In fact, nobody spoke at all. Among the small group were two people who sat away from the rest. One looked like he might have been in his later fiftie..., but he was probably much younger than that. People aged quickly in those days, and they wore their sorrow in lines on their faces. In his lap, lay a boy in his late teens. He was skeletal, [dying] with skin that stretched over his jutting bones like canvas. The older man held the boy to his chest, cradling him in his arms. They might have been. I shuffled slightly on the bed, the bonds allowing me very little movement, but the device stayed firmly inside me. My ankles were tied to the front corners of the bed, and my wrists were tied to a table that was fixed in place over the top of the bed. My old word processor was on the table, complete with a built-in printer and phosphor green screen. It must have been a decade since I last tried to write a novel on it, and it was beginning to make the bedroom smell like the musky attic Mark had. More

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