52 Safe House

The safe house wasn't bad. He was used to down time between missions and this one was well supplied. Usually after a mission went down they would all go their separate ways or to another job. This time was different. This mission was not over. Dick took another swig on his beer. Saturday seemed a long time ago and far away. Here it was Tuesday. Jane was looking through the morning newspaper at the kitchen table. Soon she would want to turn on local TV news. But that would have to wait. He sat at the table in the kitchen looking at the TV in the living room where Tom was watching yet another episode of Gilligan's Island. Gilligan screwed up something again and the Captain was yelling. This was the third episode this morning. He considered, just a daydream, shooting Tom and how he might dispose of the body. He looked over to Jane reading an article on the police investigation for that total fuck up on Saturday. She had communicated with their employers an edited version of events. According to her, the key to surviving knowing about these soul collectors was not to talk to others about it. It was OK to see the soul collectors, but she had some superstition that to talk about it would get you killed. He wasn't clear on the by whom part. She was OK. She was smart and knew what to do when, which was why she was in charge, so this superstition – he didn't call it that to her face – was out of character.

"Shit. Harry's dead." She sat back. Both hands went to her face. She really looked worried.

He waited, but she didn't say anything. Tom heard and paused his show. Small mercies. Tom was good in action, but too much thinking, actually pretty much any thinking and he stumbled. Tom asked, "What? Jane, I thought you said he would be OK."

Jane was focused on some thought. Finally, she said, "The first report was that he had been captured, but no mention of wounds at all. I'm guessing he started shooting his mouth about…them."

Jesus Christ. At first she would refer to…them…as soul collectors, but the last two days she always just called them...them. It was fucking weird. From what he understood they didn't kill anyone, they just came to collect souls. They usually went unnoticed. They could walk unseen among the living. Something interfered with the perceptions of them by people who were alive. Sometimes using equipment they would stumble upon evidence of these soul collectors, but it was rare. The few living, who knew about them, did not talk about them, and those who tried, and she was adamant about this, died. But something went wrong at the big house. She believed that for some reason only two people were supposed to die and the soul collectors acted to prevent the other two from being killed. She had never seen anything like it and had no idea that they were capable of so much violence. He was really unclear about this screw up by the fate or destiny machinery picking out who was to die when, but it seemed to him that this was so rare it wouldn't be an issue going forward.

"Jane, why are you so worried. It's simple. We still have a go order to kill that kid, and maybe for the other two primaries. Just confirm with the higher ups. We either go forward or not."

"It's not so simple. They don't understand what happened. They will be finding out that Harry died."

"Maybe they killed him."

Tom was confused and he looked from one to the other and then halted on his face. "Who killed him, Dick?"

Despite his idle thoughts of killing the guy, he actually liked Tom. It was so earnest in his denseness. "Tom, our Employers may have decided to get rid of him."

Jane looked at him. He knew she was a bit peeved at his introducing such convoluted thoughts to Tom. It just upset him. "Tom, it's OK. I don't believe our Employers did him in."

Tom, overwhelmed, decided to go back to the TV. They waited until he had resumed and then talked low enough to keep from disturbing him. Gilligan screwed something up again and the Skipper was raising his voice.

"Jane, why are you so worried?"

"I have a bad feeling about this. If we do become a liability…they, and I don't mean them, know exactly where to find us. This place is a refuge, but it also is a trap."

It was still morning, and the weather while cool was clear. "I'm going for a walk." He took his jacket.

When he left, Tom was absorbed in how those poor people might get off the island and Jane had gone back to her newspaper. He liked to walk down to a park near the water to clear his head. He had had the same thought about this so-called safe house.