The End of Immortality: Part 2
80
I knew what was coming, of course, and I knew it was my fault, for it was I who opened the door between the material world and the realm of the spirits. It was I, also, who hid those hundred years, and it was Baron Samedi who made that hideous flag (without my foreknowledge, I add. We have not always been on good terms, and I did not appreciate him interfering with my best laid plans). I had no malicious intent; quite the opposite, in fact, but I was careless. The Criminal didn’t have a free rein, of course, and was made to struggle, but I left the door open just a little too wide, and now…well, let’s just say there is a sting in the tail. There always is.
It was time for the Vodou loas to leave the world and return to our home, the spirit lands. Pebble, Kwame, Lois and Miss Charlotte were gone forever; we were now simply Papa Legba, Baron Samedi, Erzulie and Mademoiselle Charlotte. We gazed down on the world, and as we did, Baron Samedi spoke, with anxiety in his voice:
“There is still one of our number down there, trapped in a human body. We need to-“
But I raised my hand, and smiled. “Don’t fear. She is returning. It won’t be long now.”
Baron Samedi nodded. “I hope your right. She owes me her soul.”
***
Anney entered the apartment, and shut the door behind her.
“So, how’ve you been?” Anney said, and cringed slightly when she saw the ferocity of Marissa’s glare. “Okay, that was tasteless. Sorry.”
“Why are you here, Anney?” Marissa said, coldly.
“Well, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking one last trip with me, one final adventure.”
Marissa blinked. “Are you serious? Last time I ended up being turned into a parrot and spending several months in the worst place imaginable. Why the hell would I even consider going anywhere with you again, when I’m safe and I’m home.”
Anney told her. Marissa’s face softened.
“Oh.”
Anney raised her eyebrows. “Yeah.”
“So you found the map…?”
Anney nodded. “Eventually. It took some searchin’ but I got it. I woulda already gone, but I got waylaid by the whole goin’ to Circe’s island thing. I feel real bad asking, but I just want someone to be there when…”
Marissa sighed. “Okay, I guess you shouldn’t have to alone for that, even if you are a devious scoundrel.”
“Am I ever!”
“It’s going to be weird going on the
Impossible again…”
Anney laughed. “The
Impossible? Aw hell no, that pile of junk sank as soon as I got back to the city! The magic must’ve run out, or something. I think a regular old airship will the best way to go. It’s not far to Bimini. You could be back in Port-au-Prince by tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, I’ll just tell Pierre.”
With that done, they left for the Aerodock to catch the next airship to Bimini.
***
They arrived at Alice Town Bimini Aerodock about four hours later, a docking station so small that it could only service one airship at a time that lay right next to the tranquil azure sea. Anney took out the map and walked with purpose through the small town while Marissa followed behind.
“This place is pretty tiny, so it shouldn’t take us long to find the place.” She eventually stopped outside a hotel, called the Compleat Angler. “It should be in here somewhere.”
“A hotel?” Marissa said, puzzled.
Anney shrugged. “So it seems. Come on, let’s go in and take a look.”
They walked in, and had a look around. The walls were covered in photographs of various ages, some so faded that it was almost impossible to make out what it was showing. There was also a room dedicated to Ernest Hemingway, who had spent several years living at the hotel back in the 1930s. Anney strode towards the bar while Marissa lagged, gazing at the photos. It was less like a hotel and more like a museum, she thought.
Anney approached a bored looking woman polishing a glass behind the bar, and said, “Scuse me, where are the toilets?”
The bartender glared. “We don’t just let people walk in here and use the toilet. You have to order a drink first.”
Anney sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, gimme a half-pint of beer.”
“What kind.”
“Any kind, I don’t care.”
The bartender pulled a half-pint of a beer called Honeydew, and handed it to Anney. She took the glass and downed it, and then put it back on the bar.
“Now can you tell me where the toilet is?”
“Through the courtyard out back, next to the gardens.”
“Thank you. Come on, Marissa.”
Marissa looked up, having been distracted by the photos and memorabilia. “Oh, right, coming.”
They passed through a quiet courtyard and came upon an old stone building that served as the toilets. Anney nodded. “It’s in here.”
“That’s…the toilets. It’s in the toilets? Seriously?”
Anney shrugged. “Well, you drink from the Fountain of Youth, so I guess it makes sense in a twisted kinda way.”
They entered the stone building, and it was immediately obvious that something in there was out of place. It was an old style urinal, on which were written the words “R Mutt, 1917.”
Anney laughed. “There it is. The Fountain of Death.”
Marissa opened her mouth and then closed it again, and then narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute, R Mutt? That rings a bell…of course! Duchamp and his readymades! I remember I saw this in an art gallery when I visited Paris. It’s a work of art called…’Fountain’. Okay, that is pretty funny. But what the hell is it doing here?”
“I dunno. Art ain’t my thing.”
“Nor mine, really, but this is an iconic work of Dadaism…I remember it was stolen a while back. How come no one noticed it was here?”
“People tend not to notice a whole load of things.”
“And…that’s a men’s urinal. That’s pretty sexist if you think about it. Surely the Fountain of Death should be designed so that everyone can…use it comfortably.”
Anney laughed. “Yeah, death should be an equal opportunities endeavour. It’s gonna be kinda awkward, but I think I’ll manage.”
Marissa paused, and then shook her head. “Do you really think this is the right thing to do? I mean, if you…use the Fountain, that’s it. Or is it? Actually, what happens?”
I think,” said Anney, “that it is time I went. I’ve watched people I loved grow old and die, and stayed young throughout. I’ve had more than my fair share of time on this world. The whole thing’s starting to wear a bit thin. It’s a decision I made a long old time ago, and I gotta stick to it. No turning back now. Time to put out the fire.”
“Okay…” Marissa smiled. “I just can’t help but think the whole thing is a little bit undignified…”
Anney raised her brow. “I ain’t led a pretty life, and I haven’t been a good person for the most part. I deserve a bit of indignity, I think.”
They hugged, and Marissa waited outside. A minute later Anney staggered out, and stared at her hand. Her skin began to rapidly wrinkle, and Marissa watched as three hundred years passed in mere seconds.
“This is it,” she said quietly. “Time to go. See ya around, Marissa.”
Then the immortal fire died, and what had been Anney crumbled into a pile of dust.
***
Anney found herself in a misty graveyard, filled with endless rows of tombs. The sky was black, and in front of her stood a figure she recognised well. He wore a top hat, a battered suit and in his hand held a lit cigar.
“Baron Samedi…?”
He grinned that grin of his. “You made it after all, Anne Bonny…or should I call you Maman Brigitte?”
Anney shrugged. “Either will do.”
Baron Samedi held out his arm and Anney/Maman Brigitte took it, and they walked away together into the mist.
***
Marissa had spent a while staring at the dust, and then had ordered a couple of stiff drinks in the bar of the Compleat Angler. She wandered down towards the beach, and spent a while gazing at the rolling waves. She thought about everything that had happened, and wondered if it had all been real. She sat for fifteen minutes by herself, and eventually stood up.
“Ah well, time to head back home.”
No sooner had the words left her lips there was a blinding flash of light. Marissa cried out and covered her eyes, and after a moment of blindness she opened her eyes a peep. A small crowd of people had appeared around her, and she could hear them gasping in shock. She saw they were all looking out to sea, at something on the horizon. Marissa followed their gazes and saw it; a mushroom cloud. Several seconds later came a distant, rumbling boom.
She grabbed the nearest person, and said with palpable fear in her voice, “What direction is that?? Where did that come from?”
The person, an old man, shook his head. “Missy, that’s Port-au-Prince. Oh god, they gone and nuked Port-au-Prince. It’s the British! It’s gotta be something to do with this West Africa business. Curse those murderous dogs! Why would they do this to us? Oh god, why??”
Marissa sat down, shaking, numb. “It can’t be,” she murmured. “This isn’t real. None of it’s real. It can’t be, it can’t be…Pierre…”
The crowd dispersed but Marissa remained on the beach, entirely alone, shivering and muttering to herself as night fell. The Shade, in distant Mali, danced with delight. He had done his duty well. Circe hadn’t won in the end, but that didn’t matter to him; he had done exactly as asked by setting things in motion. The Criminal would be pleased.
Marissa didn’t look up as warplanes flew overhead, and soon Haiti was filled with the light of a thousand fires.
The End
Pierre stopped typing, and looked at those final two words with satisfaction. At last, his story was complete. It had taken him nearly three years of writing, but finally, it was over. It was a meandering work, quite different from anything else he had ever tried to write before, but he felt as though it was somehow necessary for him to break away from his formula. What had originally been a simple story about an adventuring archaeologist called Minnesota Johnson (named after his cat) now bore no resemblance to his original concept, so much had it twisted and grown as he worked. It was now…well he didn’t quite know what it was. It was a monster.
Now, all he needed was a title. Eventually, he scrolled to the top of the document and typed, carefully, ‘The Lost Century.’