Elie looked out the window. She was worried about Marc. She'd been calling him all weekend, but he hadn't answered. No matter how hard his parents tried to tell themselves that he surely hadn't disappeared, their minds couldn't calm down.
"I'm sure he's fine."
"You say that, but you're stressing too."
"I know, I know."
Mary recalled the discussion she'd had with her son.
"I didn't think he had such serious problems."
"What do you mean such serious problems?"
"He spoke to me on Saturday morning to ask me what he should do when he encountered an insurmountable trial."
"That's not true."
"You think I should have locked him in his room."
"You're abusing."
His mother looked at Elie through her window. She seemed more panicked than she was.
"Elie stresses more than we do."
"Oh, you know nothing can kill that kid."
Elie was sweating. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She knew nothing in this world could kill Marc, only it was only what was in this world. If Marc had been swept into the other world, he'd be nothing but a vulnerable man.
"Why are you stressing so much about this guy?"
Her mother had returned to her room. To her, Marc's disappearance was good news. Deep down, she felt like dancing. But when she saw her daughter, she realized he was pretty important to her. Her daughter wasn't answering any of her questions.
"That guy was just a gangster, wasn't he? You should stop thinking about him..."
She stopped dead in her tracks. Elie had turned around, glaring at her mother with the gaze of a beast ready to pounce on its prey. Her condition was unrecognizable. Her hair was uncombed and she had abominable dark circles.
"Mom, don't talk about him like that. You don't know him."
Catherine didn't recognize her daughter.
"Sorry."
She left her daughter's room. Elie looked out the window again. Night was beginning to fall. The sky was starry and the moon was in the foreground. Elie didn't know what to do. For her, Marc was everything. He was her last hope in a world that was going to the dogs without understanding why. Her vision of a world in ruins, devastated by destruction, had shown her Marc. He was reaching out to her amidst the ruined buildings. He said...
"Elie, don't worry, I won't let you die."
Marc opened his eyes. This was the second time he'd fainted on leaving one of these strange rooms. The library was already a sustained phycological experience for him. As he lay on the floor, he had no idea where he'd landed again.
"Where am I this time?"
The answer didn't come directly to him. He didn't want to get up, but he had no choice. He had to get out of here. He got up to see where he was. As it happened, he wasn't really in a room. The place was just a huge, swirling staircase. It seemed to stretch endlessly from bottom to top.
"This can't be true."
Marc realized he had to take those stairs. He began his long walk upwards.
"Down is often for hell."
The staircase was enclosed by four walls that didn't let the light escape. Marc walked and walked and walked...
With each step, he lost a little more of the will to go on. Then came the moment when he passed the hundred-step mark, two hundred steps, a thousand steps...
"Where am I going?"
No sweat on his brow, just infinitely turning steps. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the tower. Nothing seemed more horrifying to see him walking endlessly.
"Why am I going out there?"
Two thousand paces.
"Why am I here?"
Three thousand steps.
"Why do I have to do this?"
Five thousand steps.
"I just wanted to..."
Seven thousand steps.
"I just wanted to..."
Ten thousand steps.
"I wanted ..."
From that point on, Marc's pace increased to one step per minute. He put his foot on the next step and a memory flashed through his mind.
He saw himself again, when he was younger, standing next to his father on a soccer pitch. That day, Marc was on the bench. He had totally missed his match. The coach had forced him to sit down.
"You don't have to worry. Games like that happen."
He watched the others play. His gaze wasn't envious or grumpy, it was sad. Sad that he didn't measure up.
"I know."
His team scored a goal. They all celebrated as if he'd just won the World Cup. But Marc didn't move from the bench. Tears welled up in his eyes. His father looked at him.
"The best thing you can do is turn that sadness into work so you never have to play that kind of game again."
"But you said it happens a lot."
"That's what's exceptional. The man isn't perfect. But his strength comes from his convictions. If you turn that sadness into work, you'll only get stronger every time you lose. In the end, you'll never make that kind of mistake again."
Marc looked at his father, his eyes filled with tears.
"But never forget to always pick yourself up. Otherwise this sadness will kill you."
Marc saw the stairs in front of him again. His left foot rested on a top step.
"Come on."
He kept going. On and on. No longer counting the number of steps. Sometimes he would run and then catch his breath. He had decided to turn his sadness into work. He'd decided to move forward...
4 million 037. That was the number of steps Marc had climbed. At the top, the view was not to be ignored. Clouds as far as the eye could see and a brilliant sun. Some clouds were golden from the sun and some were crystal white. The wind blew through Marc's hair. His eyes sparkled in the sun. Nothing could describe what he was feeling at that moment. Nothing could describe that strange feeling of déjà vu.
Marc closed his eyes. When he awoke, he found himself in a white place. A woman was standing nearby. She turned towards him.
"You are here. Slave to fate."
Suddenly, everything disappeared. Marc saw the ceiling of the library again. The real library. The one from his world. The one in which he'd sought answers and received only more questions.