sadly disappointed. When she turned away from it, she found herself standing before a wall. It stretched left and right and up as far as the eye could see. It looked solid enough to touch. And she knew it was.
How did she know that?
The same way she knew about Lonfay and Nova, she guessed - whatever they were. She left theorising to concentrate on the wall. It was moving, slowly distending and contracting like a huge flat belly. Like a womb.
She reached out gingerly, expecting the wall to feel soft like an elastic diaphragm. It was. Her fingers made a small indentation as the surface responded to her touch. Then it pushed back as if it were alive.
She snatched her hand away and giggled in nervous surprise. Then she was walking along, touching it occasionally, testing a growing confidence. Holding her palm against the wall she could feel something beyond - movement, writhing. She shuddered. The white light sighed mournfully.
Next, a warning. From the opposing forces or her own intuition, she wasn't sure. But whatever its source, the alarm was too clear to ignore - she was not alone. Someone else was in the Void with her. And they were coming closer!
She quickened her pace as she looked for a place to hide, not questioning why she needed to, knowing only that she feared being exposed. But there was nowhere. Just the light which continued to beckon gently. She was tempted, but at this moment kindness took second place to something solid.
Maybe the wall had a crevice, or a door? She continued to stumble along it, glancing behind frequently. Her breathing was shallow. Perspiration welled on her forehead, trickled down her temples. Also down her sides from weeping armpits. The sensation was strangely arousing.
She wasn't really aware of the current until it intensified significantly. The force was back - only one this time - dragging her parallel to the wall. Suddenly she knew she wanted the light and she reached out for it. But for some reason it didn't take her hand. As if it considered her already beyond redemption.
She lost sight of its brilliance as she concentrated on straining against the invisible magnetic tide. Everything was becoming so negative. The light was fading, the dark had hold of her, and the dangerous presence was still coming.
Yes, there! Just a glimpse. Enough to recognise the silhouette of another human being - a man. She hesitated instinctively. Very briefly. Then, the current changed direction and slammed her against the wall. She found herself pressed against it and tried to push away, but the elasticity simply absorbed her efforts. Softness began caressing her, moulded to her features. She could feel herself melting into it.
Trapped though she was, in a strange way she felt safe for now. From the man, certainly; but also from the voice. She could hear it drifting through the Void towards her. Like someone calling to her. It was familiar, reassuring. But something - another voice deep inside her head - warned it couldn't be trusted. She couldn't be trusted.
She? Listening more intently, she could tell now that it was a woman's voice. It was saying: "Richard, it's me - Janet." Then the sounds became suddenly distant as if this Janet person had turned away and was talking to someone else: "He can't hear me, can he, Doctor? But his eyes are open. What does that mean?"
Does anything mean anything?
In the light she was woman. Yet, though the voice called to a man, she knew it called to her. She was Richard. At least, she had been. Probably would be again if she went back. Back to Janet, the woman Richard didn't trust.
And don't forget the man in the Void. Don't forget him! Who was he, anyway? She seemed to know him, but in a detached way like a passing acquaintance. Not a pleasant experience, as she recalled. Painful, even. If he found her that might mean more pain. She didn't need it. Didn't need any of this. So she pressed further into the wall.
The membrane began to tear. One arm was through, then a shoulder. The rent was widening. Suddenly desires no longer mattered: she was falling and choice was irrelevant.
Implosion. It felt just like that. One moment an inner self, growing, spreading outward.... testing.... sensing. Next, the thought of being swallowed.
Of swallowing herself.
3
"I'm afraid your husband's in a coma, Mrs Olsen."
Janet watched the full lips working in a soft, pink face. Doctor Holder was little more than a boy. Richard wouldn't have been impressed. For his money, experience came with age; and the top people wore suits, not lab coats. He wouldn't have complained, though, even if he'd been able. He was all for the quiet life. Maybe he was content at last, laying there, glassy eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling, safe within a womb of eternal boredom.
She noticed Holder watching her, his expression betraying misgivings. About what - her sincerity? Perhaps she'd overdone the brave-little-wife bit and ought to display more concern. She turned away for a moment and tried to imagine how a husband in a wheelchair might affect her life. "What are his chances?"
Doctor Holder watched her shoulders rise and fall in time with her breathing. Once or twice she shuddered as she exhaled. Trying to keep her emotions in check, he supposed. God, he hated this part. Years of training and he couldn't tell her any more about her husband's condition than the damned ward orderly! He tried to inject compassion into a response that always seemed like a cop-out: "Once his condition stabilises we'll know more."
"Stabilises, yes," mumbled Janet. She looked down at Richard. If he were any more stable they'd build a high-rise on him. "I suppose all we can do is wait."
"I'm afraid so.... " His pink, tightly-manicured fingers played the dangling stethoscope like a rosary. What price a diversion to get him out of there? Ten Hail Mary's...?
A freckled nurse's face pushed around the curtain. "Cubicle five, Doctor - stat!"
Relief flooded Holder. He edged past, squeezed Janet's arm gently on the way. "I'm sure he'll be fine."
Then she was alone and the tears finally came. For herself, she guessed, because she was really starting to hate Richard for turning her life into such a bloody mess!
They power-walked: running was taboo, even in an emergency.
Holder snapped irritably: "What?" He felt like a junior exec ordering a damage report. A few shifts on casualty had that effect. You learned to leave emotions at home. Speed, some skill and a heavy bedside manner were better substitutes.
The nurse managed: "The girl - we're losing her." Then they were ducking into five.
Holder jerked to a standstill, totally becalmed. He'd expected a nurse or two and, of course, his patient, the one from the same accident as Richard Olsen. But there larger than life was Agostini leaning over the cot, de-fib paddles still in his hands.
Holder hated Agostini's guts. Doing rounds with the professor was like the Spanish Inquisition. The man was a bastard. All attitude.
The figure straightened, handed the paddles to a nurse. A lean, swarthy mask turned, dressed Holder down. "I'm not poaching, Holder. Just passing through."
Liar.
He walked up to the younger man, stood waiting for him to step aside. "Breathing's still erratic. Not conscious yet. Manage alright now, can you?"
Holder
