Before I Wake Read Online Free Page A

his face barely touched by wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes.
    I liked that he wasn’t young. He was old enough to be sure of himself, to be confident, to be powerful. He could change the mood of a room with a single glance, a curled lip or a doubting lift of his eyebrow. His stare could make you feel like you were on trial, or that you were the most adored person in the world.
    I should wake him up and send him back to his daughter. He shouldn’t be gone too long.
    I pulled the quilt up over my shoulders. Leaning my head back against the cushions, I watched him sleep, the flickering of his eyelashes, the tiny tremors within. I’d let him sleep just a little longer.
    Â 
    Locking the door behind him, the stranger turned the hot-water faucet as far as it would go. Steam began to fill the small bathroom, and the rushing water drowned out the sounds of the emergency room next door. The stranger slipped out of his coat, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door with his satchel.
    Plunging his hands into the scalding water, he began to scrub the dirt of the road from his nails, from the creases of his knuckles. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been properly clean. The dirt of a continent stained the water brown.
    With red and swollen hands, he set his wire-framed glasses on the back of the toilet tank before dunking his head into the steam. He splashed handfuls of water over his face and his closely shorn head. It burned, but he scrubbed at his cheeks, rubbed at his skin until it squeaked.
    Shaking his hands, he tore off a strip of paper towel and dried his face and head.
    From the hanging satchel, the stranger withdrew the cool, stiff white circle of a collar, which he laid on the back of the toilet, next to his glasses.
    It took him a moment to button the top of his black shirt, closing the fabric over the scarred loop of russet, twisted flesh around his throat.
    The careful placement of the collar hid the evidence of his shame.
    If they could see him now, he thought, all those who had come to him so willingly—who would come again, he knew—would turn away, repulsed by the sudden realization of his transgressions. But when they saw his collar, they saw their own chance at redemption, the promise of the glory, the rightness of the path. Who better to show them the way than a man of God?
    KAREN
    The steady rhythm of the respirator was lulling, its cool, measured pace encouraging sleep. But it was impossible to ignore the reason for that rhythm, the ebb and flow my daughter’s breath. It was impossible to close my eyes knowing that.
    The doctor had come in on his rounds about half an hour after Simon had left. If he was surprised that my husband was gone, he didn’t show it.
    â€œHow are you holding up, Mrs. Barrett?” he asked. I was relieved to see he didn’t have to check the file for my name.
    â€œYou can call me Karen,” I said, as if this were the most normal situation in the world, just a couple of people getting to know one another while a machine breathed for my daughter.
    â€œKaren, then. Are you doing all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œHave you had something to eat? You’re recuperating too.”
    My fingers strayed to the bandage on my head.
    â€œI’ll get them to bring you a dinner,” he said, making a note in the file. “And later on I’ll see to it that they wheel in a cot. These chairs are a pretty uncomfortable way to spend the night.”
    â€œThank you.” I was on the verge of tears again.
    He waved it away. “It’s too bad this room isn’t a little bigger. There’s only enough room for one cot, so someone’s going to have to spend the night in the chair.” He winked at me. “You’ll have to draw straws.”
    I tried to smile.
    â€œSo how’s our other patient?” He leaned over the rail, taking Sherry’s narrow wrist between his thumb and