In Memory by CJ Lyons Read Free Book Online

ordinary tasks become more noteworthy for me because of the simple reason that he is on my mind.
    W as washing dishes, for instance.
    As I was finishing up, I grazed my hand along the bottom of the sink, looking for stray silverware, when the edge of a knife seared through three of my fingers.
    I hissed, whipping my hand out of the sink quickly, flecking the soapy water with crimson pearls. As I wrapped a tea towel around my fingers to stem the flow of blood, my thoughts followed a direct route to Noah.
    Those horrible deep cuts, carved deep into his skin. I saw them, cleaned them, all that blood.
    Floating on top of bubbles in an iridescent film.
    Then I was doing the laundry, sheets and pillowcases, pyjamas .
    P icked up one of my oversized pajama shirts, looking at it thoughtfully.
    This was the shirt that Noah was wearing when he got out of the shower. I brought it to my face, smelling it.
    Which seems odd in retrospect, but perfectly reasonable at the time.
    It smelled mostly of soap, my laundry soap and shampoo, but there was something else mingling with it, a sharp scent.
    As I pulled the shirt away from my face, I understood what the scent was.
    Noah’s blood.
    It circled the collar of my shirt, and spread in bizarre patterns down the front, where the cuts seeped tiny amounts of blood. There was also a large stain on the whole right side, from where the largest of his wounds bled out.
    I’m still cursing myself for not paying attention and allowing that to happen, but I have to say I’m happy the events played out as they did.
    This way, the hospital has a record of what happened, so if it ever happens again, we’ll have evidence of previous assault.
    Just from the way he hides and avoids questions, I’m positive someone he knows is the one who is hurting him. Terra told me that patients who are beaten by people they know act just like he did.
    ‘They avoid questions, they try to escape quickly, and they always make up excuses, or say it’s nothing.’
    She shuddered a little bit when she said ‘nothing’, and glanced at the scar on my neck.
    I’m going to make a more conscientious effort to cover that up when she’s around, I think. D on’t want to make her think of that incident every time she sees that scar.
    After I talked to her about that, I went immediately to the kitchen and began preparing a lasagne. It’s her absolute favourite, and I owe her. She came into the kitchen when I started the layering part, smiling like crazy.
    “You’re making me a lasagne? What’s the occasion?”
    “Just that I love you and I owe you.” I replied, sprinkling a layer of cheese on top.
    “Owe me for what?” she asked, genuinely confused.
    “You let me tell you something was nothing when I needed to. Thank you.” I turned my back, and put the lasagne in the oven.
    C ould feel her gaze on me, and busied myself with checking the temperature, unsure if I should turn around.
    She walked up behind me, and turned me around herself, looking at me intently. “That was a year ago… You still think about that?”
    I looked down, which she took as a yes.
    “Are you going to tell me what it was?”
    T ook a deep breath, and looked her in the eyes. “It’s still… nothing.”
    Her expression changed to one of compassion, “You will tell me one day, right?”
    I nodded, “I promise.”
    She gave me a hug, and the rest of the night was pretty normal.
    Except for the fact that we had lasagne for dinner. Mmm.
     
    160 Days, 20 September, Saturday
    I worked from noon until six today, of my own volition . And then I went to chill with the senior residents in the long-term care ward. They’re usually happy to see me there . Sleep now. But before that, I have to read this story…
    This guy is crazy. Burying other people in wine cellars. Ok, now it’s time to sleep.
     
    159 Days, 21 September, Sunday
    Ok, so I re-read that story, and it does make more sense now. Hmm, I still don’t quite understand why he buried the