I didn’t have nightmares last night.
For a moment, I just sat there with my mouth slightly agape. For the first time in two whole years, I’d slept through the night without waking up bathed in sweat or crying. For the first time in two years, I hadn’t needed the strong whiskey in my nightstand to help calm me down enough to rest. Why now? Was it because of Michael?
“Jordan?”
I glanced upward to see Jacob standing in the doorway. On reflex, I smiled at him so he wouldn’t worry about how I had looked a second ago.
“Hey, kid.”
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No, everything’s fine. I think today we’ll take you around the city to see if you recognize anything.”
He nodded, and then wandered back towards the kitchen. I slid to the edge of the bed and stood, stretching. By now, my right hand no longer hurt and the stiffness in my neck had decreased significantly. I could feel the bandages beneath my shirt shifting as I moved. Michael would have to change them soon. That would be especially interesting after that vivid dream.
After choosing an outfit from my closet, I started to shove the hangers back towards the rear, but then my hand touched something covered in plastic. Strange. I hadn’t gone to the dry cleaners in a while.
I pulled it out. It was Mr. N’s duster. I thought I had lost in the alley when Belial attacked me. Pleased, I stripped off the plastic and ran my hands over the clean fabric, fingertips brushing over the places where the sleeves had been sewn back together. Something warm unfurled in my chest. Somehow, this was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.
Still, seeing it made me feel too vulnerable so I placed it back into the closet and gathered my undergarments to go take a bath.
Twenty minutes later, just when I finished putting my underwear on, I heard Michael knock on the door and open it before I could grab my robe.
“Hey, I—” He stopped in mid-sentence.
I picked up my robe from the floor and slid it on, facing him.
“Yes?”
“Jordan…your back. Why didn’t you tell me?” He shut the door behind him and motioned for me to turn around.
I sighed, allowing the soft wool to slide down enough to expose my lower back. Along the base of my spine were faded brown scars—some long and thin like string, while others were thick and twisted like snakes. Michael hadn’t seen them when he wrapped my chest because I’d made a point not to lower the robe enough for him to notice. I knew he’d ask about them.
“Belial didn’t do this, did he?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then who?”
My voice came out soft. “Aunt Carmen.”
He took in a sharp breath. I shivered as his fingertips traced the nastier looking ones closer to my backbone. “She couldn’t hit me where people might see. Didn’t want someone to call the cops on her.”
“Jordan…”
I shook my head and pulled the robe up, tying it. “No. I’m tired of talking about me. I want to hear something about you for once.”
My eyes found the silver chain around his neck with the tiny padlock still intact. “When did you get that back?”
Michael seemed like he wanted to argue, but he merely sighed. “Raphael fixed it. He’s always been good with his hands.”
“Is he the one who sewed up my duster?”
“No, that was me. I figured you’d want it back, since he meant so much to you.”
Again, a warm spot filled my stomach. How could he stand to be so sweet to me all the time? “Thank you. Seriously.”
“You’re welcome.”
I gestured to the necklace. “Where did you get it?”
His green eyes flickered with an unknown emotion as he wrapped a large hand around the padlock, almost as if it were a reflex. “I bought it from someone not long after I lost my memory.”
I sat down on the edge of the tub and motioned for him to continue. Michael grabbed the First Aid kit from the sink and pulled up the folding chair that had been pushed into the corner, rewrapping my chest as he told me the story.
Michael hated clothes shopping, but felt it was a necessary evil after the incident. The police had recovered his wallet and Visa card, meaning they’d also found where he lived. Turns out the same person who robbed him and knocked him out also emptied out his apartment. After a long call with the bank he got the identity theft straightened out, but that still left him needing to buy all new furnishings and clothes. He hadn’t been able to find out where his substantial savings had come from since he didn’t have a job yet. He assumed he was an orphan who had been left an inheritance and left it at that.
After getting turned around a couple times, he located the men’s sections and started shifting through the endless sea of blacks, blues, and browns. The entire situation seemed humorously absurd. He had no clue who he was so what sort of clothing defined him? Jeans? Slacks? Shorts? Pin-striped suits?