I have never existed before this moment.
He could not prove it nor explain it there in the dark house of his thinking. But he knew it was true.
He wondered if he had taken over the body and mind—complete with all the mental trappings—of some other being. Or whether he had been just now conceived, full-blown and with memories of a synthetic past perhaps implanted also in the minds of those with whom he was supposed to have come in contact. He did not know. He was only sure that, before this moment, he had not been.
With the realization came the certainty that he would not die. The force he felt within him—he was not certain whether it was a part of himself, or the evidence of an outside control—was too powerful.
The inner spontaneity gathered strength until it became a striving, persistent vital force, a will of imperious purpose. It moved him and he moved his tongue and spoke. "I will not die!" he shouted.
Some time later he grew aware that his sense of hearing had returned. He heard a voice say, "He was in the last stages about an hour ago, before he spoke. I thought I'd better call you."
"You did right," a second voice answered. "What's his name?"
"Clifford Buckmaster."
They're talking about me, he thought. Like a burst of glory, sight returned. He looked up and saw two men standing beside his bed. The older man wore a plain black suit. The younger was dressed in the white uniform of a doctor.