I find myself stumbling forward, coming to kneel beside her trembling form. “I—I’m sorry, Vi! I’m so sorry...”
But we’ve become two parallel lines and there’s no chance of us interacting, not anymore.
Violet’s head swoops up. I think, for a desperate second, that maybe, somehow, she can feel me there, but she continues to ignore me, as she looks across to the paramedic. “What do I do? I don’t know what to do? I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.”
The paramedic hesitates, then gently helps her up. “We’ll take you to the hospital. Do you have the numbers for her parents?”
Violet nods mutely. She’s starting to go a little blank, like a computer crashing. I know that look; I know that it doesn’t bode well for her mental well-being at all. But I’m helpless, invisible. Stuck. All I can do is trail after her. Violet takes each step slowly, cautiously. She leans on the paramedic like a crutch, hitched sobs escaping from her mouth. Each one feels like someone’s sticking a pin into my heart.
I try to block them out. I glance back down our street. That blissful quiet and darkness I remember is gone. All because of me. The houses look like some strange art installation, with the blue lights of the ambulance flashing on them, over and over. People are peering out of windows, some are on the steps, all of them watching with that sick fascination that everyone has, rubbernecking car accidents because we find some sense of safety in knowing that, this time, we were the lucky ones. Except now it’s they, not we.
I can see the ambulance, doors open and one other paramedic inside. He hops up, moves to help Violet sit down in the ambulance before helping his colleague lift the gurney down onto the street. Violet stumbles as if her legs have gone to jelly, pressing a hand to her face as she practically howls with grief.
This is the problem with loving someone so dearly. It will break you when they’re gone.
* * *
I can’t be in this chaotic street anymore. Everything’s too bright, too loud, like the very edges of the world are starting to press closer and closer. I have to get out. Now.
But as I hurry down the street and back into the flat, I’m horrified to find that the lift that inexplicably transported me here has now, equally inexplicably, disappeared.
“No, no, no! Come on!” I rush forward, my fingers floundering through thin air, desperately searching for a button, a door, anything. “PLEASE!”
“Over here.”
I turn toward the sudden and jarringly calm voice. There, ten paces to my left, is the lift. Somehow the walls of it seem to seamlessly blend into the very fabric of the world. No wonder I couldn’t find it. Without the opened doors, there’s no hint of it being there. But the doors are opened now. And Death stands there, framed by the warm glow of the lift’s single light. His expression is inscrutable but then he sighs, taking in the surroundings somewhat wearily, as if this is all a great inconvenience to him. Then he steps to one side, gesturing inward.
“Come on. I think you’ve seen enough.”
Perhaps too quickly, I comply. Maybe later I’ll regret how quickly and easily I step away from my flat and my life. But right now it feels so hostile, so unwelcoming.
I step into the lift, and I don’t look back. Not until the doors have swooshed shut behind me.
I can feel Death staring at me as heavy tears roll down my face. I can also feel myself bristling under it, preparing myself for a barrage of platitudes about this being a blessing in disguise or whatever crap he’s going to come out with.
But his first words, a long few seconds later, are not quite what I expect.
“Soooo—there’s no need to warn you about visiting your relatives now.”
I stare for a moment, then manage to find my voice again. “What?”
He gestures around the small space, though he keeps his eyes on me. Like he’s expecting me to combust if he doesn’t keep a close watch. “Going in the lift. Down to your relatives. Not a good idea.”
“I—I’m dead.” The words slip out of my mouth in a weak, croaking imitation of my usual voice.
Death blinks. “I did explain that already.”
“What?”
Death sighs, fiddles with the buttons on his shirtsleeves. “I told you that you were dead. Remember?”
I’m flabbergasted. “It’s not... I didn’t mean...” I grit my teeth, trying to get my thoughts straight. It’s not like me to be unable to get a good rebuttal out when necessary. “I know you told me, but funnily enough it’s not something that I can get my head around just like that.”
“Oh.”
I stare at him, as he looks away and toward the doors with an air of complete disinterest. “Oh?” I echo. “That’s it?”
“Yes. That’s it. What else did you expect?”
The lift doors ding, then slide open. We’re back in that off-white corridor, but I make no move to leave the lift just yet.
“I expected you to have some understanding of what dying does to someone’s head.”
“Well, in your case, I know quite well what death did to your head!” A small grin slides up his face as he gestures to the back of his own head with an unpleasant cracking sound coming from his mouth. Clearly he’s rather pleased with his little pun. I, on the other hand, am not.
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
He shrugs. “I found it funny.” Then he gestures one hand out of the lift, a silent invitation for me to get out of it. But I still don’t move.
“They were going to ring my parents.” The words leave my mouth all of a sudden and without much warning.
“That is the general procedure, yes.”
His coldness feels like a slap in the face. I force myself to push on. “I want to be with them. I need to be with them.”
“Why? They can’t see you, you know.”
“That’s not the point.”
Death looks at me for a long moment. “Did you not hear me before? About seeing relatives? Do you really think that’s something you want to do again?” he asks, though he doesn’t sound as if he’s particularly interested in the response.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not about me seeing it. I need to be there with them.” It alarms me that this man in charge of our mortality seems to have no idea what we as humans are actually like.
His eyes narrow, then he checks his watch. Silently calculating whether my parents’ grief will fit into his schedule. Finally he looks up again, meets my gaze. “You can have ten minutes. That should be enough, right?”