The Newton Prophecies

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

It was fate and Clinton knew it, and it had led him right to the bedside of the greatest author the world had ever known.
         He stood in silence a long moment, staring at his face, trying to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. He wasn't. It was him. Michael DiBianco was really there, and so was Peter Clinton, and in the same room even. DiBianco's eyes were closed. An IV strung from the bed frame was all that connected him to Saint Mary's Hospital.
         He knew he had to wake him. Warn him of the impending danger. But something was stopping him. Something he had never felt before. Sure, he recalled being afraid a few times when he was young, but this was paralyzing. He could operate perfectly fine in the face of possible death; but standing in the same room with Michael DiBianco, had him unable to remember his own name.
         Footsteps rang through the hall. Pins and needles attacked his flesh. He had to act, and he had to act now.
         He scoped the room, trying to devise a plan. He needed to get DiBianco out of there, or at least make it appear that way.
         The footsteps grew louder.
         He glanced out the window. Spied the ceiling tiles. The closet. What was he to do?
         They were right outside the door.
         Damn it man, think!

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