Sterling

Chapter 2

Nola Scott plunked onto the couch and began twisting her reddish-blonde hair into a braid. She had ordered a pizza and eaten two slices by the time Alex came home. He arrived in a cloud of panic and frustration. She looked on with concern as he kicked off his shoes and violently shook the water out of his umbrella, cursing loudly.

"There's pizza," Nola said.

    Alex's eyes met the open box of pizza on the counter. Without a word, he grabbed a slice, shoved half of it into his mouth, and curled up on the couch holding the other half. Nola watched as he tried not to choke on a wad of cheese and sauce. She opened up her pocket mirror and began fixing her lipstick. Today it was bright blue.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Alex said, swallowing the last of the slice. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"I have to check on him."

Alex jumped up and rushed down the hallway. He knocked on the door to the guest room. There was no answer.    

"You know, I wish you would tell me your name so I don't have to stand here and hope you hear me knocking."

No answer.

Alex turned the doorknob and pushed the door open a crack. He peered inside and then entered the room. Mostly everything was untouched. Blankets were strewn across the bed in such a way that they could not have kept the man lying there warm.

The stranger in the bed looked worse than before. His face was ashen and stained with dried blood that trailed from his nose. His chest rattled each time he inhaled. Alex picked up one of the blankets and laid it neatly over the sleeping man, who awoke when the fabric brushed against his face.

The two men made eye contact.

"Uh...hi," said Alex, moving a step closer to the door. "Do you want something to eat?"

The man groaned, shifted over onto his back, and closed his eyes.

"If you put your head higher it will probably help decongest your nose a little," Alex suggested. He propped the pillows up.

Nola appeared in the doorway. She watched the stranger with intense curiosity until her eyes caught something on the edge of the bed.

"What's this?" she asked, pulling the object out from where it was jammed beneath the mattress.

    The journal looked like it had been dunked in boiling water and then blow-dried several times over. The pages were a sickly grey color. A thin strip of black ribbon stuck out from the bottom of the book. There was nothing written on the cover, which was made of brown leather.

    Nola opened the book to the page marked by the ribbon. The pages felt as if they would rip—not with a sound, but softly, as wet paper does—as she turned them. Alex watched his girlfriend as she read. Her facial expression didn't change, but there was a defeated look in her eyes that Alex could not quite understand.

"This must be his," was all she said.

"Is it a diary?" Alex asked.

Nola nodded.

Suddenly the man in the bed shot up. Alex jumped, startled.

"That's mine," the stranger said, rage flickering in his eyes. He struggled to hold himself upright.

    Nola handed him the book. It was still open to the page she had been reading. The man snatched it from her hands and slammed it shut, hands trembling from both sickness and fear. He stared at Nola with a bewildered look of betrayal. She avoided his gaze and quietly apologized.