David was sitting at his regular spot in the cafe. He couldn't remember how long he had been here. He was waiting, observing the others from the place next to the window that he claimed as his own. Had days passed or weeks since he arrived here? He didn't keep track, didn't care, and took a sip from the warm tea. It was apple-flavored, like everything in this place.

The woman who owned this place had started her morning routine. First, she made breakfast. Tea and homemade bread served with apple butter and cinnamon sugar. Then she would drag out the linen, pillows, and duvets, shaking them up, letting the fresh morning air in. Feathers were floating through the air like snowflakes.

The other guests helped her with her tasks, gathered eggs, washed the dishes, the usual stuff.

David would do his chore later, chop up some wood, so there would be enough wood for the fire in the hearth tonight. The physical work suited him; it calmed him; it brought back memories to his life. He performed his tasks in silence, as he didn't want to mingle too much with the others. He wasn't a social person, never had been. He felt safe in his spot next to the window, watching the others from a distance.

One of the other guests, the man who looked like a truck driver, had tried to talk to him but gave up when he hit too many walls in their conversation. It wasn't that David wanted to be unfriendly; he just knew that his time here was limited. He knew he would die, and he didn't want to leave people more upset than necessary.

He couldn't remember what happened to him. There were flashes of memories popping up now and then. They left him feeling frustrated about the situation. He wanted to see the whole film of what happened to him. One of his last memories was getting on his motorcycle that morning, to go to one of his projects. Then there was something on his side of the road, something that shouldn't have been there.

It was an accident - that much he knew. He had seen his body afterward. It had been in shatters. Sometimes he saw images of how he must look right now, lying in a hospital, tied up to machines that kept him alive, but those images grew sparser and sparser. He was surprised he was even still alive.

And so he passed his days here, waiting until it was his time. Until the third sister would appear, give him the nod and take him with her.

There were three of them. The dark one, the one with the lantern who took him here. The red one, the one with the apples, who was taking care of him.

And then there was the white one, the one with the sharp blade, who would take him away.

She didn't have a name. Everyone here called her She. Respect and fear were evident in their voices when they talked about her. Some people walked up to Her, asking her to please, please take them away. Some tried to hide from her, but it was no use. She always found the person she was looking for.

David hadn't made a decision yet. He had loved his life. It had been a good life, and he was well aware of it. Of course, he had known setbacks, misfortunes, and broken hearts, but who didn't?

He missed his family. He had seen their grief, and it pained him to see them that way. He missed his friends, his work, and his motorcycle.

How many times had he fought with his mother over his bike? How she had hated it when he brought his first machine home. He had been so proud until his mother had started yelling at him.

"That thing is a tool of destruction," she had yelled at him. "It will be the death of you."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she had said, "You can start organizing your funeral."

He knew she didn't mean it; she never did. It was her way of showing him that she cared for him. He had seen her in the hospital. She was shivering like a little bird, begging him to come back, cursing at him for riding his stupid motorcycle that morning. Thinking of his mother made him sad.

David turned his gaze away from the other guests, to the window next to him. He looked outside. No matter how long he had been here, he was still amazed at how the view changed during the day. One moment the sun was shining, the next moment leaves would fly through the air, because it was storming. Sometimes it seemed as if there were four seasons in one day.

He saw a pale sun chase away the mist that always crawled out during the night. The crooked houses that leaned against each other as if they were drunk were popping out the retreating nebula. Trees were softly waving their branches in the wind. All in all, he would have died to live here. This place was green and friendly; flowers grew everywhere. From several chimneys of houses in the neighborhood rose a cloud of smoke.

But the one thing that always drew his attention was a particular building. It must be in the far distance. On some days, he could barely see the lineout, but he knew it was always there. It was a white tower, radiating with power. The first time he had wondered what it was, and that was about the only time he had talked to the other guests.

"What is that?" he had asked, his voice full with wonder.

They had all shrugged, they didn't know, and they didn't care. He thought that some of them only noticed the tower when he mentioned it.

The only one who knew something about the tower and who wanted to talk about it was Liz, the red-haired lady. She had overheard him and had tried to fill him in on the mysterious building.

"That's the white tower. It's where the curator lives," she said as if she was telling him about the location of the post office.

David could barely stop himself rolling his eyes. "I can see that it is a white tower, but is it something important? And what is a curator?"

Liz saw his annoyed expression. "It's where lost things go."

He was silent because he didn't know what to say. In a way, he was a lost thing. The tower was calling him; he wanted to go there desperately.

"Seems like just the place for you, as it seems you have lost your voice," Liz teased, fine wrinkles appeared around her eyes as she smiled at him.

"Can I go there?" he asked. He was sure he was stuck in this place, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the third sister to take him to the next place.

Liz rubbed her hands on her apron, her brows sculpted in a pensive frown. "Of course you can." The tone of her voice suggested that no one had asked her this question before and that there was a good reason for it as well.

He looked again at the tower. It looked like an exclamation mark, the solution to all his questions.

"Maybe I will," he said. "Maybe tomorrow."

Since then, he never had tried to reach the building, but the pull became stronger every day. Every evening he said to himself: "Tomorrow is going to be the day. Tomorrow I'm going to the tower."

But he never acted on it. He just sat down at the table, and stared in the distance, until the mist rolled in again, obstructing his view on the building.

He heard the sounds of someone putting a plate on his table.

"Wow, what is that?" A girl stood at his table, looking out of the window; she was staring in the direction of the tower. He didn't answer her, feeling a pang of jealousy. How dare she look at his tower? No one has ever paid attention to it, or at least not as long as he had been here.

"Can I sit here, by the way?" The girl had dark patches under her eyes. She arrived yesterday evening, he remembered.

He gave her a nod, and she lumped down. Her breakfast was stacked dangerously high on her plate, but all she kept staring at, was the tower.

She closed her eyes, clearly enjoying the food, uttering sounds of approval.

And then David did something out of character. "Good?" he said.

"Hmm?" She looked expectantly at him, apple juice glistening on her lips.

"The food, I mean," he clarified. "Is it any good?"

She nodded, enthusiastically chewing on a piece of apple pie, her cheeks flushed.

"Ava," she said and stuck out her hand. Her mouth was still half-full, so it sounded more like Ewa.

He took her outstretched hand. It was warm and sticky. "David."

"Can you take some of that food with you?" she said, apple chips crunching between her teeth.

"What do you mean?" he said. There was no reason to hoard. Liz always made sure there was a sufficient stack of freshly prepared food.

"I want to go to that tower, and I'm not sure if I'm going to be back for lunch," she said, while she wrapped up a lump of the warm bread in something that resembled a towel. "You know how to get there?"

And David knew the waiting was over.

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