The Child Read Online Free PDF

made at that New Year’s party. Sophie had been laughing so much she’d dropped it. Over ten years ago. She was two weeks late at the time.
    Unlike him, Sophie had managed to escape from herself after Felix’s death by taking refuge in a second marriage. It had produced two children to date – twins. The little girls were surely the only reason why Sophie hadn’t drowned in her own depression.
    Unlike me
.
    Stern severed the skein of memory by opening his eyes again. He removed the cork from the neck of the half-empty bottle of red wine that had been languishing on the floor for days. It tasted horrible, but it fulfilled its function. He never expected visitors, so there was nothing in the fridge. Even if one of his colleagues did turn up unannounced, he wouldn’t let them in.
    There was a good reason why he regularly employed a security firm to fit all his doors and windows with the latest burglar-proofing devices. He was well aware that the technicians thought him crazy because there was nothing worth stealing.
    But he wasn’t afraid of burglars, only of observers: of people who might see through his carefully constructed façade of expensive suits, shiny cars and smart offices with a view of the Brandenburg Gate. If they did, they would discern the empty husk that was Robert Stern’s soul.
    He took another swig from the bottle, clumsily spilling some wine on his white shirt. As he looked down wearily at the spreading stain, he was involuntarily reminded of the birthmark. Sophie had been the first to notice it on the baby’s shoulder when holding him in her arms, freshly bathed and denuded of the warm blanket in which he’d been wrapped immediately after his birth. They’d been worried at first that it might be a malignant skin condition, but the doctors had reassured them. ‘It looks like a map of Italy,’ said Sophie, laughing as she rubbed Felix with baby oil, and they’d made a solemn resolution to spend their first family holiday in Venice. In the event, they got no further than the woodland cemetery where the urn was buried.
    Stern put the wine bottle down and went through his mail. Two flyers, a parking ticket and a statement from his bank. The most personal item was a DVD from his Internet library. He no longer patronized the video library at weekends now you could get films sent by post. He opened the cardboard envelope without looking at the title. He’d probably seen the film already. He made a point of ordering pictures that didn’t feature children and had a minimum of sex, so his selections were pretty limited.
    Having inserted the DVD, he removed his jacket and tossed it carelessly on the floor before slumping back against the cushions. He was dog-tired, so he wouldn’t last more than a few minutes before falling asleep on the sofa as he so often did at weekends. Luckily there would be no one around to find him still there in the morning. No family, No friends. Not even a housekeeper.
    He picked up the bottle again, pressed ‘Play’ and waited for the ridiculous, unfast-forwardable warning notice that threatened you with imprisonment if you illegally copied the ensuing film. Instead the image jumped several times like a badly exposed holiday video. Stern frowned and sat up. He had suddenly recognized the scene, and it jolted him out of his stupor. From one moment to the next, everything around him seemed to dissolve. He was unaware of the wine bottle escaping from his grasp and emptying the rest of its contents over his shirt. At a stroke every external stimulus had faded out. Only he and the television remained. Stern himself had changed, too. He was no longer looking at a television screen but through a dusty window into a room he’d never wanted to enter again in his life. When the camera zoomed in, he was afraid he’d lost his mind. A heartbeat later, he felt sure he had.

7
    The greenish image of the neonatal ward freeze-framed just as the distorted voice uttered its opening