TERMINAL Read online

  Evi looked at me, questioning.

  "He's freaking handsome," I replied.

  Evi smiled, and I was surprised to see such a joyful smirk. She stood up, slapped me on the shoulder, and left the Archive, but I could not get rid of the feeling that there was still something she wanted to say but did not dare.

  Once again, I was left alone with tons of dossier folders and thousands of binder paper clips. But that option perfectly suited me; I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of feeling lonely.

  The truth is that I did not really enjoy people. I got my introversion from my mother, who even chose the profession which excludes frequent and close contact with people. Having received a fantastic financial education in Austria, this woman has worked all her life as a Landscape Designer. So I believed that my birth — as well as the fact that she nevertheless has got married — could be safely assumed as a miracle.

  Well, Ian... Ian was the one whose company was the hardest thing for me to endure. Loud, exaggerated, insistent, and bitchy guy. I'd got a headache just looking at that kind of person.

  "Check, check, one, two..."

  I flinched at the sudden loud voice that cut the silence cruelly.

  "Ian?" I whispered, looking around the ceiling where the voice came from.

  "I greet all of you, tragically dead souls!" The voice declared solemnly. "For those who don't know... My name is Ian Hassler; I was born in the charming bohemian city of Munich on August eighth. Now a little bit more about me. I died on July twenty-two, Leo, half-Thai, my psychological age completely coincides with my actual age, and in the quiz "Which Star Wars Character Are You?" I'm Lando..."

  Obviously, he used a loudspeaker from the reception desk; this time, he wanted the biggest audience possible.

  "...well, my friends, although my heart was cruelly broken by one sweet word of one of the most charming characters I have ever met... what? Are you asking who is that guy?"

  I jumped to my feet, dropping several dossiers from my lap.

  "Sven Amery Reinsch, of course. So beautiful, but oh so ruthless..."

  "I'll kill him," I grumbled and headed for the exit.

  His behavior had long gone beyond my patience, but now he crossed the line. He literally made fun of me in front of everyone.

  I threw open the terminal door, which thunderously bounced off the wall by force and nearly bumped me in the face.

  Stepping into the terminal, I looked around to see the source of my biggest headache ever since I died.

  Iain was right in the middle of his another satirical performance; he was standing on the reception desk and definitely enjoyed the dumbfounded stares of transfers. Anyway, there was nothing new; I was ready to see something like this as soon as I heard his arrogant voice.

  But now it was me who drew the attention of all present: maybe for my furious heavy footsteps echoing through the hall or perhaps for the blow of the door which miraculously was still on its hinges.

  "Oh..." Ian murmured, he smiled a faint, half-smile, his dark eyes flashed over to meet mine. His posture was somehow feline; his frame was willowy, graceful even in absolute stillness. His unbearable self-esteem seemed entirely justified, though it still pissed me off.

  We exchanged a long glance before he spoke again into the wireless lavalier microphone.

  "Actually..." He paused, and then he grinned at me again. "I'm here to invite a few people to play a monopoly, but... I feel something fascinating coming."

  I took some deep breaths, which, however, did not calm me at all, and walked toward the reception desk resolutely. The strained silence stretched in the Terminal, I felt Evi's warning glances on me but preferred to ignore it.

  Stopping right at Ian's feet, I looked up at him.

  "What is it, my love?" He almost sang.

  I gestured him to bent over.

  Ian blinked, his expression was merely curious. He squatted down, and I took advantage of that to grab him by the collar of his shirt.

  "Show's over," I growled fiercely, pulling him off the reception desk. "You're coming with me."

  "Ow... Hey!" Despite the indignant voice, Ian still was smiling, he obediently jumped off the desk, I knew he could resist if he wished, but he didn't even try. "You're so cruel! I like it."

  I grabbed the microphone out of his hand and threw it on the table; the squelching noise burst the shocked muteness, someone gasped.

  "Come on, my love," I said and roughly dragged Ian out of the Terminal hall.

  "I wonder if you're also that rough in bed."

  As soon as we were in the break room, I slammed Ian against the wall; I heard the breath whooshed from his lungs by the impact.

  "Sven? What's..."

  I turned back; there were several transfers from the East Gate: Leena, Cathleen, and two other people, whose names I'd forgotten.

  "Sorry... Would you guys give us a second, please?" I said.

  I ignored their curious glances and waited until we were alone in the room.

  "You..." I snarled. "What the hell are you doing? Do you know where you are?"

  Ian smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.

  "Right now... I'm one tiny step away from shoving my tongue into your mouth."

  I grabbed his shirt and pressed him against the wall.

  "Why... Why me? Why does it have to be me?"

  Ian closed his eyes for a moment and then smiled, exhaling painfully.

  "That's why," he said. "What I get from you is what I always wanted."

  "What?"

  I looked at his smug face and grimaced.

  "I'm sick of you," I said. "That's enough."

  He gazed at me with his eyebrows raised.

  "Amery," he said quietly as if for the first time worrying that someone would hear us, "are you so mad... because you hate me? Or because you're attracted to me?"

  "I'm mad because someone like you didn't go straight to Hell," I said.

  Ian said nothing; he just looked me in the eye with this annoying penetrating gaze.

  I let him go.

  "You..." I exhaled angrily and looked away. "All you've ever done is breaking the law, fucking and lying. I saw your dossier."

  "So you've read it," he said, still grinning; his face turned expressionless, cold, only a hint of contempt touched his eyes.

  "So, what do you think?" he asked.

  "Pathetic."

  He continued to hold my gaze with cool shade in his eyes, and then his lips turned up in a smile.

  "Amery, you are making things worse."

  "What?"

  Ian cocked his head to one side, and I tensed for his reaction. He slowly extended his hand toward me, and I realized that he was going to touch my face, maybe kiss me. But I knew what was coming next; I was going to punch him in the ear as soon as his fingers touch my face.

  Ian's fingers were a couple of centimeters from my face; I felt defensive.

  "Beep," he said, touching the tip of my nose with his index finger.

  I'll kill him.

  "You..." I said, my voice was low as a whisper.

  "Amery!" Ian interrupted me carelessly. "Stop thinking about dirty things, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

  I almost choked with rage.

  "Hassler, are you really looking for a fight?"

  He smiled at me softly, his arms folded tight over his chest.

  "Amery," he said. "I like you."

  I looked into his face; he seemed like he was joking, but I couldn't be sure.

  "You are dead," I said. "As well as me."

  He frowned at me for a second, and then he shrugged.

  "Not a big deal."

  "Just... snap out of it," I said. "Give up. This is not the place you could fuck everyone; this is not the Grindr. This is the place where we, a bunch of dead souls, taking away another's."

  I turned away and strode off toward the Archive.

  "Amery," Ian called out, and I turned around reluctantly.

  He
looked at me, half a smirk on his lips, but his eyes were serious.

  "Even the reaper could fall in love. If he meets someone who could understand him."

  7. AEROPHOBIA

  "Hey, I think I left two dossiers from the South Gates here, did you happen to—"

  I stopped short.

  The break room was often quite crowded and noisy place, but I definitely didn't expect to see that.

  Five transfers were sitting around in a circle on the floor, and they all argued fervently about something, talking over each other; each of them was holding several neatly cut pieces of paper.

  "It was the star!" exclaimed Hurl, the most mature transfer in the Terminal; he was sixty-two when he died of a heart attack, he was one of the most optimistic people in here.

  "I've lived long enough, so it just breaks my heart to see young people like you here," he'd said once.

  "It wasn't your turn," replied Matthias, who occupied the top of the list of the most attractive men here, although his heterosexuality was sobering me just as much as his superficial and rather puritanical views. "Max put the Reverse card."

  "Max played a Draw Four," Marie retorted, she was remarkable for her quiet temper and unwavering politeness, which, I believe, was developed during those twenty years of work in the service sector.

  "That was my Draw Four card."

  "No, your Draw Four was flowered."

  "Here is my flowered Draw Four, but—"

  "Just look!"

  I bent my head to peer at the pieces of paper in their hands.

  "Is it..." I muttered dazed. "It's Uno?"

  Finally, they paid attention to me, interrupting their controversy.

  "Oh, Sven!" Hurl looked up at me and smiled warmly. "Yeah, Ian made these cards. You know, we have no colored pencils here, so he drew flowers, stars, hearts, and diamonds instead of colors."

  Ian... Who else? Who else could have suggested an idea to adult, dead enough people, waiting for their fate in the damned semblance of the Limbo, about playing Uno?

  "I see..." I said, realizing that I had forgotten the reason I came here.

  "Sven, don't you want to join us?" Marie asked.

  "Um, maybe later. Thanks."

  "Actually, that's—"

  "To hell with that shit!"

  Everyone in the room flinched as Ian's sudden cry broke through the silence. But the words and the loudness was not that disturbing, as the violent tone; everyone in the Terminal got used to Ian's defiant performances, but nobody had ever heard him screaming in rage.

  "I can't accept that!" Ian shouted.

  "Enough now!" I recognized Evi's voice cried in the same anger.

  "What the hell..." I mumbled and caught a few embarrassed glances in my direction.

  Right. I was a mentor now, which means I also had to address the chaos caused by my troublemaker protégé.

  I sighed and didn't make any comments before heading toward the terminal from where the uproar was coming.

  I inhaled deeply before opening the door.

  Inside, I found the exact scene my meager imagination invented: Evi's furious face, a frightened older man - an arrival, I supposed, and Ian. The only thing I couldn't imagine was Ian's face: I'd never seen that expression on his face — it was hostile, enraged, and somehow fearful.

  "What's wrong?" I stepped to Ian, and he gave me a pained look I'd also never expected to see.

  "I won't do that anymore," Ian said, his voice broke.

  I glanced at Evi, who struggled to keep her composure.

  "Sven, I'll leave it to you," she murmured.

  I looked at Ian, annoyance rekindled.

  "Ian, what the hell?"

  "This... This is crazy!" He screamed, a trace of pain touched his features.

  "Don't shout, you're scaring people, okay?" Evi said dryly, causing an even larger dose of anger.

  "I don't give a shit," Ian said wrathfully. "I will not do this anymore."

  I looked at Ian with a strong sense of déjà vu. I touched his shoulder, but he shook off my hand.

  "You have to," Evi hissed. "You have to if you want to get out of here."

  "What's happening?" The older man asked uncertainly; his eyes were astonished as they flickered swiftly between Evi's and Ian's faces.

  I stepped forward.

  "Evi, could you please get him aw—"

  "YOU ARE DEAD!" Ian yelled at the arrival, hoarsely.

  "Ian!" I shouted, my voice was sharper than I'd intended, but it finally drew Ian's attention.

  He cast a short frantic glance in my direction.

  "Calm down," I said, almost pleading.

  "Ian, shut your mouth," Evi barked, and I looked around the hall: the scene caught not only the transfers' attention but also arrival's, for whom becoming a witness to such a thing right after the death was obviously not really fun.

  "NO!" Ian roared. "If it's so easy for you to accept that crap, then I have news for you: you're a frigging sociopath!"

  I was too amazed to say something.

  "I have no other choice!" Evi replied, her voice edged up a few octaves.

  "You have a choice! And I just proved it!"

  "That is not your decision to make."

  "Then, whose? God's? Screw God!"

  I stepped forward in front of Ian to be the only person in his sight.

  "Ian," I said almost gently. "Listen to me."

  He exhaled in a gust, looking at me.

  "Calm down, okay?" I said.

  "But..." his voice was quieter now, and his expression was desperate rather than enraged. "How... How is that even..."

  His face stunned me — his expression was pained; I discovered that I could sympathize with Ian in a way I didn't think possible before.

  "I know," I said, shooting a glance at Evi. "Let's get away from here, talk this over, okay?"

  Ian inhaled, but before he could argue further, I added. "I won't try to convince you or something. If you don't want to do it, then don't."

  "Sven!" Evi shouted, exasperated.

  I turned around; my face was probably more disrespectful than planned.

  "He has a right to refuse," I said. "I'm sorry, Evi, but... You are not in charge here."

  I ignored Evi's murderous gaze and lightly touched my hand to his shoulder.

  "Let's go."

  Ian followed after me in the Archive, and when the terminal's heavy door swung shut behind us, he stopped.

  "Amery," Ian's voice trembled a little. "I don't want to do it anymore."

  For the first time, I wasn't annoyed that he called me by my second given name, I guess he rather got used to it because he clearly didn't seem in a mood for jokes.

  I glanced briefly at him and saw a flash of something in his eyes that I wasn't supposed to see. That was an odd mix of horror and hopelessness. I think at that moment, Ian would have been crying. But, of course, this place didn't allow us to express our feeling in such a banal, but so facilitating way, so I did not see any tear.

  I was looking at his face, amused by his expression.

  In the eyes of others, he was just a daring bully that always forgot about the common decency, not realizing the permissible boundaries and neglecting the personal space of people, considering them unworthy of such attention. But a dozen emotions played across his face, and I studied his features with a strangely greedy sense of admiration. When he was so sincere, he seemed even more attractive.

  Ian squatted, leaning his back against the wall.

  "So..." I began, hesitant. "Let me guess, that was a child?"

  "H-how do you know?" he stammered.

  I sat on the floor beside him and made a weak grimace.

  "Why do you think I'm working here in the Archive?" I replied. "I had to depart a seven-year-old girl to Hell. So... I kind of know what you are feeling right now."

  "Madness..." Ian murmured, he ruffled his hair nervously.

  "Yep." I smiled darkly.

  "And what did you do?" Ian aske
d.

  "Made a scene. Not as emotional as you, since I'm not really good at it, but... I refused to work at the gates."

  "So... Seven years old, huh?" Ian muttered.

  "Yes. You know, tiny girl, cute like a little doll. Somebody's daughter. Somebody's reason for living... I could not bring her to the door, I felt... Frozen. Evi did it."

  Ian suddenly snorted, burying his face in his hands.

  "I feel like an idiot."

  I raised one eyebrow questioningly; he did not see my face but continued. "It was a fifteen-year-old boy. A teen. And he had to work here."

  "As a transfer?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought Annika was the youngest of the transfers."

  "Hell no, this insanity has no limits."

  Ian looked up; he smiled a tight smile, his eyes softened.

  "And... he wasn't that teen, who... you know, he wasn't like me. He was rather like you."

  "Like me?"

  "Yeah, I mean... Straight-A student, bookish, nice kid."

  "So you're saying I'm a nerd?"

  He laughed at me, his eyes warm.

  "Well, aren't you?" he asked.

  "I am," I admitted reluctantly and bit my lip to hide my smile.

  I tried to remember if I'd saw a teen among the crowd of transfers in the Terminal.

  "Where is he now?"

  Ian turned away, his eyes went blank.

  "He... I don't know what happened... He went to Paradise. Almost immediately, his status changed, and the place of departure appeared."

  "I never knew it could be like this," I frowned.

  "Anyway... I'm sorry I put you through all that trouble. I'll try to be more helpful in something else."

  "If you want..." I began hesitantly. "You can help me in the Archive. There is a lot of work here."

  He gazed up at me anxiously.

  "Are you okay with it?"

  I just couldn't seem to look away from his face. This question was so genuine, so innocent, so... childish?

  It was not that Ian Hassler, I thought I knew. But somehow it was Ian Hassler I wanted to get to know.

  8. BIRD STRIKE

  CAUSE OF DEATH: SUICIDE

  I shut the folder.

  Did he really commit suicide? Why?

  This guy... He was arrogant, frivolous; he didn't seem a person who would throw himself off a flyover to end his most grandiose, lifelong performance.