completely unusable bathroom, a pantry, and a few rooms I don’t recall much about. Perhaps just guest rooms at the time, though I don’t remember many guests, aside from Brie, Marcelle, and Maw Maw.
I head up the staircase to the second floor, sweeping through the various rooms, but without the furnishings to identify them, they hold nothing for me. No memory. No feeling. Just empty rooms destroyed by time and abuse.
And no red door, either, which tells me I must’ve dreamed it. How vivid that dream, though, that I could recall so many details of the door.
At the end of the hallway, I peek inside a room with dirty white walls and built in shelves. A faint familiarity lingers here, as I trail my gaze over the simple furniture that gives no insight into whether it belonged to a boy, or girl. A few of the books lay splayed open on the floor, their spines stomped and busted with no care, or concern. I turn one over to a page of faded print, and close it to Grimm’s Complete Fairytales on the cover. It could’ve belonged to any one of the owners who lived here after me, but I distinctly remember reading this book as a child. The one that began my love affair with reading at such a young age.
I set it down to continue my trek through the house.
It’s not until I reach the mouth of a dark hallway that the first trickle of fear skates across the nape of my neck. I flick on the flashlight to expose an empty corridor with no doors. Just one, long alcove that stretches toward an empty wall that’s decorated in red and reflective gold paisley paper and covered in more graffiti.
Confused, I run the flashlight over the surface, trying to recall a doorless corridor from my memories. Surely, a kid looking for places to hide away and read would’ve considered this dark spot prime real estate, but nothing comes to mind. And perhaps I wouldn’t have been so struck by the oddity of a completely useless hallway back when I was a child. Even if I find it utterly strange now.
Not bothering with the empty corridor, I finish my sweep of the house.
Whatever life still pumps through its arteries is faint and hardly palpable anymore.
9
Thierry
“Good afternoon, Mr. B.” The nurse twists around just enough to shoot me a beaming smile, as I enter the room, then goes back to taking my sister’s blood pressure.
In a wheelchair by the window, Frannie stares off with a vacant expression, her long blonde hair twisted into a neat braid. An old, ragged teddy bear clutched to her chest.
“How is she today?” I ask, taking one of two empty seats against the wall across from her.
“Better than yesterday. Had another nightmare around midafternoon. We ended up having to medicate her.”
With minimal, if any, movement, and rarely, if ever, speaking--aside from a few repeated words every so often and mumbling--she’s remained in a somewhat catatonic state for the last five years. At times, she’ll dream with her eyes open, an odd thing to witness, particularly when she screams like someone is hurting her.
“Do you find they’re happening more frequently these days?” Unfortunately, the two-hour drive to get here puts me at a disadvantage for keeping up with her daily progress, but it’s better than anyone finding out she’s alive.
And connected to me in any way.
“Hmm, I’d say so. The doctor hasn’t figured out what’s been triggering them lately. Thinks it might be a change in medication, though.”
“What change?”
“Dosing for her seizures.” After a lengthy pause to record her vitals, she jerks her head toward the door through which I entered. “Can I talk to you outside for a second?”
After a quick glance toward my sister, who is undoubtedly unaware of my presence, I follow the nurse out into the hallway and down an adjacent corridor, where she backs herself against the wall and reaches for my tie.
She pulls me in for a kiss that’s as cold as my lack of embrace, when she snakes her arms around my neck. “Where’ve you been? I’ve missed you.”
We’ve fucked a few times in the past. Down in the basement of the hospital, or in the backseat of my truck during her break, but certainly nothing that warrants her knowing my comings and goings. I dislodge her arms from my neck and take a step back, straightening my tie.
The hurt written across her face tells me she’s put more into