Death In My Voice [Severe Editing Era]

Chapter 15

         "The investigation is not yet complete," I heard barely audible muttering. 

         "I know," I barely had enough strength to suppress the tremor in my voice. "But if I die, I die in the struggle for my own happiness."

          "Why don't you wait while we experiment on other people?"

           "Because it seems to me that more than a month will be crucial for me. I don't have enough strength." the voice breaks into a whisper, and the fingers are nervously fingering the gold chain on the left wrist.

          "Fine," finally, Tony gets up.

           It is even strange that a person for whom the probability of death in the procedure of restoring the legs is about thirty per cent is so happy. 

          "Thank you," I so wanted to get up, hug Stark tightly and firmly and inhale the smell of eternal engine oil, which seemed to be tightly ingrained in all his clothes. 

            But I just went to the exit, after hearing only: 

          "Next week. And don't die there, please. I can not stand the burden of responsibility for the death of another person."

        One stone in my soul was replaced by another, which squeezed my throat no less tightly. The week seemed nervous, so I decided to complete all my affairs quickly and quietly. I paid all the bills, received all the parcels, rechecked the calculation of the dose of serum I needed, and thus went to a personal lawyer after five days. 

          Mr Adams was waiting for me at noon. At eleven, fully assembled, I asked Steve to take me to the law office of Schiffrin & Barroway, where I had to complete some formalities with my property.

         "Why do you need to be here, if it is not a secret?" Rogers drove me to the doors and opened them for my unhindered entry.

           "I need to make a testament," I whisper in a calm voice. Steve even asked if he hadn't misheard, but, realising the seriousness of my intentions, he left, promising to come in exactly two hours. 

             In the office of Mr Adams, there was also a little light, a lot of clerical dust and cups from under the drunk coffee. He hastily removed everything and then helped me take off my coat. Having checked all my documents for authenticity, we proceeded. 

            I often imagined the feelings that I would have had if I had only a few days or weeks to live. 

           I just wanted to wrap myself in a warm blanket, listen to my favourite music and drink hot chocolate with marshmallow. I am guided by the idea that you do not breathe before dying, so why somehow have time to finish your work, if, in the end, everything is rotten? 

          "May I ask one question?" I nod. Mr Adams folds his hands in front of him in the lock and slightly leans forward, squinting his little eyes. "Why does such a young and beautiful girl make a testament so early? Are you sick?"

         "Something like that," I reach for my bag and take out a few envelopes from thick rough paper with names written on it. "Could you in case of my death pass these letters to people whose names are written here? I'll give you a little hint on how to find them: they are from Avengers." 

         Mr Adams was aware of my work, and therefore, without asking any questions, he took the envelopes with his sausage fingers and put it in a folder with my name. 

         Well, now I can be sure that, in which case, all that I didn't have time to say will be expressed and accepted by the recipients of these same letters.