As the man staggered more than slightly on his way to the front door, he noted the rays of the sun barely reached beyond the sill. It was still much too early after his bachelor’s night in. In his younger days, he would have been at the pub with the lads. Now, however, quality time with video tapes of questionable taste and Irish brews of questionable origin were the highlight of his existence. A part of him still yearned for the drunken laughs and tall tales, but his current self could only tolerate them in small doses.
As his hand touched the doorknob, he silently cursed his body reminding him that beer was rented, and not purchased. He smacked his lips as his tongue scraped at the rest of his cottony mouth. Regardless of who was on the other side, he would have to keep things brief. He desperately needed water both coming and going.
Opening the front door of his home, he looked down to find the people who had been knocking were a pair of young girls. They appeared to be seven or eight, maybe even nine; he was hardly an expert on the matter. Blearily, he examined the two. One had honey blonde hair and wouldn’t have merited a second glance wherever it was that young girls were found nowadays. The other, though, had striking black hair with an unnatural streak of lime green going down the center, making him wonder what parent in their right mind allowed a child to dye their hair like that. Smacking his lips again, he rasped. “Here now, who are you two? How may I help you?”
“Honey Scout Girls!” The two beamed up at him with wide smiles as he noted that they were both wearing unfamiliar uniforms that were more than a little too pink for his liking.
“Honey Scout Girls?” he echoed, confusion filling his voice.
“Eh.” The blonde shrugged. “We really need to get the right name.”
“I’d like to see you come up with something better,” the girl with the green stripe said, reaching into the haversack she had slung over her shoulder. She produced a small, recognizable glass jar and held it out for him to take. “We’re giving out samples,” she said as he took the offering.
He brought it closer to his face. “You’re handing out baby food?” he asked, noting the jar had indeed been repurposed, but instead of the expected pureed mess, it held something translucent and pink.
“It’s honey.” The blonde said proudly, “We made it ourselves.”
“Aren’t you just busy little bees?” The man shook the jar slightly, noting the consistency of the substance inside.
“Bees are inferior,” the girl with a stripe said snidely. “Please don’t confuse us with those amateurs.”
“Don’t underestimate bees,” the man replied. “They play an important role, what with flowers and all.”
“I suppose so.” The striped girl shrugged. “But you’re going to love this honey a whole lot more.”
The man knitted his eyebrows and frowned. “What’s in it?” he asked.
“Love,” the blonde answered.
“Putting love into your cooking is always a wonderful thing,” the man said indulgently. “What else is in here?”
“Just love,” the blonde asserted.
The man raised an eyebrow at her.
“It’s concentrated love,” said the girl with the stripe.
“I’d imagine there’s a market for concentrated love.” The man set the jar on the table by the door, promising himself to bin it at the first chance he got. “Explains the pink color, I suppose.”
“This isn’t working,” the striped girl told her friend before turning her attention back to the man. “You need to get out more.”
The man blinked at the sudden change in topic. “I’m hardly a hermit,” he said, sounding aggrieved.
“When was the last time you talked to a woman?” the blonde girl demanded of him. “More than just in passing.”
The man blinked again. “I’ll have you know that I talk to Betty all of the time.”
The girl with a stripe huffed. “She works with you; of course, you talk to each other. The problem is she’s happily married.”
“And she’s always trying to match me up with one of her friends.” The man huffed back at the girl. “Did she send you? That would explain a lot.”
“No. No.” The blonde said, “She’s on the right track, but we weren’t sent by her.”
“There’s a woman just down the street, who is as perfect for you as you are for her,” the striped girl said impatiently. “We’re hitting you up because you are half a mile from your soulmate. We just have to convince you to take a chance, or so my partner says.”
“Gods,” the man muttered. “The lasses are taking up matchmaking younger and younger every year. Look, I’m perfectly capable of chatting up a lady on my own. I don’t need the help of a pair of girls just out of their nappies.”
“Really?” asked the blonde. “When was the last time you were with a woman?”
“I am not having that conversation with you.” The man snapped, “I don’t know you. What’s more, I’m positive you are too young to be having it anyway.”
“This really isn’t working, Feelers,” the girl with a stripe growled.
“Fine.” The blonde sighed. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Finally!” The striped girl cheered as she ran through the doorway, past the man. In a remarkable show of strength, she swept his legs out from under him, only to catch him and somehow managing to lift him over her head. “I’d like to see a bee do this.”
The man yelped before demanding. “Put me down!”
“Not until you are in the arms of the woman you are going to love,” the stripe-haired girl, who was much stronger than she looked, snapped at him.
“You really need to be more subtle.” The blonde girl sighed. “That was the whole point of this exercise.”
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” The striped girl started sprinting down the street with the man held high above her. “Close the door, would you? We wouldn’t want any bees getting in while we’re away.”
It was a lazy Saturday. Her son had spent the night at a friend’s house, and she was celebrating by doing nothing, taking advantage of the quiet and using it to rest in a comfortable chair with a cup of tea at hand. She was more than half asleep when a voice startled her.
“Good day, Miranda.”
Her eyes snapped wide open as she looked up to see an old man standing nearby. It took only one glance for her to categorize him as a wizard. He seemed to be going out of his way to give that impression. It really wasn’t the long white beard so much as the flowing yellow robes and the gnarled staff he was carrying.
“Who are you? How’d you get in?” Miranda demanded, sitting up straighter in her chair, glaring at the stranger. “What do you want?”
The old man gave her a smile and she could have sworn his eyes twinkled. “In order,” he said. “Who I am is not important, magic, and I am here to give you the opportunity to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye, then,” Miranda said. “Now get out.”
The man chuckled at her hostility. “I suppose I should have seen that coming. No, my dear, I did not mean for you to dismiss me; rather, I wanted to extend you the opportunity to say a final farewell to your estranged husband.”
“I said goodbye to him a long time ago,” Miranda snarled, sagging back into her chair. “And good riddance.”
“I understand the sentiment.” The old man commiserated. “However, I do not believe I made myself clear. When I said a final farewell, I meant this would be your last chance to seek some closure. By the end of this day, the opportunity will be gone, never to return.”
“He’s dying then?” Miranda’s voice held hints of both regret and satisfaction. “Why should I waste my time seeing him off?”
“I think . . .” The man looked at her sadly with a hint of disappointment. “. . . that your response is wholly warranted. I also think that you will regret not grasping the offer to put the final paragraph in this chapter of your life.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes at the old man. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“An excellent question.” The man beamed at her. “At the risk of sounding sinister, let me assure you, had I meant you harm, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I am more than capable in that regard.” He gave the woman a reassuring smile. “However, I am a friend. Granted one you have not met before, but a friend nonetheless.”
“You are playing up the mysterious old man to the hilt,” Miranda accused.
The man looked delighted. “I have been practicing. It is refreshing to find that my efforts have been appreciated.”
Miranda stood up out of her chair, studying the man. “I suppose I’m going to regret this, one way or the other. All right then, what now?”
“If you would be so kind as to place your hand on my staff.” The old man said before having a second thought. “The long one. Err . . . the wooden one in my hand.”
“You’re a dirty old man as well as a wizard,” Miranda stated.
The man sighed deeply. “I had a rather surprising and startling experience with a woman earlier today, when I said those exact words. Consequently, I have come to the conclusion that clarification is required.”
“Oh?”
“She claimed to have a ‘Gandalf complex’.” The old man winced.
Miranda giggled. “You poor thing.” With those words, she reached out and grasped his staff. The long wooden one in his hand, that is.
“It was not an entirely unpleasant incident.” The man’s eyes definitely twinkled that time. Before Miranda could respond, he continued. “Number one, engage.”
Abruptly, Miranda felt something grab her just behind her bellybutton and tug. She was assaulted by a spinning sensation and an experience her eyes couldn’t quite comprehend. Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over and she found herself collapsed on the ground.
“What was that?” she slurred, her eyes still spinning.
“That, my dear, was a portkey.” The old man’s voice drifted down to her. “They are a rather convenient snippet of magic.”
“I’ve heard of them.” Miranda once again got to her feet. “All of the ambulances carry them now. Can’t say that I’m impressed.”
“They do have deficiencies in certain areas.” The old man chuckled. “Sacrificing comfort for practicality.”
A dirty look was sent the wizard’s way as she dusted herself off. “Where are we?” Miranda looked around, noting that they were in a cavern somehow lit by a soft green light.
“Another name of little import.” The man started walking, correctly assuming that Miranda would follow.
“That’s not . . .” Miranda started before her attention was stolen by a soft skittering sound somewhere in the shadows. “What was that?”
“That was just the guards.” The old man said, “Fear not; they shall not hinder us.”
“Guards?” Miranda echoed. “Where exactly have you brought me?”
“A question that deserves a long explanation. Alas, we have not the time.” They emerged into a larger cavern, this one was filled with glowing, well, pods with translucent sides and barely recognizable figures floating within some kind of green liquid.
Miranda gasped. “Are there people in those?”
“Yes.” The old man’s voice was grim now. “Spare them no pity. Not one of them deserves any. Each and every one of them has committed an unredeemable crime.”
“That explains why my ex is here.” Miranda gaped. “He’d fit right in with people like that.”
“These are the worse of those we have collected.” The old man continued walking. “There is neither desire nor capacity for atonement in any of them.”
“So, you are judge, jury, and executioner then?” Miranda asked.
The old man scoffed at the question. “We care not for such burdensome constraints. Those who are harmful to the collective shall be removed and neutralized for the good of all.”
“That statement makes it sound like this could all go horribly wrong.”
“And yet the alternative is to allow such people to continue to run rings around the legal system.” The old man sighed. “Alas, I did not bring you to debate the morality of the actions that are being taken here.”
“You just know I have to ask.” Miranda followed the old man as he walked past several of the miniature prisons. “What makes you better than the people trapped in these things?”
“Yes.” The old man hummed. “That question is somewhat more common than it has any right to be. It implies that imparting justice is on the same level as harming others for profit and enjoyment. Even if the methods employed are similar; the motivations and intents are polar opposites.”
Miranda gave him a studied glance at his response.
“Besides, you are laboring under the misconception that we strive to be better than these villains.” The old man continued walking. “If it saves more innocents, we are prepared to be much more vile than they would ever dare dream.”
Miranda flinched. “When does it become too much?”
“The inherent flaw with that question is that in asking it, you ignore the harm being inflicted by it becoming too little.”
She elected to remain silent for the rest of the walk; following the old man until he stopped in front of one of the pods. Without so much as a murmur, the old man reached through the solid-looking membrane and grasped a handful of hair before yanking enough so that just the head of the occupant was through the barrier. A small gasp escaped Miranda as recognition dawned in her eyes.
“Here we are.” The old man brought his staff forward and sharply rapped the trapped man’s protruding noggin. “Wake up. You have a visitor.”
The man in the pod sputtered and spat out some green goop before his eyes focused enough to comprehend that two people were standing in front of him. “What?” He blinked a few times before zeroing in on Miranda. “It’s you. Bint, get me out of this thing right now!”
Miranda stared a few seconds as her ex proceeded to call her several unsavory names all the while demanding his freedom. “You can put him back now,” she said to the old man.
“Did you have nothing to say to him?” the old man asked, ignoring the ranting.
“Put him back,” Miranda repeated.
The old man used the base of his staff to force the man’s head back into the pod, resulting in an audible gulp as the man took his last breath of air. “That could have gone better,” he commented.
“What were you hoping for?” Miranda’s eyes never strayed from the man who had caused her so much pain.
“Honestly? We were hoping for a last-minute realization of love.” The old man sighed. “Something bittersweet or perhaps tangy.”
“Well, you were wrong,” Miranda said. “I appreciate what you have done here, but I think I’d appreciate it more if you send me home now.”
“This distress was not our intent.” The old man sighed. “If you like, I can have you obliviated.”
“No,” Miranda said sharply. “You were right earlier, you know. It’s time to start the next chapter.”