Dead Man's Gift 03 - Today by Simon Kernick Read Free Book Online Page A

about you is how determined you always are to cooperate. This could be a real opening for us.’
    He leaned across and turned me gently so I was facing him. He was looking into my eyes now, his own eyes magnified by the lenses in his glasses, and suddenly an insistent voice coming from somewhere inside told me to get out of there.
    I relied on my instincts. These days I had nothing else.
    ‘I’m sorry, Doc,’ I said, breaking free from his gaze and putting some distance between the two of us. ‘I honestly feel really sick.’
    ‘You’ll feel better once I get you under.’
    His voice was more insistent now, and I didn’t like the expression on his face. It was no longer comforting and avuncular. Although he was attempting to hide it behind a tight smile, there was an almost desperate eagerness there.
    ‘No,’ I said, shaking my head and trying to look as ill as possible. ‘I don’t think I will.’
    Dr Bronson’s eager expression disappeared and was replaced with a disapproving one which I guessed he reserved for his most uncooperative patients. ‘Are you still taking your medication?’ he asked.
    ‘Of course I am,’ I told him, which strictly speaking was true. As it happened, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Because of the seriousness of my memory loss, Jane had brought in a live-in male nurse called Tom who was there to help look after me, and it was Tom who gave me the medication. He always watched me put the pills in my mouth and waited while I swallowed them with a glass of water. He then checked inside my mouth just to make sure they’d gone down. He always did it in a friendly way, with a few laughs, like we were mates rather than patient and carer, but lately I’d been watching him more closely – subtly of course, because I didn’t want to raise any suspicion – and the more I saw of him, the less he convinced me in his role. He was a big guy, early to mid-thirties, with a hard, lived-in face, the chiselled jaw of the naturally fit, and a scar on his chin. He reminded me of one of those buff actors they use in the war movies I watched a lot these days. Plus he’d taken up with my sister – I heard them humping at night occasionally – which couldn’t be that ethical, and wasn’t the behaviour I’d necessarily expect from a nurse. Although what the hell did I know any more? Anyway, in the past week I’d decided that I had to find a way to keep the pills out of my system, because that same gut instinct that was at work in this room was telling me in very loud words that they were hindering, not helping, my condition.
    It wasn’t a decision I’d come to easily. I’d been totally reliant on Jane, Tom and Dr Bronson. They were my crutch, my defence against a dark, foreboding outside world in which I was a complete stranger. Put bluntly, they were all I’d got.
    But were they really helping me? I just didn’t know.
    So I formulated a plan. I knew I couldn’t get out of taking the medication, not with Tom standing over me, but whenever I could, I’d let the tablets lodge in the space between my cheek and gum and get rid of them afterwards. This was no easy feat though, so in the majority of instances I had to swallow and then, when Tom had gone, slip out to the toilet, make sure no one was within earshot, and make myself throw up as quietly as possible. Then I’d clear up after myself, spray a bit of air freshener around and return to my room, leaving no one any the wiser.
    So far my memories hadn’t started to come back, but I had experienced flashes of déjà vu. Visions of childhood – of kissing a girl; of riding a bike – flitted across my consciousness like wraiths, barely showing themselves before fading once again into the darkness. But they’d been getting more frequent.
    And now the dreams had started, and I was beginning to think there was a connection in there somewhere.
    Dr Bronson was talking about the importance of taking my medication, but I was no longer