Wild Fiction

‘I think you had too much to drink,’ the author said putting one hand on each of her shoulders to steady her and kissed her gently on the bruise on the forehead.
‘This isn’t a hangover headache. I must have fallen, there’s an enormous bump on my head, here feel.’ She took his left hand off her shoulder and held it to her head. He ran his fingers over her skull and felt the bump. It was now the size of a golf ball.
‘You must have bumped it somewhere. I think you had a lot to drink. What do you remember?’
‘I remember those bonds,’ she said pointing at the bonds strewn on his desk. ‘I can’t remember anything else. What happened to Louise? Where did she go?’
‘I think she went home.’
She mumbled something incomprehensible, then turned around, and headed back to the bedroom. The author closed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock, before releasing the fictionals from the secret passage behind the bookcase.
‘She never remembered it in the first place,’ James said when they were out.
‘Who never remembered what?’ the author said looking at James.
‘Genevieve,’ James said. ‘She didn’t lose her memory. It was never recorded in the first place.’
‘Is this another boring trivia fact?’ Rebecca asked.
‘My depth of trivia knowledge isn’t boring. It’s a common myth that drinking too much destroys people’s memories. This is utter bunkum. They never had the memory in the first place.’
They were all paying attention to James now.
‘What happens is once you’ve had a lot to drink then your mind stops recording things that are happening around you. The alcohol addles it and makes it malfunction. Of course, it records some things and others it doesn’t. So when you wake up the next day and can only remember patches of what happened the night before, it isn’t because the alcohol destroyed the memory, it’s because the mind never recorded it.’
‘Okay, that wasn’t as boring as the other stuff, but is it true?’ Rebecca asked.
‘Yes it’s true. It comes from the “A” section of my trivia reference system,’ James said smiling at her.
She smiled back and shook her head. ‘I’m never sure what I’m supposed to believe.’
The author walked to the door, opened it, and looked into the hallway. He turned back to the fictionals. ‘I think she’s gone back to sleep. It’s safe to go.’
‘You want us to go?’ Rebecca raised the edge of her mouth in a half-cocked smile.