In his dream he was stung by a bee, so at first he thought he was dreaming. 'Paul?' In his dream the bee was dangerous and he wanted desperately to escape. 'Paul!' That was no dream-voice: it was Annie's voice. He forced his eyes open. She was standing there in the shadows as if she had never been away, wearing her ugly clothes. He saw the syringe in her hand and understood that it hadn't been a bee: she had given him an injection. But what had she -? Fear came again, but his mind was too dull to feel it strongly. Whatever drug she had given him was making things unreal for him. He tried to lift his hands and it felt as if there were invisible weights hanging from them. It's the end, he thought. The end of the story of Paul Sheldon. Curiously, the thought almost made him happy. The end of the thousand and one nights. Strange, half-formed ideas kept coming into his mind as the powerful drug crept into all the corners of his brain. 'There you are!' Annie said. 'I see you, Paul . . . those blue eyes. Did I ever tell you that I think your eyes are lovely? But I suppose plenty of women have told you that - and bolder women than me.' She was sitting on the end of his bed. She bent down to check something on the floor and for a moment all he could see was her broad, strong back. He heard the sounds of something metal and something wooden - and the unmistakable sound of a box of matches. She turned back towards him and smiled. Whatever else might have happened, she was no longer depressed. That must be good, mustn't it? 47 'What do you want first, Paul?' she asked. The good news or the bad news?' 'Good news first.' He managed a big, foolish grin. 'I suppose the bad news is that you don't really like the book. I tried. I thought it was going well.' She looked at him sadly. 'I love the book, Paul. Why do you think I asked you to fill in all the "n"s yourself? Because I don't want to read any more until the end. I don't want to spoil it.' Paul's drugged grin widened. If she loved the book she wasn't going to kill him - at least not yet. Annie smiled back at him, 'The good news,' she said, 'is that your car has gone. I've been very worried about your car, Paul. I knew only a big storm would wash it away. When the snow melted in the spring the water from the mountains was enough to wash away the body of that dirty bird Pomeroy, but a car is much heavier than a man, isn't it? But the storm and the melting snow at the same time did it. Your car has gone. That's the good news.' Alarm bells rang in Paul's mind. Who was Pomeroy? Then he remembered: the young man in Annie's album. 'Don't pretend, Paul,' she said. 'I know you know about Pomeroy. I know you've read my album. I suppose I wanted you to read it; otherwise, why would I have left it out? But I wanted to be sure - and when I came back the hair was broken.' 'Hair?' he said faintly. 'Yes, I read about it somewhere. If you think someone has been looking through your belongings you stick some hair over the drawers or the book or whatever. Then if the hair is broken or moved you know that someone has been there. Again she bent over the end of the bed. Again there were the sounds of something metal and something wooden. 'So I crept in this morning,' she said, 'as quiet as a mouse - and yes. all three hairs were broken, so I knew you'd been looking at my album.' She paused, and smiled again. 'I wasn't surprised. I knew you had been out of the room. That's the bad news, Paul. I've known for a long, long time.' He should feel angry or disappointed or something, he supposed, but the drug made it impossible. 'Anyway, we were talking about your car,' she said. 'Early yesterday afternoon I felt a lot better. I spent most of the time up there on my knees, praying to God; and you know, Paul, when you pray sincerely to God he always answers your prayers. I knew what I had to do. I put the special tyres on the car, for driving on ice, and drove slowly down from the hills. It was very dangerous, Paul, but I felt safe in the arms of God.' 'That's very nice, Annie,' Paul tried to say, but the sounds were indistinct: That'sh very nishe Annie. 'I stopped on the way down to look for your car. I knew what I would have to do if I saw it. If it was there, visible, therewould be questions, and I'd be the firs............