she saw.
‘I’m looking for the Colt-Embry Clinic,’ she said.
The person shrugged and walked on. The fourth person Mary asked pointed ahead, directing her left and then giving more instructions that Mary knew she wouldn’t remember. She pulled her notebook out and wrote it all down, ignoring the woman’s reaction. She walked quickly, then jogged, her eyes moving back and forth between the notebook and the pavement in case she had dropped the phone on the way to the church. She arrived at the apartment building to the warmth of the light at the empty reception desk. Everyone had left. She steadied her key with both hands as she unlocked the main door and ran in. She made her way quickly to the elevators, pressing the button for her floor, desperately trying to talk herself calm. Her phone would be on her bed, she left it there, or it would be on the floor, or it was by the sink in the bathroom, or it was on the kitchen counter top or it was gone. Maybe it was gone. It was definitely gone. But didn’t she have it in the lobby? She couldn’t recall. All her fears gripped her internally, there was no outward show. If anyone saw her, all they would think was that she was determined, not that her lifeline was gone and she could fall apart at any moment. She imagined being found again by Stan or Magda or Julia curled into a ball on the floor like a crazy woman.
She made it to the second floor, rushed past the library. She got to her apartment door and was pushing on it before she even had the key turned. She burst in and ransacked the place, pulling out drawers, turning over cushions, sweeping things onto the floor, falling to her knees to look under every space a phone would or would not fit. She stopped suddenly. She could hear a noise coming from further down the corridor. But she didn’t care. She just needed to find her lists, her names, her whole life, lost in one tiny silver product.
She didn’t hear him come in behind her. He was so quick, he held her in his arms and had his hand clamped around her mouth before she had time to scream.
For the second time in his life, Preston Blake sat in a small room with Mary Burig. His skin was covered in a film of greasy sweat that bled into his scalp, leaving his hair limp and flat against his forehead. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed furiously at his face, throwing it, damp and grey, to the ground when he had finished. He studied Mary, searching for signs of recognition.
Mary could feel the tightness of dried tears on her skin. They had streamed down her cheeks as he carried her away, brought her to one of the vacant apartments, sat her on the chair. The walls had been painted that day. The carpet was covered in sheets. Most of the furniture was gone or protected with plastic covers. There was a ladder and paint pots in the corner, some machine she didn’t recognize, brushes, newspapers, mugs, a radio. An overpowering smell of onion filled her nostrils. She looked around the room and saw one halved on a plate in the corner to absorb the paint fumes. It was dried out and useless. She couldn’t stop shaking. She still had her coat on and pulled it around her to keep her warm, even though she knew that the cold wasn’t the problem.
The memories Mary had of the man sitting opposite her were fragmented, the same broken narrative she tried to put back together before her seizures. A plug-in light, glowing on a baseboard, a tall figure standing in her office doorway, his voice strangled, his breathing shallow, “ I need your help I need your help I need your help, sit down. Don’t do anything else. Just fucking listen to me, OK? Just listen to me. I’m looking for a little help here, OK? OK? I think I’m losing my mind. I just need you to listen to me. OK? Listen. That’s all. That’s your job, right? To listen and to help.” Recoiling from him, he must have been only six or seven years older than her, but looked so much older, worn down… beyond her knowledge, “ Are you listening to me? Help me. I don’t want to be who I am. Please help me. Stop me. His teeth. Liar. He was a fucking liar. I can rebuild some of the damage. But he’s gone, he won’t come back. I’m going to do it again. I’m going to kill again.” Then David arriving, angry, protecting…
Mary shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember.’
Blake tilted his head, saw the confusion in her face.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ said Mary.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you kill my brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ Her voice was pleading and desperate.
‘I made a mistake.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I thought I could be prepared. For prison. For anything. But I made a mistake. I was wrong. I tried. It didn’t work. And all I wanted then was to stay free. And I would have stopped killing… after you.’
‘Please don’t-’
He stared at her. ‘I didn’t start out this way. I just… something snapped. I wanted confirmation. That’s all. I tried to make friends with people…’
‘You must have some people who care about you.’
‘Not everyone has friends. Not someone like me. Maybe beforehand… but not now.’
‘Maybe you left it too late.’
‘What?’
‘For help.’
‘That would suit you to think that way.’ Mary said nothing.
‘You’re nearly normal, aren’t you?’ said Blake. Mary nodded.
‘That’s got to be hard.’
She stared at him.
‘We’re tied together by lies,’ he said.
‘You and me?’ said Mary.
He nodded.
‘No,’ said Mary. ‘We’re not. Lies were just – something to you.’
‘They are me. But… they’re everyone.’
‘That’s not true.’
He laughed sadly. ‘That’s my point. It is true. You called me a freak, remember? You kept screaming at me to get out and calling me a freak. I lost it. I know I did. But I’m not a freak. It turns out really I’m not. Everyone lies like me. No-one wants to admit it. I’m just proving it. Push people far enough and they’ll tell you the truth. But why do you have to push so far?’
Lies had been a huge part of Mary Burig’s life and what had led her to this point, what had brought Preston Blake into her world. It was the evening before her final exam. She sat in one of four quiet corners at Tewkes, the deadest bar in Boulder. Her Biopsychology textbook was spread out on the small round table in front of her with notes written in the margin. She knew how her mind worked. Intense bursts of studying right before an exam paid off. She kept up with most subjects all year, but for the ones she didn’t, she could concentrate all her energies in a twelve-hour session and still come out on top. She waited an hour, focused on reading, wired on coffee.
Then Jonny Tewkes walked in, the son of the owner, followed by most of his class on the trail of free beer. Mary kept her head down. But Jonny had seen her and walked over, pulling out the stool opposite her and closing the textbook shut.
‘Mary Burig. Now is not the time.’ He smiled.
She smiled back. ‘No. It’s way past the time.’
‘When’s the exam?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘Then you’re done. You need to relax for the evening. In preparation.’
Mary rolled her eyes.
‘You do psychology, right? So isn’t it proven that sex releases endorphins and they make you relaxed and happy?’
‘So we’ve just skipped straight to that then?’
‘Not at all. I’m obviously going to get you drunk first.’
‘You really are such a loser.’
‘A sincere one. I can not stop thinking about last week.’
She smiled. ‘Me too.’
‘So, what’s your problem?’
She opened her book. ‘This.’
He shook his head.
