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And mine, said Faethor doggedly, steadier now.
'But see, it's tinged with red,' Harry ignored him. 'Do you see that, Faethor?'
/ see it, fool. The red is me, proof that I'm part of you always.
'Wrong,' said Harry. 'I can go back because my thread is unbroken. Because I have a past, I can reel myself in. But your past was finished back in Ploiesti. You have no thread, no lifeline, Faethor.'
What? the other's nightmare voice was a croak. Then -
- The master of the Möbius Continuum brought himself to an abrupt halt, but the spirit of Faethor Ferenczy shot on into the future. Harry! he cried out in his terror. Don't do this!
'But it's done,' the Necroscope called after him. 'You have no flesh, no past, nothing, Faethor. Except the longest, loneliest, emptiest future any creature ever suffered. Goodbye!'
H-H-Harry!... Haaarry!... Haaaarrry!... HAAAAAAAAAA-
But Harry closed the door and shut him off. Always. Except that before the door slammed shut he looked again at the blue thread unwinding out of himself. And saw that it was still tinged red.
Men should never try to read the future. For it's a devious thing ...