Chapter 2: Déjà vu

After leaving the station, I opened the link with the institute's address that Dad had sent me in the messenger. The map marker was placed on the building of St. Isaac's Cathedral⁸. Strange. It must be some kind of mistake, right? Surely an institute can't be located inside a tourist attraction?..

While I was waiting for clarification, my trolleybus arrived, and I decided to "walk" along Nevsky Prospect at least this way – looking at it from the window. My suitcase is small but heavy, it's difficult even to lift it into public transport, let alone drag it on foot for several miles. In short, I took a free seat at the end of the cabin, pressed my bag against the wall, and now was gazing around, studying St. Petersburg.

A series of shops, restaurants and hotels gave way to a bridge over the Fontanka River with restless bronze horses⁹. It occurred to me that these four horses could well symbolize the four years of bachelor's studies that await me and my coursemates. At first wild – untamed – steeds, like students, gradually become more obedient, well-shod, and a spark of understanding appears in their eyes.

Again a string of boutiques, a small park, Kazan Square drowning in the tender rays of the "golden" hour, and now there's another river under us – the Moika this time – and then buildings of amazing beauty flickered one after another. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice how the trolleybus turned. A little more, and I would have missed my stop!..

The place next to which the map marker stood was on the opposite side from the main entrance to St. Isaac's Cathedral. I had to walk back and forth several times before my eyes distinguished stone steps leading down, and behind them – a dark red oak door.

It's probably some technical utility room, but maybe at least there they can tell me if I've come to the right address or not. My hand touched the old brass handle, and the creaky door opened, inviting me to descend a few more steps lower. There was someone there, in the room, I felt it, but I didn't dare to step over the threshold.

"Hello!" I shouted into the darkness of the doorway. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm looking for the institute… LIMBO… do you know where it is?"

"Open your eyes!" came the response. Our concierge, Aunt Betty, had such a voice when she suspiciously interrogated unfamiliar guests. "Look at the sign! What does it say?"

I stepped back. How could I not have noticed! To the left of the entrance, on a gray marble pointer, the engraved letters shone in gold: "Leningrad Institute of Modeling B…"

The inscription broke off there. Someone had pried out the right upper nail, part of the spotty stone was missing, and the sign was slightly tilted downward. Just think – it turns out that there are vandals in cultured St. Petersburg too. It seems I won't know until the end what exactly I'll be modeling here…

"So, this is where I need to be," I exhaled quietly and entered, closing the door behind me.

"Do you have a pass?" the doorkeeper even looked like our Aunt Betty. The same curly, heavily bleached hair and thick gaudy cat-eye glasses covering half her face. The booth where she sat was illuminated from inside with a dim yellow light, but beyond this "guardhouse" nothing was visible. The corridor was drowning in darkness.

"A pass?.. Oh, no. I'm new."

"So you didn't attend the preparatory courses. I see, a failing student. Fi-ine," the woman reluctantly rose from her well-worn seat. "Come on, first time I'll let you in with my pass, but then you should ask for one to be issued at the dean's office."

In the faint gleam, a white card with a shiny round logo flashed. I didn't have time to see what was depicted there. A green light lit up in the darkness, and the security guard pushed me forward.

I stepped into the abyss and immediately stopped – my ears were suddenly so blocked. As if I were flying in an airplane that was gaining altitude, or in a high-speed elevator rushing to the top of a skyscraper. My head spun. Hands tried to feel a wall to hold on to, but there were no walls. Neither on the left nor on the right.

"Well, come on, be bolder," the old woman grumbled discontentedly. "Walk. One, two, three. No need to linger here in the corridor. Inhale, exhale. Swallow your saliva – that's all. Look at you, such a delicate flower!.."

Out of fear, I screwed my eyes shut, and when I opened them, I almost fell again. The huge hall was flooded with bright warm light. Sunbeams passed through the tall, completely glass dome of the cathedral and played with glare on the wrought railings of stairs made of yellow metal, on the stand with the lecture schedule, on the spines of books standing on top of the shelves in the open library.

Hmm. I'm not an expert in architecture, of course, but it seemed to me that from the outside, the dome was still golden, not transparent. How did they achieve such an effect?!..

While I stood with my head tilted back, the "concierge" disappeared. Turning around, I saw two tightly closed iron doors behind me, and in front of them – a turnstile with a magnetic lock. Without applying a pass, you can't get out of here, and I don't have a pass, so I'll have to go search for the dean's office.

Despite the non-academic day, the institute was full of students, mostly upperclassmen. I was almost certain they were upperclassmen – too bold and self-confident. I nervously rolled my suitcase past them, while they, giggling, whispered to each other in low voices:

"Ohhh, the recruits are pouring in!"

"Tough as always!"

"Well, hold on, they'll show us now!.."

Ducking my head between my shoulders, I approached the information stand. The hall on the institute map was hard to find. It turns out I was now conditionally on the second floor. There was also a first floor – that one, apparently, completely in the basement. And the third – where the dean's office I needed was located.

Dragging a suitcase up the wrought-iron spiral staircases is a dubious pleasure, so first I decided to rest a bit. Especially since a soda machine was very conveniently placed near the passage upstairs. Bright drinks of all rainbow colors bubbled in transparent glass bottles: lilac-violet, sky-blue, light-blue like forget-me-nots, emerald-green, sunny-yellow, orange and… red. Like blood. No, like the red matter that I failed to taste twice today.

It seemed there were more bubbles in the soda than liquid, but my throat was so dry from the excitement that I was okay with this "oxygen cocktail".

Applying my mobile to the window, I tried to pay for a bottle, but the contactless payment didn't work. I tried several times and only then saw that there was no network here. The fancy new phone – Dad's gift for graduating school – had turned into a dead brick. Maybe something was wrong with the roaming?..

I had to take out a plastic card, but it didn't work either. As if to spite me, the thirst only got stronger. I poked the chip at the sensor, twisted the card this way and that, then inserted it in all possible variations into the receiver, but the machine, sneezing haughtily, each time spat it back into my hand.

"Let me buy it," a voice suddenly sounded from behind.

A lanky disheveled guy moved me aside. His overgrown hair – light brown, slightly shading greenish – fell on his face when he started rummaging through the pockets of his denim jacket. Finally, what he was looking for was found – a blue card with a golden logo. Exactly the same one I had seen with the woman at the entrance, only hers was white, not colored.

The machine's holder clanked, the long-awaited bottle plopped into the dispensing window and a second later was already in my hand. Unscrewing the sharp metal cap from it, which normal people pry off with openers, I drained the contents to the bottom in one go.

"Look what she's doing," someone from the old-timers noted, staring at me from afar.

"I'm starting to be afraid of them," his buddy answered with a chuckle. "We didn't drink red orgone in our first year…"

"And what, won't her head spin?!"

What are they talking about? I had to turn the bottle in my hands, examining the labels. There's no marking about alcohol content. It's not even an energy drink. Sure nothing like that can be sold in an institute!

I threw the empty vial into the trash can next to me and turned to the guy:

"Thank you," I smiled and held out my hand to him. "Let's get acquainted. My name is…"

Adjusting the large travel bag on his shoulder, he raised his yellowish, honey-colored eyes:

"I know. Your name is Niki. You've already said that. And in general, all this has already happened…" his black pupils contracted to small dots, and then stretched into two narrow slits, like a cat looking at bright light.

I froze in amazement, the handshake never happened. A chill ran down my spine.

"It's called déjà vu…" I bleated weakly.

"Jake!" suddenly came from behind our backs. "Here you are, you snake! Stop scaring people!"

"Hi, Charm. You know I don't do it on purpose."

"Oh, I wish my eyes didn't see you!" spinning the keychain with the Audi logo on her index finger, the girl blew a big pink bubble of gum with her plump lips and shook my hand that was frozen in the air. "Hey, friend! We're coursemates. And this guy, alas, is also with us."

Smiling sweetly, she adjusted the perfectly straight strands of red hair, highlighted with lilac on one side – to match the color of her contact lenses. Then she turned on her sky-high heels and, leaving a trail of sweet, candy perfume behind her, clicked up the stairs.

"That's Liz Charm," the guy with yellow eyes, now quite human-like, explained grimly. "The daughter of a local 'big shot'. We studied together in the preparatory courses. I mean, I studied, and this vixen only pretended, because in fact she had already been in her first year before."

"Another… déjà vu?" I clarified cautiously.

"Ha, no. Time loops have nothing to do with it," the guy again leaned his card against the soda machine. This time a blue drink came out. "She was simply held back for a second year."

"Is that even possible in universities?" I was sincerely surprised.

"Actually, it's not. Especially at LIMBO. But this witch," he glared maliciously after her, "is above the law. And you… you're heading to the dean's office, right? Come on, I'll help you carry the suitcase."