The sheets were clean. There was no blood on his fingers. His head did not feel sore or seem to have a bump on it. He looked under the covers. Two old feet at the end of pyjamas. Out the window the sun was shining but inside it felt cold. He pulled the blankets tight around his body. Who were the people in those photographs on the wall? He stood up. Scanned their faces. Nope. No. No. No. He didn’t recognise any of them. Shivering. Maybe he should go back to bed. He turned to the desk. Saw a note stuck to the wall above it. ‘Read the papers in the bottom drawer.’ Bottom drawer of what? The filing cabinet of course, don’t be stupid. He sat on the floor. Opened the drawer. There were fifty or sixty pages. All typed with dates and names. But who was the You they talked about? Maybe the You was one of the people in the photographs. He stood up. Left the papers on the floor. Did people still use old typewriters like that? He was cold. Tired. Then he heard someone walking in the hall. He hurried back to bed. Listened to the clatter of an old typewriter. Watched the one on the desk but saw the keys weren’t moving. He pulled the blankets to his mouth. Someone else was in the house. Maybe a murderer. Come to kill him. Or a burglar. To steal his possessions. But what possessions did he own? He got up. Removed the photographs from the wall. Piled them on the end of his bed. The robber can have those. He didn’t want them. Who were they of anyway? Maybe if he studied their faces…The typewriter stopped. Had there even been a sound? The keys of the machine on the desk certainly weren’t moving. There were the footsteps again. He got back into bed. Some of the photographs fell to the floor. Who was out there? What did he want? Was it even a man? It might be a female burglar. Then what did she want? A knock at the door. He refused to answer. Pretended he wasn’t there. Maybe then the burglar would just go away.
Lucian? Are you all right? It’s time to get up.
Who was Lucian? What were all those photographs doing on the end of the bed? Who had taken them off the wall? The doorknob was turning. Someone was coming into the room. His room. At least he thought it was his room.
Lucian? Are you awake?
He saw a man. Just standing there. Was that the burglar? He needed to go to the toilet. He was going to the toilet. Tears on his cheeks. He was cold. But out the window the day looked sunny.
Lucian isn’t here, he shouted. I don’t know any Lucian. Lucian isn’t here.