The Avatar Convergence: Realmicide, #1

By Jason Garth

Somewhere out west, not so long ago, there was a town. An old town.

A place so remote, so forgotten, and so removed from the modern world only the oldest maps still include its location and name:

Avatar.

When Ben Quay discovers one of the last maps in existence that reveals the whereabouts of Avatar, he thinks he has found a ghost town to explore, and the promise of a fun day of adventure with his parents in an abandoned mining town from the Old West.

All wishes for a good time vanish after the Quay family becomes stranded and at the mercy of a handful of miserable people with lots of secrets to keep.

The disruptions to the town's quiet yet tense existence causes an escalation of increasingly dire and bizarre situations that threaten to tear the dysfunctional trio further apart. Their woes then become greatly complicated by a pair of travelers who arrive soon after they do:

An exceedingly average businessman with a very unusual agenda, and a sharply dressed young magician on a search for a missing personal item he refuses to describe.

With the threat looming of a terrifying third traveler, Ben is desperate to unravel Avatar's mysteries before it is too late for him and his rapidly self-destructing parents.

Seeking aid from his new friends and an intriguingly peculiar horse, he starts out on his quest for answers, hoping to bring a peaceful end to a long, hot day.

But, as Ben quickly learns, this is only the beginning...

approx 375 pages

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Garth
• Release date: Nov 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223189336

Book preview

Saga text reference:

"Like whirlwinds sweeping through the southland,

An invader comes from the desert,

From a land of terror."

-  Isaiah 21: 1

(Translated from Skaldspeak)

1 Breakdown 

The map was dry.  Brittle .

It felt ready to turn to dust, as parched as the desert region it depicted – the desert that was now outside the windows of the minivan.  That was how it seemed to Reuben Quay as he studied his father’s purchase, an atlas.  He was trying his best to shut out the ceaseless bickering of his parents.

They had obtained the map the previous evening during a brief stop at a convenient store and filling station.  A small pack of college students had pulled in right after the Quay family, emerging from a battered, yellow, older-model Toyota Camry station wagon, like beer and hormone-soaked hyenas.  The youngest Quay was inside the store at the time, eschewing the candy display that would have been the target of most people his age.  Instead, Reuben went for the revolving stand of maps.  He spun the wire rack, occasionally selecting one of the heavily folded specimens to examine the quality of its topography more carefully.

He was about to walk away, discouraged, when he spotted two ancient maps in one of the bottom bins, covered by a thin carpet of dust.  Before he even had the chance to reach, another hand – belonging to a college boy with lint-flecked dreadlocks – snatched one of the relics.

Oh, cool, intoned the older youth.  He opened the map with such speed and savagery it made the Quay boy wince.  Hey, dudes!  Another male and two young women with exposed midriffs sidled over.  One of the girls gave Reuben a wink, causing him to lower his head with embarrassment, ashamed that he might have been caught staring at their pierced navels.

Which, of course, was a sin.  At least according to Mom.

Dad certainly never had a problem checking out the ladies when Mom wasn’t watching.

This is, like, one of those old local maps, announced Dreadlocks, pawing at his thick, blonde beard.  Probably out of print.  These maps are totally the best way to find ghost towns and junk.

That’s what we’re here for, brah, said the second boy, whose head was covered in natural curls.  Good call.

Let’s buy it and then go find a room, suggested the brunette of the quartet, twisting her long, straight hair.

Then let’s see if there’s anything, like, down south, said the other young woman, looking very Goth in black and silver makeup.  She added with a shrug, I feel like going south tomorrow for some reason.  Whatever.

Dreadlocks shrugged as well.  Whatever indeed, dudes, he said amiably, hastily refolding the map.  His lack of care in handling the delicate specimen of finely aged cartography again made the Quay boy cringe.  As long as we get to check out some relics of yesteryear.

Reuben shook his head, bitterly mulling the irony of words versus actions.

When the boisterous cluster of collegiate irritants shambled over to the register, the youngest Quay seized the remaining map for himself.  He held it before him as though it were a lost Biblical scroll.  As it happened, checking out ghost towns was an activity he had always been curious about, and the four older youths had now put the idea in Reuben’s head. 

Where better than the west to do something like that?

So far on their family vacation the Quays had seen the Alamo (or at least the movie set, as far as they could tell), the OK Corral (lamely populated with peeling mannequins), and Boot Hill (devoid of the humorous tombstones that were long rumored to be there).  Presently they were on their way to visit the Grand Canyon.  Surely, they had time for a little detour to see at least one genuine ghost town in the Old West.

Reuben waited impatiently for his father to finish pumping gas and enter the store to pay.  When Marvin Quay finally did walk in from the wavering wall of heat, he was pounced upon by his son, brandishing his newfound relic of a map, and gushing about the need to buy it.

It took truly little to convince Marvin of the map’s value.  The father of one was still feeling a tad guilty about the night before when his wife, Abigail, had kicked their son out of the motel room and forced him to sleep in the van after an intense argument.  In truth, it was one of many between the boy and his mother, and Marvin generally tried to avoid becoming involved in their frequent spats.  This time, however, the father had voiced his agreement with the mother over how out of line Ruby was in the way he had been raising his voice and talking back.  Later, Marvin chalked up the rude behavior to out-of-control teenage hormones, and therefore let his wife know his thoughts about the punishment being a bit too harsh.

That, of course, was a mistake.

Proverbs warns of the fate of a son who disrespects his mother, Abigail had sniped.  "Reuben must learn that, or he will never receive God’s blessings.  It’s a commandment, for Pete’s sake.  I mean, I can understand why he doesn’t honor you, but I do everything for that boy.  He better damn well respect me."

So, Marvin deferred the judgment over the matter to his wife, as he often did.  Abigail was, after all, the leading authority on judgment.  Next to the Almighty, of course.

Later that night, with the faded map spread over the chipped Formica of the round table in the motel room, the father saw the chance to make it up to his wronged son while Abigail sulked and watched the Weather Channel.  Where do you think we should go tomorrow, Ruby?

Keep it down, scolded Abigail, oblivious to the glares boring through her chair into her back from the two males.  She didn’t care that they had no choice but to raise the volume of their voices to be heard above the roar of the night storm that thrashed outside their musty room.  Abigail did, however, care about the storm itself, seeing how it might impede traveling conditions the following day.  What if a flash flood wiped out a road they wanted to use?  What if there were downed power lines?  Her concerns were seemingly endless.  But if she didn’t watch out for her family by paying attention to the latest weather reports, who would?  They could at least have the decency to keep it down.  After all, she was doing the important stuff.

Reuben Quay tried to appreciate his father’s consideration of his feelings and wishes, and recognized Marvin’s curious query as an attempt at contrition over the previous night’s neglect and bad parenting.  The boy therefore chose to ignore how he had just been referred to as Ruby, a nickname he had always hated.  He also didn’t care much for how his mother insisted on addressing him as Reuben, which she believed to be more proper.  To everyone else, he introduced himself by his preferred handle:

Ben.

The downside to this name choice was the phonetics created when paired with his last name, leading his schoolmates to christen him with an unfortunate yet inevitable moniker: Ben Gay.

There was just no winning, was his conclusion.  Life just sucked.

So did their vacation.

Ben knew his parents were trying hard, having chosen to go out west only because of his fascination with Westerns, Kit Carson, and all the rest of the colorful characters he had read about from American History.  This was in addition to his obsession with coal-burning locomotives and primitive mining equipment.  Finally, there was Ben’s love of horses, although the animal terrified him as much as it intrigued him.

Yet here they were, far from their home back east, for the express purpose of getting him closer to all the subjects and locations he had always pined to visit ever since his early childhood.  But the Alamo had been nothing more than a tourist trap.  Ditto for Tombstone.  Nothing seemed real on the trip so far.  Ben hoped that would all change now after the purchase of the old map.

He studied it like a professor of cartography, poring over the atlas’ minutia, painstakingly etched onto the parchment in his hands.  He searched for the best answer to his father’s question.  Ben noted with a catch in his throat that this was quite possibly the best map he had ever come across.  And he had come across quite a few; his room at home was filled with them, much to his mother’s chagrin (would she have preferred him to hang posters of scantily clad women instead?  Something told him that she would have found that to be infinitely worse, so why complain about maps, other than just to complain?).

Ben’s finger traced the line of an old roadway that ran off from the highway, like a capillary from a main artery.  It led to a single town, a miniscule dot.  Would that be a good place to go?  Remembering the direction the college kids had said they were headed, and not wanting to bother with them any more than he already had, he made up his mind and declared boldly, I think we should go north, to here: some place called Avatar.  Ben tapped the map.  Despite the oddly modern name, it looks old, possibly deserted.

"SsssSSSHH!"  Abigail’s sibilant reproach.

A significantly loud clap of thunder followed.  Ben thought the moment would have made a great spooky cliché, straight out of some horror flick, like the ones he wasn’t allowed to watch, but did anyway when in his room, with the volume on his tv turned low.  It certainly was unnerving, the timing of that thunder.  Ben did his best to shut out the feeling of foreboding that had overcome him by fixating on the tiny dot, wondering what tales and treasures it possibly held for him.

Just like now, in the present, as he stared intently at the map in hopes of his concentration blocking out the squabbling of his parents.  He held the map up, using it as a shield between him and his irascible parents.  Ben was also trying to keep any droplets of sweat off the ancient artifact, worried that the runoff from his damp, sandy hair and perpetually frowning brow would somehow ruin his precious find.

Ben had chosen to slump in the seat furthest back from his parents, their mutual ire growing louder every minute the minivan remained stalled on the bleak desert road.  In retrospect, it had been a bad move; the heat was worse in the back of the vehicle, the vinyl edges of the seats and armrests too hot to touch.  The doors and rear hatch were open, and all the windows were cracked, but this did little to alleviate the torrid conditions within the cabin.  Without a breeze, their slice of the Old West had become a suffocating hellscape.

Marvin had slammed the hood out of frustration before reentering the vehicle only moments earlier.  I don’t know why it won’t restart, the father and husband said dejectedly, his jade polo shirt steadily darkening with perspiration.

Of course, you don’t, was Abigail’s clipped response.  She stared up at the ceiling through sunglasses with big rims, futilely fanning herself with the neckline of her taupe tank top.

Marvin chose not to retort at his wife’s latest jab, too flush with heat and anxiety to bother trying to match wits with the churlish Bible quoter who sat beside him.  Not that he could ever keep up with Abigail’s diabolically keen mind anyway.  She always knew how to cut someone to the quick with a remark you never saw coming.  How both he and the boy in the back of the van knew that to be true.

Thin fingers with no noticeable calluses removed wire glasses and pinched the bridge of a sharply angled nose.  Marvin scrunched his features – handsome, in an executive sort of way – and ran his free hand through his dark, neatly trimmed hair.  It’s not like it’s not getting the gas or anything like that, he went on, as if Abigail had said nothing.  I suspect we got some bad fuel at that station last night.

I suspect you’re an idiot.

Marvin replaced his glasses with a huff.  He still refused to respond to his wife’s insults.

The map dropped, revealing the fuming teenage boy behind it.  Gee, Mom, snarled Ben, doesn’t the Good Book say something about how a wife should respect the headship of the husband?

Abigail whirled on him.  She became further enraged when her son quickly returned to hiding behind the map she had already come to consider as stupid, old, and worthless.  "You keep your mouth shut, young man.  Who do you think you’re talking to?"

To you, obviously, was the murmured quip from behind the map.

Watch it, mister.  I’ll come back there and smack those white teeth right down your insolent little throat!  Don’t think your crummy little map can protect you either!

Ben, like his father, appeared to be beyond cracking wise, and became silent.

Abigail sighed with irritation.  "Think you can tell me what the Bible says?  Remember who taught you.  Believe me, God knows what kind of man I’m married to.  He knows the limits of my patience.  Your father is always doing things like this to me.  He ruins everything.  The man is literally incapable of maintaining or repairing anything.  Why do you think we have to waste money on rip-off contractors all the time?  Because your father can’t be bothered to learn how to pick up and use a hammer once in a while.  So don’t judge me for my impatience because God certainly doesn’t."

God knows you have no patience at all, Ben muttered bravely.

Abigail flung herself back into her chair, gasping and sweating.  She stared at her husband with eyes wide with fury.  Do you hear this, Marvin?  Do you see how your son treats me?

It was always his son when the boy’s behavior was less than stellar.

I can’t take it anymore, I really can’t.  Abigail sounded ready to start sobbing.  I have tried this entire vacation to be forgiving and kind, but he insists on either yelling at me, or talking under his breath like he just did.  Reuben always needs to have the last word.

Let’s not make this about him, whined Marvin.

The wide eyes narrowed behind the designer sunglasses.  "Fine.  Then we’ll keep this about you.  It was your decision to enable the brat’s latest foolish desire to take us on this superheated tour of sagebrush and prairie dog holes.  And why?  Just so we could go on some asinine quest for a town with no people in it.  How stupid is that?"

Ben shrank lower after his mother’s hissing of the word ‘stupid.’

I just thought it was a good idea. Something different, that’s all.

"No, you didn’t think at all, did you?  You never do.  If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be able to find your way out the front door in the morning.  What would you do if I ever left you?  You’d be completely lost without me, that’s what!"

This brought Marvin back into the glower he had been struggling to avoid.  You’re always saying things like that to me.  If that’s what you believe, then why don’t you just leave already?

Abigail stabbed a finger toward the back of the van.  "I stay for that one’s sake, not yours.  But believe me, I don’t know if that’s even a strong enough reason to keep enduring this – not when it’s coming from both of you.  He certainly is showing no proof of appreciating all that I’ve sacrificed for him, giving up my career and chafing my nipples under his little razor teeth and staying with a man who’s become so repulsive to me I can barely stand to be near him.  I do all this for him, and this is how he treats me?"

No different than how you treat Dad.  More mumbling from the rear.

Abigail’s eyes snapped shut.  I swear, Reuben, I’m going to rip that map up if I hear one more nasty word out of you!  She shook her head with bitterness.  This is how he is already, and he’s only fifteen!  How many more years of his mouth am I expected to take?

Some of the things you’re saying are getting a little, ah, inappropriate there, Abby, Marvin cautioned, a slight tremor to his voice.  The heat’s probably getting to you.

"Oh, sure, it’s always something else that causes me to speak my mind.  It can never be that I’m simply stating the truth.  Nooo, couldn’t be that.  What does that woman know about anything anyway?  Especially one so shrill."

A wince from the husband.  Now, Abby, you know that’s not what I’m like.  I’ve never looked down on your gender.

No, because you’re too busy thoroughly inspecting the rest of my kind.  Don’t think I don’t notice, you pervert.

This caused Ben to sink even deeper into his seat, the vinyl squeaking and crunching beneath him.  He knew his mother wasn’t wrong, but he had grown to hate the way she weaponized any hint of sexuality against the two males in her life.  It left him feeling uncertain and dirty when it came to his own impulses.  This, in turn, made him uncomfortable in his own excessively oily skin.  He wondered to himself, as he usually did, if anyone else his age was troubled by such thoughts and feelings, or was it just him because of the kind of mother he had?

Marvin’s head dropped.  Look, he said to the arm rest, this car is obviously not going anywhere, and it’s only going to keep getting hotter.  So why don’t I go look for help, while the two of you wait here?

Abigail sat forward.  Her mouth had fallen open, her eyes once again wide.  Are you out of your mind?  There’s no way you’re going to leave me alone with a child in the middle of the desert, do you hear me?

I’m not a child, balked the boy in the back seat.  I’m nearly sixteen.

Then start acting like it, sniped his mother.

And you wonder why I’m scowling in all the pictures from this trip.

See, husband?  There’s that kid’s sharp tongue again.  Are you ever going to do something about it?

Marvin sighed, exasperated.  Ruby, could you please just keep your mouth in neutral while your mother and I try to figure out what to do here?

Abigail snorted.  Wow.  Such a disciplinarian.  Here comes the Father of the Year award.

Ben’s low position was starting to become too awkward.  He reached out to pull himself higher in his seat, burning his lower forearm on the vinyl in the process.  Jesus!

What’d I tell you about taking Christ’s name in vain?

The Quay boy blinked his frustration and resentment over the lack of caring that he had just injured himself.  Yes, he had heard about the sin of blasphemy.  Plenty of times.  Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.  What the hell did that even mean?

Marvin mopped the sweat from his brow onto his sleeve.  All right, Abby.  If I can’t leave the van, then what would you suggest?

Why can’t we just wait here for another vehicle to come along, and then flag it down?

An aggrieved groan.  There hasn’t been another car or truck or even a bike on this stretch of road for the last twenty miles, at least.  I don’t think anyone comes down here anymore.  Just look at all the tumbleweeds collected ahead, and all the unimproved cracks in the pavement.  We were hunting for a ghost town after all, remember?

And we’re almost there, injected Ben.  It’s gotta be only three or four miles from here, ‘cause according to the map here, Avatar is about seven miles away from that old mine and ugly breaker we passed a few minutes before the van started chugging and lurching.  We’ve gone at least half that distance, so that’s how I came up with three or four miles left to town.

The perspiring teenager was wearing a pensive look as he spoke.  Inside, he was nearly panicking.  The thought of sweat clogging his pores was on the verge of giving him an anxiety attack.  He had been doing his best to stave it off ever since they pulled over.  He knew his parents were unaware, nor could he explain it to them, but his insolence had been a cover for the desperation he was feeling.  Talking back was how he coped with his bad mood.  That was how he saw it, anyway.

Marvin squinted.  I don’t know, Ruby.  You’re usually right about this kind of stuff, but I’m not so sure this time.  Everything’s so flat around here.  So, we should have seen the town by now, even if it’s still miles off, right?  Look – I can still see the colliery buildings back there.  So flat.  The town has to be a lot further away.

Abigail grunted.  That place was creepy.  Thought we left rusty eyesores like that back in Pennsylvania.  Didn’t even know they had coal mines like ours out this far west.

Not common, but obviously they were here, too, Ben said, trying to sound erudite. 

Either way, it might be better just to walk to the main drag, posited Marvin.  If nothing else, we know where it is.  And there’s traffic there.

You’re just determined to send us all out on a death march, aren’t you? sneered Abigail.  That was, what?  Twenty miles back?  Thirty?  We’ll be dead after five in this heat.

Guys, just listen to me, insisted Ben.  He now had the map draped over the seat in front of him.  The topography here is excellent – better than most current atlases.  It shows that there’s a little valley up ahead, just before that ring of dark mountains way in the distance.  We are actually on higher ground where we are right now.  The town of Avatar is down in that valley.  A couple of miles from here and we should start down a gradual slope.  The town is at the bottom.  What I’m trying to say is that’s why we can’t see it from here.  We’re too high, even though everything around us is flat.

And what do you expect to find in this town? demanded the mother.  And you better not say ghosts.

There could be food and water still there.  Probably shelter of some kind.

Or maybe there’s nothing but more dust and heat.  We’d be doing this all for nothing.

Could be people there, blurted Marvin.  All eyes were now on him.  He focused on Ben and shrugged.  It’s just a hunch that this is a ghost town, right?  Might still be active for all we know.  Maybe one of them is a mechanic.

You’re not helping, moaned Abigail.  She peered upward through the windshield.  I don’t see any power or telephone lines.  I seriously doubt there’s anyone out there.  Whatever’s there, it’s abandoned and not worth the risk.  I say we stick to my idea and wait it out here for another car to come by.  The van’s shelter enough.

Not really, Ben disagreed.  The sun on the metal is just going to keep heating up the roof.  This is just the morning.  We’re not even in the hottest part of the day yet.  That’s when this minivan will become an oven.

Marvin volunteered, And without enough power for the AC...

Ben suddenly slid forward across the carpeted floor on his knees. "Please, Mom? Please?  I’m scared we will be cooked in here if we stay.  I think we’ll have a better chance in some old building than trapped in this tiny superhot space."

Abigail eyed her son suspiciously from behind her large sunglasses. You’re just aching for an adventure, aren’t you?  Even if it gets us all killed.

The boy grimaced. Believe me, Mom, adventure’s not what this is about. This is about survival.  I’m really not too keen on the prospect of walking around in the desert.  Not just because of the heat either; too many things crawling around with poison in them.

An incredulous sniff. And here I thought you were just afraid of horses.

Ben looked wounded. Not true. I love horses. I’m just afraid of riding them.

Yeah, that was money well spent.

The teen stared off, still on his knees.  He did his best to push down his hurt feelings.

And the nightmarish memory stirred by his mother’s remarks.

Well, if we’re going to do something, we better do it soon, Marvin said impatiently. For what it’s worth, honey, I think our son makes a good case for using our feet.

Always abdicating responsibility, aren’t you? You’d let a hormonal teenager who’s afraid of his own shadow make all your decisions for you, wouldn’t you?  Even if it means whether you live or die?

Ben turned and glared at his mother. Then why don’t you make the call, Mom? Since you think you’re in charge all the time anyway.

She glared back at her son. I don’t think I’m in charge.  I know it. Your father never likes to be the decision maker of this family.  Abigail folded her slender arms. But that’s too bad.  This time, he’s going to have to make the choice of what to do for all of us.  This time, it’s all up to your father.  It’s how God would want it anyway.

All eyes were back on Marvin.  With a rush of air through pursed lips, he shakily delivered his orders: Everyone take only what you absolutely need. Make sure you’ve got clothing with you to stay covered.  Food, sun block, any water that we might have in here, which would probably not be enough to last the day anyway if we stayed.  Plus, it’ll soon be too hot to drink.  He gulped, trying to muster up some strength before concluding, Looks like we’re taking a long walk in the sun.

Her lips tight, Abigail started to tie back her shoulder-length hair. Thank you, Marv, for bringing us on this wonderful vacation.

Don’t worry, Mom, Ben said facetiously. "God will look after us."

Abigail found the floppy sun hat that had been sitting next to her and pushed it onto her head, careful of the blonde highlights she had paid for a day prior to the trip.  Oh, Reuben, she said in a rueful exhale, if only I knew that you honestly believed that.  I would then be the happiest woman on Earth.

Now, that would truly be something, said Ben to himself, collecting and carefully folding his map. 

At that moment, he realized he couldn’t recall the last time he had seen his mother happy.

Or his father.

Hell. When am I ever happy?

By the look of things, there’s no chance any of us will be happy in the near future, Ben whispered as he stepped out into the roasting late morning glare of the desert.

2 Three Travelers

P ardon, sir.

The clerk looked up sleepily from his handyman reading material.  He examined the dapper young gentleman with the dazzling smile that had approached his counter.  How may I help you?

I wish to procure a train ticket.  He spoke with a lilting cadence, his accent suggesting a birthplace in or around Savannah, Georgia.

The clerk rolled his eyes.  Most people that come here do, seein’ that it’s a train station an’ all.

The man tipped his bluish gray fedora.  Fergive my momentary lack of eloquence, dear sir, in how I seemed to have stated the obvious.  Fer ya see I am in haste an’ in need of a swift departure aboard yer finest steel chariot.

The clerk began absently touching his papers and pens.  Who was this fellah trying to sound like?  Doc freakin’ Holliday?  Destination? he asked distantly.

The man reached beneath his long, brown leather duster into his suit jacket pocket.  After a few seconds of searching with his fingers, he produced a small, crumpled piece of paper, which he went ahead and read to himself.  Eventually he looked up, his smile now more polite than brilliant.  Ah, accordin’ to my note here, the town I am in need of headin’ to is called Avatar, I do believe.

The clerk ceased his random motions and regarded the traveler with renewed interest.  Avatar, did you say?

The dandy glanced at the paper a second time.  Ah, yes, that would be correct, my friend.

Ain’t nobody gone to that place in years.

A grin.  Reckon then it’s itchin’ to git another visit from jus’ ‘bout anybody, but ‘specially me. 

The clerk gestured with his chin to a window.  Outside was the train yard.  A massive, black locomotive sat a few tracks down from the station.  Its engine, coal tender, and three passenger cars were covered in soot.

That right yonder is the only train that runs to Avatar, he declared to the dapper guest, his tone suggesting more of a reprimand than a mere disclosure of information.  As you can see, it ain’t seen much use in the last few years.  Runs on a separate track from the main line.  Been here quite a spell myself, but I ain’t never seen it run.  Never know why we kept the damn thing ‘round an’ never scrapped it.  Orders from above, been told.

Indeed.  Well, then, my compliments to yer superiors on their collective prescience to have kept a train available fer my specific needs.

The clerk arched a brow.  That train is jus’ fer the likes of you?

Another tip of the fedora and a flash of a grin.  Ya understand my meanin’ perfectly, sir.

A heavy sigh.  Never thought I’d live to see this day, but so be it.  Stay right where you’re at, young man, while I’ll go fetch the engineer an’ fireman.  They’re ol’ geezers like myself, ya understand, an’ I ‘spect they ain’t gonna be none too keen on havin’ to git that ol’ beast stoked an' ready all of a sudden like.  Not that they ever talked much anyway, much less complained ‘bout nuthin’.

That’s quite all right, said the dandy, tucking his scrap of paper away and replacing it with a silver pocket watch.  Durin’ my presumably brief stay at yer charmin’ establishment upon the rails, I was wonderin’ if it would be too much to ask fer some tea when ya return?  Herbal, preferably.  Wit’ lemon.  An’ sugar.  Lots of it.

The clerk marveled at how damned peculiar the entire situation was.  Unable to make any sense of it, he resigned himself to the fact that this was indeed happening and told the dandy to help himself to the nearby kitchen.  Already a pot of water boilin’.  Box of tea bags in the cupboard, lemon in the fridge, sugar on the counter.

Much obliged.  The man gave a slight bow.  Once again, the dazzling smile had returned.

THE BUS STATION WAS empty.

The night manager hated working when no one was around.  Only the television for company.  And the janitor, who couldn’t speak a lick of English anyway.  Whatever sitcoms were on the many channels of nothing to watch in the wee hours of the morning were therefore the only voices besides his.  The slide and click of a distant mop completed the dreary, hollow soundtrack for the large, commercially tiled room with the rows of unoccupied orange plastic seats.

A bang.  The night manager looked up from his folding metal chair and peered over the counter.  The janitor must have wheeled his ringer bucket into the wall, he concluded.  Hate it when he does that.  Also hate it that I get so jumpy whenever it’s slow and quiet like this.  Not worth the measly eighteen grand a year to put up with all this boredom and paranoia.

The night manager got reabsorbed into a Three’s Company rerun, ignoring the smell of burnt dust coming from the back of his old television set.  Oh, Jack, you devil, he laughed aloud at the grainy picture on the screen.  The echo of his own voice disturbed him.  Reflexively, he peered back over the counter, as if he could somehow watch the sound travel.

He did not expect to find someone suddenly standing there.

The night manager yelped his surprise and nearly fell backwards off the putty-colored chair.

A man had materialized at the other side of the counter, impassively staring down at him from under a wide brimmed, light tan Australian hat.  The face now before the night manager was so devoid of expression that it seemed incapable of any.  Rounded cheeks and jawline, with no evidence of facial hair growth, apart from the sparse brows that formed a slight hood over dull eyes.  There was nothing remarkable about the man other than his choice of headwear, and the long, white leather duster that was draped over his narrow frame.

Jeez, the night manager said breathlessly, I didn’t even hear you come in the door or walk on the floor, mister.  Gave me quite the start.

Sorry.  Did not mean to frighten you.  The voice was dulcet, almost robotic in its monotone.  A polite, thin smile was