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SUMMARY: The second part of the puzzle. The body count is rising.

I'm Only Sleeping

By Richard Ridyard

She stood, arms clasped around her body. Her breathing erratic. Silent tears coursing down over her face. Her nightie damp, bathed in sweat, - cold now. Her hair tousled, the nape of her neck damp, cloaked in the moist tendrils of her shoulder length auburn hair. The fear in her mind subsiding, logic regaining it's tenuous grip, she chided herself. She spoke to herself in mind talk. "Don't be so foolish, you are home, surrounded by your own things. There is no need to be frightened." She walked over to the bay window, pulled the curtains back slowly, just enough to look out onto the street. All was Well. Everything familiar. The cars, parked either side of the road shone brightly in the street light, red alarm system lights winked in the darkness of each interior. Silent, dancing to thier own internal mechanism. No one walked the street, it was, after all 2.30 in the morning. Windows shrouded by curtains looked dark. No lights shone through thier veils. Testament to the dwellers being at rest in thier own private cocoons. Yes all was familiar. Even the noises within her own home . Settling noises. The odd creak of settling wood, the clock in the hallway, ticking marking time, the breathing of her most favourite companion (her cat ) all contributed to the calming of her inner turmoil. Why then did she feel so........ out of tune within her comfort zone.?

She found herself downstairs. Almost dreamlike in its transition. Coffee. She held the mug between two small hands. Took comfort from the warmth eminating from the contents of the mug. How odd..... she couldn't remember making the coffee a ritual she enjoyed. (as a rule.) She shrugged, almost imperceptively. Accepting the deed, enjoying the taste . In the lounge, there were the ciggarettes she had left on the coffee table. The ashtray empty, she hated leaving ashtrays over-night. They were always emptied washed and made ready for the next day. (she never smoked upstairs.) She found herself seated. Coffee mug in one hand, ciggarette in the other. Had she taken a ciggarette from the packet? She watched the smoke coill slowly, lazily upwards, inhaled deeply...... her mind returning to her "awakening".

It must she thought , have been a bad dream. She had bad dreams sometimes. Usually as a result of eating late, or being troubled about her work. She tried to recall the previous day. No. There were no triggers there. Work had been busy, but not out of the ordinary. There were a few things pending , but nothing to cause her to be unduly worried. She had eaten around 7pm. A chicken stir fry, accompanied by a large glass of white wine. Nothing there. She had phoned her mother as was her nightly habit. light chit -chat. A few giggles, (they had an exceptional relationship) nothing to cause "upset" there. She was tierd. Perhaps too tired? She had , had no problem falling into the "arms of morphious". What then had caused her to wake up in such distress?. She looked at the clock 4am. She registered the time. Felt uneasy again. Had she been up quite that long? Again that almost imperceptable shrug of acceptance.