Page 27
He clears his throat before breaking the silence. “Since you wanted something hearty, I’ve heated a stew. It’s filled with nutrients, perfect for recovery.”
“It’s plenty, thank you. I don’t know why I’m so hungry all the time.” I rub circles on my stomach.
“The memories are coming in choppy segments?” He pivots from our original conversation.
“Yeah, I think the more chances I have to explore places and even objects, the more it comes to me.”
A cold draft dances across my neck.
Kieran moves around the kitchen, lighting another set of candles then returns to the stove. “Here, stir this while I get some bread and wine from the pantry.” He disappears into the pantry through a small hallway beside the stove.
When he leaves, I survey the ceiling, seeking artwork imprinted on its dome—none exists. Cement and wood alone converge in the middle.
Kieran returns a moment later with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a loaf of bread.
“This place is magical,” I comment as he approaches me.
“It definitely has its perks,” he replies.
I don’t dare to ask what that means.
Kieran ladles our stews into the bowls before placing them on the counter. “Why don’t we eat in front of the fire?”
“In the Great Room?” I ask, hyperaware of the darkness that lingers there.
“Yes,” he says with finality, his unwavering gaze holding mine.
“Sure, let me grab the bread at least.”
We walk in silence until we reach the room. Kieran flicks on the lights, and the space glows in a soft amber haze.
So the lights do work. How convenient. I grab a nearby sheet and spread it over the carpet, arranging pillows like we’re about to watch a movie instead of sitting in a hellscape fever dream.
Kieran hands me my meal and pours us each a glass of thick red wine, then raises his glass toward mine, eyes never leaving my face, and I lift mine. “To a journey of healing,” he says. Our glasses kiss, and he drinks first.
We fall into a comfortable silence, the crackling fire filling the void between us. My food is warm but tasteless, and the wine is thick like blood, tasting of red berries and black currants.
“Do you think I could explore the shore tomorrow?” I ask, leaning back on my palms. “I want to retrace my steps. See if anything jogs my memory.”
Kieran nods, swallowing a mouthful of wine. “Tomorrow is fine. I can also take you to the police station…if that comforts you.”
Comfort. Sure. Something about the way he says it makes me think that trip will never materialize, but I pretend to believe him. I need him, at least for now. And he hasn’t given me reason to fear him…yet.
“So tell me, Doctor,” I say, tilting my head, “what is it you actually do?”
He scoffs. “Trust me. It’s kind of boring.”
“No, tell me.” I give him a sidelong glance.
Firelight softens the severity of his features, appearing like he’s weighing truths.
“I’m a biochemist, so I study all things related to the body,” he finally says.
“Do you have a specific area of study that you focus on?” I prod, curious to hear from his own mouth what Daisy had earlier told me.Was he a man who would sever my body parts and use them in an experiment?
“My original work focused on lengthening human life. Not the crazy stuff like immortality, just…expanding the window we get.” He shrugs, though his shoulders are tight. “It led me down a dark path. I became obsessed. Withdrawn. I had to claw my way out. This”—he gestures to the room—“is what remained.”
“I guess what matters is you pulled yourself out,” I say, studying the sharp lines of his face.
