Fade Into Mist

The last day of Phineas Fleming’s life began like any other, so much so that he had no idea his hourglass had run out. He strode down the street, newspaper tucked in his armpit, briefcase swinging at his side. His lips pursed as he whistled a jolly tune, some old hit about being young and in love. Alas, for poor Phineas, those lovely days with a pretty woman were behind him. His shoulders had begun to droop over the burdensome years and, despite his stocky build, jostling passerby knocked him off course more than he would like to admit.

Still, he forced his way through, whistling the whole time. The further he walked, the thinner the crowd became until it quite resembled his hairline, receding to wisps of pedestrians which gave way to the wide expanse of the river. He paused, dumbstruck. A pretty girl waved to him, her smile wide. Had he known this would be his last day, perhaps he would have gone to reminisce on their time together. Perhaps he would have gone looking for answers.

Phineas walked on, dismissing her appearance as a trick of the light. She had been dead for thirty years, after all, and he had long since given up on finding answers.

He continued on his way, blinking back a few tears. A faint meow drew his attention to his feet, where a little black street cat trotted across his path. Other people, like his lost love, would have likely gasped and run home for fear of bad luck. To her chagrin, he loved to dance under ladders. The old mirror in his house sported many cracks, and that was how he liked it.

So, like those with no fear of fate, he bent down and patted the cat on its head. The cat, no doubt used to being kicked by work boots, followed this new friend. As they stepped over the curb, steam billowed up from a vent, engulfing Phineas and the cat in the haze. In this new, gray-tinged world, Phineas began a different tune. Forlorn, love-lost music reverberated from his tired lips.

The steam melted away, leaving the two unlikely companions stranded in a lovely forest. Phineas kept walking, his eyes closed as he savored the music. The cat froze, its head cocked at the strange change of scenery. Ten paces later, Phineas opened his eyes and nearly fainted.

This was not the busy street he had expected. Instead, birds flitted overhead, singing the refrain of his now-ceased song. He tried to whistle along, but his mouth was stuck in a gaping yawn.

“It was rather impolite of you to bring me along,” a drawling voice said.

Phineas whirled, his eyes locking on the cat as it rolled about in the pea-green sprigs of grass. He tried to speak once more, but the morning’s events were just too much for his poor human brain to comprehend.

The cat sprung to its feet and stretched out its paws. “I had no intention of returning home until winter, but you patted my head. So, I had to follow.” It flicked its tail and ran off into the gloom of the tall pine trees. “I suggest you keep up.”

Phineas gulped and hurried after the creature, no longer certain it was a cat. As he ducked under a low branch, he cleared his throat and croaked out some words. “One, two, three. My name is Phineas Fleming.” He paused. “And a cat is speaking to me.”

“Don’t feel special. I do this too often.” The cat appeared before him, somehow shooting him a glare. “Only, most people ask if I will help them, instead of summoning me without even saying a word.”

“Look,” Phineas said, struggling to feel sane, “I had no intention of coming here, wherever here is. And I certainly didn’t mean to bring a talking cat with me.” He looked around, his eyes catching on a deer path that whispered words of purpose and destiny. “In fact, I’ll be on my way back to work now.”

Before he could set foot on the little worn pathway, the cat put a paw on his shoe. He found his foot to be stuck, impossibly so. The little creature couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds and that was being generous.

Green eyes fixed on him, insistent and unrelenting. “You have a choice, Phineas. Take that path and fade into mist, or--”

“Mist? Fade? What does that mean?”

“You’re dead,” the cat said rather bluntly, licking its paw. “Now will you let me finish?”

Phineas blinked, thinking back on the steam cloud he had walked through. Was that the veil spoken of by some philosopher or other? Was the afterlife just a forest?

Unbeknownst to him, the cat began to speak again. Phineas kept staring off, his mind on other things until the cat uttered a name. ”--Sophia.” With that one word, the cat held Phineas’ attention in its clawed paw.

“How do you know her name? Is she here?” A surge of joy flooded over Phineas. It made perfect sense that she would be here, waiting for him. He couldn’t bear to stand around for another moment, so he hurtled off through the undergrowth. His legs pumped as though he were twenty years old again. Each breath filled up his newly young lungs and his heart lacked the bothersome arrhythmia he was accustomed to.

Suddenly, a dark tail shot out, tangling his legs like a creeping vine. His shoulder drove into the ground. The cat placed its paw on his wrist, pinning him to the ground. “You have a choice, now listen carefully. She chose to become part of the mist of souls.”

“Sophia is gone?” Phineas whispered. Tears rolled from his eyes, watering the grass.

The cat sighed. “Gone, yes. Although, she can be brought back,” it said, rekindling Phineas’ hope. “But it comes at a cost.”

“Any price is worth seeing her again,” Phineas said, without hesitation. For decades, his thoughts had been filled with her. Her, holding his hand. Her, lying dead on the ground. “Please, where is she?”

The cat raked its claws against a tree. “You’ll cause her unspeakable agony, terrible suffering, yada, yada, yada.”

Phineas stopped, running a hand through his thinning hair. Arthritis crept back into his brittle bones, the old ache of loss now final. He should never see his beloved again. His knees slowly collapsed, drawing him to rest on the velvet carpet of moss.

The cat let out a low hiss. “I bet you aren’t even listening again. All of you make this same decision, your desperate need for life after death clouding your judgement.” It sprung to its feet, raking its claws through the soft ferns. “I have to let you do it too. Just command me to do it so I can leave this wretched place.”

So, with his lips trembling, Phineas did.

“I underestimated you,” said the cat with a curt nod. With a flick of its tail, it began muttering deep, shadowy words. Shades lept and flickered from his mouth, borne upon wings of darkness. Then, it turned to Phineas, opened glowing green eyes wide, and yowled. Sickly green light enveloped the forest as Phineas cried out, covering his face. The light burned through his fingers until he swore there was nothing but the green light, that he was the green light.

After a minute, he chanced a look at the cat. Only, there was no cat. In its place sat a man, hunched over and moaning. Long, brown hair fell into his face, scraggly and unkempt. It didn’t matter. Phineas knew who it was immediately. No matter how many years had passed, this face refused to leave him.

“Why did you bring me back?” the man sobbed. “I was finally at peace.” He writhed on the ground, tearing at his hair. Phineas rose, standing over him. An inkling of pity wormed its way through his tired mind. He could leave this man be and go to join his Sophia. There was nothing stopping him.

Nothing, except the thirty-year-old question. “Why?” Phineas whispered. He curled his fingers into a fist, waiting.

The man lay flat on his back, every muscle in his body rippling. His mouth creaked open in a mechanical maw. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. He’s been mist for twenty years. He isn’t the person you remember anymore.”

Phineas nodded and the cat relinquished control once more to Harvey Kellings, the man who killed his wife. He waited for the murderous glint to return, for Harvey to show his true colors. But, when he steeled himself to stare into the grey eyes of a killer, all he saw were tears.

The deer path seemed to tug at him, overpowering the urge to scream obscenities at this agonized man. Leave him, the leaves whispered. You have nothing to gain from this.

“I’m sorry,” Phineas said, sitting down beside Harvey. “Would you like to go back to the mist now?” He laid an arm on the man’s back and gripped his shoulder tight. How strange it was, hugging a murderer. How strange compassion felt, warm and gentle.

“Yes,” Harvey gasped between body-wracking sobs. “I can’t stop thinking about what I did, especially to that poor woman. And her poor husband.”

Phineas patted him once, rather awkwardly, and stood. “They’re at peace now. Don’t worry.” Forgiveness felt right, even though the Phineas of thirty years ago would be screaming for blood. Now, he knew there was no triumph in beating this shade of a man. No. Even this was cruelty. “You can go back to the mist now if you’d like.”

Harvey stared up at him, wiping tear-stricken cheeks. “The others who called me back, those others who I hurt, they didn’t let me go so easy. And I deserved everything they threw at me.” He let out a sigh, and the pain rushed from his eyes like polluted water flooding through a filter. “Thank you.”

Soft, green light suffused from his form like fresh sprigs of grass after a long winter. Phineas watched as the shadow of the cat reformed in the glow until it finally took corporeal form. It arched its back, yawned, and gave Phineas something resembling a smile. “You made the right choice, letting him go.”

Phineas patted the cat on the head. “You did help.” He too stretched, his limbs pulsating with energy. “It feels good to let go of thirty years of rage. I should have forgiven him a long time ago.”

“So you don’t want to know why he did it?”

With a sigh, Phineas set off down the deer path, a familiar voice calling him home. “I think I’ve known for a while. It was just an accident, one he’s paid dearly for.”

“Farewell,” the cat said, trotting off in the opposite direction. Phineas waved, never looking back as the mist reached out a slender arm to him. He took the Sophia's hand and ran with her satin figure like he had never run before. The scent of fresh pine needles filled his nose, then he faded into mist as all pure souls do.

Phineas Fleming was dead, but he was also at peace.