He still heard the music, but it might be coming from somewhere deep inside. They had played Morrissey, and he knew that the name of the album came from an area on this side of the river-not very far away. He knew a lot about that kind of thing. That was one of the reasons he had come here.

He heard the music again, louder now, but not the whir.

The light was as bright as ever. It ought to hurt, penetrate him.

I don’t feel like it’s hurting me, he thought. I’m not tired. I could leave if I were just able to stand up. I’m trying to say something. Time is slipping away. It’s like when you’re falling asleep, and suddenly you give a start, as if you’re climbing out of a deep pit, and that’s all that matters. When it’s over, you’re frightened and you lie there, incapable of moving.

He didn’t think so much after that. The wires and cables in his head had been clipped in two and his thoughts spilled out and careened around his brain and merged with the blood that was running down his back.

I know it’s blood and it’s mine. I know what’s happening to me. I don’t feel the coldness anymore. Maybe it’s over. What’s next?

I’m up on one knee now. I’m staring into the light, and that’s how I’ll drag myself toward the wall and into the shadows.

Something is coming at me from the side, and I’m turning away from it. Maybe I’m going to make it.

He tried to move toward the refuge that awaited him somewhere, and the music grew louder. There was activity all around him, coming from different angles. He fell and was caught, and he felt himself being lifted up and to the side. He made out the contours of the walls and ceiling as they closed in on him, and he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Then there was no more music.

The last wires holding his thoughts together snapped, leaving him alone with dreams and fragments of memories that he took with him when it was over and silence had descended.