The bottle did not erase your god-damned phantasm from the face of this god-forsaken world, but at least I could no longer see or hear it distinctly. I leaned my head back against the wainscoting, closed my eyes and listened to words that no longer conveyed meaning in syncopated counterpoint with the tick-tocking of the clock.

Sam… tick… tock… you… tick… tock… me… tick… tock… Sam… tick… tock…

Thankfully, I left the world for a while. It wasn’t sleep but it was the best I could manage in that house.

When the world crept back into existence, I lifted the empty bottle and looked at it in some disgust. I heaved it and was rewarded with its shattering on the kitchen tile. There was no more scotch, but there was a bottle of gin in the cabinet. I retrieved that and slid back to the floor. I poured a glass and gulped it, then leaned my head back again.

Sam… tick… why… tock… you… tick… tock… me?… tick… tock… Sam… tick…