Page 11 of All My Broken Dreams

“It suits me well enough, not that I was given a choice. Housing is assigned to the rank-and-file staff and students. It’s cold in the winter and hot in the summer. The plumbing is mercurial, and the hot water gives out if you don’t time your showers down to the last second.”

The room was more spacious than Robbie thought it would be from the outside. It was also older than she expected. The furnishings were antique and worn out like they’d been there since the Great War. The living area was carpeted with a faded area rug that looked Turkish.

There was a cracked leather sofa, an armchair and another chair that was upholstered in a thick material that was patterned with ferns. They were positioned on either side of a gas fire that glowed in an iron grate. The mantel was crowded with books and framed photographs of people from the last century.

The room had a smoky, yellow glow from the antique shades on the lamps. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with books, and there were more books piled on small tables in every corner of the room. It was a strange room, Robbie thought, looking around, trying to identify what was strange about it.

“There’s no technology in here,” she said suddenly. “No television, no computer–nothing from this century. Are you one of those people who refuses to read anything but print? No judgment–I like books too. I’ve just never seen so many in one place that wasn’t a library. You and my brother have that in common. Harry likes to read too.”

Deacon stared at the books like he wasn’t sure how they got there. “I have my phone,” he said mechanically. “I don’t need anything else. Have a seat. I’ll get us something to drink. Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat.”

Fatigue overtook her now that she was safely inside and the door was closed. Robbie felt like she could finally exhale for the first time since leaving her apartment. Her condition kept her in a constant state of anxiety. As soon as she was indoors, her body would react, collapsing with relief.

“I’m starving but I think I’m too wound up to eat. Thanks, anyway.”

She plucked at the massive hole in her tights and touched the crusted blood from where her knee was scraped.

Deacon snapped on a lamp on the side table with a shade made from colored glass. A Tiffany lamp, probably valuableunless it was a reproduction. Her great-grandmother on her father’s side had one in her house. The dark wood paneling seemed to swallow light. He went around the room turning on lamps that were positioned all over the room.

“I have some sherry,” he said. “Or beer. I’d go for the sherry in this instance. I think it helps with shock.”

“I’ve never had sherry. Is it good?”

Laughing, he opened a cabinet on one side of the fireplace and took out a dark blue bottle. “I wouldn’t know. I bought it because that’s what they serve around here at Christmas. In case someone stopped in for a drink, I wanted to be prepared.”

“I guess you have a lot of friends stopping in at all hours.”

The thought made her nervous, but also weirdly jealous.

Deacon handed her a tumbler of amber liquid. “Not really. Mrs. Cameron is my only visitor. Get that down you. Do you need a pain killer? I think I have some paracetamol in the medicine cabinet.”

Robbie shivered when his fingers brushed against hers. The look he gave her was steady and bewildering.

“Your hand is freezing,” he said in a low tone. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

“It’s just my tights. They’ll dry out in front of the fire.” She took a sip of sherry. It was smooth and hot and went right to her head in the best possible way.

Deacon retreated to a kitchenette off the living room and Robbie leaned back against the leather sofa.

“Is this the entire apartment? Where do you sleep?”

“You’re sitting on it. The sofa pulls out to a bed. The armchair becomes a second bed when I push the ottoman up against it. It’s not comfortable but it’s better than bunking down in the stairwell. Although your suitcase is probably big enough to double as a bed. The bathroom is through that door if you wantto get cleaned up. There’s some antibiotic in the cabinet for that cut on your face.”

He indicated a door tucked in an alcove to the left of the kitchenette.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I can manage.”

Considering the circumstances, the girl staring back at her in the bathroom mirror was strangely calm as though resigned to her fate.

The bathroom was compact, functional and clean. White and dark green tiling covered the walls to the half-way mark. The tub and pedestal sink were easily from the 1920s, but the toilet was new. Black and white marble tiled the floor that was partially covered with a bathmat. At least the light over the mirror was bright. Robbie could see what she was doing. The scrape on her cheek was bad, like raw hamburger. A pale green bruise was forming around the eye.

She’d kill for a long, hot soak in the clawfoot bathtub, but that might be taking Deacon’s hospitality too far.

Robbie gently tested her shoulder by rolling it back.

Pain shot through her, pain so bad that she gasped and folded over at the waist to breathe.

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