The Memory Painter

She led him up the stairs, unlocked the door to their apartment, and disappeared into the bedroom. Michael sat on the couch and listened to her move about as she changed. He stared at the small living room. Everything looked the same but different.

A tiny one bedroom, the place had been perfect while they were in med school—the rent was cheap—so they had stayed even after they had gotten married. They were currently channeling all their funds into their research, with the hope that it would pay off down the road. Michael wasn’t sure if what happened to him tonight was their biggest breakthrough or a brutal end to their study.

Diana came out in her nightgown, her face scrubbed and her hair in a ponytail. It made her look sixteen instead of forty, and Michael gave a small smile. It reminded him of an old gymnastics picture he had seen of her in high school, poised on the balance beam—head gymnast, she liked to remind him. Petite and athletic, she still had a nymph-like air about her, coupled with a look of immense concentration and determination to tackle any obstacle. Right now, the obstacle happened to be him.

She sat on the chair instead of the couch, and crossed her arms. “Are we going to talk about why you lied?”

Michael remained silent.

“I know you remember what happened in there.”

“I need some time.”

“For what? Shutting us out of our own study?”

Michael didn’t want to do this now. “I’m not shutting you out,” he insisted and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The apartment was so small they were still in the same room, but she followed him anyway.

“We sanctioned this. You can’t have a reaction and keep it to yourself. This isn’t just about you.” She pointed her finger at his chest to punctuate the point.

“I know that. Don’t poke me.”

“I didn’t poke you,” she snapped.

“Yes, you did,” he yelled back.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to change the subject.”

“I’m not! I said I can’t talk about it yet. Can you please accept that and let it go?”

“How can you tell me to just let it go? You were speaking Greek! I’m pretty sure that’s not a normal side effect!”

“Yes, I’m aware of that!” He drank the water and spit it out. For some reason he could only taste the chlorine, fluoride, and heavy metals.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her concern overriding her anger. She took the glass and smelled it.

“This tastes horrible.” Then he realized his perception of how water should taste had changed now that he had something to compare it to—pure water from the third century.

Diana stormed over to the liquor cabinet. “How about a real drink?”

Michael debated. A stiff one might help. “No, then I can’t drive.”

“Where are you going?” Her back was to him. He could hear the hurt and bafflement in her voice.

He wanted to apologize to her—he knew he should—but instead he said, “I need a library.”

“At five a.m.?” Diana abandoned the drinks and sat on the couch, putting her head in her hands. “I knew this was a mistake. I can’t believe you talked me into letting you take it. Everything was on track. This could derail the study, our grant … everything.”

“Diana, you have to trust me.” Michael couldn’t stop his voice rising again. “I will tell you everything, but not tonight.”

“Well guess what?” She glared at him. “It’s morning.”

Feeling helpless, Michael gently shook his head no.

“Honey, I’m scared,” she pleaded with him. “Something happened to you. Ever since you took Renovo and woke up on that table, it’s like you’re not even here. Look at yourself in the mirror. What the hell happened?”

Michael turned away from her, unable to deal with this right now. He could count on one hand the number of times they had fought in their six years together. She was his partner in everything and he had never kept her in the dark before. He grabbed the keys.