Chapter 19 Melissa
Melissa
Melissa assumes Damon is kidding and lets out an artificial laugh.
‘I tried that once already, remember?’ she says and sips her latte.
She realises there’s no humour attached to his expression.
‘Are you being serious?’ she asks, lowering her voice. And slowly, he nods. ‘You want me to kill you?’
‘Yes. And then resuscitate me.’
Now it’s Melissa’s turn to sit back in her chair. She glances around the café, hoping no one has overheard. ‘I can’t do that!’ she half talks, half whispers. ‘We are supposed to be trying to get pregnant . . . you know, creating life.’
Damon matches her pitch: ‘The only way to know for sure that boy didn’t die because of something I did is for me to go back to when it happened.’
Melissa shakes her head in disbelief. ‘Do you realise what you’re asking of me?
’ He nods again. ‘Oh, well. Good. We’re clear on that.
But, the insanity of that aside, this isn’t like that stupid Flatliners movie we watched, Damon.
This isn’t some silly ghost story where you can die – die!
– and “confront your past”, then spring back to life. ’
‘It’s not about confronting it. It’s about finding the truth.’
She takes a breath and releases it slowly before looking again into his bloodshot eyes. ‘Do you know how lucky you are to even be alive after last time?’
Melissa looks to the ceiling and runs her hands through her short, cropped cut. She blinks long and hard, partly hoping that when she returns her attention to him, she might be the one who’s hallucinating and that she’s sitting here alone and arguing with herself.
‘Damon, I love you with all my heart, but this is singularly the most stupid thing I have ever heard you say.’
‘I’m running out of options,’ he tells her, and lists every way he has tried to unlock what is hidden inside his head. ‘Nothing works. The only way to discover what happened to that boy is if I die again. I’m sure of it.’
‘No,’ she replies. ‘You can’t be possibly sure of it.’
‘He is all I can think about, Mel. The hallucinations are coming so thick and fast that I can’t sleep properly.
I haven’t worked in a week because he’s there in the supermarket aisles, the warehouse, even the damn toilets.
I am desperate. Don’t you think if there was any other way, I’d be all over it? ’
‘If our roles were reversed and I was begging you to kill me to help find a ghost, what would you say?’
‘I’d say no, because I don’t have the training you have. But you’re a paramedic. You can bring me back.’
‘I am trained to save people, I’m not the Grim fucking Reaper.’
‘You’ve already resuscitated me once.’
‘What medical evidence do you have that I’ll be able to do it a second time? None. Who lives and who remains dead is a lottery, no matter how much medical expertise is involved. It is far too risky. And do you really think I want to have your death on my conscience?’
‘You already do.’
That wounds. ‘Go to hell,’ she says. ‘I already feel like the worst person on earth for what happened to you. I have nightmares where you’re within my grasp before a wave drags you away.
’ She feels hot tears running down her cheeks and chin, and wipes them away with a paper napkin.
‘And now you’re asking me to relive one of the worst days of my life? That’s colossally selfish.’
‘No,’ he counters. ‘Refusing to help me when I’m clearly this desperate is.’
Melissa shakes her head. ‘God knows what damage dying once has already done to you. And even if I managed to bring you back again, it could take so long that you’re starved of oxygen and permanently damaged.
’ She tosses her napkin on to the table.
‘So, if not wanting to put you in a vegetative state makes me selfish, then yes, that’s exactly what I am.
And for the sake of our friendship, we are never talking about this again. ’
She rises to her feet, leaving her latte unfinished.
‘Then I’ll do it by myself,’ Damon says.
‘Empty threat. You can’t die and bring yourself back to life,’ she scoffs. ‘It’s not medically possible.’
‘I’ll find a way,’ he replies with childish contempt. ‘I’m doing this either with or without you. And if I can’t, will you really be able to live with yourself?’
‘Fuck you, Damon,’ Melissa says, turning her back on him and walking away. She slips her sunglasses back on before reaching the door so the other customers can’t see her crying.
This isn’t the same man whose life she saved. She doesn’t recognise him. But she has never witnessed him more passionate or determined about anything than he is about wanting to die for a second time.
And it terrifies her.