Robert sinks to his
knees, blinking, as the pain begins to recede.
“Oh God,” he gasps,
“I remember.”
“Jolly good,”
replies the voice he remembers as Tom. Robert is sure he recognises
the voice, but it's different as well. The accent has changed for a
start, so has the tone. In the meadow he'd sounded like a stoned
American teenager, while now he sounds like a private school master
or professional butler. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I lost myself.
What happened?”
“You drifted off is
the simplest way to explain it. That's what happens in the
collective subconscious, all that is you fades from view. My fault,
of course, I thought you'd be immune, given your background and
everything. Terribly sorry. You're going to need a mnemonic after
all.”
