Batch 39.
The blonde from my dreams.
The woman who'd said Gabriel was dead.
"He's dead."
Her voice, echoing.
"He died in a fire."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
Had she been lying?
Or had she been telling the truth?
I would never know.
She was dead, and I had killed her, and the truth had died with her.
I don't know how long I knelt there.
Minutes.
Hours.
Time had stopped meaning anything.
The blood was drying on my hands. The tears were drying on my face. The body was cooling on the floor, and I was kneeling beside it, and I couldn't remember why I'd come here or what I'd been looking for or who I'd been before any of this started.
"Gabriel."
The name came out as a whisper.
"Gabriel, where are you?"
No answer.
There was never an answer.
"I killed someone, Gabriel. I killed her, and I don't remember doing it. I don't remember anything. I don't know who I am anymore."
"I don't know if I'm real."
"I don't know if any of this is real."
"Please."
"Please come back."
"Please tell me what to do."
I was alone.
I had always been alone.
