I quickly hit the top button on the phone and placed it face down on the front seat, next to me. I had no idea if this would all turn out to be a sick joke someone was playing on me, but it was starting to feel too real, especially given how good I now felt. And yet…Now I had the name and location of someone I was apparently supposed to hit with my car? Holy shit, that was fucked up.

  The recruit parking lot had emptied, the recruits all eager for a weekend off. I put my Honda Accord into gear and headed to the western gate. The guards gave me a nod before letting me out. From there, I wrapped around the compound, took a right onto Circle Dr., and headed south on West Brookfield Rd. Within 30 minutes, I was on the Pike heading home.

  I tried to ignore the phone vibrating on the seat next to me. What would happen if I didn’t answer? Would I get a lecture from fourth_wall, the supposed Dispatcher? Would my license status go back to yellow? What did the status even mean? I had so many questions.

  I got off I-90 at the Cambridge exit, crossed the Charles River just west of Harvard, and snaked my way through the congested streets of Cambridge until I crossed Mass Ave. From there, it was a short ride to my apartment in Somerville. My place was just south of Highland Ave., less than half a mile from where I grew up in Winter Hill, but it looked nothing like it had in those days.

  Somerville’s latest and current mayor was one of those lifelong politicians who would likely die in office and had friends in every branch of government. Under him, Somerville had gone from a low-income suburb to one of the hottest communities within 10 miles of Boston. He had also made parking almost impossible due to the parking fines and new bus lanes. Not that I hold grudges, or anything.

  My apartment was on the corner of Highland Ave and Central Street, two of the major thoroughfares in the heart of Somerville. Cam and I called our place The Central. I stayed on the third floor of a six-unit building that looked more like a massive house than a typical apartment complex. There were three stories of apartments on each side of the main doorway, facing Central Street. Each apartment had two or three people staying in it. Cam and I had the upper-left apartment, and I could see from his car out front that my roommate had beaten me home from the academy.

  I thought about what he would say when I entered the building. Would he ask about my running performance from earlier in the day? Would he still think Dan Driver was a madman, or would he be coming around on the possibility that there really might be a miracle cure for my sickness? For that matter, was I really cured, or was it a momentary reprieve before I went back to feeling like shit? I glanced at the phone on the passenger seat again, deciding at the last minute to leave it there rather than take it inside with me.

  I parked on a narrow side street, knowing all too well that the fools who actually parked on Central St. usually got their mirrors taken off by passing cars and trucks. When I hopped out of my Accord, I noticed a car double-parked in the middle of the street behind me. Their headlights were too bright for me to see the driver, but he or she was clearly waiting for me to get out of the road so they could pass. I waved a quick thank you for their patience as I exited my car and grabbed the rest of my stuff.

  Inside, I walked up the three flights of wide stairs in a memorized pattern of steps, which I’m pretty sure I could have done with my eyes closed. Cam sat on our ancient couch in the living room, clearly waiting for me. He looked exhausted.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I was responding to some messages,” I said, trying to steer clear of conversation about my new phone.

  “You feeling okay?”

  I shrugged. “Surprisingly good.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Good enough to outrun Wilcox this morning… Where the hell did that come from?”

  “I don’t know, man,” I said. “I honestly have never felt better.”

  “Do you think…” Cam paused, looking like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Do you think it has something to do with that phone?”

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  I knew the answer to his question, even if I wasn’t quite ready to admit it to myself. I certainly didn’t want to bring Cam into it, but I had already made the mental shift toward believing in boogeymen, ghosts, and drivers who work for death. I nodded. “I asked for new labs this morning. I’ll find out if they’re clean on Monday.”

  Cam’s hand gripped the arm of the couch, his knuckles turning white. “I’m really happy for you, Max, I am…but if this is for real… Something like this doesn’t come for free. It’s like in those movies when people make a deal with the devil.”

  “Nah, a deal with the devil is just crazy,” I joked. “My deal is with the Grim freakin’ Reaper.” I laughed. Cam did not.

  A wave of nausea hit me, and I leaned against the wall. I must have made a face because Cam definitely noticed.

  “See!” he said.

  I rolled my eyes and walked down the main hallway of our apartment, past his bedroom on the left and the bathroom on the right. My bedroom was just off the kitchen at the back of the place.

  Collapsing on my bed, I thought about closing my eyes for the first time since the two hours of sleep I had gotten the night before. Come to think of it, this was the first time I had felt tired all day. I wondered if my symptoms were returning, but that was short-lived, as a familiar sensation vibrated along my right leg. The phone was once again in my pocket. How the…

  I sighed, took it out, and immediately saw that my status had gone back to yellow. A troubling notice on my phone read, “Fare transferred. Endr axel_roads has been assigned.” Another wave of nausea swept across my body, and I found myself suddenly wracked with chills. I wrapped the blankets of my bed around myself, but it barely made a dent in the cold that had settled into me. I shivered and shook, remembering the rigors that I went through the year I discovered I had Lyme disease. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  What was it that the Dispatcher had said…that I needed to consume something to survive? Apparently, if all of this nonsense was real, all I had to do was accept a fare… and run that person over. But was I actually capable of doing it?

  It wasn’t like I’d never hurt someone. Growing up in Somerville hadn’t exactly been a picnic, and Cam and I’d gotten into more than a few fights. Still, I liked to think I had a line I wouldn’t cross, and I tried not to hurt anyone unless I viewed it as necessary for the greater good. Then again, the idea of the greater good seemed like a strange thing to be considering at the moment.

  Still…maybe this John Bailey guy I had been assigned was a real piece of work. Perhaps he enjoyed using his small patch of authority to make people squirm, flexing his title as if it meant something. Maybe he got off on calling his self-importance “moderation.” I hated people like that. Maybe he deserved some retribution. Or maybe justice and accountability had nothing to do with my new job as an Endr. I had no idea who was making the decisions to “usher” the souls to another realm. Did it even matter?

  I was either capable of doing this job, or I wasn’t. I thought back to what Dan Driver told us this morning: “I don’t technically kill them… I portal their spirits to another realm.” My shaking body distracted me from my train of thought, and I realized I could again feel the deep bone aches that had disappeared briefly this morning. I instinctively reached for my new phone and read through the messages that had rolled in from Dispatch.

  fourth_wall: I suppose you’re going to refuse this first fare… Why does every new Endr test their contract?

  fourth_wall: I’ll be here when you’re ready for your next fare.

  I clutched the phone in my trembling hands and carefully typed in my message to the Dispatcher.

  Max: Please give me another fare.

  Seconds ticked by, each feeling like hours as my body continued to spiral downward.

  fourth_wall: Still alive, Somerville? Ask, and you shall receive. I have someone specific in mind for you. An Endr of your discerning nature could use a challenge. You’re welcome.

  Well, that sounded ominous, but I was desperate to feel normal again. I was willing to run over nearly anyone not to feel this way. I typed my reply to the Dispatcher.

  Max: I’ll accept the fare.

  fourth_wall: Good boy.

  Seconds later, I received the new fare assignment, and my license status went back to Green. My shakes abated, but I didn’t feel totally normal either. The nausea was still there, lurking in the background as if waiting for the next time I disobeyed my new employer. I hoped that as I advanced my level, I would become more resistant to the leverage the Bureau of Afterlife Dispatch now held over me.

  - - -

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