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nightmare.
    It’s CRAZY to even think that Alex did that.
    You are wired, McCrae. You are crazed and disturbed. And you watch too many horror films.
    First of all, even if Alex had CONSIDERED what you were dreaming about, he would have just run the BATHWATER. What’s the point of putting the shower on? Besides, HE COULDN’T
    EVEN TURN THE DOORKNOB when you first found him. How could he have closed the
    drain ON PURPOSE?
    Forget it.
    Put it out of your mind.
    2:15
    Still.
    Still, it doesn’t hang together.
    WHY did Alex say “What are you doing?” when he woke up in the bathroom? As if we were stopping him from DOING something?
    Why was he SO UPSET? So ASHAMED? Apologizing SO MUCH? Insisting on keeping this
    all a secret.
    It doesn’t make sense.
    I want to talk to him, but he’s out like a light.
    Okay. He couldn’t have been THAT desperate. If he was, he would have told me.
    He said I’m the only one he talks to.
    Me and Dr. Welsch.
    Dr. Welsch might know what’s going on in Alex’s mind.
    He DEFINITELY should know about what happened tonight.
    But I can’t call him.
    I TOLD Alex I’d keep his secret.
    I promised.
    He trusts me. He says I’m an EXTENSION of himself. I have to live up to that.
    2:23
    Thought:
    Dr. Welsch is an extension too.
    So telling him would NOT be breaking the promise.
    Would it?
    Think, McCrae.
    Do what you have to do.
    DO
    THE
    RIGHT
    THING
    What Seems Like
    A Lifetime Later
    Did you?
    Did you do the right thing?
    Who knows?
    You’re in no shape to decide that now. It’s still dark out, and you can barely stand up, but you can’t sleep, you can’t THINK of sleeping yet. Your mind is screaming at you, your thoughts are slamming against the sides of your brain, and you have to find RELIEF somehow.
    Now.
    Here.
    Write.
    SEE what happened. Step by step.
    You called Dr. Welsch on the kitchen phone. His answer machine picked up — WHAT DID
    YOU EXPECT? It was after two in the morning! — and you left a whispered message that
    probably didn’t make much sense but you left your number and tried to make it clear that Alex needed help.
    Then you went back into the living room, figuring Dr. Welsch would call in the morning, hoping the FACT that you called would calm you down, make you sleep better.
    And you might have fallen asleep, it was hard to tell — but when the phone rang and you jumped out of the armchair to answer it, you noticed only ten minutes had passed.
    You picked up before the second ring, and it was Dr. Welsch, sounding groggy but calm, very calm, just the opposite of you, tripping over your own words, trying to tell the whole story but making NO SENSE — and Dr. Welsch just took over the conversation, in a soft but businesslike way, asking specific questions: Where is Alex now? Is he physically hurt? Does he need a doctor?
    The sound of his voice was soothing. Reassuring. You wanted to visit him YOURSELF, to lie on his couch and have a good cry and do whatever you do in a therapist’s office. Your voice was choking up as you answered his questions, but you stuck with it, and soon you were telling him about the whole night, starting from the beginning, from the quiet ride in the car, to the arrival at the party, to your separation from Alex, to the bottle and the bathroom …
    And Dr. Welsch was saying, “Mm-hm” and “That must have been hard for you,” and not much else, just letting you ramble on and on, until you came to the end and you were in tears, speaking and sobbing at the same time, asking for advice — which Dr. Welsch gave, telling you not to worry, that Alex was going to be all right, and you were a good friend for calling, and you were doing the right thing to let him sleep comfortably, but you HAD to make sure that Alex came to see him first thing tomorrow.
    You felt much better after you hung up. But the feeling didn’t last long.
    Because you turned to see Alex standing behind you. Leaning against the kitchen doorway.
    You practically jumped out of