by Thea Archer
"Clicked," repeated Matthias. "Sounds like an aneurism."
"So, you were a doctor?" Moritz asked.
"I was a pathologist."
"Oh..."
"It's your turn," Judith looked at Ian.
I glanced at Ian sharply, I was ready to change the subject at any second, but it didn't seem like Ian wanted to hide the cause of his death: his face seemed almost smug.
"I'm the only one here of my own free will," he said flatly. "Not sure what exactly happened to my body, but I guess my guts were scattered all over the road when I jumped off the overpass. I have to admit, it's quite an unusual feeling. Gravity is a monstrously powerful thing."
Judith and Moritz stared at him in blank confusion.
Matthias shook his head thoughtfully.
"The most common fall injuries are broken neck, skull fracture, and brain injury. If you died instantly, you had a head injury anyway. So your guts were where they were supposed to be. Unless you stabbed yourself with a big knife or something before you jumped off."
"What?" Judith frowned in disgust.
"I autopsied woman who ripped her own stomach with a huge carving knife and then jumped off the roof. So when her body hit the ground, some of her guts really fell out of her body," Matthias explained casually.
"That's terrible," Moritz said.
"Ugh, I'm such a bore," Ian sighed in frustration. "I could come up with something like that."
"Well, I had more interesting cases than that."
"I bet you did," Judith muttered.
I flickered a glance at Ian again, and he caught my eye and winked at me. It seemed that nothing could make his mood that blissful but an opportunity to talk about his death.
"But still," Judith glanced at Ian again. "What made you decide to kill yourself?"
I froze. I peeked sideways at Ian, noticing he'd tensed.
"Hmm," he touched his chin as if puzzled by her unexpected question. "Maybe... my life?"
He giggled, and Judith's expression was full of reproach.
"Just say it! Drinking problems? Or drugs?"
"Wrong."
"Your boyfriend dumped you?"
"Nope."
I felt like I had to move to another topic. But what could I do?
"Oh, the debts!" Moritz tried to guess.
"Actually, I had a lot of money, so nah, nothing like that. Let's just say I gave up."
I felt anxious, on edge.
Judith was dissatisfied with Ian's answer, but as soon as she opened her mouth, I yelled. "For heaven's sake, Ian, could you please fasten your frigging buttons? Everybody sees your nipples!"
I exhaled and instantly regretted my outburst. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on me, bewildered.
"Well," I said and chuckled nervously. "It's... it's inappropriate."
At least I managed to distract them of that awkward, too personal topic... Kind of. I wasn't sure what was more personal — his suicide or his nipples.
I risked to glance at Ian; he lifted one eyebrow, an impish smile touched his lips.
He raised his hand to his shirt, I thought he was going to fasten the buttons, but instead of it, he unbuttoned another one. And then he grinned.
Such a brat, I thought.
I took a step forward, toward Ian and began to fasten the buttons on his shirt, ignoring amused glances in my direction.
I met Ian's glare and intentionally touched his nipple with my nail; Ian's barely noticeable twitched, and I tried to keep my expression innocent.
"Wow..." Judith said. "Is it just me, or it's getting hotter here?"
"It must have been your body cremation," I said between my teeth.
"Could you please keep it a little low-key?" The repulsion in Matthias' voice was unmistakable.
"I'm sorry, Mats," Ian murmured, his eyes still fixed on mine. "I don't speak straight."
Suddenly, Ian's hand locked my wrist in a tight hold. He turned to the others and smiled apologetically.
"Sorry, we have a confession time on the schedule. See you later."
I gasped as he yanked me and rushed me toward the South Gate.
"Hey!" I shouted, stumbling as he dragged me. "Ian, wait!"
Judith and Moritz burst into laughter behind us, Matthias mumbled something disapprovingly.
My thoughts were hazy, almost empty.
I was protesting, but also I was eager to follow him wherever he goes.
I couldn't tell which emotion was stronger – panic, excitement, or irritation. But also I felt happy, and that frightened me. I genuinely enjoyed the gentle sensation of Ian's fingers clenched on my hand.
"Ian," I said. "Where the hell are you going?"
"Jet bridge," Ian replied promptly. "The only place we can actually be alone. Until somebody dies, of course."
We approached the South Gate, where Evi met us with amazed disbelief in her face.
"Five minutes or... whatever..." Ian didn't bother to finish his sentence and jerked the door open.
He pulled me into the jet bridge, and I blinked as the white walls occupied my field of vision.
The door slammed behind Ian, and he looked at me, his face seemed emotionless.
"Are you jealous?" He asked bluntly; his voice was quiet — velvet, muted.
I met his gaze — his dark eyes were intense.
He waited for my answer.
"Yes," I said.
Ian raised one eyebrow at me.
"Do you like me?" He asked, leaning closer to me as he spoke.
I didn't answer. He looked at my face with probing eyes.
"You do like me," he murmured.
He was waiting for any response, but that closeness made me unable to move or speak. Even though every cell in my imperishable body was screaming hysterical positive answers, I could not say a word. It was so silly.
Ian slid closer, forcing me to press back against the wall.
"Amery."
His face was so close to mine; my thoughts were incoherent, dazed, hopeless as he kept closing the distance between us.
"Yes?" I whispered, my voice betrayed my panic.
"Kiss me."
My eyes dropped down at his lips.
"If you... If you want it so badly..." I said hoarsely, my lips barely brushed against his lower lip as I spoke. "Why don't you kiss me?"
His face was just a centimeter from mine; now, I could see a gold hint around the edges of his dark brown irises.
"I won't touch you," he half-whispered. "I won't do anything until you want me to."
"I won't," I replied, this lie sounded almost convincing.
"Are you afraid of Hell?"
"Yes."
"Liar."
"I know."
He closed his eyes.
"I want you to love me," he breathed against my cheek. "I want you to fall in love with me unconditionally, fiercely. I want to be yours."
"You're such a fool," I found my voice and touched his face with the tips of my fingers. Ian blinked open his eyes.
"I am," I could barely hear his answer.
I felt his hesitant hand on my chest; he clutched my shirt in his fingers.
He glanced me in the eye; his face was desperate, indecisive, pleading.
That was enough for me.
I gently placed my hand on the side of his neck and stroked the smooth skin behind his ear with my thumb. He shivered and leaned his cheek against my palm, his eyes closed again.
I pulled my face closer to his and brushed my lips slowly along his jaw, from his ear to his mouth. And then I kissed his parted lips.
If my heart were still beating, it would've been not that easy — I bet it would've thudded against my rib cage erratically, making my hands trembling.
Ian kissed me back bewildered but greedily; I wrapped my arms around his neck as I felt his hands on my back.
It felt blissfully good.
His embraces, his lips, his tongue, and that desperation in his every movement — all this made my thoughts bo
th hazy and frantic.
He frowned as I let go of his face.
"What an agony," he said, his voice was husky. "I feel hopeless."
He dropped his head against my shoulder and pulled me tighter against him. He was nervous, maybe a little embarrassed.
I rubbed his back, comforting him.
"I suppose that was your answer?" he asked. "That was your 'I'm mad for you' confession, right?"
I stroked his hair and sighed.
"Shut the fuck up," I whispered into his ear.
He laughed quietly.
"I'm eager to say something I probably shouldn't," he said softly.
"Then don't."
"That's cold."
"I think I know what you want to say. I'm not an experienced kisser, so you don't really need to make fun of me for it."
Ian pulled back to look in my face; his expression seemed incredulous.
"So, this is exactly how stupid you can be, huh?" He said, narrowing his eyes in mock seriousness.
He laughed at my expression and squeezed me tighter.
"You are a good kisser. Maybe... Maybe the best one. I mean, I kissed a billion guys, you know."
"Do you want me to punch you?"
He leaned closer to my face; I felt his lips brush my cheek.
"I don't mind, but... What I really want is your tongue in my mouth again."
The sudden knock startled both of us: almost simultaneously, we turned to the terminal door from where the sound was coming.
"I guess they want us to come out," I assumed.
"Ugh..."
He let me go, and I unwrapped my arms from around Ian's neck.
"Let's go," I said, barely glancing at him, and frowned to hide my embarrassment.
Ian grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit. I staggered after him, not really willing to let go of his hand.
He threw open the door but stopped on the threshold abruptly, forcing me to bump into his back.
"What's wrong?" I asked softly and looked at Ian's face; his stare seemed glassy. I followed his gaze, and finally, I could see what shocked him.
I could only mouth the word. "No..."
ANNIKA DENNHARDT MMIIIVI03826247 SOUTH GATE. DEPARTURE: HELL.
14. BLACK BOX
My ears rang in the silence.
"An..." Ian whispered beside me, clutching at my hand desperately. I squeezed his fingers.
Finally, my sight spotted Annika, who was looking at her own name on the display board. But she didn't look scared, she didn't even seem surprised, as if she knew that this was about to happen, she seemed ready for it.
I looked around to realize that she was the only one here calm enough to smile. Moritz, Judith, Mrs. Angerer, Thomas — they were looking at her astonished, horrified.
I gazed at Ian, fighting against the stupor weakly.
"Ian," I touched his cheek with my fingers. "Go to her."
Pain touched his features as he glared at me.
Please tell me it's a mistake, his look pleaded.
"Ian," I exhaled.
"I should... should..." he muttered.
"Yes. Go."
He released my hand and moved uncertainly toward the reception desk. As soon, as he crossed the distance between him and Annika, he hugged her tightly, I could see him squeezing his eyes shut as if struggling desperately to hold on to his calm.
"It's... it's fine, Ian," Annika's voice broke. "Please, do not remember me with that expression. I don't want to be your yet another pain."
Ian took her face in his hands and whispered something desperately, looking intently into her eyes. She smiled and nodded. Then he kissed her cheek and hugged her again.
I leaned against the door jamb, feeling utterly helpless. I looked around at the perplexed, bewilderment faces of transfers again.
No one could have imagined that Annika had even a tiny chance of going to Hell. She was one of the brightest, warmest, kindest people in this place, and she was the youngest here.
This whole system, these rules... Completely illogical.
Who created this? Whose rules were we forced to obey?
And why?
'That is not your decision to make.'
'Then, whose? God's? Screw God!'
Who was that God?
Ian released Annika to let her say goodbye to the others. His torn expression made me want to blow this place to atoms, but I knew well no matter how destructive my rage might be, this place would always be undamaged. As well as those immutable rules. As well as our pain.
"Annika," I whispered, stepping toward her, but when she hesitantly touched my shoulder, I couldn't say any more.
"I knew this would happen," she smiled a faint, half-smile.
I was appalled, looking at the seventeen-year-old girl who met that kind of fate with a smile on her face. And then I realized what Annika and Ian had in common, what exactly had brought them closer together. Something I would never understand.
"Don't feel sorry for me," she said, her voice nearly inaudible. "This is the way it should be. I could never go to Paradise, anyway."
I couldn't speak yet, so I just squeezed her hand.
"Annika..." Moritz said, his voice was miserable.
Annika turned to him, she let go of my hand, and I felt a spasm of panic.
"Moritz," Annika turned to him. "Do it. You have to, and you know that. You're my mentor."
His lips pressed into a hard line.
"Mrs. Angerer..." he said. "The dossier, please."
Mrs. Angerer's face was full of despair as she approached Annika to hug her.
"Well..." Annika turned to transfers; her warm gaze flickered from face to face. "I don't want to say goodbye, but I hope... I hope I'll never see you again because all of you have nothing to do there."
I turned to gaze at Evi. Her expression seemed impassive, but I saw a trace of grief deep in her eyes.
I think I finally understood why she was always that cold, indifferent. She had never once got too close to anyone not to feel what Ian was feeling now. And at that moment it seemed the most sensible decision to me.
I'd always thought that the perception of time was relative and subjective and frequently depended on what I was doing, how focused I was, and how I felt both physically and mentally. If I was engaged in routine, tedious work which didn't bring any feeling of satisfaction, then even five minutes might have seemed like endless hours, but if I were engrossed with something exciting, I wouldn't notice how the whole night passed.
But time only mattered back on Earth, at the epicenter of beating hearts, constant wars, sex, and Christmas family gatherings. Here, in Terminal, the time was just a stereotype: nothing but an array of my perceptions and experience accumulated throughout my life.
I wondered how long I spent here in the Archive, sorting through hundreds and thousands of dossiers. It felt like several days — at least a week; my kisses with Ian seemed a distant memory.
Ever since Ian had said his last goodbye to Annika, I hadn't seen him. As soon as Hell door closed behind her, he'd whispered, "Sorry," and that was the last contact I'd had with him.
To my fright, I found myself nearly obsessed with Ian; my mind was preoccupied with the thoughts of him. And I missed him horribly.
Every time I heard his voice coming from the terminal, I was fighting that monstrous urge to come out the Archive to see him — at least from a distance — but my common sense had told me it would be silly and pitiful.
I knew I was one slight touch away from falling in love with him. But the image of Ian's pained expression was still vivid in my mind. And no, that wasn't about any ridiculous, egotistical presuming that my departing could affect Ian that strongly. It was me who was terrified to the point of pseudo-nausea by one thought of him going to that door.
Annoyed by my thoughts, I snapped the folder shut and lay down on the floor, glaring at the white emptiness of the ceiling.
I stretched out, but it wasn't followed by relief in my bod
y, so familiar, long-awaited, sweet.
"Ugh," I mumbled, testing my vocal cords — or the thing I had instead of them in my current body's throat.
Even though my body was different now, those kisses had felt natural, sensual, enjoyable.
I like him, I admitted.
Worse still, I had a deep, almost unhealthy attachment for him. That affection made me anxious, almost scared. I was sure that this relationship wasn't right for either of us.
"I guess I'm just a coward," I whispered.
I sharply exhaled as I realized how pathetic I was. My attempts to avoid him were pointless, childish, and idiotic.
The boundaries were blurred, and I should've tried to think of some way to make them clear.
I knew it was me who had given Ian hope that this could turn into something other than friendship — and at that moment, I had been ready for it too — so now it was me who had to make my position clear.
I gathered the folders together into neat piles, then stood up and tucked my shirt in, involuntarily trying to prolong the moment. No matter how strong my determination seemed, my fear of giving up was much more reliable. My defense was so humiliatingly weak that it would have been enough for Ian to take my hand, and I wouldn't have let it go.
As soon as I opened the Archive door, Judith's face materialized right in front of me, making me jump.
"Son of a..." I barked and exhaled. "Judith!"
"Sorry," she smiled at me. "I haven't seen you in a long time, but I was afraid that if I came to the Archive, you would bury me under a huge pile of folders."
I gave her a reproachful look.
"So, you haven't seen it yet, have you?" Judith asked.
"What?"
She put her hand under my elbow and towed me towards the break room.
"Hey," Moritz greeted me as we passed him; I noticed he was smiling with a wistful sadness in his face.
"He's wonderful, isn't he?" Judith said softly.
"Who? Moritz?" I raised one eyebrow.
"Ian!"
I couldn't agree more.
"Okay, so what on..." I started to complain, but I fell silent as my eyes unerringly focused on the wall between the South Gate and the break room, and I instantly realized what exactly Judith wanted to show me.
The whole wall up to my eye level was covered with dozens of pencil drawings hanging in asymmetrical rows on push pins. My eyes flickered edgily from drawing to drawing; the more I looked at them, the more they fascinated me.