Unlimited

Victoria took a sigh. How was it possible to speak with people who didn’t hear you? They didn’t want to hear you.

‘Well, it seems you’re right…’ Vic thought of Kharon. ‘Maybe I better let him go.’

‘That’s right! You don’t need him! You’re ok now but you’ve been still moping. Vic, you can’t do this. I know what to love means and how it’s difficult when you’re not loved…’

“If you were, this conversation wouldn’t have taken place now…” Victoria bitterly smiled.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it over. But I haven’t tried all…’

‘What do you mean?’ Vasilisa glanced over her friend in surprise.

At that moment Vic understood that she had put her foot on it.

‘Nothing. What about your new boyfriend?’ to change topic that was Vic thought about.

Fortunately, Vasilisa was so ditz even inconsiderate that’s she quickly switched to a new line of topic, completely having forgotten about her friend.

Victoria didn’t listen to Vasilisa, her attention-getting exclamations and yelling. All she could think was why Lucifer hadn’t come? All had been done correct: agreement in any form, blood, seal, text… What had been wrong?

Vic started suspecting her being normal again. Maybe no Lucifer existed at all? Maybe she made up everything that happened to her?

In the evening, having told her mum a beautiful lie, creating a perfect illusion, Victoria went to her room. The door was locked, and all hell broke loose again: pentacles, candles, spells.

Victoria looked up and down all the books, internet and did everything that was written. But nothing happened. Nobody came. Why? Why not? Kharon did appear immediately even when he hadn’t been waited, he stuck into her heart and then he was sitting there and tearing it from inside. Why didn’t Lucifer come?

2

September 2013 (Monday)

The days went by as weeks and months did. Victoria got her project review with an excellent mark and felt down completely in seeking for Lucifer. She looked very bad, she ate almost nothing, just drank, mostly strong coffee. Her eye pits were almost seen, coloured in black by weakness. Her red hair, her flecks once having resemblance to the Sun and giving warmth to others died out and grew dim.

For a long time, Victoria hadn’t slept well. She spent most of her nights for seeking for Lucifer. She tried to get him in any way and that was possible only at nights as all spells talked over.

In the mornings Vic had to pretend to be a healthy, sane person. Her mother was prudish and if she noticed that her daughter wasn’t sure in her own mental health, she would treat her.

Of course, at times when her mum was at work, Vic was sound asleep, setting up, but it wasn’t enough anyway.

In addition, she had to look for a job, to pretend that she was looking for it. Moreover, she had to pretend to live and rejoice that fact. To tell the truth when passion and love settled in heart and soul, the desire for living became almost impossible. Everything that had been done, heard and looked, turned into one continuous suffering.

‘Hi, Vic. Being up long?’ mother’s call was sometimes worse than fire.

‘An hour ago. Eating now. What’s the emergency?’ Vic asked, chewing a miserable cucumber.

‘I’ve forgotten papers on the table. See them? Can I ask you to bring it to me at work? I need them.’

‘Mum…’ Vic sighed.

Vic had planned her day different. She was going to some book stalls near the MRHW. She had no time to rush over hospitals.

‘What mum?’ a severe voice asked. ‘You have no interviews for today. I need those papers.’

‘Fine. Fine! I’m there in an hour and a half.’

‘I’m in       resuscitation department. Running the operation room.’

‘Ok, I got it. Order the pass for me.’

‘Already done. I’m waiting.’

Hating the whole world and most of all her mother forgetfulness, Victoria went to the hospital.

Vic hated hospitals and never understood how people could work there. The place was full of pain and desperation. People cried and begged there. A believe in supernatural was born and doctors’ help was forgotten instead. Too much suffering and worries. Her heart hurt too much looking at what was going on there.

Vic was going along the resuscitation department and there were ten or fifteen meters left to get the staffroom, when she heard a weak sound, a voice asking for something unintelligibly.

The girl turned to the open ward and from the first bed something strong got her by the hand. That was an old lady who had a healthy man grasp. Victoria was nervous, trying to free her hand, but the woman was holding it fast. Her whitish eyes, having no life in, pierced into the girl’s face.

‘You will take it. I chose you.’ The crone wheezed in a sepulchral whisper and squeezed her hand stronger, no matter stronger seemed impossible.

‘What’re you talking about? Let me go!’ Victoria was almost fighting with a “weak and ill” old lady.

The crone answered nothing. She lay back on the pillows, closed her eyes, kept on holding the hand.

‘You will take it…’ she repeated again and finally left the numb hand.

The old woman looked peacefully like if she had been sleeping and dreaming of something beautiful.

“Crazy bitch”, Victoria thought and ran out of the ward and made a little distance she turned out in the staffroom.

‘You’re fast’ her mum looked out of the case. ‘Vic, I’m really sorry but I gotta go, I have a planned surgery now. Leave the papers on the table, will you?’

‘No problem.’ The girl sighed in replay.

‘No offence?’ the woman stopped in the doorframe and looked at her daughter. ‘What’s up with you? Are you ill?’

‘No, I’m fine. I’m tired…a little.’

‘Damn it! The most terrible sound for any resuscitationist!’

They both heard an argute sound line, affronting the ear. Olga Vladimirovna jumped out of the staffroom, Victoria followed her.

In the same ward the peacefully sleeping old lady’s heart stopped beating and the apparatus rang about it through the whole department, calling for the doctors to resuscitate.

‘Defibrillator, epinephrine…’ the doctors cries, nurses were rushing near, answering all the orders.

Victoria leaned on the wall, looked and worried about the poor old lady.

‘Time of death is 7 past 7…’ she heard the sentence after that you exactly understood the deepest and, perhaps, the most heartless meaning of the phrase “that’s all”.