Night Shade Read Online Free PDF Page B

begins.
    ‘Who calls you that?’ I interrupt.
    His neck reddens. He doesn’t answer but I can see enough of the answer in his eyes to tell me that someone does.
    I feel the walls press in on me. Nothing is making any sense.
    * * *
    A fter they leave, I sink into a chair and press the base of my palms against my temples. I was so flabbergasted by Hartman’s reaction to the endearment that I stopped watching his movements so carefully but I don’t think he did anything out of the ordinary.
    I toy with the parcel the postman gave me, eventually opening it more out of the need for something to do than real curiosity. It’s a box of chocolates sent express delivery by Jerry to thank me for completing yesterday’s project. In light of everything that’s happened, the website work seems so inconsequential that I barely raise a smile.
    It has to be a coincidence, I decide. Perhaps Ally Bear is a common pet name. Or maybe I overheard something yesterday that appeared in my hallucination. It could have happened easily enough; a co-worker at the scene might have called him that sarcastically and I didn’t notice because I was in such a state of shock.
    But that doesn’t explain my wet hair or the vividness of the experience.
    There’s one way to find out: I will have to let myself hallucinate again and see what happens.
    I have no idea, of course, how I happened to hallucinate in the first place. And was it a hallucination or a dream? After my lack of sleep last night I am pretty tired but not ready to drop off just yet. All I have to do is wait till night-time, fall asleep, dream of exactly nothing and forget this ever happened. I twist my fingers in my lap. I’m not sure I can wait that long.
    I spring up, jog upstairs and into the bathroom. I fling open the cabinet and rummage around until I find what I need. When my fingers curl round the small white bottle, I give a grim smile. Valium. It was prescribed when my agoraphobia started but after several days it had no visible effects other than helping me fall asleep. It might do the trick now, though.
    I check the expiration date; they’re still usable. I fill a glass of water and down the pills. As I head to my bedroom to lie down, it occurs to me that I should try to re-create last night as closely as possible.
    I switch direction and tramp downstairs. I pick up the book I’d been reading, find the same paragraph and settle down in the same chair. After I’ve read the paragraph again, I put the book to the side and close my eyes.
    ‘Bring it on,’ I whisper.
    * * *
    T he top of my ears prickle and I open my eyes. I’m immediately disappointed: I’m not in a wet cobbled street but in a room, a strange room filled with old-fashioned furniture and flocked wallpaper. For a moment I wait to be assailed by my own strange terror but when I remain as fine as I did in the puddle-filled street, I relax and walk over to the mantelpiece to examine the array of ornaments. I pick up a tiny glass elephant and frown. It looks like typical tourist tat.
    I’m about to replace it when I hear a soft noise from behind. I turn round and where before there was a bare rug, there is now a single white envelope. The handwritten address on the front keeps moving; the words vanish then reappear as I watch.
    Something in the corner of my eye flutters and I glance up and see another letter floating down. It moves like a feather, buoyed by invisible currents of air – but there’s no breeze in here. It lands gently next to the first envelope.
    I look up at the Artex-covered ceiling. There’s no gap in it but still, as I watch, another envelope magically appears. Then there’s a postcard, followed in rapid succession by a larger brown letter. I’m transfixed so it takes me a moment to notice that I’m no longer alone. Somehow I’m not surprised by who’s with me.
    ‘Hello,’ I say cautiously.
    The postman doesn’t hear me. He walks to the middle of the room, avoiding stepping on the