CHAPTER 17: LAW OF LABELING
"People tend to believe that they understand something when they have a name for it." (Whitcomb 16)
Past—Carl's POV
It's fifteen minutes before the time Carl's going to die and he has questions.
Lots of them.
What did it feel like to die? Would it hurt? Was it a comfort or a curse to know that there was some form of an afterlife? What'll happen once he gets there?
Will there be an afterlife for him?
Ten minutes.
He'd said goodbye to his family, somewhat. He told them all that he loved them and hugged and kissed everybody. Then he came up here and locked the door. He'll have to do his best not to cry out, come what may.
Five minutes.
He spends the last minutes of his life pacing the floor and deliberating. Not exactly what he expected of himself.
A tap at the window startles him. He looks to see a macaw perched on the window sill. He knows this is the same macaw that guided him to Jacob in the first place.
Hesitantly he opens the window and lets her in.
"I don't know what's going to happen to me," he confesses to the bird. "But please, whatever does, look after my family."
She tilts her head to one side, as though considering his proposal, then nods.
For the first time in a long time, Carl feels at ease.
He looks to the clock...
It's time.
Carl lays back on his bed, folding his arms over his chest. He's surprised, though maybe he shouldn't be, when the macaw settles down next to him.
He strokes the bird's soft, warm feathers, not even noticing the room getting colder or fading away. Instead he focuses on the memories he made today...
Walking on the boardwalk and holding hands with Cecelia.
Watching Raymond, Edmond, and Anthony splash and play in the ocean.
Dragging the kids around the historic sites of NYC and taking pictures of them making funny faces.
All this and more... he had more memories than that.
He sighs. It's getting harder to breathe.
Is this what he wants?
Is he having second thoughts?
Suddenly it becomes apparent, though he doesn't know how, that all he has to do is say "no."
That'd be enough for him to stay here, in this life.
He opened his mouth to say it—and almost does—but then he remembers why he's doing this in the first place: Tom.
Tom...
Tom, who never had the chance to make memories like Carl had.
Tom, who, if Carl doesn't do something soon, will be less than a memory himself.
It's unfair.
It's unfair that he has to do this, has to decide the fates of all involved.
He starts to curse Tom for putting him in this position, hating him and feeling guilty about it—because how can you Love someone what you hate them?—but then stops short.
If what Jacob says is true, he's done this to Tom at some point in time as well.
Many times in fact.
How long will this go on?
The thought has so much resonance that he isn't sure it belonged to him alone.
Present—Nita's POV
A small sob interrupted the story and broke the intensity.
"Nita, you okay?" Tom asked concerned, finding and handing her a Kleenex.
"It's not fair!" she sniffled, wiping her eyes and finding her hands in her lap to be far more interesting than usual.
She didn't dare look up.
She was afraid to—afraid to face these men who had gone through such hardships. Afraid they'd see her pity. Afraid they'd see her sorrow.
"Nita..." Tom began gently, "Would you like to stop?"
"No!" She all but shouted, glancing up accidentally.
She met Tom's gaze and couldn't turn away.
Tom's expression was one of understanding and compassion.
Why had she expected anything else?
Nita suddenly remembered every encounter she'd ever had with the Senior. How much he made her smile, encouraged her, gently rebuked her, how he was a pillar of strength when her mom...
She couldn't imagine a world without him.
Yet there had been one.
And that it was up to Carl to make that choice...
She wanted to cry even harder but instead, taking a deep breath to calm herself, she managed a watery smile for the older men in the room.
"Please," she beseeched them as intelligibly as possible. "What happens next? I have to know now... I need to know what happened!"
Carl cleared his throat, sounding hoarse when he did talk.
"Very well..." he rasped, and began anew.
Past—Carl's POV
In the beginning, dying isn't as horrible as Carl feared it would be.
It was an awful experience, yes, but it was in fact relatively painless.
Initially he just loses feeling in his toes; can no longer wiggle them. Then a tingling sensation starts within his feet and spreads so they freeze up too. Gradually his legs come to feel like lead. It seems like something is taking over his body, working its way up little by little from the base of his spine.
Finally, he can no longer feel his lower body at all.
Carl admits it then, he's scared...
Whatever Death is, he swears he feels its chill devouring his body.
Soon, he'll be completely paralyzed.
And therefore at the mercy of the man who has appeared in his room without warning.
If It it's even a man at all...
Fiery red hair adorns his head. Eyes shine like black opals. And on his lips plays a smirk, one of triumph.
The macaw starts hissing.
"Relax Carl, you're safe," the stranger says, ignoring the bird, "I'm going to take good care of you... After all I am a doctor."
And instinctively, Carl knows that every word He speaks is a lie.
His fingertips start prickling like stabs from a needle.
Carl wants to cry out but is immediately reminded of Tom and how it's possible that one word could keep him in this reality.
So he just settles with glaring defiantly.
The Not-Man shakes His head, smirk firmly in place.
"Ah Carl, why didn't you heed my warning? Whatever am I going to do with you now?"
The smirk turns upwards into itself then twists into a malevolent grin.
"I haven't decided yet actually. You see, death is my territory. You may have eluded me once but you're mine now."
Carl swallows hard, the motion painful against his raw throat.
Jacob, help me!
And with that mental plea, the macaw takes flight.
She flies with a speed and precision that Carl didn't know any animal possessed: she pecks at the eyes, pulls out great chunks of His hair, and leaves long scrapes down His arms with her talons.
The way she fights, Carl could have sworn her a phoenix instead of an ordinary house pet...
But then again, had this remarkable macaw ever been just any bird?
Somehow Carl doubts it.
He doesn't know what to do. He's trapped there, unable to do anything more than watch the battle unfold. The macaw seems to be winning but Carl knows it's only a matter of time before the tables turn. A bird, even one as brilliant as she, cannot beat a human...
...or whatever He is.
Jacob, do something, please! Carl pleads.
Lie back down, Carl, comes Jacob's response.
Or at least he thinks it's Jacob. It's getting harder and harder to distinguish between Jacob's voice and his own inner thoughts.
Still, he doesn't have the time to dwell on what that means.
Good Carl, just close your eyes and try to remember that this won't last forever.
Jacob...what?!
Powerless, that's Carl. He has no choice then.
Well, that isn't entirely correct...
But is giving up on Tom even a possibility anymore?
Had it ever been?
Ok...
So he did as he was told...
And instantly regretted it.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain that seems to go on forever.
There are no words to describe the agony he's in. And even if there are, he isn't aware of them. He couldn't be. He has lost his mind to the suffering...
But somehow, miraculously, he doesn't cry out.
Where that strength comes from he isn't sure.
There seems to be no end to the torment. Carl tries to recall the words of Jacob, that this all will pass, but he's not so sure of them anymore.
Every cell in his body screams. The pain encompassed his whole world
Then as suddenly as the pain peaked, it stopped.
Every organ stilled.
Except for one...
His heart.
There's a roaring sound and he feels a falling sensation as he hears the last beats of his heart slow down and eventually die off.
He barely hears the enraged scream.
There's darkness consuming him and he's floating within it forever. Then white light pierces the black, racing towards him, reaching out and wrapping around him, surrounding him like the comfort of a warm blanket. His soul, or whatever is left of him, surrenders to that light.