Tales Of Corwin

John Quick woke up the next morning feeling restless. That was better, he thought—better than feeling nothing. Near his door he found a note from Sandra: Food in the fridge. Call at need. See you tonight. The note was on a pile of folded laundry—good grief, they’d done his laundry—and there was a business card with Sandra’s cell number on it. John took a shower and dressed. He was so tired of being so tired. He found his coat and made his way downstairs in the huge old house. He made a piece of toast and buttered and ate it—that felt like an accomplishment. Then he dared the door and went outside for some fresh air. The air was unexpectedly warm, and the sun was out. He had a sudden apprehension: could he have been asleep all winter, and could this be spring? He took the phone from his pocket to check the date, but it was dead. Oh, of course—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d charged it. There were probably a thousand messages, too. The very thought of all those messages was exhausting, and he almost