He stands on the edge of Browning's mind.

In front of him is a door, a really big sturdy one, and its centerpiece is an enormous lock. He wants to reach out and touch the cold metal but he can't bring himself to move. Somewhere beside him there is also a man dying on the floor, breathing without breath. Fischer finds the whole situation intimidating.

I just want to wake up.

He moves forward anyway, a dreamlike state crawling through his limbs, slowing him down in preparation for some imagined moment where everything might cave in on itself. Fischer can't seem to stop himself, but meanwhile his mind is screaming, screaming at him.

Someone, anyone, wake me up! I don't want to be here I don't want to be here

He doesn't have to wait for long.

"Hello."

She really should have been saying goodbye.


He stands on the edge of a shore.

There's only salty water and buildings—broken, towering things that make him feel far too small. Fischer looks to his side. No dying man, no door, no nothing. Just the water soaking his shoes, the sand clinging to his socks as he slogs out of the wetness.

He stumbles around the water's brink for a moment, then gives up trying to stand. It's frustrating and Fischer only feels tired. Sitting, a thought why should I care anymore pushes its way to the surface then dies.

He doesn't even notice her sneaking up on him for the second time.

"Goodbye."

He really wishes she would stop doing that.


"Are you all right?" The sound of a man's voice is irksomely comforting and it pierces his haze.

Do I bloody look all right? Fischer wants to snarl but he's stuck to the airline seat, just trying to breathe.

There are some people crowded around him, but only this man's face is growing clear to him.

He thinks he remembers it dying.