Chapter ThirteenTommy Morgan had lost two days of his life. Sitting over a mug of strong coffee, his desperate efforts to recall anything since the needle was plunged into his arm stirred nothing more than vague images of torrential rain and a slow, painful crawl up the stairs in the darkness. He had no idea how he managed to get into his flat even, the most likely answer being that his neighbour, George, had dragged him there. His ageing battery radio, through the crackles, told him it was Sunday evening.
The mess he found himself lying in appalled him. Despite his comatose state for two days, it would appear his bodily functions had continued as usual. There was also vomit on the floor beside him. The stench from him and the room was overpowering.
While washing himself down and cleanin
