Delirium

He lay sick and coughing in bed, in a sweat of dreams. Figures, haunting specters, crowded his mind, malevolent, ugly demons, faces he knew, grotesque faces, her face, her laughter, a bitter torment till his dying days. How could he be so stupid, how could he have lost the trail? He turned over in bed, heaved a great phlegm, and directed his dream out the sinking hole. There were angels waiting in the wings. He only had to speak.