The Line

In the end

"Trouble" by Coldplay is an amazing song. I listened to it nearly every time I read over this final part--and can I just say it never got old?

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The sky was still bloody and red, and the shop was still uncomfortably full, and people still moved past them without noticing them. Lemonade had been set and even poured, but neither of the two men lifted his cup for a sip.

"It's over," the Weather Man said with a sigh. Lines seemed to have sprouted overnight in his face; he looked like a black hole had sucked him of all fat, muscle, and life, turning him into a thin skeleton covered by a thinner layer of overstretched skin. Or a sac of tired filled with empty. "I don't have much time left."

"I envy you." Weiss, too, sounded low and dull.

"Your time will come."

"Will it?"

The Man nodded. "Everyone has their time."

"I'd like to believe that, but--" Weiss stiffened, unable to finish. He muttered, "It's my fault, in the end. I made him work for me. If I hadn't chosen him..."

"That's for the court to decide. He's still scheduled for a Retrial. They  might be lenient, send him to the garden."

"Or they might not. That's why I was hoping to avoid them altogether."

"They could have seen something we didn't."

"Exactly. They could have seen something worse." Weiss glared down at the table. "You saw him. You saw him. I thought--"

"Thought what?" a voice called.

Weiss stared as the newcomer in the raincoat pulled up a chair from who knew where, making grating noises on the hard floor and nearly colliding with the table. Stared as the newcomer fumbled with the pitcher of lemonade, spilling a lot, drinking a little. Stared as the newcomer smiled--despite the fact that his eyes were circled with black and red.

"I figured as much. Your Retrial's over--you're here because they couldn't reach a verdict yet." The Weather Man spoke in a bland murmur, a tone devoid of any power or impression. "And the court decided you ought to replace me until then, since they've just reached mine."

"You'll never be at peace, as long as you work for them," Weiss added slowly. "I assume they told you this as well."

"They did," the third man said, shifting; the collar of a grey suit peeked from under the bright, doubtfully assembled fabric on his torso. He leaned toward the Weather Man and asked, bluntly, the curve of a smile on his lips, "How do you know what the weather's going to be? What does it feel like? Really? What's it like?"

The Weather Man blinked under the sudden assault. And then he shook his head. "I'm not sure I can put it into words."

"Try. You have to. Try."

So the Man tried, although his voice sounded like his throat was grinding rocks, although his flesh was taking on an odd, transparent quality, wrinkles sprouting out of his eyes like lightning bolts were carving themselves into his skin. "I feel... like someone opens a window in my mind and paints a vague picture outside of it. And then I have to make sense of that picture. I think"--now he spoke like he'd just realized the most wondrous thing, and he had--"I understand why I saw you, finally. You must have been blocking my vision today. When the storm came and I focused harder, I sensed you. Yes, you. It must have been because--I think it's because you're... you're the biggest storm of them all. I don't know if you understand what I mean by that--I don't understand it either--but I never see something I'm not meant to. I think you're going to change things. Yes, the biggest storm of them all..." The Weather Man sighed then quieted. It was somehow obvious that he would never speak again--this epiphany had drained him of too much.

The biggest storm of them all, eh? "Huh." Eyes narrowing, the redheaded man slumped back into his chair and made a gesture toward the half-filled pitcher. All the spirit was gone--sucked away--from his voice and from his eyes. The only thing he saw himself changing was nothing. "Anyway, sorry for the mess."

Judging by his tone, however, he wasn't simply apologizing for the wetness on the table.

"It's all right." Weiss smiled and repeated, "It's all right."

But it wasn't--not really. Not even a little bit. Not even close. It wasn't and it would never be and they all knew it. Knew it and believed it. The biggest storm of them all had made a gigantic mess of things.

Weiss meant the words anyway, though.

That was all that mattered.