Each Day I Wake: A gripping psychological thriller: US Edition Read Online Free PDF Page A

already knew the name. I told you - one of the girls is called Cathy. You must remember.”
    She sat beside me. “Yes. But that’s just coincidence. There are lots of women called Cathy.”
    “I recognize her face.”
    “Are you sure that isn’t because you’ve just seen her picture on the TV? Sure you’re not confusing that with what you’ve been recalling? If she’s been missing for awhile, you could have seen an appeal for help in finding her weeks ago, even from before the accident.”
    “No, Jan, I swear, I’m not confused. As soon as I saw her face on the screen, I knew where I’d seen her. And you know what it means? Those memories of mine are real. The Cathy I see has really disappeared. This proves it.”
    Janet put her arms round me. “Tom, I could call Josh Healey, ask for an earlier appointment.”
    I pushed her away. “I don’t want Healey. I don’t believe a word he says about my memories being false. I know what’s real.”
    She looked shocked that I had reacted in this way. “So, if you don’t want to see Healey, what do you want to do?”
    I moved closer to her once more and held her hand. “Jan, that girl is missing and I can no longer doubt that I know what happened to her. I have to tell someone. You’ve seen the agony of her parents. If there’s anything I know that might help them, I need to come forward.”
    “So, who?”
    “The police. I need to call the police.”

CHAPTER 19
    It was something Janet didn’t want me to do, but I called the phone number shown on the screen during the appeal for Cathy Newsome.
    They must have been busy. I was held in a queue.
    Doubts filled my mind as I waited.
    Should I be doing this?
    What I knew could end the agony of Cathy’s troubled parents.
    But would anyone believe me?
    I was on the point of giving up when a tired female voice came on the line. “Metropolitan Police.”
    At first the words wouldn’t come, but at last I summoned up the courage to speak. “I’ve just seen the appeal about the missing girl.”
    When she replied it sounded as if this was the hundredth time she’d said it. “Cathy Newsome?”
    “Yes.”
    “You have information that might help the enquiry?”
    “I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her die.”
    She asked me to repeat it. “Are you clear about what you’re saying, sir?”
    “I’m aware how strange this must sound but I saw her as she died.”
    Her voice betrayed the fact that to her this was no doubt sounding like just one more of the crank calls that appeals like this were bound to attract. “And how was that, sir?”
    “In my visions. I see her and the others die.”
    “You know, don’t you, sir, that it’s an offence to waste police time.”
    “No, I want to help. I want to help you find her. To find them all.”
    “So, you know where this happened?”
    I faltered. I was trying to think of anything that would allow me to pinpoint the location of the book-filled room but I realized then what little of real use I knew. “It’s near a railway line. I recall hearing a train rattling on the tracks somewhere nearby. But that’s all.”
    “I thought you said you saw what happened?”
    “Yes, I saw the room it happened in but I didn’t get to see where it was.”
    She sounded close to exasperation. “So you don’t know where she is?” She paused. “I have to warn you again about wasting police time. Do you have any idea how many calls we get after an appeal like this, how much false information we have to sift through, how many man hours that takes when we could be using that time for something more useful?”
    “I’m trying to help, I really am.”
    “And this is the best you can do? Can I ask if you’re on any medication, sir?”
    “Some sedatives. I’m recovering from an accident.”
    The change in her voice told me that she was trying to be understanding despite the pressure she was under but it sounded more like pity to me. “And don’t you think your response to the appeal has been