The Broken Rifle
Copyright© 2024 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 18
In the morning, Marion didn’t understand.
“How did I get here?” She was refering to the bed.
“It was snowing and I was worried about getting snowed in.”
“So ... that doesn’t explain why I’m in the house.”
“You want the truth?”
Marion nodded.
“I have never seen anyone so obsessively determined, you were so wrapped up in the rifle that you never noticed ... or complained when I took your screwdriver. You were reaching for the instruction booklet when I picked you up and carried you ... through the snow ... to the house.”
Marion looked shocked.
“You had the booklet and were reading the next procedure.”
“I didn’t complain?”
“Not at all.” I gestured to the instruction booklet in her hand. She stared at it like it was a green alien. She hadn’t realized she had it.
“I slept with it?”
“I didn’t take it ... I tried ... not hard. I didn’t want to tear it.”
“Oh my god ... Mom said I had OCD. I didn’t believe her. I’m just me.” She took on a bleak look. “Is this dangerous?”
Rather than answer that I asked, “Have you ever caught yourself becoming aware of your surroundings?”
“You mean ... like... ‘I don’t know where I’ve been but I’m back?’”
“Just saying that means you have. I don’t like to call it ... but ‘normal’ people don’t do that. We generally have it spanked out of us when we’re kids.”
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