I re-read the manuscript, knowing the ending. I could still taste this woman, this ”Desiree”. Where and how did I meet her?
And now the memory so real that I had tangible evidence that it had not been fantasy (the text, the welts) – I needed to find this woman. Was she my salvation – or was she the anti-Christ?
In my bewilderment I forgot that I didn’t have a headache anymore – the drinking had either decreased to a point where I was not getting the hangovers, or I was so immune to the quantity of consumption that I was permanently pissed and devoid of the capacity for recovery.
Lucidity – or some semblance of it – would give me the answer I needed.
I didn’t know where to start looking but I decided to try and backtrack my days. I re-read the manuscript searching for clues.
The accident? The apartment?
Maybe.
Then I remembered leaving the building and feeling the door shut gently behind me and I swore I heard: “Thank you” as it did.