When he hears another
snatch of this strange music, Robert realises that he should be able
to understand it if he concentrates.
“.....name is
Robert,” says a voice he thinks he might recognize. “You are in
the corridors of the subconscious, in the Weave, looking for your
wife. Crikey it's hit you bad, you're not as resistant as I thought
you would be.”
“Is somebody there?”
Robert asks, looking round.
“Oh for heaven's
sake,” the voice replies, irritably. “It's me, Tom, from the
meadow. You're looking for a red door.”
Robert clutches his
head as the most intense pain sears through his mind, his memory
abruptly crashing back to him.
