The Ferryman Institute Read Online Free PDF Page A

night.

CHARLIE
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THE INSTITUTE

    N o matter how many times Charlie used his key to travel to and from the Ferryman Institute proper, it was always an odd feeling coming back. The door he’d entered out in the middle of the desert had brought him back to his office, a spacious room with a high ceiling and bright walls. Charlie called it his office mostly due to it being within the Ferryman Institute, but in truth it was designed to be a comfortable living space—he was just stubborn and chose not to see it that way. He strode noiselessly across the floor, the plush carpet absorbing the sound of his uncovered feet and, given the long, dark trail that marked his path across the room, also all the crud he’d accumulated.
    Attached to the office was Charlie’s private room, a space that was more or less the size of a large walk-in closet divided into two sections. Off to the left was a modest bathroom complete with a sink, vanity mirror, and an unassuming shower stall outfitted with a frosted glass door. To the right, two long rows of clothes hung neatly on hooks. His wardrobe was composed mostly of suits, but there were some more casual outfits mixed in, even if a few were several years out of fashion.
    That was the way of it for Charlie—always a few years behind, it seemed. Granted, almost all Institute employees fell at least somewhat out of the loop as far as pop culture and current affairs went. That was pretty much a given living in the micromanaged bubble that was the Ferryman Institute. There was no way of getting news, no Internet access or the like to speak of. Not that the Institute was completely devoid of technology, just that it had all been retrofitted to be used solely for Ferryman purposes. By letting new employees use the tools they’d utilized during their previous lives, the Institute managed to establish a sense of continuity and familiarity, even for men and women thrust into a completely new way of life.
    Despite its rather closed-off nature, the Institute knew better than to try and be completely self-contained. Employees were given vacation time, which—unlike Charlie—they could enjoy freely. While workers didn’t have free rein to do whatever they pleased—keeping the secrecy of the Ferryman Institute intact was always of paramount concern—the range of activities was so extensive that either no employees noticed or they just didn’t care. It was generally during that time that the Institute’s staff caught up with the goings-on of the world. News spread by word of mouth as employees filtered back from their breaks, and while perhaps not the most efficient means of staying up-to-date, it worked on the whole.
    On the other hand, while Charlie had permission to leave the premises, it came with the caveat that the Institute was to be informed of his whereabouts at all times. Strictly for emergency purposes, of course. Just in case.
    Unfortunately, he quickly discovered that the Institute had a very flexible rubric for what it considered an emergency.
    Charlie’s officially sanctioned time away evaporated as emergencyassignments piled up the moment he walked out the door. So he began stealing his time in secret when he could, sometimes ducking out to catch a quick movie (even in the medium’s infancy, he’d always found an inherent escapism in film), visit a museum, or jump off a few cliffs. Standard relaxation fare. With such limited time away, he’d fallen behind the curve as far as contemporary standards went, and with a quirky best friend who felt more at home in the nineteenth century, he held little hope he’d ever catch up.
    Charlie left the private room’s door open as he walked in, not caring as he removed his tattered shorts, and hopped in the shower, randomly twisting the knobs until the pressure was strong. It didn’t matter to him how hot or cold the water ran—being a Ferryman meant that all temperatures