THE VOICE HE COULDN'T FORGET
*Still in Alex's perspective — first person.*
Morning came, but it did not bring rest.
I lay in the gray light before my alarm sounded and stared at the ceiling and replayed the dream with the specific compulsive thoroughness of a man who was used to solving things and found himself, for once, in possession of a problem with no available data.
*Don't leave.*
*You already know my name.*
I remembered every word of it. The cadence of her voice. The particular warmth underneath the words, the patience that had nothing performed in it. I could have transcribed the entire conversation verbatim if anyone had asked me to, which was itself strange, because I did not, as a rule, remember my dreams in this kind of detail. Most mornings, the night dissolved within m
