Georgia screamed. She knelt beside Dionysis. She shook him. Nothing. Was he dead? She stood up abruptly and felt dizzy. The room was spinning around her. She couldn't catch her breath. She was breathing with difficulty. She almost fainted. She forced herself to take a deep breath and then, with slow, uncertain steps, she approached the nightstand and trembling, picked up the telephone receiver. She lifted it and called the police.
Then, without really knowing what was happening to her, she began to go down the stairs. She was trembling all over, like a leaf caught by the wind. At one point she almost slipped, but she held onto the railing. For the first time, the oak staircase of the house seemed endless to her. Each step was an effort. Each step a deeper breath. As soon as she managed to get downstairs, she turned on all the lights. As if there was a celebration. She even lit the large chandelier in the middle of the living room. Although there was still light outside, although the setting sun had staged the most fitting scene, like a talented, mischievous director of photography. It bathed the mansion with its sleepy rays, making it appear blood red...