Chapter I.V

Galbraith screamed and woke up in a cold sweat in his bed. It seemed that in his nostrils stuck this vile smell, similar to the aroma of rotting meat and decomposed carrion.

- I was there at the birth...

The inspector deliberately pronounced these words loudly and clearly in order to understand that he was no longer sleeping and was really at home. However, this did not make much sense, because the familiar interior of his apartment was revealed to his gaze. Here are his clothes hanging on the back of a chair, here is the remote control lying on the floor next to the television, and here is the window outside of which it was already light... But a delirious thought crept into Galbraith's mind that the creature from his nightmare did not disappear with the dream, but materialized somewhere in the depths of his room...

- Come on out, newborn, try to devour your obstetrician! - he shouted as loud as possible.

But, as he thought, kleisterkind did not crawl out from under the bed on its clawed paws, did not rush from the next room, and did not even burst straight out of the ceiling - for there has never been such a case where, upon waking up, a person dragged the inhabitants of his dreams into the real world.

Getting out of bed, he immediately went to the bathroom. Looking at own sleepy face, Galbraith wanted to shave. Without thinking twice, he soaped his cheeks and took the razor in his hands, however, as soon as the inspector brought the blade to the skin, he immediately felt a sharp pain. Putting the razor back in place, he washed his face and, watching as a red stream began to flow from the wound on his cheek, noted with displeasure, that apparently he will have to continue to embarrass his colleagues with this stubble. And how did he manage to cut himself like that? Had his nerves completely gone from the nightmare, since his hands were shaking so much?

There wasn't a scrap of food in the kitchen. Going to work hungry was not an option... Then Galbraith decided not to go to the department yet, but to run into a small establishment, which was located in the basement of a house on the other side of the street. Usually, local residents went there in order to knock back a glass of something intoxicating and, waving their arms, be drawn into a group of similar visitors and begin to twitch to the gaudy music that flowed from the loudspeaker hanging on the ceiling. But still, this establishment was famous not only for dances - there he could have a snack for a small amount of something tasty and, most importantly, high in calories. At least, this side was well known to Galbraith himself - he wasn't sure that anyone else would seriously go down the steps to this bar for a hot sandwich or a small plate of salad.

Dressing for going out, inspector continued to think about that grotesque baby creature from his nightmare. Remembering how the kleisterkind, sensing a human, took a hunting stance, Galbraith concluded that it was the cub of some kind of predator. Apparently, the hunting instinct of this species was so developed that, in fact, as soon as they emerged from their mother's womb, these creatures were already sniffing out their potential victims. The only thing that was unclear was how they were supposed to move.

How quickly that kleisterkind attacked inspector was a happy coincidence - the victim was very close to the place of birth, and this distance could easily be reached by jumping. But how did it hunt in its adult form? Although Galbraith was weak in biology, this did not stop him from believing that it was unprofitable for a predator to exist without strong hind limbs, because it was necessary to somehow develop speed in order to catch up with the fleeing prey. Apparently, the only way out for that newborn was the opportunity to fall into the hands of some compassionate scientists, who, having neutralized him for a while, installed mechanical prosthetic legs into his back part of the body. Galbraith painted this image in his head. Yes, he thought, such a creature would be worthy to come out from under the brush of Hans Giger...

By the time Galbraith had already gotten dressed and went outside, he had finally finished thinking about his essentially meaningless idea about the creature that he had seen in his dream. This morning the sun was still shining brightly in the sky, with not a cloud in it. It wasn't hot yet, but inspector was pleased to walk down the steps leading to the bar - he wanted to find himself there as soon as possible, in the air-conditioned basement (but at a much more reasonable power level than in that grocery store where was the pickpeanut).

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Galbraith was immediately struck in his ears by the loud sounds of the piano, to the accompaniment of which the young singer's cheerful baritone sang with some unprecedented tenacity that there is something more than a party. The inspector thought that the owner of the establishment apparently did not give in to fashion trends if he played a song for his guests that was already eight years old. He remembered how, when he first flew to America by plane (he was a hungry and thin student at the time), he heard the music of these guys playing in the airport. Then he did not attach much importance to it, but he remembered the intonation with which the singer, invisible to his eyes, sang something to the accompaniment of a cacophony of synthesizers. And now, being a police inspector, it seemed to Galbraith that there was some kind of message hidden in the lyrics of this band, and in the strange combination of sounds that made up their melodies, was the whole point of their collective creativity...

There was no one at the round tables that stood in this basement room. This is understandable, most people come here to hang out to the music with bleary-eyed eyes at the end of the day, and not to have a snack before work (which is what inspector wanted most now). Galbraith, who was already approaching the purple lights of the counter, had a thought flash through his head, it's quite funny that the owner played such upbeat music to an empty hall. With his long legs, the inspector did not need to stand on tiptoes to sit on the high three-legged stool. In the past, when he was still a loud boy, during physical education classes, during formation, the instructor often jokingly praised him, saying "Be proud, guy, you very first in the line!". Such attention to his otherwise modest person embarrassed little Galbraith, and he, blushing, did not answer these jokes.