“Yes…” Once again Cecil knots his fingers together, worries and twists them slowly as though trying to shape a thought. “I know what you mean. I’m having so many visions lately, sometimes they start to run together and I can’t see anything else. I wake up from it, and I try to remember who I am and feel normal again, but I breathe in and the air feels frightened, like it knows it’s about to be vacuumed into space.”
As he talks, his third eye opens—not completely, but enough to see its color. It’s purple like his other two, though its center is clouded silver by a cataract. “This isn’t just happening here,” he says, his voice taking on the more hypnotic, resonant sound he’s known for. “But you know that, don’t you.”