CHAPTER 41 – MATTY
LONDONHe lay face down on the bed, somewhere on the uncomfortable border between sleep and wakefulness, unaware of whether he’d been in the same spot for hours, days or longer. Even the very concept of a day became a mockery. Time didn’t run forwards anymore. It had turned itself into something solid which he could press himself against and feel it push back, a thick fluid that sent ripples of memory and recollection to and fro. He was viewing the world as if through a tinted window, the stupor only occasionally broken by a trip to the toilet or a long gulp of from the dirty water bottle on his windowsill. ‘Tell me!’ he wanted to shout ‘Tell me who I am!’ But he didn’t know who he was shouting to or what response he expected.
All he knew was that something awful was ha
