Visitor in Lunacy (20 page)

A few seconds pass between a lightning strike and its accompanying crack of thunder. The storm is moving away.

“Seward,” he says, and the Superintendent takes his hand. “He is here, inside the asylum. You must save her. It's too late for me.”

“I will.”

“You must promise it.”

He makes the promise, although he doesn't understand.

Van Helsing lays the handkerchief on the tray: “There's nothing more we can do for him. At least we have been able to make him comfortable.”

The patient's eyelids are growing heavy. They flicker as he struggles to keep them open: “Seward,” he says, swallowing dryly and passing his tongue over his lips: “Make sure you tell her I tried my best.”

Somewhere in the distance he can hear waves lapping against a shore and, quite distinctly, the call of a Ceylon Lorikeet.

“Of course. Don't worry. Everything will be fine.”

A steady breeze blows in from the Indian Ocean. Giggling girls play happily on the sand. Bright sunshine warms his face. He is going home.

“It is important,” he says, or doesn't say.