The dark glass dome surrounding Ted barely let in the sounds of the outside world. Only a few distant rumbles filtered through the thick wall. From time to time, a desire stirred in him to take a closer look at that strange, mystical world, yet he never did. Floating in the middle of nothingness felt too good: a gentle rocking in a state untouched by suspicious figures, unexpected events, or harsh, jarring noises.
A peace and harmony enveloped him such as he had never known before. He hadn’t realized how liberating it could feel not to be constantly on guard. And the silence! His muscles no longer tensed at the mere thought of the pool, which at any moment might be flooded with the shrieks of the complex’s children. Because it never even crossed his mind.
Every now and then the shimmering blue of the sunlit water rippled before his eyes, but now it wasn’t Emily he thought of. It was the water itself—its cool, silky caress. That softness that tickled the nape of his neck when he leaned against the pool’s edge, waiting for it to cool his overheated body. Sometimes he could almost feel, as if real, the tender, wet touch brushing against the skin of his shoulder.
He opened his eyes. Drowsily, he looked around in the half-light. Only a few narrow beams of sunlight pierced the shutters of his bedroom. Shutters he almost never lowered—he couldn’t bear artificial darkness. He loved natural light: the way it slowly grew stronger on its own, then faded gradually as the hours passed.
He hadn’t even realized his eyes had been closed until now. But with the floating gone and the stark reality of his house pressing in, unease settled over him. Had it been a nightmare? Or had he simply overslept? It could hardly be called bad… But then why were the shutters drawn tight when outside the sun blazed down?
Slowly, he turned his head the other way, but the movement felt heavy and exhausting. He could just make out something narrow rising beside his bed, yet he lacked the strength to grasp or understand what it was. Utterly drained, he slipped back into sleep.
When he woke again, it was night. This time no light seeped through the shutters. He was no longer sleepy. Cautiously, he moved his arm. When it obeyed, he raised his hand to his face and stroked it. His skin was smooth, freshly shaved. The unease returned. He traced a few slow circles with his foot. But why? What was he afraid of? Why did he feel he had to weigh every movement?
He ran his hands slowly over his body. He was lying stark naked beneath a thin sheet. Terror crept first into his mind, then seeped into his body. It trickled sluggishly through his veins, as though even fear itself struggled to find its way. Yet he had every reason to be frightened. Naked and groggy, he lay in a room darkened by strangers. Of one thing he was certain: he wasn’t there of his own will.
Still, the strange dullness muffled his instincts, even in this state of half-alertness. He didn’t leap up or rush to the window. He merely groped cautiously in the dark without trying to rise.
Was he alone? He gripped the edge of the bed and listened. Nothing broke the night’s disturbing silence but the pounding of his own heart. Yet the steady thudding echoed inside him with a frightening clarity. His bones seemed to bounce the sound of his blood’s pulse back at him, as if neither muscle nor flesh remained to muffle it.
Summoning all his strength, he propped himself up on one elbow. In that instant, searing pain ripped through him down below. Alien, unnatural—like metal scraping from the inside. He clutched at himself. Without thinking, he yanked the thin plastic tube out of his body. A scream tore from his throat.
The soft, velvety voice was familiar. The strange hand’s tenderness, however, was not. He barely registered the prick of the needle. The fierce, throbbing pain in his loins drowned out everything else. Cool moisture slid across his forehead, and once again he sank into a deep, oblivious sleep.