There was a small window set in the door and I managed to stagger over to it and pull myself onto my knees to look out. But it was hard to see anything. The world was spinning faster now, tilting from side to side. I just made out a series of letters in red neon, but it seemed to take me forever to work out the three words they formed:

THE FRENCH CONFECTION

The van turned a corner and I lost my balance. Before I fell, I caught a glimpse of a blue star . . . on a flag or perhaps on the side of a building. Then the sound of the van’s engine rose up again and swallowed me. The floor hit me in the face. Or maybe it was me who had hit the floor. I no longer knew the difference.

The journey took an hour . . . a month . . . a year. I had no idea. What was the stuff they had given me? Whatever it was, it was taking over, killing me. I could feel it happening, an inch at a time. The van stopped. Hands that no longer belonged to bodies pulled us out. Then the sidewalk slapped me in the face, there was another scream from the engine, and suddenly I knew that we were alone.

“Tim . . . ?” I gasped the word. But Tim was no longer there. He had turned into some horrible animal with sixteen eyes, tentacles, and . . .

I forced myself to concentrate, knowing that it was the drug that was doing it to me. The image dissolved and there he was again. My brother.

“Nick . . .” He staggered to his feet. All three of them. Things weren’t back to normal yet.

The sky changed from red to blue to yellow to green. I stood up as well.

“Must get help,” I said.

Tim groaned.

We were back in the center of Paris. It was late at night. And Paris had never looked like this before.

There was the Seine but the water had gone, replaced by red wine that glowed darkly in the moonlight. It was twisting its way underneath the bridges, but now that I looked more closely, I saw that they had changed, too. They had become huge sticks of French bread. There was a sudden buzzing. A Bateau Mouche had suddenly sprouted huge blue wings and legs. It leaped out of the water and onto one of the bridges, tearing a great chunk out with a hideous, hairy mouth before spiraling away into the night.

The ground underneath my feet had gone soft and I realized I was sinking into it. With a cry I lifted one foot and saw that the tar had melted and was dripping off my sneaker. Except the tar was yellow, not black.