He puts the record on again. But this time, before the music starts, he hears a whisper in the groove:
And the album plays again. Forever. “The Dance of Eternity” — but slowed down to half-speed, and buried in the mix is Nicholas’s own heartbeat, recorded live in the operating room, 1999.
The scene cuts to a funeral. His own. thrashes. He watches his body lowered into earth. But the coffin is a piano. His fingers are tied to the strings. Each dirt clod is a drum hit (Portnoy’s fill, endless).
The white room melts into a cage of shattered mirrors. begins — the six-step recovery riff pounding like a heartbeat. He must confess every crime. But each confession births a new sin.
plays. He is suddenly in a therapist’s office. The therapist has no face. She says: “You created this album to punish yourself. You are not a man. You are a melody stuck in a broken player.” Part Three: The Root of All Evil (Train of Thought / Octavarium)
begins. The 24-minute epic. He stands on a cliff overlooking a city that spells “DREAM THEATER” in burning lights. A man in a jester suit (the “Medicate” therapist) hands him a pill. “This will end the album.”