The Book Keeper (12 page)

Authors: Amelia Grace

‘Thank-you Cohen,’ she whispered, her words choking in her throat from emotion.

I nodded at her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and hold her to console her for whatever reason she was crying. But I didn’t. ‘You’re welcome,’ I whispered back.

She ran her hand lightly over the leather cover of the bloody book, and then fingered the symbol
and words imbedded into it. I wanted to ask what it meant, but I didn’t. It wasn’t the time for that yet.

Her eyes found mine, as if asking if I was ready to listen to the contents of the bloody book – except she would not have used the word bloody, that was my term.

I breathed out slowly and nodded. Why did this feel like such a big deal? It was only a book – and a bloody book at that!

Chapter 11

A tear rolled off her pale cheek and dropped onto the leather cover of the bloody book. With a quick hand she wiped it off the bloody book and then dried the wet trail
from her tear off her beautiful face. Why was she so emotional about this dreaded bloody book? If only I could get inside her head to understand her reaction to it all.

Her long slender fingers caressed the leather cover before she opened to the second inkless page. My eyes wavered between her eyes and the page to see what she could see. I sa
w nothing on the page. She saw black handwritten words apparently.

Perhaps there was something wrong with her eyes, not mine. I will question her about it later.
My thoughts were interrupted by her voice as she started reading from the bloody book.

“
‘He barreled through the swinging glass doors like a bull at a gate. His brown hair was knotted and disheveled, unkempt. He was breathing heavily like he was out of breath from running a marathon. I froze on the spot as I looked at him. Our patients were always well dressed. This guy wasn’t. He was dirty, unshaven, torn old clothes. In fact, he looked like a druggie, or perhaps a vagabond.

He put both hands against his
dirty face and spoke with anger between gritted teeth.

‘Help me please....please...’ He fell to the floor on his knees. This man was broken. Tears streamed down his face as his eyes found mine. They were desperately searching for some hope. I had to give it to him. What does one have if one has no hope?

As I walked closer to him, I could smell his stench. When was the last time that he showered? I restrained from screwing up my face in repulsion of his odour, and offered him my hand. Human touch. I bet that he was craving this as well.

His sad
blue eyes looked at my hand, and his face became impassioned, tears streaming down his cheeks. It was like I had touched his heart. I cried inside. What had happened to this young man?

‘Come...’ I said, my voice gentle. I did not want to speak aggressively. It would break hi
s spirit more – if it could break any further. He stood up, his eyes glued to mine. I was like a cylinder of life giving oxygen that he desperately needed to survive.

‘I will take you to shower, arrange some clothes and food for you, and then we can talk.
My name is Georgia. Let me take some of your burden from you,’ I said with compassion in my voice.

He dropped his head into his hands and sobbed deeply, coming from the centre of his being.

‘My. Name. Is. Ethan.......Thank. you.’ He spoke between sobs. My heart bled for him. How I wished that I could make it all better.

I told him to take a long shower to help relieve his stress,
and I set about finding some clothes for him, and some food – sandwiches from the nurses lounge, and a new bottle of spring water. I fussed about in the room, anxiously waiting for him to resurface smelling nice and clean.

The creak of the
opening door drew my attention to the bathroom, and then the fresh smell of soap. He emerged from the cleaning station a totally different person. I couldn’t help but stare at this gorgeous man before me. His brown hair was now orderly, his blue eyes sparkling, his skin clean. He covered his manhood with a towel wrapped around his superb torso, his pectoral muscles well defined, his stomach muscles sculptured. His shoulders were so broad, powerful. Who was he to look like this?

‘Thank-you,’ he said, his smile reaching his eyes and melting my heart. Then he looked down, the sadness returning to his face.

‘You’re very welcome Ethan. I must try that magical shower to see how I exit from it!’ I commented, smiling at the beautiful sad man before me. ‘Here are some clothes that I rustled up for you. I’ll come back in a minute or two, and then we can talk.’

I watched his eyes wander over to the clean clothes. He looked at me and nodded, smiling shyly. I smiled back at him, and then left him to clothe his delicious body.”

‘Georgia.....,’ I interrupted her reading. She looked at me, her eyes cross. She was annoyed by my interference of her reading.

‘Cohen?’ she said curtly. She definitely was not impressed with my interruption.

‘Mmmm.....nothing. Go on, I am enjoying the book,’ I said lying. It was like some stupid romance novel or something. What was the point of this whole exercise? Bloody
bloody
book! Unfortunately I had agreed to listen to her story – I was signed in and couldn’t sign out till the end. I had agreed.

She held my gaze for a moment before she continued with her reading.

“‘When I returned to the hospital room, he stood with his hands in his pockets. The shirt was way too tight, stretched taunt over his broad shoulders and chest. And the pants were oversized, hanging loosely off his hips. No matter, he looked good this way, and definitely smelled heavenly after his long shower.

‘There is food and drink for you Ethan. Help yourself to it,’ I encouraged as I sat on the chair next to the hospital bed. I had cleared all of my research appointments for the day.
Ethan’s state of mind was high priority. If I could help him, I must. I was now accountable for him.

‘Thank-you,’ he said with a gentle voice, and then reached over to eat my offering to him.

‘You must nourish your body. It is good for the mind, and soothing for the soul,’ I commented. At this comment his eyes darted over to mine, as if I had thrown a poisoned dart at him. I held his eye contact, radiating peace from my eyes. He needed to know that I was concerned for him.

‘Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea Ethan?’ I asked. Timing was of the essence. I needed to give him some space after his dislike of my precious comment.

‘Coffee would be un-soothing for my mind Georgia, so I will have tea please,’ he said, his voice ruffled, his manners impeccable, and using my words to throw back at me. Hmmmm...... he was in defense mode. What was eating him? I left in silence, holding my posture in confidence. He needed me to be strong for him. He didn’t realise it, but I knew it.

When I returned with his tea, he was sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows, one leg bent up
, one outstretched. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. My heart softened for him.

‘Ethan, let’s talk,’ I said, my voice
reassuring. He immediately opened his eyes, looking straight ahead of him, like I had extracted him from a happy place and back to reality – a reality that he did not want to be in.

‘Yes......yes, we must talk,’ he said, his voice defeated, his eyes
focused on his food.

‘There is something troubling you. I can help you. But you need to let me know what is going on. Is it an external or internal
war? External meaning that something is happening or has happened to you from someone else, or a situation that you have become involved in, or internal, meaning a war with your mind, body or soul?’ I questioned, trying to explain carefully to him. He remained passive as I spoke to him. That is until I mentioned the word soul. Again, his eyes darted to me, a fire of rage inside them.

Now I knew what his problem was - his soul. It was not unusual for someone who was on deaths door. But, for a man this age, this physically maintained, this
alive? What has he done? Why is he ripping himself apart?

He breathed in deeply, and then spoke in the quietest of voices
, his eyes closed, tensed.

‘I believe
.... that I do not have a soul.’

His face was ashen, gutted, and my own heart twisted for him.

After a moment of silence, I spoke, keeping my voice tranquil.

‘Why do you believe that Ethan?’
”

‘Georgia....’ I interrupted her again. It took some courage on my part. I didn’t want to get that
’if looks could kill’ look again.

‘Cohen?’ her voice was curt again, her blue eyes piercing mine
like a dagger. Ouch!

‘It is getting late. The sun is starting to set. And I have to break the spell of the words of the book. When do you want to meet me again to continue the story?’ I asked her, my eyes searching hers for a connection to the real world.

And then she snapped out of it - out of the bloody book. She was kind, beautiful Georgia again, the Georgia that I knew, if only briefly.

She breathed out like she had been holding her breath throughout the entire reading of the bloody book. She looked disappointed.

‘Oh, yes of course. Right you are Cohen. I will email you again Tim. What is it with the late night emailing anyway?’ she asked, her voice curious.

‘It is a long story Georgia. But I will tell you sometime. Gotta go. Watch the trackers follow me. They have odd behaviours! Ah.....thanks for reading to me. Your story is.....intriguing. I am keen for the next
installment.’ I looked into her eyes gauging her reaction to my statement. She smiled slightly and nodded her head.

I smiled crookedly back at her, and then began my journey home
, with my trackers in tow.

The smell of a roast chicken dinner entered my nostrils the moment I entered my apartment. My stomached growled. I was hungry. As per usual routine, I ate my dinner, watched sport on television before having a steamy hot shower and then went to bed. I was looking forward to the text from Georgia.

The vibrating phone against my leg was like a cattle prod waking me. In a haze I reached under the blanket to read email.

FROM: Georgia Harrison

SUBJECT: The next installment

DATE:
May 15 2011 23:15

TO: Tim Jennings

Dear Tim,

The trackers are indeed very odd. Do they have undercover spy lessons to
practice their moves? Thank-you for listening to me read my book today. I am still offering you a get out clause at this point. I will understand if you ditch me.

Georgia
#thegingerbreadmenarehappytobebackintheoven

FROM: Tim Jennings

SUBJECT: The next
installment

DATE: May 15 201
1 23:20

TO: Georgia Harrison

Dear Georgia,

I know my tracker’s faces very well. I like to change my direction to annoy them. They don’t cope with a change of plan very well. I feel privileged to be given the chance to listen to you reading your book to me. I want to know what Ethan says next. You have me hooked!

Tim #gingerbreadmenarenicerinmystomachwithacupoftea

Send........

FROM: Georgia Harrison

SUBJECT: Gingerbread Men

DATE: May 15 201
1 23:30

TO: Tim Jennings

Dear Tim,

Since you are indicating that you are not going to ditch my readings of the book,
I would like to deliver the next installment tomorrow. I never read it by myself. Likewise, I never read it silently. Where would you suggest we meet?

Georgia
#Iamgoingtomakeyouagingerbreadmantoeat

FROM: Tim Jennings

SUBJECT:
Gingerbread Men

DATE: May 15 201
1 23:36

TO: Georgia Harrison

Dear Gingerbread Maker,

I am stuck in critical meetings tomorrow. So I think that we should meet in the evening. How about back at our very first meeting place. 7:03pm?

And please notice that I spoke of gingerbread MEN in my stomach – plural.

Tim
#leaveoffthesultanasbutidoenjoytheicing

Send.....

FROM: Georgia Harrison

SUBJECT: Sultanas are healthy