Clamoring Voices

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Norm knew it was time to get help when he woke up in a strange bed next to a woman he did not know. A red light blinked in the corner of a computer monitor. He ignored it and stumbled into the bathroom. The face that greeted him in the mirror when he turned on the light was older than he remembered: the hair touched with gray, the widow’s peak more pronounced.

What am I doing here? Memories, scattered and formless, floated just below the surface of comprehension. Faces without names. Voices he felt he should recognize. A Handelian chorus, repeatedly singing “And we shall bring him down.”

A feeling of growing, implacable dread.

There was a sound of movement behind him. Norm turned quickly. A woman stood in the doorway, ringlets of auburn hair covering one side of her face. The robe she had thrown on gaped open revealingly.

“Phil, I’m afraid it’s no good,” she said. “I know you’ve been trying, but as wonderful as last night was, I have to face the fact that you’re not the same man I married.”

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