My body and the sheets beneath me were again damp with
perspiration. A strong breeze whipped at the curtains. The
temperature in the room was cold but I was not. In short,
I found myself in the same predicament from which I had
been released the evening before. My dreams had been
equally as intense as the previous night but this time, upon
awakening, my recollection of the details was clear, the
images unmistakable. I could better understand the nature
of my present condition.
I did not know how long I had been asleep but,
whether it was for a minute or an eternity, I was not
refreshed. In fact, I was exhausted and longed to return to
the comfort of deep slumber and dreams. On the table
next to the bed, the carafe and partially filled glass were
still there. Although I was not thirsty, I felt a keen desire
for another taste of the liquid. The bindings prevented
this, though I struggled against them. This made me
extremely frustrated, even frantic at the inability to reach
the glass containing the splendid elixir. As if by magic,
Wertenberg appeared at my bedside, the glass in his hand.
I drank greedily. Then I slept again. And dreamed.
This pattern repeated itself for days. At least I
counted the periods between sleep and consciousness as
days, though the cycles may have been much shorter or
longer. Whenever I awoke, it was in darkness, never
daylight. And always, Wertenberg was at my side to
administer the liquid to me, producing the resumption of
sleep and dreams. I have never been careless with time.
Life is too brief a gift to be wasted. Yet now the hours, the
days were completely lost to me.
As I began to understand the impact the liquid was
having on me, sleep, dreams, waking to an overwhelming
desire for more of the liquid and more of the dreams, I
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