by Thea Archer
A sudden laugh echoed through the high empty walls.
I glanced up at Ian. He laughed, he laughed louder than I'd ever heard.
I froze, tasting terror in the back of my throat.
"Ah, finally!" He exclaimed, still laughing. "That's it."
That's it.
I repeated those words in my head a few times, and it still didn't make any sense.
"No," I repeated, it sounded like there was something stuck in my throat.
"Yes!" Ian seemed more than relieved — he was delighted.
I didn't notice right away that my fingers were desperately grabbing Ian's wrist.
"Hey, what with that beautiful face, huh? Give me one last smile; don't be greedy."
"No!" I yelled a few octaves higher.
"Hey," he softly whispered, his fingers stroked my cheek, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face, that wasn't a broad smile he used to show everybody, that was my smile — intimate, sincere, private; the smile only I could see.
"No, please..." I mumbled pathetically.
He ignored me.
"Ms. Angerer," he turned toward the check-in counter, "would you print my dossier for my beautiful mentor?"
My eyesight blurred, so I only saw she nodded; I felt dizzy like I was standing on the edge of the endlessly high cliff.
"Ian—" Judith said in a weak voice, but Ian interrupted her.
"Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet ladies. Good night, good night.[2] " he exclaimed, and after a pause, he said in an even tone, addressing the transfers."I hate saying goodbye, guys. All I want to say is... I hope I won't see any of your faces there. Be good, all of you."
No, it can't be. No.
"The dossier."
I twitched as Ms. Angerer appeared with a small stack of papers, bound with a black binder clip.
What the hell?
Why is she...
My horror instantaneously turned to anger.
"No!" I shouted, my voice breaking, "I won't sign it!"
Another deafening chasm of silence stretched in the Terminal. I could feel Ian's gaze on my face, but couldn't make myself to look up.
He's going to leave me.
"Amery," Ian said, his voice was quiet, velvet, and muted. "You—"
"FUCK IT!" I barked, "I won't sign it!"
I grabbed the papers from Ms. Angerer's hands and threw them against the wall, ignoring the shocked gasps.
I finally glanced at Ian; he was looking at me, his eyes reproachful.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Angerer, my boyfriend is really quick-tempered," he said with a smile and raised one eyebrow. "What am I going to do with you?"
Don't leave me.
He took my face between his hands and held it very tightly.
"First of all, calm down," he whispered. "There is something I want to tell you in private. Okay? Could you please wait for me in the jet bridge?"
His last words echoed in my chest as an aching shudder. I glanced at the sign HELL uncertainly, and Ian nodded, catching my eye.
"No," I just said.
His eyebrows pulled together; he was looking at me with a peculiar expression in his eyes. "Please?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my chaotic thoughts, yanked his hands off my face, and headed toward the jet bridge, my knees weak — barely bending.
"Ugh, Amery, you crushed a page where I kissed a boy first time, shame on you..." he scoffed.
I guess he wanted to say goodbye to everybody, but I didn't intend to let him go to Hell, I wasn't going to accept that. And I was furious that they did it so easily, just frowning and making sad faces.
I won't let it happen.
I slammed the door behind me with excessive force and suddenly felt my knees trembling. I was leaning weakly against the door leading to Hell, quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent.
What should I do?
My horror turned to desperation. I knew there was nothing I could do. There was no one who could help him. My worst illusion was about to happen, but I couldn't stop it.
Losing him wasn't my worst fear, but I felt gripped in an agony of hopelessness at the thought about the place he was going to enter.
"Hey."
I flinched and looked up at the door sharply.
"Ian," somehow, I managed to strain my vocal cords to voice it, but I didn't know what to say, and, after a short pause, Ian approached me, smiling warmly, his hands in the pockets.
"They seem worrying about you more than about me," he said. "I'm a little jealous."
"I'm not going to—"
"Amery," he interrupted me, "you haven't any say in that."
"I... won't let you go," I tried to say it calmly, but my voice was shaky.
"You have to, you know."
In an instant, I wanted to shout, but suddenly, strength left me wholly empty and weak, so all I could do was exhale desperately. "Ian, please..."
He blissfully smiled as if enjoying his own name in my voice.
How could I leave him? How could I let him go?
"Amery, just read my dossier. At least the last few pages of it. There is something that I've not told you. Something that could answer all your questions. This is just another confirmation that my place is there."
I shook my head furiously, trying to find my voice.
"No. I won't read it. I want... I want you to tell me everything. You promised you'll tell me."
"I'm sorry." His smile faded as he said that, and a hard edge crept into his voice.
We drove in ghastly silence for a while as I contemplated the coming horror.
"Amery," Ian finally said. "Won't you... hug me?" I'm a bit... a bit scared."
Those timid words and an embarrassed look made every cell of my body — whatever it was made of in this world — screaming in pain.
I held out my arms, and he snuggled into my chest, clutching fiercely at me.
"I love you," he whispered.
I wasn't sure if I had ever felt such pain even when I was alive.
I wanted to say that I love him too, but I couldn't squeeze out any words of my throat through the lump in it.
I stroked his hair, adoring this prickly sensation on my palm.
He pulled back to reach into the back pocket of his trousers and pull out a piece of paper, with creases from being opened and refolded many times.
"Look... I'll take this with me. Annika drew it for me. She was incredibly talented, right?"
I looked down and saw my own face, neatly penciled on the backward side of one of the pages of Ian's dossier.
I wanted to scream.
"Ian... I can't let you go."
"You know you have to. No one can open this door except me. You don't want to create a zombie queue here, right?"
Don't you dare joke now. Don't you dare smile that way.
I pulled him closer to me again, this time to place a kiss on his neck.
"Amery," he said, carefully adjusting the collar of my shirt, "I'm so happy I fell in love. And I'm... so happy I found out what it feels like to be loved. Just let me said that again, I love you; I don't know if I'm delirious; I don't know if you are my fantasy or some near-death hallucination... But I don't think that I've ever experienced something like this in my life. Thank you."
He smiled, and I realized that I was dying again. But this time, I felt much more pain than the first one.
He let me go and turned to the door.
"No," I could only say, "Ian, don't... don't leave. Please. Don't."
I managed to grab his fingers, but a sudden weakness in my legs made me lost my balance, and I fell to my knees.
This sharper pain in my chest unexpectedly made me feel alive.
Ian turned around then smiled at me alluring, his eyes sparkling. He squatted, clenching my hands in his fingers.
"Wherever my new world begins," he whispered, "in paradise, or under cover of a coffin; my soul stays alive, thanks to him... My best, azure-colored-eyed sin."
No, don't leave, I pleaded silently. Please don't say goodbye to me like that. Please take me with you. Please stay.
"No, please, no-no-no-no..."
He let go of my hands, but I didn't try to catch his fingers again, because they immediately touched my cheeks. But I didn't know; I didn't understand right away that this gentle kiss on my forehead was his last touch.
He opened the door and smiled again.
Ian Hassler, the man who went to Hell with a smile on his face, taking away a part of me, taking away my mind, taking away my meaning.
That was my second death.
20. DAMAGED LIFE VEST
Dozens of pairs of eyes were aimed at me. Those gazes seemed to me dark, icy, egotistical, indifferent.
It was hurt.
They looked at me; their souls were fixed against my own.
It was very hurt.
"Sven—" Evi's voice burst into my darkened consciousness.
"Don't talk to me," I interrupted.
The sounds of my stumbling footsteps echoed thought the deep piercing silence.
Yes, that was exactly what I wanted — the deaf solitude. I wanted them all to shut up. I wanted them to disappear. Forever.
I approached the check-in counter; Ms. Angerer met my gaze for a second before shifting her eyes to the floor.
"The dossier," I said.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then she hurriedly handed me the stack of papers. I threw it on the counter table, enjoying that rough, heavy sound, and opened the last page.
'...just read my dossier. At least the last few pages of it.'
You promised me.
I glanced at the last paragraph with an empty signature line.
DEPARTURE: HELL
I shoved my hand in the pocket of my trousers for the pencil and fumbled something papery in it. I pulled it out and felt the electrifying ache run through my body.
A paper crane.
A few seconds, I was staring at it numb and then noticed something was written on the wings.
It was Ian's rough, uneven handwriting.
I thrust the crane in the back pocket, where I already had the piece of paper that fell out of Ian's fingers when the Hell's door closed behind him. All that remained of Ian were me, the paper crane, and that smooth grayish lines on the page of his dossier. My restless soul and my faded smile on a portrait.
"A pencil," I demanded loudly, my voice husky.
Someone held me out a pencil with trembling fingers. I took it and signed the dossier, squeezing the pencil as if my efforts would've eased the pain that occupied my whole being.
"Sven—"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
I turned around sharply and flung the pencil in the direction of the voice dared to call me by my name — at Moritz.
The voice, the words, the touches, the promises, and one sincere, huge confession — all that I had were my memories. But they were still alive; they were breathing, bleeding.
It was hurt, incurably hurt, destructing my being at the molecular level. And I was feeling it just like a human body could feel the scratches, broken bones, and burns. But here we are, helpless creatures, like the bare electrical wires — the souls without any protective shell. And I felt collapsing. The soul is imperishable? Such nonsense.
The human body is amazing. The human body can cry to ease the pain or take a deep breath to reduce fear. What could I do? Not a single tear. Not a single tear that would've given at least some temporary relief, not a single breath, nothing.
My gaze met Judith's face, who was looking at me ruefully and then fixed at Hurl, who wanted to say something but hesitated.
I grabbed Ian's dossier and headed toward the Archive, where I could release at least one tiny fraction of the anguish that absorbed me, by trying to destroy something from the outside, so as not to be destroyed from the inside.
***
To my angry, jealous, insecure, perfect boyfrienb
I wish with all my heart that I couid turn back time and make it right.
I was so egoistoic, and I dared to fall in love — madly fall in love — wlth the one I killed.
It was pointless to get down on my knees and apologize because uyo should never forgive me.
I quivered, though I wasn't cold.
I was lying in the Archive, among the thousands of ripped and crumpled papers as an epicenter of a devastating earthquake. To my utter astonishment, no one tried to stop me as I was ruining everything around me. Perhaps they knew it wouldn't take long to give up — destroying didn't bring me any satisfaction or relief. I wasn't even tired, not physically, at least.
I couldn't remember how long it had been since he was gone. I was just lost in a blunt stupor, sank in the numbness, not trying to find the strength to get to my feet again.
'I have awful dyslexia, and that's just pain in the ass since I'm a developer, I would say it's ironical even.'
I ran my fingers across the crane's wrinkled paper wings, picturing Ian writing this, his black eyebrows pulled together in frustration as he was trying to see misspells and failing.
I reread the words I'd already memorized, trying to analyze them. What did he mean, he killed me? It still didn't make any sense to me.
'...just read my dossier.'
I shifted my eyes to the only folder remained undamaged — Ian's profile — and remembered his bleak expression while before his final destination was announced.
Did he know something I should've known to? Did I want to know?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to locate some courage.
My fingers reached out tentatively for the folder.
I took a deep breath, though, it was pointless, and the anxiety only grew stronger.
I sat down and opened the last page, familiar digits caught my eye, and I bent my head to read paragraph more closely.
PLACE OF DEATH: 48°07'52.6"N 11°31'49.5"E
CAUSE OF DEATH: SUICIDE
STATUS (YES / NO): YES
STATUS DETAILS: MURDERER (victims: humans — 3)
RECOMMENDATION: HELL
My fingers suddenly weakened, the folder slipped out on the floor, my thoughts erratic.
I pulled myself up to all fours and reached out for the other dossier lying on the floor a meter from me — the one I'd wanted to rip apart on the million pieces before the deep despair wholly occupied my body — my dossier.
I flipped through the profile, easily finding the page I needed.
PLACE OF DEATH: 48°07'52.3"N 11°31'49.0"E
CAUSE OF DEATH: MURDER
STATUS (YES / NO): YES
STATUS DETAILS: VICTIM
RECOMMENDATION: PARADISE
I gazed down at the first line in my dossier and suddenly felt dizzy.
We'd died in the same place; moreover, we were just a few meters apart.
I looked at the status details column, and realization stabbed me deep into the stomach.
Those three victims were Ian himself, his father, and...
"Me..." I whispered.
In a thousandth time, I recalled that day I died — wet road, piercing red lights, the squealing sound of wheels, and pain.
He had jumped off that overpass and caused the accident I'd died in.
I felt my lips were curving into an involuntary smile.
Did that stubborn, silly kid think that I would hate him? Didn't he know how recklessly, deliriously I was in love with him?
I met him here. And here, with him, I was happier than I've ever been. I believed that this was something that supposed to happen. This was right.
Until...
I lay down on the floor and curled inward, hugging my ribs while my mind couldn't move past the fear, the horror.
An infinite blazing fire, boiling water, thorny shrubs, scorpions and serpents, a frozen lake of blood and guilt, endless suffering and torments — my head swirled with the memory of all the concepts of Hell I'd ever heard or read about.
He didn't deserve
all that, not after the things he went through.
He's alone again, I realized. He's all alone again.
Agony ripped through my body with the memory of his face.
"Make believe it's your first time..." I murmured. "Leave your sadness behind..."
I gasped as the lump in my throat made me choke.
"Make believe it's your first time... And I'll make believe it's mine."
Please, God, please, if you're there, forgive him.
Please, please, give him back. Please return this soul, one single soul, the most restless one, the most sincere... Please, give him back to me.
I noticed my cheek was pressed against my own, not too thick dossier.
Here I am. Ninety-four pages, full of my empty days, meaningless actions, full of my twenty-seven years of pure nothing.
All that remained of me were crumpled pages — the only proof that I existed. But not a single letter was worth to be printed. Not a single word should've been read — it was pointless, irrelevant. I was irrelevant.
My life was insignificant, my soul was weak, and my body had surrendered under the weight of several hundred kilograms of metal.
I wanted to disappear.
My gaze fell on the glossy black pushpin that was lying on the floor among the ripped and much-abused papers. I uncurled my arms from around my stomach to reach it with my fingers.
I touched the tip of the pin — it was sharp, prickly. I pressed it harder against my thumb tip, it was hurt, but my skin remained undamaged.
"They won't harm you."
I gazed up lazily to meet the owner of the soft voice beside me. I heard the door opened but preferred to ignore it.
Evi threw a glance at the pushpin in my hands.
"You can scratch your hands as much as you like, they won't harm you. As well as pencils, paper clips, and other stationery. I tried everything."
The last sentence made me catch her dark look.
She leisurely approached me and sat down beside me, leaning her back against the wide table leg.
"You have no idea how much I wanted to get out of here," Evi said and shot a glance at my crumpled portrait on the floor.
"And it didn't work," I guessed, and after a short pause continued. "This pin hurts me, but... it can't injure me. Our souls are so strong?"