Beyond Incandescent
Written for NYC Midnight’s #FlashFictionChallenge2019, September 2019.
Also available in audio on the podcast Story Time with Darcie: Episode 3.
by Darcie T. Kelly
There have been many-a-tale told of gods and demi-gods falling in love with the dead. For better or worse, I ferry the deities back and forth across the River Styx more as set-dressing than a fully realized character. You probably assume I’m a hooded shadow with a skeletal hand. That I push a derelict skiff of wailing souls to their eternal damnation. Then, you probably stop thinking of me all together. Well, allow me to set the record straight. I am Charon, ferrywoman of the dead. These days I go by Karen. I pilot the Beyond Styx, a four-story, steam-powered party boat. On Beyond Styx, each passing is a celebration. The dead are, after all, moving to a higher plane of existence. Which brings me to another clarification. Hades, hell, heck, even heaven are human constructs. They don’t exist. You live, you die, you party on my ship, and you ascend. (Don’t ask me to where. I’m neither god nor human, and as an immortal I’m not permitted to enter the Land of the Dead.)
I am Karen, and this is my story.
***
The dead, passing their obol, barely notice me, eager as they are to see what lies beyond. My ship offers many distractions, and in the 1920s, the sequins, bootleg, and big band music were especially diverting so I didn’t take it personally.
This one was different. She looked at me with sparkling eyes, reflecting the light of curiosity and enthusiasm that can only be found within.
“Hello,” she greeted me, the fringe on her headband tickling her temple.
“Welcome to Beyond Styx.” I bowed slightly – why did I bow?! “May I have your obol?”
“Obol?” A crinkle between her brows made my chest tighten, a sensation, if I’d ever known it, I’d long ago forgotten.
“Yes, payment for the journey. A coin?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t bring my change purse,” she raised her hands in a shrug, displaying the glittering glory of her flapper dress.
“Check your mouth.” Mine was suddenly dry. “You’d be surprised how many arrive with a coin in their mouths.”
Her cheeks stretched and twisted as her tongue moved about. “I don’t think I have one.” The souls waiting in line were antsy. “Would you mind checking?” She edged her chin forward and parted red-stained lips.
With heart racing and a blush rising, I leaned close, our faces nearly touching. Somehow, she carried the scent of fresh air even in death. I closed my eyes and breathed deep.
A loud moist throat clearing from the next soul in line snapped me to attention. “I’m sorry, miss, I can’t let you board without payment.”
I kept looking back to the riverbank long after the sight of her had vanished in the mist.
***
I sat in my regular spot sipping my regular wine and scarfing my regular burger when she walked into The Riverbank Pub.
“May I join you?” Her voice was soft, musical, and I nearly choked as she slid into the chair beside me. Her name was Candy, short for Incandescent (bohemian parents). We talked about her life, my ship, the pub … “I’m surprised there are so many people on this side of the Styx.” She indicated a group of souls drifting past the window, aimless. “They look …” she touched the tips of her fingers to her cheek while searching for the word. I melted. “… lacklustre. You’re the only animated person in this place!”
“I’m not dead.” I answered plainly, attempting to hide my attraction. She looked at me with surprise and wonder. Instead of explaining my provenience, I told her about the lost souls. “They have no obols so are cursed to walk the banks of the Styx for a hundred years. Their lustre fades over time.” I drained my glass of red and flagged a vacuous waitress for another before noticing the colour had also drained from Candy’s cheeks.
“A hundred years?” The sparkle of her eyes blinked out. “I’m trapped here for a hundred years?”
My heart broke. I would have said anything to bring that light back. Done anything. Anything except the one thing Candy wanted. That she needed. Unbidden, my hand drifted to my pocket where I kept loose change. It would have been so easy to give Candy a coin. To pay for her passage. But it was the one thing my heart wouldn’t allow. For were she to pass to the Land of the Dead, Candy would be forever lost to me.
***
We laughed our way through the first twenty years. Candy taught me to Charleston. I told her stories of Olympus. During the next twenty, our beautiful life was peppered with sad days. Candy haunted the cemetery while I worked. She found her own headstone, then those of her parents, both alive when she had died. She salted the earth with tears. As we reached the midpoint of our allotted time, fifty years since Candy’s death, the bad days outnumbered the good. Candy’s light was fading.
Sixty-five years, eleven months and two days after her death, Candy forgot my name.
“I know I love you,” confusion washed her face like a crumpled roadmap, “but I don’t know who you are.” We held each other, not daring to let go of the final thread of light, love, and memory.
***
I led my dear lost soul to the edge of the river. We stood for a moment, letting our feet sink into the soft soil of the riverbank. “Are you ready?” I asked.
Candy looked at me with eyes so different than the first time we met. Curiosity and enthusiasm replaced by trepidatious innocence. “Where are we going?”
“Just a little boat trip we should have taken long ago. Watch your step, my love.” When we reached the ship I paused, reached deep in the pocket where I once kept loose change, and retrieved a single coin. I pressed the obol in Candy’s palm and kissed my love good-bye.