Judd saw a light shift abruptly from his field of vision. The blinding beam went back and forth many times. He heard someone asking, "What's his name?" and then a female voice answering, "Judd." Then Judd managed to clear his sight and understood the blinding beam he saw came from a penlight a few inches from his nose; a penlight in the hands of a man that was shouting, "Judd! Hey, Judd, can you hear me?" Out of the corner of his eyes, Judd perceived two blurred figures, a man and a woman.

"What's your name, Madam?" said the man.

"Ivy," answered the woman.

Ivy..., Judd wondered. He felt he liked that name. There was something behind those sounds. A trail.

"I'm Richard. Well Ivy, is Judd allergic to anything?"

"No nothing."

"Okay. Does he take any medicines?"

She paused. "Just vitamins... and Paxil. It's because..." her voice faltered. She gasped through the tears. It's because of the car crash..." continued Ivy in a confused muttering. "The truck carried iron rods--it pierced his forehead." She gestured towards him.

Judd saw the EMT above him stop assessing and glance at his face.

"It was hard for him to recover," said Ivy. "But it was two years ago. He was fine."

"Anything else?" Richard asked, gently. "Alcohol? Recreational drugs? Look, we aren't the cops.

"No, nothing like that," answered Ivy. "Nothing. He's too serious about his work, he wouldn't."

"Okay. Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"No. Never."

"Has he ever mentioned anyone in his family having epilepsy or diabetes?"

"No."

The man rub his knuckle hard on Judd's breastbone and said, "Patient unresponsive."

Unresponsive, thought Judd.

"Got a pulse of one-forty," the man called out, "respirations 24. BP above 90 by palp. I've got a non rebreather on him at 15."

"Got you, James," the other man replied, before turning back to Ivy. "When was the last time he had anything to eat or drink?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "Noon yesterday, we had lunch...."

That voice, thought Judd, It's... I know her... Ivy; she's Ivy...

"Okay," the man said. "He's been like this since you called for an ambulance?"

"Yes."

"Perfusing, Rick" the other man called out. "Okay, Looks like stat ep. Let's get a line in."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Judd saw James held his arm still.

"Oh God," Ivy gasped.

...I know her..., thought Judd. Ivy; she's Ivy... Ivy is--she's my wife. She's crying--why? What's wrong? Just then, Judd realized his body was writhing. As he perceived the convulsions, they faded away, replaced by a warming sensation through his veins.

"Oh God, thanks," said Ivy

"Let's get that monitor on him," said the man

Sobbing, Ivy rebuked Judd, "You're a fool, a fool. I told you not to work so hard, not to stay in that horrible room."

Judd wheeled around aghast. On the floor, next to him, he saw the aquarium, wrecked, and a few steps further lay Bahamut, pulped. An overwhelming reminiscence flooded his body with spasms of horror. It could not be true, he thougt, he was still asleep. He must be asleep, because if it was real... it could not be true, it was impossible. Bahamut could not have followed him up to there, up to his home. He suddenly calmed down. Home... He let the word drift through his consciousness. Home.. Something surfaced in his mind. He started to remember,--he was a sculptor, he had shaped Bahamut, he had made it by himself, he had been sculpting... for days... there were copies to sell. His job.

"Judd" screamed Ivy. " Judd come back to me."

Ivy..., thought Judd. Yes Ivy. Her voice is my harbor, she makes the dark tide ebb, she is my lighthouse... Ivy... I met her... at that exhibition, a long time ago... Yes, Ivy... your hand... yes I feel you... I feel your hand Ivy, I feel you... close to me... your voice.... your skin... warm... I feel your heart beat... Judd perceived his hand seizing Ivy's and relaxed.

"Thank God! Judd," Ivy sighed.

Judd tried to talk, but felt as if they had slipped a fire hose through his mouth. An obstructing sensation filled his throat and his right nostril. They've intubated me, he realized He suddenly felt dizzy, weak. Drugs. They've poisoned my blood with drugs. He was dog-tired, but his mind urged him to stay awake. Dim flares lit up in his skin as the paramedic's fingers palpated his back.

"Uremia, negative," said Richard. "Trauma...," he scanned Judd; then asked, "did you hit your head?"

No. Judd managed to shook his head negatively.

"Do you feel pain anywhere?"

No.

"No obvious sign of infection," said Richard. "Did you take your pill of antidepressant?"

Did I take my pills? Of course I..., he hesitated.

"Paxil," suggested the man.

I cheated. I told Ivy I did, but I didn't. No.

"Okay, let's take him to the hospital."

The paramedics lifted him and strapped him to the stretcher.

Judd could not believe it: he had not taken his pills. What was he trying to do? Suicide? A glimpse of blue robes flapping around Ivy's neck dragged him out of his reveries. She's my lighthouse. How beautiful she is! Ivy was walking alongside the stretcher as they left the apartment. Her blue eyes were bright with tears, but, even in shock, her face was as pure as a white lily. Her supple body enraptured Judd--he admired the light blouse alight on her sensual figure, her delicate fingers, her olive silky skin. Then he lowered his eyes, watching beyond her. The door. Ivy, the door. Close it, Ivy, he thought. My sculptures. They'll burgle the apartment. He tried to gesture to Ivy, but he felt too weak. Drowsiness was ebbing through him like a tide. Drugs--his stomach lurched with disgust.

"Oh Mrs. Urran, what happened?" Mrs. Fletcher, the concierge, asked Ivy. "I hope Mr. Urran--it isn't anything serious, is it?"

So, they had just reached the entrance hall, Judd realized. I'm losing the sense of time.

"No," murmured Ivy, exhausted. "He's okay, now."

"You look shocked darling..."

Just when he was crossing the threshold, Judd heard Ivy say with a start, "Oh God, I've left the door open--Mrs. Fletcher..."

Then the whole city of New York rumbled down the streets and crushed inside Judd. He was alive. Everything around him was alive. He was out, in the fresh air of the morning--he heard the buzz of million people speaking their thoughts, smelled the acrid fumes of legions of taxies and the tempting scent of hotdogs, perceived the heart beat of the city vibrate through his pulse. He felt all sensations as one, all mix up and shaken and served as a cocktail of shock.

"...34 year old male, alert and oriented, chief complaint is status epilepticus. Patient has received two milligrams lorazepam IV, seizures controlled. Vitals are...," reported Richard by radio.

Judd glanced around--he was just inside the ambulance. Ivy was sitting next to him, holding his hand. A step was missing. Again. Another lapse. I'm losing the sense of time, thought Judd. Drugs...

"I've asked Mrs. Fletcher to lock the apartment. Don't worry," Ivy told him.

Judd raised his eyes and looked through the large side window of the ambulance--they were still in front of his building. He searched the facade until he found the large window at the first floor, his apartment. Mrs. Fletcher stood there, near the entrance door; she looked nervous, perhaps scared. She hesitated, glancing at a door on his left. Judd followed the trail of the woman's sight--the door was half opened. His eyes crawled in and strained like a bridge toward an unknown shore. They caught a glimpse, a hint--red velvets. That's the Red Room! he thought. The two words suddenly evoked a place in his mind. Now he could see through the half open door: the room was baroque and adorned with morbid and obscene marine hieroglyphs, red tapestry covered it everywhere and in its center stood a green stone altar. It's the room where I keep the original, where I show Bahamut, he thought. There rested the abnormal and disharmonious aquarium, where Bahamut floated intact--the original sculpture, not the copy pulped on the floor--because that was a copy indeed. His mind paused, not daring to step further. Judd felt a crackling noise solidify his veins.

Bahamut was still alive

He was losing his grip; the waves gaped to swallow him. The dark water flowed through his skin, ice-cold. He was drowning--a white rest on a seabed of sorrow.

"Judd," called Ivy.

She's my harbor, thought Judd. The dark tide ebbed away. Another lapse had worn away his time, but he was still there, still in the ambulance, still with Ivy, still at home. He cast a last glance at his studio, even Mrs. Fletcher was still there. Judd felt tired, but now he could rest. He watched quietly as Mrs. Fletcher switched off the lights. The lamps started to turn off in succession, as she rushed out. Then darkness curled inside the living room like the undying panther. Fearlessly, it stretched out its limbs into the Red Room, its velvet breath caressing the wicked works that rested motionless. And then it alighted, like a veil of pardon, on the morbid and obscene hieroglyphs, on the green altar, and, finally, on the loathsome creature that floated in turbid greenish fluid. Judd saw Mrs Fletcher pull the door shut. He heard the lock click.