La lumière du bonheur

Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt

Description

He looked into her eyes - and forgot everything about himself.

He'd done something that night, but couldn't remember.

And she had left him like that. Until she returned as a Homeland Security agent to save him from two cops who wanted him for questioning.

Now on the run, in disguise, his memory wasn't returning very fast. Josh depended on this mysterious Rosa to get and keep him out of harm's way as they traveled out of L.A. and into remote backroads of Southern California.

There's something about her Josh doesn't understand, or just doesn't remember. Yet.

To solve their situation, Josh will have to recover his lost memories.

And the secret is in her eyes...

Excerpt:

I looked into her eyes and my soul was gone.

Like I never existed in my own body. Or more like I had a different one, now.

I could feel her arms, her legs, the silky smoothness of where she shaved and where she didn't. Medium height, brown hair, blue eyes - I knew these from looking at her from the outside. But from the inside out, your eyes didn't have color, your hair only showed in a mirror or when you grew it long enough to pull out in front where you could see it. And you hardly felt hair growing where it shouldn't unless you felt it for yourself.

I put my new hands around and over my new body to feel the textures, the curves. Raising one hand and arm in front of my eyes, I saw alabaster white skin, like I'd never been out in the sun. This body was trim, smooth, exercised and fit.

I was wearing her clothes and underclothes, where they bound and where they supported. Even feeling the coolness on my feet where I'd kicked my own shoes off.

Then I moved my hand higher, across my/her chest.

"Hey, watch it!" A voice came in, the hands dropped, arms straightened, fists clenched.

"Buddy, we're in this together, for now, so keep it clean." That voice was obviously in command.

"Who are you? What am I doing here?" I asked.

"I'm Rosa. This is my body and you are a visitor." The voice named Rosa was tough, but as smooth as her hips that I could still feel through our knuckles.

"But what am I doing here?" I repeated.

"You're a volunteer. Simple. You asked to be here." Rosa replied.

"No. You're kidding. This is slavery, this is..." My own voice halted.

Rosa turned to look at my own body. All 6 foot, 4 inches of it. Sandy hair, broad shoulders, tanned dark by the sun. Wearing my own clothes, the denim pants, chambray shirt, scuffed leather boots, and a frayed and faded blue ball cap with a seed company logo on it. And "I" had a blank look on my face until I didn't. Then winked an eye back at me, with a wry smile.

Then that me, all dressed up, walked over to the cheap "solid" door to this two-bit flea dump of a hotel room. Unlocked the chain, turned the dull stainless-steel door knob, opened it. Just before I went out, I picked up a small knapsack. Two steps and I was gone. At east thoughtful enough to shut the door behind.

I was trapped in someone else's body in a room that was also borrowed. Probably paid by the hour. But how long I would be in this body was another question. My ride had just left for parts unknown.

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