The sound coming from inside the room wasn't loud, but it was incredibly rhythmic—like a metronome, ticking away, tapping on everyone's nerves.
The air felt frozen solid. The wall lamp at the end of the hallway flickered twice, its light dancing nervously on the carpet.
Link could hear his own heart pounding, and he could hear the sound of Cameron's fingernails digging into the fabric of his jacket.
"He's going to kill himself."
Cameron's voice was a whisper, like a sleep-talker.
Link's temples were throbbing.
He took a step forward, raising his hand to knock down the door.
"Don't!"
Jennifer grabbed his arm. Her hand was ice-cold, yet surprisingly steady.
She wasn't looking at him; she was pressing her ear against the door panel, her eyes sunken in, as if listening to an invisible storm.
"If you rush in now," she said in a low voice, "in his eyes, you'll be the enemy. A crazy person only believes in their own world."
Link's hand froze mid-air, his breath stuck in his throat.
The thudding inside the room continued, one hit after another, like a pendulum, dragging time along with it.
Jennifer closed her eyes for a moment, calculating the intervals, and then her voice suddenly became firm: "Mr. Manager, the master key, please."
The Indian manager's face was white with fear. He nodded repeatedly, fumbling a ring of keys out of his pocket, his fingers shaking like leaves in the wind.
Jennifer took the keys. Her fingertips trembled briefly, then steadied immediately. "Thank you."
She inserted the key into the lock. Click.
But she didn't push the door open.
She turned around and handed the cell phone to Link: "The call's still connected. Mrs. Alicia is on the line."
Link took the phone, his palm already drenched in sweat.
He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Inside, the curtains were drawn, making the room dark. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and alcohol.
The windows were covered in formulas scrawled with a black marker, densely packed, like a black spiderweb.
Russell Crowe was facing away from them, shirtless, blood seeping from his forehead, preparing to slam his head against the wall again.
"Russell!" Link blurted out.
The back figure froze.
He slowly turned around.
It wasn't Russell.
It was "Nash."
The blue eyes held no anger, only emptiness and alertness, like a child abandoned by the world.
"Who are you people?" he spoke, his voice hoarse, with a nervous suspicion. "Are you spies sent by the Soviets?"
Cameron gasped, instinctively taking a step back.
Link felt a cold chill in his stomach.
This was bad; he was completely lost in his delusion.
"Russell, it's us." Link took a step forward, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm Link , we..."
"Link ?" He tilted his head, as if searching a database for the name. "I don't know anyone named Link . What's your key phrase?"
Link's mouth opened, then closed.
Crap, a key phrase? How was he supposed to respond to that?
Just then, a faint crackle of static came from the phone in his hand.
Then, a gentle, aged, yet incredibly powerful woman's voice.
"John."
Everyone in the room was stunned.
Russell's body gave a slight jolt. Focus appeared in his empty eyes for the first time.
He followed the sound, looking at the phone in Link's hand.
"John, it's me."
The voice on the other end was as soft as a breeze. "Have you forgotten our agreement?"
"Agreement?" Russell murmured.
"You promised me you'd go to the dinner party. The President of Princeton and Mr. Einstein, they're all waiting for you."
The voice was filled with a gentle laugh, like someone comforting a child.
Russell's expression began to soften, the tension between his brows slowly easing up.
"But—the code," he mumbled, pointing a finger at the formulas on the window. "William said the code hides the bomb coordinates..."
"I know," she said. "But John, look outside the window."
The lights outside the window seeped in through the gaps in the formulas, scattering into tiny points of light.
"Do you see them?" Alicia asked gently. "Those stars, they're singing."
Russell's breathing stopped.
He stared blankly out the window, his blue eyes reflecting the scattered lights of the homes in the small town of Princeton.
"What are they singing?" he asked in a low voice.
"They're singing—'It's time to come home, John.'"
"'Alicia is waiting for you to come home.'"
The world fell silent.
The formulas on the window seemed to stop moving as well.
The only sound left in the air was breathing.
Russell's body slowly relaxed. He leaned against the wall and slid, inch by inch, to the floor.
He didn't cry. He just hugged his knees, burying his head in the crook of his arms.
His posture was like that of an astronaut who had drifted in space for too long and finally heard the signal to return.
Cameron covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably.
Jennifer turned slightly, discreetly wiping the corner of her eye.
Link's hands were slick with sweat.
He felt like he wasn't making a phone call, but rather hauling a person up from a deep well.
After a long while, Russell looked up.
The madness was gone from his eyes, replaced only by sheer exhaustion.
He looked at Link, his voice raspy.
"Link ."
"Yeah?"
"I need... to rest for a bit."
Link nodded.
Russell looked at him, then at the two women by the door, and his lips curved slightly into an almost invisible smile.
"Tell Mrs. Alicia," he said, "I heard it."
"The song of the stars."
Link stood frozen.
The phone screen went dark, and the room was once again plunged into dimness. The formulas on the window were still densely packed, but no one was looking at them anymore. Link could still feel his hands shaking.