Lost in a good book Read Online Free PDF

time to answer and carried on talking.
    “Listen here, Next, did you sign that picture for my godson Max?”
    “On your desk, sir.”
    “Really? Jolly good. What else? Oh yes. That PR girlie—”
    “Miss Flakk?”
    “That’s the chap. She ran a competition or something. Would you liaise with her over it?”
    “I’ll make it my top priority, sir.”
    “Good. Well, carry on vocalizing then.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    But he didn’t leave. He just stood there, watching me.
    “Sir?”
    “Don’t mind me,” replied Hicks, “I just want to see how this stress vocalizing works. My tensionologist told me to arrange pebbles as a hobby—or count blue cars.”
    So I vocalized my stress there in the corridor for five minutes, reciting every Shakespearean insult I could think of while my boss watched me. I felt a complete twit but rather that than the quacks, I suppose.
    “Jolly good,” he said finally and walked off.
    After checking I was alone in the corridor I spoke out loud:
    “Snell!”
    Silence.
    “Mr. Snell, can you hear me?”
    More silence.
    I sat down on a convenient bench and put my head between my knees. I felt sick and hot; both the SpecOps resident tensionologist and stresspert had said I might have some sort of traumatic aftershock from tackling Acheron Hades, but I hadn’t expected anything so vivid as voices in my head. I waited until my head cleared and then made my way not towards Flakk and her competition winners but towards Bowden and the Litera Tec’s office. 8
    I stopped.
    “Prepared for what? I haven’t done anything!” 9
    “No, no!” I exclaimed. “I really don’t know what I’ve done. Where are you!?! ” 10
    “Wait! Shouldn’t I see you before the hearing?”
    There was no answer. I was about to yell again, but several people came out of the elevator, so I kept quiet. I waited for a moment but Mr. Snell didn’t seem to have anything more to add, so I made my way into the Litera Tec office, which closely resembled a large library in a country home somewhere. There weren’t many books we didn’t have—the result of bootleg seizures of literary works collected over the years. My partner, Bowden Cable, was already at his desk, which was as fastidiously neat as ever. He was dressed conservatively and was a few years younger than me although he had been in SpecOps a lot longer. Officially he was a higher rank, but we never let it get in the way—we worked as equals but in different ways: Bowden’s quiet and studious approach contrasted strongly with my own directness. It seemed to work well.
    “Morning, Bowden.”
    “Hello Thursday. Saw you on the telly last night.”
    I took off my coat, sat down and started to rummage through telephone messages.
    “How did I look?”
    “Fine. They didn’t let you talk about Jane Eyre much, did they?”
    “Press freedom was on holiday that day.”
    He understood and smiled softly.
    “Never fear—someday the full story will be told. Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
    “I’m okay,” I told him, giving up on the telephone messages. “Actually, I’m not. I’ve been hearing voices.”
    “Stress, Thursday. It’s not unusual. Anyone specific?”
    I got up to fetch some coffee, and Bowden followed me.
    “A lawyer named Akrid Snell. Said he was representing me. Refill?”
    “No, thanks. On what charge?”
    “He wouldn’t say.”
    I poured myself a large coffee as Bowden thought for a moment.
    “Sounds like an inner guilt conflict, Thursday. In policing we have to sometimes—”
    He stopped as two other LiteraTec agents walked close by, discussing the merits of a recently discovered seventy-eight-word palindrome that made sense. We waited until they were out of earshot before continuing:
    “—we have to sometimes close off our emotions. Could you have killed Hades if you were thinking clearly?”
    “I don’t think I would have been able to kill him if I wasn’t, ” I replied, sniffing at the milk. “I’ve not lost a