Evening came.
Shops and apartment buildings slid past my gaze. Cars beeped at each other. Someone practiced opera from an open window. A man swept his front step with a straw broom.
I saw and heard it all, but it meant nothing.
I'd killed a man.
I am a murderer.
It was self-defense. That went without saying. There was no doubt the man would have dragged me back to Doctor Ravana, and I would have been horribly tortured and murdered. My body would have been buried in an unmarked grave or thrown into a river. My parents, whoever they were, would have never known what happened to me.
Still, I'd killed a man and would carry that with me for as long as I lived. I could still see it in a kind of stop motion sequence. I tried to grab him. He fell. His eyes met mine. Then he was lying motionless on the floor, his neck at an unnatural angle.
Shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself. I was freezing. Stopping at a street corner, the city slowly came to life around me. A man walked his dog. A woman played with two kids on the sidewalk. A bus screeched to a stop, and passengers exited. It seemed unbelievable that people were still carrying out their everyday lives.
I killed someone.
Shaking my head, I tried to drive the images from my mind. I had to think about the future. My eyes searched the street, finally settling on a dimly lit vertical sign:
LIBRARY
They often stayed open later than shops. Crossing the road, I made my way into the warm interior and found it wasn't a big library, more like a local community center. Still, it was better than nothing.
The woman at the desk smiled at me.
'I'm sorry to bother you,' I said. 'I'm very lost. I was on the tourist bus, and I've gotten out at the wrong place.'
She nodded.
'Can you tell me where I am?' I asked.
'Sure. You're on Fort Washington Avenue.'
'In Manhattan?'
She raised an eyebrow. 'Of course.'
'Thanks.'
Turning, I sauntered aimlessly up and down the aisles of books. How did I end up in New York? Do my family live here? Images of the city flowed through my mind, but I had the impression they were from television shows. I couldn't remember anywhere in detail.
I reached a decision.
'Can I use your internet?' I asked the woman at the desk.
She glanced up. It looked like she was playing chess on her phone. 'Usually, you could,' she said, her tone a little sharp. 'But our internet is offline. I'm sorry.'
'Where're your encyclopedias?'
She nodded to a nearby shelf, and a few minutes later, I was leafing through them. It was an old set. I was surprised they still had them. Soon I was rifling through the S-T volume. The man in the room said I had to find the Swan. He didn't say to find Mister Swan. I had to find The Swan. Maybe something in the encyclopedia would give me a clue.
After about half an hour, I put the volume down in frustration. I'd discovered a lot about swans. They were part of the same family as geese and ducks. They were also some of the largest flying birds in the world.
Unfortunately, none of this was helpful. If someone gave me a snap test on swans, I'd ace it, but as far as finding out what was going on—
I dragged open the encyclopedia again. There must be something in here that can help. I was halfway through rereading the section when something leaped at me from the first line:
Swan (Genus Cygnus)
That was the second time I've seen the word Cygnus. The business card from the dead man's pocket bore the company name Cygnus Industries and an address on West Forty-Ninth Street. I sat down the book in triumph. At last, I had a lead. The Swan had to be located at Cygnus Industries.
'We're closing soon,' the woman called from her desk.
The woman was becoming icier by the moment. Maybe she was losing her game. Still, I bravely asked her for directions, and within minutes I was walking through the city with a spring in my step. An hour before, I was cold, alone, and lost. Now I was—
Well, okay, I was still cold and alone, but at least now not quite so lost. I had a plan. The man in the room said to find the Swan. Maybe there I could find out my surname, my address, and how I got into this situation.
I was feeling brighter by the moment. Maybe I'd even get my memory restored. This time tomorrow, I could be with family and friends and whatever life I had before all this craziness began.
It only took me a few minutes to find the right address on West Forty-Ninth Street. It turned out to be an old art deco apartment building nestled between taller, more modern places. An assorted collection of small businesses operated out of the address. I saw signage in one window for a mortgage broker. Another window advertised shoe repairs.
My eyes shifted to the roof of the building. A shape was silhouetted against the night sky. For an instant, I thought it was a bird, but then I realized it was growing closer with every passing second. Before I could move, it slammed into the roof of the car parked behind me, sending glass and metal fragments in all directions as the car alarm exploded to life. A passing woman screamed. An elderly couple drew back in horror.
A man had just landed on the car. I stared openmouthed at him. This is the Swan. I was sure of it. This was the guy who had all the answers to my questions, and now he would forever keep them to himself.
One thing was for sure: this swan could not fly.
Looking back up at the building, I spotted a man leaning out of a window high above. He was peering down, not at the dead man on the car, but at me. Our eyes met.
Doctor Ravana's face twisted into an expression of seething hatred.