Maggie was still by his side. Glen looked normal again. So did Maggie. Glen's mind had never been so flummoxed. He wiped his sweaty forehead with his sweaty palm. His computing system had hung.

Maggie brought him a glass of water. It tasted like acid.

"You were drinking last night?" asked Maggie.

No reply.

"Glen?"

A feeble "Yes" emanated from Glen's throat.

Maggie was silent for what felt like ten minutes. Glen had another go at the water. His abdomen felt like a car battery, heavy and full of acid.

"Stan's mother called," informed Maggie, still staring unsurely at Glen.

Glen went for the phone. "Hello... Aunty? Just got up… no, just a bad throat, nothing much… the plaster's coming off day after tomorrow… yeah, can I see you, Aunty? This evening, if you are not bu-… seven is fine… no, she won't be coming." Glen glanced at Maggie. She was again pretending to read a magazine.

"Bye… is there anything I can bring… oh, ok… see you." He clamped back the receiver.

"Breakfast?" inquired Maggie.

"OK," nodded Glen.

The hot coffee was welcome. The darkness outside the window hid all the snow that had fallen that morning.

"How's the coffee?" asked Stan's mother.

Her voice sounded softer than it had been before. The white in her gray hair had become more prominent. But she had smiled when Glen stood outside the door that evening, not a hint of tears.

"It's good."

Stan's mother had her hands in her lap, her usual posture. Glen sipped the remaining coffee slowly, thinking where and how to begin.

"How about a pastry? Or an éclair maybe?"

"No, no, Aunty. The last few weeks have been quite hellish for me." Glen kept the cup down. "I feel like I'm not living my life anymore, surely none of the one life I used to live. I'm being dragged someplace I don't want to go." Glen was trying hard to find the words. He looked in her eyes, the hint of tear loomed.

"Yesterday I had a dream," whispered Glen. "I saw Stan; the same night." Glen shook his head. "Aunty, how did he die?" Tears gushed down his cheeks.

Aunty was startled. "What are yo-"

"How did he die? Of what?" asked Glen again.

"Heart failure," Aunty managed to squeak.

"Who brought him, us there?" tentatively proceeded Glen even as the tears reached his collar.

Aunty's tears were running wild over her face like rivulets down a delta plain. "What'll you gain out of this, son? Scratching sore wounds doesn't help," she tried to reason.

But Glen's mind had lost the capacity to reason. At least for now. "I saw something in my dream…" he went on.

"You both were found by a Mack driver some four hours after. It took half an hour more to get you to the hospital," sobbed Aunty.

"Are you sure?" doubted Glen. His brain was racking furiously - to whom would he go next?

"The police told us that," Aunty looked up. She had been staring at her hands in her lap, a little guilty that Glen didn't know.

"What did you see?" Aunty tried to sound interested in Glen's dream. So what if it was just a nightmare? It would take some time for him to heal mentally.

That night Glen cogitated. What was he chasing? A non-existent fleeting serpent that would only sting him when he caught up finally with it? Maggie was uneasy about Glen that night. So was Glen.