Memories

Back in the dimly lit room, the man lit up a cigarette. He had finally succeeded in comforting her and putting her back to sleep. The bastards had been rough on her; and all for the sake of protecting themselves when all she had done all her life was protect them. And their secret. His secret.  As he turned to look at her, his gaze softened and he found himself going back in time to the place where they had first met.

It was Paris, the nuit Blanche, and was full of tourists thronging to see sights opened for only a brief window of time. She was one of them, struggling to get a foothold, when he stumbled upon her, clutching his bloody side. She saw that the stranger who had just jostled her was tightly clutching his side and his pallor was unhealthy. It was only as she caught his arm as he stumbled that she noticed the blood seeping down his shirt. She grabbed him and whispered in his ear as she steadied him, ‘lean on me.’

“No, no I will be fine,” said the stranger.

“I am a doctor; I know you are anything but fine, “she said firmly.

He ceded, knowing she was right and let himself be guided in a less crowded corner. Under a street-lamp, she made him remove his hand and inspected the wound. The loss of blood indicated a deep wound and she saw he needed immediate medical attention if he was to stay conscious. She pressed her scarf to stop the bleeding and said, ‘I am taking you to a hospital nearby. You have lost too much blood.’

“No, no hospital, “said he in a raspy voice. “I don’t have medical insurance. But you are a doctor, surely...” and then he winced in pain.

She would have to take him back she realized and quickly hailed a taxi. It was a brief drive but by the time they reached, he was on the brisk of losing consciousness and her scarf had turned a deep shade of red.  They somehow managed to reach her apartment and she quickly put him on the couch. Removing his shirt, she cleaned the wound and bandaged it. She gave him medicines to alleviate the pain and put him to sleep. He had lost quite a lot of blood but would live to tell his tale. She went to bed, keeping her door open to keep an eye on the stranger in the couch. When she woke the next morning, she checked in on her patient- he was still sleeping. As he slept, she realized how good looking he was, black hair, aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Despite the bandages, it was clear how well built he was. She almost touched his brow to brush back the hair from his eyes when all of a sudden he opened his eyes and caught her hand.

‘It’s just me, relax.’ He let go off her hand but his gaze still remained as fierce. “Water, “he said softly. She brought him a glass and helped him up to drink it. ‘I will make breakfast for you, you just try resting.’  He nodded weakly and went back to sleep. It was only while eating when she let her curiosity get the better of her and finally asked him, “What is your name?”

“Tom”, he replied, not looking up from his plate of bacon and eggs.

“I am Mila. How are you feeling today? Better than last night? “

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You were in quite a state yesterday. The wound was really deep. You should have really gone to the hospital.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Really? Care to tell me what happened? “she insisted, pressing further.

He didn’t answer but instead finished his breakfast. Then tried to get up from the couch and swayed. She quickly steadied him and helped him lie down again.

“How long before I can move from this couch?” he said breathing heavily from the effort.

She narrowed her eyes and said to herself that two could play the game at not giving direct replies. “Time to change your bandages.”

He tensed as she touched his wound but relaxed as her expert hands undid and redid the bandage.

“Try resting”, she said curtly. And he did as he was told.

The next few days the same routine continued. She never asked him again why and how he got the wound and he never cared to explain. Then one day when she got up, she found him gone. There was a note however on the space he had occupied. She opened to read it. It said that he was eternally grateful for everything she did for him and that he would repay her someday.

“Well at least he knows his manners, “she said loudly, knowing that the handsome stranger would never cross her path again.

Today

It was a sunny morning like no other; the brilliant blue sky untarnished by clouds, all in all a perfect day for people to throng the streets. But there was no one to be seen, not even a whimper of as much as a footstep. It struck her as rather odd that this small picturesque town would be as quiet. However she could feel eyes watching her behind the windows and behind the doors, as she crossed the empty street. She took her time to find the house; those cobbled streets were all the same and those unwelcome houses all the same. At last, she came to it, and she hesitatingly knocked on the brass knocker, awaiting a response. When none came, she looked around and thought she saw a curtain flutter on the 1st floor window-she knew instantly that they were watching what she would do. She emboldened herself and went around to the back and to her surprise, found the back door ajar. She peeped in and seeing no signs of the inhabitants, pushed it open. It made no sound and she entered to stand in the spotless kitchen, closing the door behind her.  She paused for a minute before opening the other door opposite the one she had just come through, unsure, afraid.  And as she opened the door, things started happening too fast, someone pushed something in her face and she fell to the floor. The last thing she remembered was the sweet sickly smell which rushed up her nose.

When she woke up next, she was lying on a bed in a dimly lit space. The nondescript room, as it whirred to focus, was tiny; with a chest and drawer on the left and two doors, one opposite the bed, one on the right. She could make out a window too over the table beside the chest. They hadn’t tied her, she noticed, but somehow she could not get up so she waited a little to regain her strength. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man stood in the doorway, framed by the light of the corridor outside. She could not see his face clearly but from his shoulders and hands and from the way he stood, she knew it was him. He drew a chair from the corner and came to sit by her. And then she saw it clearly, the tiny scar above the right cheek-bone which never failed to remind her of her guilt. She cringed a little as he touched her neck to check her pulse. Satisfied that it was healthy, he motioned for her to sit up. She did as she was told, albeit slowly and with great effort. He made no motion to help her, watching with hands folded across his chest. When she was sitting facing him, he looked at her with his piercing black eyes, full of questions. She could not help but staring at him for she had no answer to them.  They stared at each other for some time, lost in the memories which flooded back, until they turned painful and she could look no more. He sought her hand and held it. She looked at him with an anguished gaze and eyes glazed with tears and said-“I can’t run anymore.” He nodded, he knew already. He pulled her closer as she wept.