Chapter SixRain patters against Felix’s bedroom window. He buries his head beneath his pillow, as though it is that easy to escape the sound, as though it is that easy to escape anything. In this half-asleep state his dream comes back to him; images rolling, crashing through his mind.
Hesitantly he wanders through his flat. As he does so he studies his surroundings: the hallway, the kitchen, the main room, as though expecting them to have changed, or for something to be waiting, behind a door or at a window. In the bathroom his reflection stares, pale-faced, back at him. On the balcony he finds a bottle where he had left it, weighing down the post. Rain has reduced the letters to sodden pulp. He wonders if he is going mad, or if he has gone mad already. It has been a long week.
“It’s bee
