Alain Dupont felt numb and disoriented. Strong sun rays had blinded him, and the photo of his ex was hanging on his right side in a wooden necklace. He was sitting down and held securely by his seatbelt, watching the road slip away under him, his eyes unable to see properly.
He hadn’t felt like this for a long time, nor had he felt the salutary effects of alcohol. He smiled as his arms were back to their normal state, and his legs were functioning and, most importantly, at the right angle. But the reality came crashing in as he realized that the plane, all those people striking him, the hideous and ghastly Michel Madison, was nothing compared to the nightmare he had just come through and nothing compared to the next thing to come.
He wouldn’t wake up in his bed drenched in sweat this tim
