Voxophone 9/?? - Voice

[The sound of quiet breathing comes over the journal late at night. Quiet but strained. Struggling.]

"The mind of the subject will desperately struggle to create memories where none exist..."

[Gone are the easy, flowing words of Robert Lutece. The sound of a man flitting between questions and knowing the answers to everything.

Now, he sounds utterly human. Shaken and weak.]

"Return to an old life, for the possibility of creating new."

[Those looking at their journals? Might see something on a page. The beginnings of... some writing. But it's smeared.

By drops of blood that are only increasing.]

"Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt."

[The baby, the girl, the woman.

The Prophet and the Lamb.

The lady and the siren.

The door and the interim. A thousand different possibilities, all visible at a single glance. For a moment, he can see them all.

But something isn't right.

His voice moves away from the journal, but it remains open, catching it.]

"A middle C vibrates at 262 Hz, no matter what the universe."

[Then, another sound.

One that might carry throughout the house.

A crash.

Shaking hands didn't set the record right, and a lurching body upset the table, taking down phonograph and man together.

Anyone in the house who comes to investigate?

Will find Robert Lutece on his knees, dressed just in trousers and a loose shirt. He's pale. Very much so... and there's blood under his nose.

That hasn't stopped. For now, it's a steady drip. Not too strong... but one can guess how long it's been going.]