Extraits

Simon listened to the old Morphine album when he felt especially self-destructive. Like tonight. He downed the rest of his whiskey, put the empty glass on the kitchen counter and turned the lights off.

When he stood in the shower later, he pondered the rare cases of retrograde post-traumatic amnesia he’d met during his career. After a head trauma, the patient sometimes forgot short periods of time preceding the accident and/or the accident itself. Most of them regained their memory after a few hours or days, maybe weeks. He’d yet to see a retrograde amnesia so severe a patient couldn’t recall autobiographical information for several years.

This was his favorite pastime at his most vulnerable moments— making up a series of random events which could have led to Matěj’s disappearance more than three years ago. It always ended in the same way.

Simon sat on the bed in the dark bedroom, staring through the window at the overcast night sky. He could never see stars above Prague. He could confabulate all he wanted, but he could not fool his own unforgiving logic for long. It was a clear case of Occam’s razor. Matěj either did not want to return or he was dead. Simon could see it, even through the burning in his eyes. Matěj might have met someone somewhere—it had been three years. He might even have gotten married…or he might have overdosed, gotten into a fight…

Simon would call Jano in the morning and apologize for being an insensitive jerk. Again.