, laser-focused. If he weren’t cold and dead inside, he might have blushed.

  He chuckled. “You’re too kind, young lady. But if I can be of service in anyway, please do let me know.”

  Without blinking or pausing, Niamh jumped at the loose thread. “Well, what are you doing for work these days? The Cross Roads doesn’t have much to offer, especially not to someone who can draw up something like this,” she said, wagging the proposal he’d written, “in a single afternoon.”

  “Nothing yet. I retired years ago,” he said. Retired, died… Synonyms. “Just seeing where the wind takes me.”

  A stream of wisps sprouted out of the woman’s head at that. But unlike Freddy, hers were black. Mister Id’s jaw went slack as he watched her hemorrage them.

  Niamh gave him a look. “Is everything alright?”

  Mister Id quickly lied, “I’m sorry, just had to release some tension in my face. Happens when you get to my age.”

  They shared a quiet laugh, highlighting the awkward silence of the men standing around them.

  “Well, if you have more of where this came from,” she tapped her perfectly manicured index finger against the cover sheet. “We have to chat. Soon. Actually, what are you doing tomorrow evening?”

  Mister Id couldn’t help but to gloat internally. Just when he thought he was going to end Day 1 with a lousy assist, he scored a buzzer-beating dunk.

  He grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, nothing much. Just chatting with you.”

  Niamh flicked her eyes at Freddy, causing the young man to hop to attention. “Friedrich, darling, won’t you join us for dinner? We’ll need to discuss your training and… promotion,” she teased, cooing fondly at the boy as his face lit up. “Roarke and I will host, of course. Perhaps at our property in The City?” He nodded furiously, like a dog who had been tossed a bone. “Delightful. We’ll see you all soon.”

  Matching anticipatory smiles unfurled across Niamh and Mister Id’s faces as they shook hands one last time.

  As the duo and Mr. Daisy filed out of the café, Freddy turned to Mister Id, looking like he was going to burst at the seams. He could hardly wait for the door to close before he launched into hysterics.

  “Did you hear that, Mister Id? A promotion!” Breathless with excitement, he gushed about his new opportunity as he rushed to the back, grabbed his bag, and ushered Mister Id to the car.

  …

  Mister Id was starting to wish that he chose the sidewalk. They had barely been on the road for 10 minutes, and Freddy was already fogging up the car’s windows with his blabbering. “Hard work” this and “self-esteem” that. He was about to tune the kid out for the umpteenth time that day, when something piqued his attention.

  “And Cara—ugh, I can’t wait to tell Cara! She’s gonna be so proud of me.”

  Hm?

  “Who’s Cara?”

  The boy physically swooned, eyes going all goo-goo and dreamy. “Oh, just the love of my life. God, she’s great. You’ll love her. Not as much as I do, of course, but pretty close,” he said, slowly turning into a curved driveway, and parking behind a sleek, modern sports car.

  “Oh, she’s home early.” He pulled the key out of the ignition, and wiggled his eyebrows excitedly at Mister Id.

  “She’s expecting us. I, uh, I texted her earlier when I went back to clock in. Had to let her know I picked up a hitchhiker, y’know, just in case.” He chuckled nervously, adding, “And then I had to update her once I was sure you weren’t a serial killer.”

  Mister Id wasn’t offended. Those kinds of check-ins were likely just a standard procedure for reckless people in relationships.

  But still, something told him to look at the boy a little more closely than he had earlier.

  Mister Id hummed in acknowledgement, for once, not sure of how to react. He took his time gathering up his notebooks in the backseat as Freddy headed to the door. Once alone, he let his suspicions take over, and took the chance to swipe his hand through the piles of mess on the floor, briefly scanning for anything odd.

  After all, he had no reason to be any less suspicious of Freddy as Freddy was of him.

  When he was satisfied, he whipped his head back around for a look at the house from under his visor.

  It was… surprisingly nice. Absurdly nice, all things considered. It was well-kept and way more expensive than anyone his age should be able to afford, especially on a barista’s wages.

  From the state of Freddy’s car, and the ‘all I have is a clean couch’ line he gave earlier, Mister Id was expecting a ratty apartment on the worst side of town. With trash, drugs, and miscreants littering the lawn.

  Mister Id slid out of the car and angled his head up at the open second-floor windows, hoping to catch a sneak peek at whatever else Freddy was hiding.

  And he gasped—a girl was standing in the window, glowering down at him.

  Freddy opened the door as Mister Id approached him, fast-walking, two shades paler than he was a moment ago.

  He entered with a heavy sigh, praying that the girl hadn’t seen him snooping around in the car. He closed the door behind himself, only to find another jumpscare behind the door.

  The girl was stood there, hand extended, face stone cold.

  “You know, it’s rude to enter a stranger’s home without speaking,” she smirked, revealing jarringly white teeth and a tiny, tinny voice. Mister Id looked to Freddy for help, but the boy was down the hall, struggling to get his arm out of his jacket.

  Thrown-off, but remembering his objective, Mister Id slipped into his ol’ reliable: the sheepish act. This Cara character was scary, to be frank, but one thing he knew for certain was that compliments go a long way. Especially with women.

  “My apologies, Miss Cara,” Mister Id finally grabbed her limp hand, jerking it in an awkward shake. “It’s just that I rarely see women as beautiful as you are. Cat’s got my tongue, I suppose.”

  “Oh, is that so?” she hummed, voice low enough for Freddy not to overhear. “Funny. I hear the women in Purgatory are lookers. Second only to the ones in Hell.”

  Her facial expression remained blank, but Mister Id looked like he’d seen a ghost. And he couldn’t be too sure that that wasn’t the case.

  In that moment, Freddy returned, clapping his hands to get their attention. “Alright! Who’s hungry?”