The Persistence of Memory | ✔

28

Sun poured into the stark white room from the window, the city spread out past the glass. Iris stared out of it, a paper cup of coffee in her hand, the warmth of it seeping through her skin and steam rising from it. She watched as life went on, people went about their business.

At her side, her friend and co-worker rested on a spotless, white bed. She looked to be at peace, Iris thought. She certainly hoped that was the case. After all, Nina had been through a lot. Iris thought of what Nina had faced in the time during which she should have been recovering, and had to wonder how she could have missed the distress her friend had been in.

She was always good at hiding things, Iris reminded herself. She sipped the coffee in her hand, the hot drink providing some comfort. As she stared at her friend, Iris couldn't help but feel a sense of relief in knowing that she was safe. Nina was home.

"The case against Christopher Fearnley has been dismissed. Fearnley, who confessed to the slaying of Dr. Alice Cassill, has been released as new evidence has surfaced and a new suspect has been apprehended. . . ."

Iris glanced up at the television screen on the wall of the hospital room. The news anchor faced ahead with an impassive look as she read from the teleprompter, most likely unaware of the impact of the news she was reading.

". . . Katie Forrister, daughter of the new suspect, was seen entering the courtroom . . . ."

Iris watched the young woman on the screen. She avoided looking at the cameras surrounding her, voices shouting out questions. Her head was bowed, blonde hair obscuring much of her expression. Iris had an idea of what her face might have looked like.

Experience had shown her many times over the sort of pain family endured in similar cases. It was the pain of watching someone you loved be accused of doing horrible things. The feeling of finding out that they weren't the person you thought they were. Iris watched as Katie Forrister climbed into a car and couldn't help but feel bad for her.

She let out a sigh, turning away from the television and glancing instead at the bouquet of flowers resting by the side of Nina's bed, flowers that had been left there not so long ago. They were a lovely arrangement, with bright colors that softened the appearance of the room. It broke through the blank walls and the sharp scent of antiseptic. Iris thought Nina would appreciate them when she woke up once again.

The memory of the man that had dropped them off floated to the forefront of her mind. He was not what Iris had expected—though she wasn't certain what that had been in the first place.

Christopher Fearnley was an average man, thin and soft spoken. He was normal in every way, but Iris could still see what remained of what he'd been through in the dark circles still visible under his eyes. She could see it in the paleness of his skin and the lines on his face. But Iris could see more than the remnants of his time in prison.

There was relief in him, hope, things that they both knew were there because of Nina. And then, there was a warmth in his eyes, and gratefulness that seemed unmeasurable when he gazed upon the woman who'd saved him.

"She should be waking up soon," Iris had told the man as he stood there, he gave her an awkward smile and nodded.

"That's good." He looked back at Nina. "She'll be alright then?"

"The doctor says so." At least, physically, she would be. It was still uncertain how much of a toll everything had taken on Nina's mind. She'd woken up briefly while her father sat at her side, a nurse told Iris, and then Nina had gone back to the rest she needed so badly. "You can stay, if you want." Iris could only guess that the man would have much to say to Nina—much to thank her for.