An elderly man lies in front of me. He is alone; a withered husk of the man he once was. I always feel sad when I see what the ravages of time do the human body, it doesn't seem fair. I walk to the side of his bed and sit. His breathing is laboured and his eyes are a milky haze. It's funny how it's only on the brink of death that people can see me. He seems to sense my presence first, and then turns towards me as I sit on the edge of his bed. His voice is a rasping crackle, "I'm not ready".
"I know." It's all I can think to say. I can feel his body is tired, but his soul is clinging on.
"Then why?" he asks.
"Because it's time to let go".
This fragile man is so dehydrated he can hardly muster a single tear. I look to the bedside table and see an old picture of a couple on their wedding day. It's hard to believe the groom is the shrivelled man who is before me.
"Where is your wife?" I ask.
"Gone." He replies.
"I'm sorry."
"Our daughter will bring her back in the morning to see me."
"Oh," is all I can muster in reply. I am caught for a moment, embarrassed. Usually in these situations 'gone' means dead.
The man continues, "Please, let me say goodbye to them." He reaches out to touch me. I stand, avoiding his touch, and say: "I can't, it doesn't work like that."
The man doesn't argue; he seems oddly accepting of his fate.
"What's on the other side?" he asks.
"I don't know; I've never been. I'm just here to help you get there."
I sit back on the edge of the bed and place my hand over his, temporarily pushing through the veil that separates our worlds to feel the paper thin texture of his skin. I've always hated this part. It doesn't feel right. I think about what the person is leaving behind; whether their life mattered. What they would have done differently. I listen as the man draws his final crackling breath. The machine monitoring his vital signs begins to bleep and whine. I pull the old man out of his body and clutch him to my side as a plump middle-aged nurse enters the room, followed by a bleary-eyed young doctor.
"Am I really dead?" The man looks down at his old frail body as the doctor and nurse swarm over his lifeless form.
"Yes." I reply. "Do you want to see this?" I gesture towards the medical staff trying to resuscitate the elderly man.
"Why would I want to see this?" the man gapes.
"I don't know. I guess it gives some people closure."
I begin to walk out of the room and into the corridor, and gesture towards the man to follow me, except he's not old anymore; he looks barely seventeen.
An orderly pushing an empty wheelchair walks straight through us, shocking the newly-dead man. He pats his hands over his body to ensure he is intact.
"What now?" he asks.
"I don't know," I reply in earnest. "Every death is different."
"Michael?" We turn towards the voice and there stands a barefoot girl with blonde hair, wearing a cream dress.
The girl sees the man's young face and smiles at him. "Michael, let's go," she blushes and looks at the floor.
"Mary?" the man says, "Where are we going?"
"Down to the river at the back of my house, silly. We always go there after class. Remember?" The girl's spirit looks almost confused.
The man brushes back his short blonde hair and walks over to the barefoot girl. I notice he is also barefoot, wearing faded blue shorts and a white shirt. He doesn't look back at me, only forward as he grabs Mary's hand and they walk into a bright warm light through which they can see beyond, but I cannot.
I like to think they go back to that river behind her house, but I think it's different for every person. I wish I knew what was beyond.
"Mary slipped on a mossy rock, fell unconscious into the water and drowned. Dying at the tender age of fifteen. Isn't life just heartbreakingly cruel sometimes?" There's a sneer in his voice followed by a snide chuckle.
"How nice of you to pop in at this tender moment, Niklaus." My voice is brimming with sarcasm as I address the tall, dark-haired man standing by my side. I look up into his face, which seems cool and sculpted like a marble statue.
Niklaus looks towards me with an intensity that is hard to interpret: "You never love anyone like your first. Some people spend the rest of their life trying to recreate it. Such a shame that only in death one can acquire it."
"Why are you so cynical? That man, Michael, is happy with his wife. They had a family together. He asked me if he could stay just a little longer so he could say goodbye to them..."
Niklaus raises his hand to cut off my sentence. I stand silent. His face comes close to mine. "Everybody always asks to stay a little longer – there are few exceptions."
I look back down the corridor where the bright light was. It is true what he said. I can feel Niklaus move behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. I try not to stiffen. I can hear him breathing as he says gently in my ear, "Besides the real question you've got to ask yourself is how happy was Michael with his wife? You saw just as I did, Michael walking off into a beautiful portal of light with another woman."
Niklaus lifts his hand and pulls my brown hair over my shoulder and brings it up to his face. I can hear him breathing in its scent and rubbing the strands over his cheek. It seems odd to me how and why he does this, but I let him have his moment. It could be worse; his behaviour around me used to be more presumptuous.
Once he was so brazen I pushed him off me, slapped him hard across the face then ran away crying. After that incident he disappeared for many months, possibly a year, and I was lonely; I hadn't realised that Niklaus was my only company. I used to try to keep spirits with me after I pulled them from their bodies, but I couldn't keep them with me for long. Once they see their afterlife they don't acknowledge me, I guess I cease existing for them.
When Niklaus left me here alone for several months I started following nurses around, trying to figure out what was going on. Occasionally I would hear that distinctive 'ting' and found myself being drawn towards the sound. Always it led to someone needing help to leave their body behind. One night I was hurrying after a bustling nurse and when I turned a corner Niklaus was standing there, leaning against a wall, looking down at his shoe, but taking furtive glances towards me. A surge of emotion rushed from my heart to my head and every part of my body as I hurried over and hugged him, basking in the comfort of not being alone. The resentment I felt toward him for the presumptuous grappling momentarily forgotten because of the torture of being surrounded by people who won't acknowledge me. Even his presence is preferable to nothing.
When I hugged him Niklaus was a little shocked, but after a beat he put his arms around me and apologised. He said he'd been alone for a long time and just wanted to be close to someone. I told him I hated him, but I needed him to keep me sane. He accepted that and promised he'd keep himself restrained so long as there was common ground between us. From then on we would talk and I'd let him touch my hair, any skin that's exposed in what I'm wearing, and kiss my cheek sometimes when we part. I don't know where he goes. I assume he has to go and help a spirit from its body. I don't know why he can leave and I can't.
I still have to fend off Niklaus's advances occasionally. He'll try and push the boundaries of our relationship further, and I know it's not enough for him. But I shrug him off and he stops.
"Happy enough," I say as I snap my mind back into the present. "I suppose they were happy enough. You can't assume that Michael and Mary were soul mates, they could have grown out of their infatuation once they were older."
Niklaus drops my hair and I turn to face him, though my eyes don't meet his. "Why do you know how Mary died?" I ask.
Niklaus lifts his hand and tilts my chin so my green eyes meet his dark brown ones. "I just do," he replies. He lifts the other to cup my face in his hands; I allow this gesture but say, "Please don't try..."
"I'm not!" he hisses.
I can see in his face that I've offended him. He hasn't tried anything in ages, so I try to relax. I close my eyes and feel his hands on my cheeks. I must admit I'm enjoying the contact. One of his hands moves through my hair, from the scalp down through to the strands. When he reaches the end I feel his hand move to my shoulder. I'm struggling against opening my eyes. I want to trust him. I'm certain I sense him closer to me. My eyes fling open but I stay still as I feel his lips brushing my cheek, he lingers for a moment then straightens up, dropping his hands to his side.
"Do you hear it like a voice in your head?"
"Hear what?" he replies.
"How they die. Is it like a voice in your head, or do you read it from a book?"
Niklaus looks over my shoulder. I turn my head and see he's looking at the clock. "It's dawn. Do you want to go up to the roof to watch the sunrise?" he asks.
"You haven't answered my question."
"Come up to the roof." Niklaus begins to walk a little down the corridor toward the lift.
I call after him, "If I follow you up to the roof will you answer my question?"
Niklaus turns around and smiles. "Maybe."
I have nothing else to do except follow around another nurse, which I can do any time. Plus Niklaus's visits can be few and far between, so I should take advantage of the social interaction while it's available. I catch up with him at the lift. He's standing behind an orderly who is leaning on a cart. The doors slide open and we follow the orderly in. The orderly hums a tune as he straightens up then pulls his bunched up underwear out of his arse crack. I smile to myself and restrain a giggle – the things people do when they think they're alone. I look at Niklaus and he's looking straight ahead, not paying attention. The door opens at the second highest level; we'll have to take the stairs the rest of the way. We walk out of the lift and walk through the closed door for the stairs. The door to the roof is ajar with a brick for the staff and, occasionally patients, who come up here to have a cigarette.
There are a few empty milk crates brought up from the kitchen by the staff and a small table stolen from a waiting room. A resident in scrubs has his head in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. The sky is dark blue and the few clouds that float around glow with a purple haze because the sun hasn't peeked over the horizon yet. I walk over to the edge of the building and lean against the brick. Niklaus does the same. I'm aware it's cold but I don't feel cold like I used to. I don't need to wear my black coat, but I do. The silence is making me uneasy.
"Beautiful isn't it?" I say to Niklaus.
"I've seen the sun rise and fall a hundred thousand times, yet there is still so much beauty in it." Niklaus rests his chin on the heel of his hand nonchalantly.
I wonder if I'll have to ask him my question again and break the serenity.
"I just know." Niklaus says without my further enquiry. "I don't hear voices in my head, I don't read a book. I look at them and I know. Sometimes I see it."
"See it? Like a vision?"
"Sometimes. Other times it's like fragments; key moments about the death, little flashes, bits of a scene."
"I don't get to see that." I say.
"I know." Niklaus replies.
"Why?"
Niklaus turns his back on the sunrise and leans against the brick. "Because you don't want to..." he says.
"Sometimes I do, sometimes I'm curious. There're a lot of things I don't know."
"Such as?"
"Such as my name, I don't even know my name, what I look like, or even what year it is. I think time moves differently for me. Does time move differently for you?"
"You don't know your name?"
"Seriously, out of everything I just said, that's what you took away?"
"But it's your name; it isn't something that is easily forgotten. Can you remember anything before you were here?"
"I remember waking here but not much before." Part of me hopes that Niklaus will give some insight but instead he remains silent. Perhaps he doesn't know either, so I continue in the hope he will give me some tit bit of information.
"Niklaus, I don't know how long I've been here. I can't keep track of time without concentrating. I look out of the window and it's light out and I watch the nurses as they move through the wards and tend to patients, then I find myself looking out the window again and it's pitch black and the nurses are gone. It's quite a strange occurrence; could have sworn I only look away from the window for a minute or two. I don't like how time slips away from me like that. Do you have any idea how that feels?"
Niklaus is looking at the gravel. He is either ignoring me or contemplating what I'm saying, I'm never sure which. Niklaus looks up at me. This is the most I've ever divulged to him and he looks quizzical.
"I do know how that feels, but it would take too long to answer your questions and I don't have that kind of time. Besides, why should I? You seem to be doing fine by yourself and I receive no reward for helping you."
"But I feel like it's out of my control. It's as if my nature takes over and I can't stop what I'm doing. Isn't helping me to understand my existence reward enough?"
In the brightening light of the morning sky I see Niklaus's eyebrows arch in thought as he moves directly in front of me. "Is this why you reject me?"
I'm in a state of confusion. What does he mean? He continues. "You reject me and my affection because your feelings are the only thing you have control over?"
"What?" I am beyond confusion. "No! How did you come to that conclusion? Besides, when on Earth did this conversation become about you? I rejected you because one of my very first memories of you was waking up in this state with your hand pushing up my dress so your fingers could unhook my stockings!"
I draw a deep breath and am on the brink of tears at the sudden recollection of this memory. "The very first moment I met you, I screamed. I woke up on the cold ground with people bustling around me and a strange man trying to undress me and nobody heard me scream. Nobody came to help me when you grabbed my wrists and dragged me down the corridor. I screamed and cried hysterically and people walked on by."
There is complete silence. All I hear is a gust of wind. I don't look at him; I don't want to.
"I tried to explain. I tried to comfort you like I'd seen others do," he whispered.
You tried to kiss me and hold me down! You – the man who was undressing me!"
"I'm sorry that's not what I was trying to do!"
"Then explain it! What possible reason do you have to explain what you did?"
All this tension seems to have been built up for decades. "It was the way you fell..." he says.
I look up at him, into his eyes. They are sad, remorseful.
"You fell on the ground unconscious and your dress was like that. The top of your stocking and suspender was showing; I was curious. I could see your naked skin. Something came over me and I just wanted to know how it felt to have your skin against mine, so I unhooked it. Then you woke up and saw me. You just kept screaming so I pulled you away and tried to comfort you. I'm sorry."
I'm not ready to forgive him, but I see he is remorseful. Perhaps enough to give me a little information, if I ask nicely.
"So, if you don't know my name, you could at least tell me what I look like. I've been in the bathrooms here and stared into the mirrors, but all I see is a hazy outline but there's not defined features, nothing I can recognise or focus on. I know I've got brown hair because it's long, but otherwise..."
Niklaus moves towards me, looking intently at my features.
"Your hair isn't brown. Brown is ordinary, dull. Your hair's the colour of a chestnut mare in the summer sunshine. It's not curly or straight, but has soft waves that bounce around when you walk, and shines brilliantly when the light catches it. Your eyes are a green with flecks of yellow and brown in them. Your lashes are dark and thick, like your hair. Your skin is smooth and pale, and your cheekbones sit high on your face. I don't see you smile very often, but when you do I see small even teeth around small, pale lips. It's a nice face – symmetrical, actually quite beautiful. There. Does that help? Am I forgiven?"
I absorb this precious information, but say nothing. I just look at him. He is still close but not touching me. The intensity of his gaze fades and his face is morphed into a shadow of sadness.
"You're never going to love me, are you?"
"I'm sorry Niklaus." I turn away. I can't look at the sadness in his eyes when I say it. I still feel resentful towards him, but after listening to his side of the story of my first memory of him, I now have a skerrick of sympathy for his feelings. If I'm feeling trapped and isolated in whatever plane this is, I'm sure he's feeling just as alone as I am.
"Don't do that!" Niklaus takes a step back. "Don't pity me!"
"I'm not, I just... I just... I'm confused," I turn back to look at him, except he isn't there. I walk across the rooftop
"Niklaus!" I scream, but there is no answer; just an eerie silence. "Niklaus, get back here!" I yell into the wind. "We're not done yet!"
I spin in a circle, looking for him. All I see is a desolate rooftop and a guy in scrubs grinding out a cigarette butt.