Page 36 of Irreversible

Nick’s tone softens, marginally. “What do you have over there, Beverly? My room is pretty empty.”

I ignore the deliberate name mix-up and reach for the bracelet discarded on my mattress, skimming the pad of my thumb over carefully knitted sections of yarn.

Someone took the time to make this. It was precious to them.

Now it will be precious to me.

“A mattress, pillow, blanket,” I say, my voice a low murmur, hardly loud enough to pass through the wall. “A toilet. Sink. There’s a cupboard stocked with a few gowns and pantry staples. Two towels. I have books, too. Those bodice-ripper historical novels from the eighties and nineties.”

“Riveting.”

“I love reading. I love stories, in general. It passes the time.” My focus pans over to the corner of the room, where a stack of worn novels sit in a lopsided stack. “Do you read?”

“Yeah. People.”

Again, I wonder what his line of work is.

Psychologist?

No, he has no bedside manner. “What do you do for a living?”

“Whatever gets me by.”

“That’s broad. And kind of shady.” I purse my lips together. “Are we talking…criminal stuff?”

“No, and I’m offended.”

He’s not.

“Actually,” Nick continues, drawing out the word. “I’m a superhero, here to fight the nefarious Timekeeper and save the day.”

A sigh leaves me, and I can’t decide if I’m more annoyed or amused. “Sounds like you like stories, too.”

“Nah. You can be the storyteller; I’ll be the trapped audience.”

I glare at the wall in front of me.

“Raptaudience,” he corrects. “That’s what I meant. Please, continue.”

“Okay. Fine.” Leaning back, I tip my chin and stare up at the ceiling until my eyes draw shut. I take his request at face value, still dusting my thumb over the friendship bracelet. “I have abracelet in my hand. Purple and teal. Three letter beads are woven into the center: D, M, A.”

Nick doesn’t say anything, and I assume he’s confused. Processing my random details, wondering why I’d be holding on to a bracelet.

I keep going, voicing the stories that have always been confined inside my head. Giving them life, making them real. These people were real once. They deserve a second chance, even if it’s through a make-believe fairy tale. “Desiree Marie Anderson. That’s what the initials stand for. Her little sister made it for her. Jessie. They were best friends, and I know that someday Jessie will get this bracelet back, knowing her sister still wore it. Even in her final moments.” I clutch the bracelet in a clammy palm, piecing a narrative together. “Desiree was a veterinarian. She loved animals. Her heart was strong and empathetic, and the old dogs always made her cry.”

“What the hell are you rambling about?”

“Roger brought this to me this morning. He brings me things.”

“What does he bring you?”

“Lots of stuff. I have a pile of personal belongings in the corner of my room.” I glance at the miscellaneous items, an assortment of gems and bright colors. “He takes them from the victims and gives them to me…after.”

A chain jangles behind me. “After they’re dead, you mean.”

“Yeah,” I admit softly. “It seems that way.” The silence sinks in a moment before it becomes too heavy. Stories are the best way to keep my mind busy, so I continue where I left off. “I’m thinking the bracelet came from Desiree earlier. The girl who was screaming. She was beautiful. Long, dark hair and big cartoon-princess eyes. She looked like Jasmine fromAladdin.”

“So, what you’re telling me is, you’ve gone insane.”

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