Read Online The Ferryman Institute by Colin Gigl - Free Book Online Page B

aren’t I?” he finally announced.
    Charlie gave a slight nod of affirmation, but said nothing.
    It was at that moment that the gravity of the situation appeared to dawn on Mr. Jack Sanders. The spirit gazed straight ahead, eyes fixed on the blue rowboat trapped in the middle of an otherwise barren hospital wall. Charlie had seen that thousand-mile stare too many times to count. Like a soldier newly returned from war, it was the look of someone trying to understand something completely beyond them. Death was such an abstract concept right up until the point when it wasn’t anymore.
    After nearly ten seconds of silence, the late Jack Sanders gently ran his fingers through his newly revitalized hair. “I’ll be honest,I don’t feel very dead. Just . . . different? Tough to find the right words; my brain feels like it’s only half there.” The painting finally relinquished its hold on his attention, and the spirit was again looking at Charlie. His eyes seemed to be probing the Ferryman’s physical appearance for answers, but were coming up woefully empty. “Mr. Dawson, was it?” he asked.
    â€œJust Charlie, please.”
    â€œRight, right. Now, Charlie, I must admit, I find myself slightly confused and maybe that’s just because dying has a way of muddling up your head. I can’t really say, seeing as this is my first time kicking the bucket and all. Either way, I guess I’m dead, or so it seems. Funny thing is, the two of us are standing here talking like we’re waiting on drinks at the bar.” The expression Jack wore was mostly neutral, but there was more than a hint of something—was it suspicion?—running beneath his eyes. The spirit hesitated. “How do I put this . . . ?”
    â€œAm I an angel?” Charlie offered the question without any indication as to what the answer might be. The question caught the spirit slightly off guard, which was its intended effect. That said, Charlie was impressed by how little Mr. Sanders’s expression actually gave away.
    â€œThe thought had crossed my mind,” Jack answered. “I’m not much of a God-fearing man, to be perfectly honest, but I did put some stock in there being a heaven and a . . . well, a what-have-you. And, with all due respect, you don’t exactly look like any angel I’ve ever seen. The pictures in church made y’all seem a little less business casual.”
    The smile came earnestly, brought on by Jack Sanders’s remarkable frankness. It had been quite some time since Charlie had been treated to someone whose attitude was so forthright. As for his question, well, that was one any Ferryman dealt with all the time.
    â€œSimply put, no, I’m not an angel. Or from the other place, for that matter. I’m a Ferryman.”
    That brought out a rather befuddled look from Charlie’s assignment. “A . . . Fairy Man? Son, I don’t even have the foggiest idea what on God’s green earth you are talking about. Assuming there is a God, and that this is his earth.”
    â€œSemantics,” Charlie stated matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything, then reached inside his jacket and withdrew the Ferryman Key from his pocket. He felt the engraved letters underneath his fingertips, ever present. “As for my title, I’m a Ferryman . As in the boat, just like in the painting over there. It’s my job to escort you to your afterlife.”
    The neutral expression that had been the hallmark of Charlie’s early conversation with Jack Sanders was quickly being replaced by one of, at the very least, mild bewilderment. “Charlie,” he began, “I’m not gonna lie to ya, this is more confusing than when I tried to do my own taxes.”
    â€œAll in due time, Jack, all in due time. Just bear with me,” Charlie said. “A Ferryman is basically a guide. What I have in my right