The monk could clear the things up. If Irene was right and I could ask him my main question, he would have to accept me. So I went to the temple for the third time.

This time the yard was empty. The monk came out to meet me, smiling broadly, and immediately invited me to follow him to the terrace. We sat down on the wooden floor covered with colorful cushions and mats, tucking our legs under us. He poured green tea into cups and smiled, indicating his willingness to talk.

Then I realized that I didn’t know how to address him – Reverend? Venerable? Master Gee?

“Just call me Gee,” he guessed the reason for my confusion.

“Gee,” I cleared my throat and took out the ticket. “Please explain what this is?”

“This?” the monk looked at me calmly. “That, my friend, is freedom.”

“Freedom?” I asked uncertainly. “What do you mean – ‘freedom’?”

“That’s what it means,” he answered nonchalantly.

“You mean I can leave the Island right now?”

“You see,” he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I meant freedom in the broadest sense of the word.”

“Freedom of choice?”

“That’s right,” he nodded.

“What are my options?”

“Well, you can stay here, take the prize, or go back where you came from.”

“Back home?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “But how? I’m dead.”

“Vikenty,” the monk sipped from his cup, “this isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned your home. Let me ask you, where is it – your home, and why do you want to go there so badly?”

“Why?” I was confused. “It’s the city I’ve lived in since I was a kid; I still have a family there, friends, work, and familiar places.”

“That’s what I thought,” he sighed and put the cup down on the table.

I didn’t like his tone. No, my interlocutor was still nice, but it was as if he had lost interest in me. He was either dozing off or thinking about something with his eyelids slightly closed.

“Gee,” I called to him, “are you asleep? I don’t understand, am I alive or not?”

“Is that your main question?” He asked without opening his eyes and took my wrist.

“Yes, I’d like to finally make up my mind...”

“Well, all right,” the monk said after a moment’s thought. “Follow me.”

We got up and went to the secret cell – a small shaded room where there was nothing but a miniature statue of Buddha in the lotus position, a bedside table, and a low wooden bed with a hard cushion in the headboard.

“Lie down on the floor,” he said. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

I lay down on the mat with some trepidation, remembering the monk’s turbulent past, and stretched my arms out along my body.

The next second I was standing on the deck of a large ferry leaving the pier.

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I couldn’t remember how I got there. That’s what happens when you’re half asleep, when you’re still awake, but strange images float before your eyes.

I was depressed. The sea was stormy, screaming seagulls flew low over the gray waves, salt spray reached my face. In addition, it began to drizzle.

I was chilled to the bone in the wind, so I decided to go to a bar to warm up. Money was tight, but I have enough for a hot drink. Coming down from the deck, I pushed open the door, ordered an Irish coffee, and sat down at the far table by the porthole.

Soon the waiter brought a glass, and I cupped it in my hands, savored the invigorating aroma.

I imagined how I would appear in my hometown either as a living corpse or as an undercadaurus. And who would believe where I’ve been, what I’ve been through.

I took a big gulp, burned my throat and coughed.

“Do you need some help?” Someone slapped me hard on the back. “Is that better?”

“Better, yes,” I exhaled and almost choked again. Romashkin was standing next to me, smiling, cocktail in hand, tanned and beaming with happiness.

“From vacation,” he was ahead of my question. “And you? Were you on vacation too, or was it a creative business trip?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know where I was!” I glared at him. “You sent me there, on this business trip, undercover angel from the emergency service... Damn, who would have thought it was you!”

“Angel?” Romashkin blinked. “What are you talking about? Are you all right?”

“Never mind,” I waved him off. “You visited the monk, didn’t you?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Romashkin leaned over to me. “Oh, you have a fever! I’ll call the doctor.”

He put the unfinished cocktail on the table and disappeared out the door. What a trickster!

The cocktail smelled sweet like melon. I think there was rum in it. Out of nowhere, a wasp flew in and began to crawl along the edge of the glass, wiggling its tendrils. To chase it away, I waved my hand once, then again, and accidentally caught the straw, almost knocking the glass to the floor. The wasp took off, circling dissatisfied over the table, looking for a place to land, and suddenly swooped down on me.

“Oh!” I grabbed my neck, staggered and slowly slid under the table.

“Attention, please, he’s regaining consciousness,” I heard a distant voice.

“Romashkin, you always get me into trouble,” I grimaced.

My throat burned like a hot iron. I did not speak, but hissed like a siphon.

“How do you feel?” A face in a medical mask leaned over me.

“So-so,” I whispered. “My neck hurts. What’s this tube in my throat?”

“You’ve been unconscious for a week,” the doctor said. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“A wasp stung me,” I paused, forcing my memory. “In the bar on the ferry.”

“No,” the doctor shook his head sympathetically. “You have a bullet wound in your neck. You were shot.”

“From where? By who?”

“Some crazy man. Don’t worry, the artery was damaged, but you’ll live.”

And then I remembered the beekeeper with gun, the blood-soaked snow, the White Room, the Island…

“A week?!” I gasped. “It can’t be! It’s been a whole year...”

“Katya,” the face in the mask turned away. “Give me a sedative.”

Then the face turned back to me. Tired eyes looked sternly and attentively:

“You can’t talk much now, get some rest. I’ll come back in the evening.”

To be continued