The Cured
“Everything ached. He watched Elizabeth bringing in boxes of supplies and Dave running through the house in an unusual fit of activity, but he didn’t offer to help. He’d already expended more energy than he could spare. The stove pulsed with warmth against his side and he could smell something cooking. Marnie sat at the table coloring in the lantern light. Henry couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. The room puddled and merged into a dull sense of comfort. He felt himself sliding into a doze, but fought against it. Something kept telling him not to fall asleep. If he fell asleep would he wake up the same man?
Henry forced himself upright in the chair and looked at the window, trying to see past his reflection and out to the dark road. His throat was swollen with fear and sorrow. Was this what it was like to realize he was dying?
“Henry,” said Marnie, glancing over at him.
“Hmm?” he turned slowly from the window.
“Don’t be sad Henry. I’ll take care of you. You’ll be better soon.”
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