Redlisted by Sara Beaman Read Free Book Online Page A

already knew.
    “You don’t
have to let me in,” he says. “But if you do we can try it
again. We might recover something important.”
    I chew on my lower
lip. Once again I try to reach back past the attack: preparing for my
appointments, putting on my makeup. I see nothing before then.
Nothing at all.
    “Your
memories have been sealed,” Adam says in a quieter tone. “But
they’re not gone. Even Mirabel can’t completely erase
them, not permanently.”
    I unlock and open
the door. Adam steps inside.
    “All right,”
he says. “Why don’t you sit down?”
    I sink down onto
the floor.
    He crouches next
to me. “What would you prefer? My wrist, or...?”
    Sure, I
think, grimacing. Whatever.
That’s fine.
    He nods and brings
the blade to his wrist.
    I look away. I
can’t watch him make the cut.
    You
didn’t give me a choice last time, I
remark.
    “You needed
a lot of blood fast last time.”
    Right.
    “Okay. I’m
ready whenever you are,” he says, extending his hand.
    A wide lateral
gash now extends across half of his wrist. Blood seeps out slowly,
rhythmlessly. I take his hand and forearm in my hands, and, feeling
fantastically awkward, I bring his wrist to my mouth. I swallow just
a tiny bit of his lukewarm blood, and then I feel a floating
sensation, a falling sensation, the feeling of being swept away by
the ocean, of being pushed under, of drowning...
    ...and then I am
sitting in a metal folding chair, in a white-walled room, at a table
across from a familiar woman an unfamiliar man. There is a door
behind them that I know is locked, a mirror behind them that I know
is a window on the other side. In front of me is a list of words,
mostly monosyllables.
    “Read the
words for us, please, dear,” the woman says.
    I don’t want
to read. I can’t remember why.
    “Read the
words,” she repeats, her voice like the edge of a knife.
    I strain against
myself to ignore her command, but I’ve already begun.
    “Pit. Bit.
Tin. Din. Cut. Gut. Cheap. Jeep. Fat. Vat. Thin. Then. Sap. Zap. She.
Measure. Loch.” I pause for a breath. “We. Map. Left.
Nap. Run. Yes. Ham. Bang.”
    Once I’ve
finished, the man cuts his finger with a penknife. He stands and
walks over to my side of the table, his footfalls echoing against the
bare walls. He gathers my hair into a ponytail with one hand; with
the other, he draws a line of blood across my throat. He places his
hands on my shoulders.
    “Good.
Again,” the woman demands.
    I feel my throat
tighten and the sides of my mouth swell. My tongue feels unwieldy, as
if my mouth were full of peanut butter. I start again at the
beginning of the list. “Bit. Bit. Din. Din. Gut. Gut. Jeab.
Jeab. Fat. Fat. Sin. Sem. Zab. She. Measure. Loch. We. Mab. Leff.
Nab. Run. Yes. Ham. Bang.”
    “Again.”
    The swelling
worsens; my lips feel bee-stung. My chest flutters with fear.
Nauseated, I continue. “Bih. Bih. Dih. Dih. Guh. Guh. Zheah.
Zheeh. Hah. Hah. Sih. She. Savv. Savv. She. Eazhah. Ach. We. Bah.
Leh. Hah. Ruh. Yeh. Ham. Banh.”
    I shake my head no
pre-emptively, anticipating her next demand. I want to cry.
    “Yes.”
She pulls her hair back. “Again.”
    “Ih. Ih. Ih.
Ih. Uh. Uh. Eah. Eah. Ah. Ah. Ih. Eh. Ah. Ah. Ee. Ehah. Ah. Ee. Ah.
Eh. Ah. Uh. Eh. Ah. Ahn.”
    She pauses. “Good.
Now the other side.”
    I pretend not to
know what she means.
    “The other
side of the page, dear.”
    I leave my arms by
my side and stare at her with silent defiance.
    “Read the
words for us, please, dear,” the woman says.
    I look up at her;
her face is my own. Her auburn hair is pulled back in a loose
ponytail.
    I don’t want
to read. I can’t remember why.
    “Read the
words,” she repeats, her voice like the edge of a knife.
    Adam pulls his
wrist away from my mouth, and I find myself back in the abandoned
office. His wound heals instantly.
    “All right,”
he says, his voice wavering. “That’s probably enough for
tonight.”
    I bring my knees
to my chest and wrap my arms