Page 93 of Stay Awake
“Yes,” he says, shaking his head as if to break a spell. “It’s too late now to turn back the clock. But it’s not too late to help you. Something happened to you after we broke up, which has caused you to lose your memory. You never had any memory problems when we were together in London, but now you forget things on a daily basis. It makes you vulnerable, and it puts you in danger. That’s why I arranged for you to see a doctor who specializes in amnesia. I want to help you get your life back on track.”
He releases my hand. It makes me feel lost and alone, a reminder that whatever we had together is gone.
He notices that I’ve only taken a single bite of the bagel sandwich. “Eat up, Liv. You need to take care of yourself. Proper nutrition, and sleep. Lots of sleep.”
He watches with grim satisfaction as I eat. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve suffered from severe insomnia. It gave you wild mood swings and made you paranoid and fatigued. Dr. Brenner says the insomnia may be a cause of your memory problems. That’s why I want to make sure you get back into a healthy routine.”
“Why are you helping me, Ted? If we’ve broken up?” I ask later, as we wash the dishes.
“Because I still care about you. I worry about you, Liv,” he says, handing me a plate to dry with a dish towel.
He tells me that when he tracked me down at the basement apartment a couple of weeks ago, he saw that I’d put up all sorts of information about Amy and Marco’s murders on the walls. Apparently when we were together in London, I kept files and drew diagrams on the wall where I listed leads and unanswered questions. In the past, he’d resented it. When he saw I was still doing it, he was more sympathetic.
“God knows how you’d come that far with your investigation, let alone managed to get from London to New York and rent an apartment all by yourself with your memory issues,” he says. “It made me realize that finding out what happened to Amy and Marco might bea compulsion because deep down you want closure. Youwantto move on with your life. So I helped you with your investigation.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Helping you turned out to be a mistake.”
“Why?”
“We poked at a hornets’ nest,” he says. “That’s why you’re here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I asked the night doorman at your apartment building to keep an eye on you. He called me early this morning because he saw someone following you home in the middle of the night, and then hovering around on the street. I’m worried that my inquiries into Amy and Marco’s murders might have alerted their killer that you’re back. That’s why I moved you here. To keep you safe.”
Ted hands me another wet plate to wipe and checks the peephole in the front door. His nervousness astonishes me. He truly believes I’m in danger. I wonder how all the things he described could have happened without me remembering any of it.
“It feels as if I’ve woken from a deep sleep and the world has changed, except for me,” I say sadly. “How long do I have to stay here for, Ted?”
“A few days. You saw Dr. Brenner almost two weeks ago. He’s the medical expert I arranged for you to see. I took you to get scans at the hospital the other day. We have an appointment with Brenner tomorrow to get the results and a treatment plan. It’s all written in your journal.”
“My what?”
“You have a journal. We left it behind at your old apartment, along with your purse, in our rush to leave,” he says. “I’ll get it all tomorrow. You write everything that happens to you in your journal. It’s become a proxy for your missing memory. It allows you to function somewhat normally, which is probably how you were able to get to New York from London. You write the key events of the day as they happen.”
He hands me a piece of paper and a pen and suggests I write everything he’s told me in longhand so I can add it to my journal when hebrings it back tomorrow. “It’s important you have a written history of what we’ve discussed in your own handwriting in case you fall asleep and wake in a panic.”
He hands me a roll of cash that he said he found amid the clutter on the coffee table when he came to get me this morning. I put it in my jeans pocket. He makes me write his cell phone number on both palms so I’ll notice it.
“In case of an emergency,” he says.
Later, I’m staring at my long hair in the bathroom, wondering whether I should ask Ted to book me a haircut with my stylist, Stevie, when I hear a hushed phone conversation in the kitchen. He’s talking to a woman.
From his side of the conversation, I can tell she’s upset he’s here with me. He placates her by promising to come over soon. I feel a twinge of jealousy.
“Liv, I need to go out for a while,” he tells me. “Lock the door behind me.”
Next to the door are Post-it notes with instructions likeDON’T OPEN THE DOORandDON’T TALK TO STRANGERS. He made me write the notes after I wrote the journal entry. He said it’s better if the warning notes are in my own writing as I’ll be more likely to obey the instructions.
I look through the peephole as I bolt the door shut. He hovers near the door until he hears the final click of the lock, then turns toward the elevator.
Picking up the remote control, I turn on the television and lie on the sofa. I drift off to the canned applause of a game show.
I’m woken by a phone ringing. I open my eyes to discover that I’m lying curled up on a sofa in a dark apartment that I don’t recognize, looking out at a nighttime view I’ve never seen before.
Fluorescent lights blink at me from the living room windows as the phone rings. Through my dazed confusion, I gradually realize the ringing is coming from a phone in my back pocket.
“Hello?”
“Liv?” The voice is almost drowned out by the raucous noise of a bar in the background.
