Somewhere in Manhattan. Day IX
Lights filtering through the window, great rejoicing in the room, the book was somewhere on the shelves. The sick doctor tried to breathe while he was opening his eyes. Nobody looked at him. Where was Lorraine? She might be one of the bodies with white coats, but he couldn’t recognize her. Before he lost consciousness, he could hear something like the cry of a baby, something like the roar of a beast, something like a mother embracing her baby, something like a baby killing its father.
‘Would you be able to kill him?’ she asked silently.
In my dreams, she was still with me.
‘You hated him… you hated him when he talked about your book, do you remember? DO you remember his expression?
‘I remember, Lorraine… and I can hear now our baby’s crying.’
‘It’s so lovely, Alex… I would like you to see its face now.’
‘Show me it, show me it now.’ The room began converting small… ‘Time, time, time is breathing…’
‘The injection point should be moved clockwise each day.’ And she smiled. ‘Do you remember him? He is an interesting man. First time, we met in a conference about French Baroque… but he was not interested in art. Are you? See it, I will show it now.’
I had to get that out of my sight, I had to contain me, I had to wait for something better that it.
‘Don’t you like our child, Alex? Don’t you like our creation, doctor? It’s ours, my friend… Do you remember our past days in Paris, Alex?’
‘If it were ours, I would take care of it… I wouldn’t leave you alone, Lorraine…’
‘Do you remember now?’
‘I don’t, sorry.’
‘I know you do, little boy… He’s coming now. There’s no exit for you now. Judgment is coming.’
And the signal comes…
And W.W. Wilson knocked at the door twice.
‘Just a dream and nothing more.’