One by One by Simon Kernick Read Free Book Online Page B

embankment, and hit a tree. For some reason I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, which possibly saved my life, because I was thrown clear of the car, straight through the windscreen, and was twenty feet away from it when it burst into flames. I was in a coma for three months, and when I woke up my life was this.
    A blank slate.
    Without doubt, the most lonely feeling in the world.
    â€˜I know, I know,’ I said, with more than a hint of exasperation. ‘It’s just we don’t seem to be making any real progress.’
    â€˜Well we are,’ he countered firmly. ‘We’ve managed to get you to remember growing up with your sister; the camping trips with the family when you were a boy. We’re slowly piecing together your childhood, Matt. And we’re using that as a foundation to allow us to reconstruct the memories of adulthood, and finally get your memory back altogether. When people suffer from the kind of amnesia you do, the memories often come back very slowly, starting with the earliest first. We may never solve the mystery of what you were doing on the road that night, we may never remember the few months of your life prior to the accident, but we will return your life to you, Matt. You have to believe that. It’s like a box we’ve simply got to prise open.’
    I sighed. ‘I’m trying.’
    â€˜So nothing’s come to you since we last spoke?’
    I paused. Did I tell him or didn’t I? ‘Everything we talk about here is confidential, isn’t it? It can’t go any further than these four walls?’
    He gave me a strong, reassuring smile. ‘Exactly. I’m bound by oath not to repeat anything you tell me to anyone. Has something come back to you then?’
    I paused again. Because the thing was, I didn’t entirely trust Dr Bronson. It was hard to say why. He acted genuine enough, but maybe that was the problem: he came across like an actor playing a part. Yet maybe that was what all therapists were like with their patients. In the end, I bit the bullet, figuring I didn’t have anything to lose by telling him. ‘I’ve had a dream.’
Jesus, the dream.
I took a deep breath. ‘The same one, twice in the last four nights.’
    â€˜Did you write everything down like I suggested?’ Dr Bronson always suggested. Never told.
    â€˜I didn’t have to. I can remember the whole thing vividly. And it was exactly the same both nights. I never have recurring dreams. I never really dream. But this …’
    Now, suddenly, Dr Bronson looked really interested. He wrote something down on his yellow A4 notepad. ‘Tell me about it. Start from the beginning and take me through every detail. You know, we might have a breakthrough here, Matt.’
    That, worryingly, was what I was afraid of. I took a deep breath. Then I began.
    â€˜I’m in an unfamiliar house. The lights are on and it’s night. The dream starts with me standing outside a half-open door. I push it open all the way and I notice that I’m wearing gloves. The lights are on inside the room and I feel a sense of terrible foreboding as I walk slowly inside.
    â€˜The room’s a mess. A lamp’s been knocked over and a glass of wine’s been spilled on the carpet. But my attention’s focused on a naked woman who’s lying sprawled out on her back on a huge double bed. She’s dead and the sheets round her head are covered in blood. As I get closer, I can see she’s been beaten over the head with something and I’m pretty sure her throat’s been cut too. She’s young, somewhere in her twenties, with long dark hair and curves in all the right places, and I feel a pang of something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s more than sadness, but it’s not quite guilt. I touch the skin of her neck with a gloved finger, feeling for a pulse, but to be honest, I already know she’s dead, because I can actually