Catherine.
That portrait in the hallway, the smoky pictures in frames, the yellow newspaper clippings in his files. Katerina Zlatarova‐Tarneva – a famous neurologist who died in a “laboratory accident” twenty years ago.
I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the voice recorder, and the sound kept hitting me.
“I know you hate me, Clara,” Julian heard himself again, but this time he spoke as if he were bent over me. “I know you see in me a monster, an old, rich freak who buys foreign daughters.” But I’m dying. My memory is falling apart. Alzheimer’s eats everything – her voice, her laughter, her formulas, even the way she tied my tie. I can’t let Catherine die a second time.
His voice broke.
“If I can’t keep it in my head, I’ll keep it in yours.
My breath stopped.
The pills.
Nights without sleep.
Foreign memories.
He didn’t put me to sleep.
He was recording me.
The Greatest Sin
The voice in the voice recorder became even more broken, almost inarticulate.
“I must confess my greatest sin, the one who bound us the three of us,” said Julian. “Your father… Ilian… did not fall ill by accident.”
My blood stuck in my ears so hard I could hardly hear.
“He was Catherine’s partner in the lab. Her most trusted man. He made that “mistake” in the contest. He locked the door outside to save himself and… the papers. He came out almost unharmed. She… no.
