Read Online Lifeboat by Zacharey Jane - Free Book Online Page A

happening in my head as I stood in a wet green field, staring at my own grave. The man reached me and enclosed me in his burning arms, dragging me down. I fell onto my grave, screaming out at the pain, fighting off the man who was only there in my head.
    â€˜Then I awoke. It was not a pleasant dream. I left my room and walked the corridors for a while. A wisp of dawn skimmed the horizon and the bay, through the window, was tranquil. If I could have wished myself back out there, floating peacefully …
    â€˜I saw a light on in her room, so I knocked and went in. We talked. It calmed me down. Now I tell you, I see it all clearly in front of me again, but the hurt has gone.’
    He returned to staring into space.
    â€˜What does it mean?’ she asked, turning to me.
    I had no idea, but did not want to disappoint her.
    â€˜Which leg was damaged?’ I asked.
    He patted his right leg.
    â€˜And your arms? They were burnt?’
    â€˜No. The man was burnt, not me. It was only a dream.’
    I agreed, but anything would do at this stage.
    â€˜Maybe so. But I’ll have the doctor check your leg anyway.’
    He looked away. ‘He has checked it already.’
    â€˜And?’ I asked. The doctor’s report was in my file but he had noted only the effects of exposure. ‘Did he find anything?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜What did he find?’ I asked, reaching for my file to double-check. I looked through the folder, found the report and started to read it again.
    But my attention was reclaimed by the sound of her gasping.
    He had rolled his trouser to just above the knee. The leg was white, obviously it rarely saw sun, but all round the calf were the proud red lines of scar tissue, patterned like someone had used his leg as a maypole, with razor wire instead of ribbons.
    He looked unconcerned, but she reached out to touch it, then snatched her hand away quickly.
    â€˜What did he …? How old are the scars?’ I asked.
    â€˜I do not know. The doctor thinks it is an old injury.’
    â€˜What can have caused that?’ asked she, shaking her head in disbelief at what she saw. The scars were thick, the skin raised and marbled, puckered in odd places, like they were repaired with the uneven stitches of a child’s first sampler.
    â€˜A war injury possibly,’ he said. ‘An explosion, a bomb of some sort. But more likely multiple knife wounds, badly stitched.’ He rolled the trouser down.
    The idea of someone attacking a body with such indiscriminate frenzy made me shiver.
    â€˜A war injury,’ I echoed. ‘That could explain your dream. And it might show that these dreams you are having are tied to what actually happened. Many men your age went through the war. Only now are we beginning to understand the effects on their minds as well as their bodies. You’ve already told us about your desert memory – this could be a link.’ I paused. ‘The grave dream, well, I don’t know, but I would think that in a war fear of death is a constant waking nightmare. For it to continue after the event might not be unusual.’
    They sat together, those two, quiet and strange. She had pulled her chair close to his and still held his arm.
    â€˜I’m sorry to make you sad,’ he said to her.
    â€˜I’m sad for myself,’ she replied, pushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. ‘I don’t know what to do. I wish we were on board the lifeboat again – at least there the only question was life or death. Here I feel lost within myself; I have no idea what to do.’
    â€˜Wait,’ I answered, although I had not been asked. ‘Wait and we will get news of you, I’m sure. Although you can’t remember, there will be people looking for you, people to whom you belong. Everyone has someone.’
    â€˜Who do you have?’ he asked.
    *
    I escorted them to their rooms in the early afternoon and returned to my office.