From the Library of the Elsewhere Express
The Short Story of a Kiss
That Never Took Place
The old-fashioned elevator remembered everything it witnessed and everything it did not. In such proximity to its passengers, it could not help but overhear their conversations and observe every move they made. It learned that words not spoken could say more than words that were, and that the distance people kept between them could feel closer than an embrace. Passengers were open books while traveling between floors, revealing who they truly were when they thought no one was looking. The two exhausted passengers that it gave a ride to one evening were no exception. The elevator lost itself in the pages of their short story and was not too proud to admit that it had deliberately slowed down to read more.
The elevator had witnessed its fair share of kisses. Stolen ones. Short ones. Kisses that madeit blush and look away. But the kiss the two passengers shared was the first one it had seen that did not take place. On a train of thoughts, longing replaced lips, eyes could touch like hands, and two people, who were neither lovers nor friends, could forgive each other and say goodbye with a kiss that never happened. Alerting them to their arrival at their floor had never pained the elevator more. But this was its purpose, the sole meaning of its life. If it failed in its task, it would be no better than all the lost passengers who rode it. It sliced the air with a sharp ding and watched the two walk out its door.
One day, it thought, when it found the right words, it would write their story.
“Does the Elsewhere Express provide toiletries?”
Frequently Asked Questions
The Elsewhere Express
Passenger Handbook
Raya
As little as the Elsewhere Express cared about time, it seemed to care about distance even less. The length of the carpeted corridor between the elevator and the hotel floor’s sole door seemed to double with every step Raya took toward a compartment that wasn’t meant to be shared. “How do you plan to do it?”
“Do what?” Q said.
“Kill my brother.”
“Raya—”
“I want to know.”
“It’s better if you don’t.”
“All right. But I think you should know that I will do everything in my power to stop you.”
“I understand.” Q walked on.
“You should also know that if the stowaway isn’t Jace, I’ll end it myself. Whatever the cost.”
A sweet, crisp, and earthy smell drifted down the corridor.
Q steeled his jaw. “Rain.”
The scent of rain snaked up Raya’s nose. Her eyes flew around the compartment. A cloud-free night painted above the king-size bed twinkled with stars. Behind the bed, silver words, inlaid into rich, dark wood, borrowed the moon’s light.
I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?
—Zhuangzi
Q strode across a carpet of fresh-cut grass toward the bed. He plucked a scented oil diffuser from the nightstand and sniffed it. “I found our ‘rain.’ ” He returned the bottle to its spot beneath a lamp. “Housekeeping’s very efficient.”
Raya explored the compartment, grounding herself in every second and step, pretending, while she could, that nothing existed beyond now. She took a passion fruit bonbon from a crystal candy dish though she wasn’t hungry and didn’t like passion fruit. A cherry-and-cream bonbon appeared in its place. She stared at the candy in her hand.
Q pulled the coin she had given him at the Missed and Misplaced Department from his pocket. “Ten baht for your thoughts.”
Raya looked up from the candy. “Why couldn’t it have been this way?”
“What way?”
