The Surrogate by Ann Somerville Read Free Book Online

foreign land. A sound of loss, of grief—of despair. The sound of weeping carefully muffled to avoid being thought weak, or attracting attention.
    That nearly did it. I’m not made of stone, and however crazy this bastard was, no one cried like that for nothing. I almost reached for him—and then pulled back my hand. I wasn’t a friend. I wasn’t even someone he respected. All he would feel would be anger and shame that I had noticed his weakness. He already threatened to kill me for touching him, and that was without the rest of it to make it worse.
    So I continued to lie still, and finally the quiet sobs ended. Not long after, the snuffling deepened into the slow rhythm of true sleep and I could relax. But I still couldn’t get to sleep for a long time after that. Every time I turned around, this situation got more confusing, more complex....
    And, I suspected, much more dangerous.
     
    ~~~~~~~~
     
    He was gone when I woke—and so was the damn book. He was sitting already dressed, at the table, reading. “You know, the book was fine until you started pulling on it. I wasn’t doing anything to it.”
    He glared at me, no trace of last night’s grief in his expression. “You could have rolled on it.”
    “ Not likely. I used to read in bed all the time, never damaged a book yet. You’re just being spiteful.” So much for making friends with him, but I hated pettiness in all its forms. “You care a lot more about books than people.” He gave me a little shrug, as if to say, ‘of course I do.’ “Is it because people hurt you and books don’t?”
    He shut the book he was reading very carefully, then stood up. “Keep your remarks to yourself. Keep your observations to yourself. Get dressed, eat and then get out of my sight.”
    “ No. Not until you give me the book back. It’s inhumane, expecting me to sit in a room by myself all day with nothing to occupy myself.”
    “ Do you feel yourself so cruelly used? Was it someone else who turned up yesterday, starving, desperate, with a broken head? Is it someone else I see before me, clean, fed and well rested? I don’t recall stating we would do anything but pay you. It’s your own stupidity that has led to this. Now get out of my sight !”
    The bastard may have had a knife, but I had more stubbornness than a balky cow, always have had, when pushed. “No. In fact, I’m going to sit here and watch you all day if I have to. It’s better than staring at the walls.”
    He refused to answer, and instead reopened his book and began writing notes on paper to one side. I pulled out a chair noisily, sat down and folded my arms. I was confident the irritation of my presence would be enough to make him give in. But interesting, I thought—he’d not made a single threat, just demands. Either he was learning that they didn’t really work with me unless you carried them through, or he had been unsettled yesterday and was more rational today. There didn’t seem to be much difference other than that.
    It was more interesting than looking at the walls, I had to admit, although it wasn’t the way I would have chosen to spend my days given a choice. I spent a little time speculating what on earth he was doing—was he just translating the book he was peering at so intently? But no, he seemed to be looking at several, and cross-referencing between them. Then he had to consult some letters in a file, and then there was more scribbling. His expression, though intent, was somehow less...severe? He had severe features, cold although rather beautiful, so some of that he couldn’t help. But his eyes were somehow less chilly as he read, and he chewed his lip from time to time, a surprisingly human habit I wouldn’t have suspected in him.
    He looked up several times and saw me watching him. I gave him a bright smile each time, and his expression would go blank before he looked back down at his work. I wasn’t doing a very good job at either irritating him or distracting