“Don’t look so uneasy,” Zāl continues. “You’re seein’ things, right? Beasts and other such things no one seems to notice.”
“I daydream at most.”
“Not today,” Zāl counters eagerly. He pushes his food to the side of the table to lean in. “Today, you saw somethin’ comin’ for ya. Felt it in the air, and all.”
“Get to the point. Do you see things?”
“Not anymore,” Zāl answers, somewhat honestly. “But I know what you’re seein’. The thing that’s huntin’ you, it had a blade.”
“It did.”
“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere! How long was it?”
“What does it matter?”
“Certainly you noticed it! I bet everythin’ before this didn’t have any kinda weapon.”
Yeung doesn’t answer, neglecting their food as well to focus on Zāl. Their eyes absorb the neon lights and reflect something else back at him. He sees the vague shape of himself.
“It means you’re gettin’ stronger. Which means the blades are gonna start gettin’ longer, and sharper. And the spirits chasin’ you are gonna get meaner.”
“What is actually chasing me?” Yeung asks.
“A being that exists between the ripples of our world,” Zāl explains, leaning in even further. “And the otherworld.”
“Otherworld? Like the spirit world? As in ghosts?”
Zāl shakes his head. “Too easy to be that simple. It’s more than that.” Zāl reaches out and grabs a handful of forks, knives and chopsticks sitting in the cup between them on the table. He scatters them in front of them both and lays the chopsticks in a neat line.
“Listen carefully,” Zāl says. “Cause I’m bad at this part. The chopsticks represent our world.”
Yeung looks uncertain but follows along. “Okay.”
“And these knives,” Zāl continues, stacking the blades perpendicular on top of the chopsticks. ‘Act as the otherworld. It sits directly on top of us.”
“The spirit world or heaven or whatever holy place you think the dead go to when they die, that…”
“So,” Yeung says, staring at the small formation Zāl has formed between them. Their face is unreadable. “The otherworld is some sort of limbo? A transitional period?”
“Kinda. It’s more than that too, but that’s not really important right now. What is important is that a ripple has caused somethin’ to slip through.”
“And what causes a ripple?”
Zāl smiles, picking up a fork and pointing it to himself.
“You?” Yeung says, following as Zāl turns the fork to point at Yeung. “And me?”
“When our skills awaken—I know, I know, I’ll explain that too—we cause a ripple effect. So, yeah. It’s you, Yeung. You’re the ripple.”
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Yeung says, pushing the fork away from them and standing up. The movement racks the table and Zāl moves fast enough to catch Yeung’s plate before it falls to the ground. “Thanks for the food. I’m leaving.”
“It’s gonna keep comin’.” Zāl stands up as well, albeit more quietly. “Especially when I’m not around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Mike will ship you your radio. No need to come all the way back.”
“It’ll be dangerous for everyone,” Zāl calls out to Yeung’s fleeting form. “Not just for you.”
He doesn’t get an answer, and Yeung’s exiting the restaurant with a familiar chime. It takes a moment, but Zāl hears the familiar start of an old engine and soon, there’s nothing but silence around him.
“Well,” Zāl says, sitting back down and pulling Yeung’s unfinished plate towards him as he gets settled.
“That coulda gone better.”
THE MECHANIC: End.
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