His knee nudged the table and he grabbed his pint hastily to prevent a disaster. He swept a patch clear of puddles with the edge of a beer mat, planted his elbows, and frowned at me. “Harry, you look terrible.” There was not much I could say. In fact, there was not even much I wanted to say. I was lethargic and numb. I really did not want to be there. Adam raised his glass and took a hefty swig. “Drink up. Dr. Yates knows best.” Possibly he did know best. I certainly did not. I just wanted everything to go away. I wanted to wake up and find that none of it was real. There was relief in having someone else take charge. So I took a gulp. It was gassy and cold, and left me completely uninterested. The low table between us was crazed with circular stains; I brushed my hand over them absently. It did not help bring the world into focus. The real world around me was miles away. “That's the way,” Adam said. “It'll come.”
