But there was no direct answer. Harkins repeated:
Oh, my God, my God, my God ...
What do you see? What is there?
Oh Jesus the stars the stars the stars God in heaven I can't Jesus make them go make them go make them go ...
His voice had risen almost to a scream, his eyes open wide and staring, his body rigid.
With a whimper, he clenched his eyes shut and fell back on the bed. He drew his knees slowly and jerkily up to his chest, as if resisting the movement, clasped his arms around his legs tightly.
He began to rock back and forth, gently, gently, as if immersed in water, his breath making an involuntary whining sound as it passed his constricted throat.
Move forward in time. Move ahead. You are coming out of the Skip. You are coming out of the Skip. You are returning to normal space.
Colin's voice was steady and calm over the high-pitched whines coming from the throat of the man on the bed. Suddenly his face relaxed. The eyes remained closed, but closed as if in sleep, rather than anguish. His arms and shoulder released their clenched grip around his knees.
Evenly, smoothly, his legs straightened on the bed, his feet digging into the covers and pushing them into a roll at the bottom. He finally lay as he had begun, stretched straight with his hands beside his thighs and his face relaxed. When he spoke, it was in a normal, almost conversational tone.