Ames woke from his restless sleep. His head still hurt, still spun. He had moments of clarity and then the world would cloud again. Where was he? He couldn't remember, but looking out the window of the small room at the dark alley below, he knew that he wasn't in New York any longer.
He had the taste of blood in his mouth, but then he remembered the rose ceremony. "Oh, right. That is why I have the taste of blood in my mouth." As he walked back to the pallet in the corner of the room where he'd been sleeping in tangled sheets, wet with his sweat, he noticed that he was carrying a severed hand.
"I said I needed a hand, but this is ridiculous." Being a stock broker, he put the hand under his pillow and hoped that in the morning, in its place he would find a fifty cents.