Read Online Dark Matter by Brett Adams - Free Book Online Page A

tell me that’s normal,” said Jordy.
    “No, not normal.” He remembered the
wall-come-to-life, and what had emerged from its dying fire. “Quite abnormal.”
    “But you don’t look excited.”
    He wanted to be, but his last glimpse of
the errand carrier, and the proprietary gaze it had cast over his memory, left
him feeling bone-cold.
    “One last test,” said Jordy, and
disappeared into the kitchen.
    Test?
    Rasputin decided Jordy was being
suspiciously goal-directed.
    Jordy returned holding a glossy magazine.
It was an edition of Food Ideas , in which every page featured the kind
of lushly prepared and lit delicacies that earned it the term food porn. Dee
had a subscription to the magazine, and left old copies on their fridge in the
hopes of lifting the culinary standard. Rasputin liked the photos, hated
cooking.
    Jordy searched the magazine, stopped at a
page, and said, “Mongolian lamb.”
    Rasputin took a moment to decide it wasn’t
an insult.
    It was a good test. His eyes would have
barely scanned the recipe. He recalled it without looking within. “500 grams of
lamb,” he began, and rattled off the rest verbatim.
    “It was either that or a tampon ad,” said
Jordy.
    “Now I’m hungry. And why are you so
excited?”
    Jordy sat and fished over his chair’s arm
for the TV remote. “Your memory might have improved, but you’re still thick.”
    He strafed the free-to-air channels, and
evidently found what he was looking for. “Like it was meant to be,” he said,
and unmuted the sound.
    Jordy had stopped at channel Nine. It was
broadcasting the same quiz show Rasputin had watched in the foodhall the night
of his accident, Temptation. Jordy’s behaviour finally made sense.
One-dimensional sense.
    “Tempted?” he said.
    Rasputin took a swallow of his now-warm
beer before answering. “This is the most animated I’ve seen you since I came
out of hospital. And the reason?” He jerked his head at the TV. “You’ve got
dollar-bill vision?”
    Jordy didn’t have a comeback. That was odd.
He returned to the kitchen. When he reappeared, he was carrying an envelope.
    Shit. Not another one.
      “What’s that?” said Rasputin. “Thanks from
Eric Hewitt’s panel beater? Or did I win lotto?”
    “The opposite,” said Jordy, and dropped the
envelope into his lap.
    Printed on it was an icon of a
snake-entwined staff. It was from the medical clinic. It had been opened and
inside he found an invoice for his surgery. He skipped over the blurb and found
the dollar figure. It had three zeros, and more than one figure in front.
    “Sorry,” said Jordy. “It came yesterday and
I thought I’d be able to pay it. I called the clinic to say there must be some
mistake, but the receptionist just crapped on about gap cover, and hung-up when
I mentioned the ombudsman. I know student assistance isn’t exactly the mother
lode. But that...” He shrugged.
    Is game over for study. Rasputin pictured himself telemarketing pet shampoos.
    Jordy changed tack. “Your leg will mend.
When it does, you can pay it out of your night fill.”
    How am I going to tell him?
    Rasputin’s gaze weighed a ton. “I already
owe money. Night fill was barely paying the interest.”
    “What money?”
    “You and Dee were in Sydney.”
    “What money, Monk?”
    “The money I borrowed to buy”—his tongue
refused to form Heroin — “painkillers.”
    “For your leg?” said Jordy.
    “You’re not listening. This was over a
month ago, before the accident.”
    “What then?”
    “Does it matter?”
    Jordy’s expression collapsed as
understanding dawned. In a voice unfamiliar, he said, “Is there any left?”
    “A little. I was almost done with it,”
Rasputin said, and attempted to lighten the mood. “No great revelations were
forthcoming.”
    “Where?”
    “Under the bottom drawer of my desk, in the
cavity.” He almost added: the cache of guilty things.
    Jordy strode into the hall. Rasputin heard
the rasping sound of a drawer