area. Check on Mike Bowen from Dean's Court –'
The phone rings. He drops the Dictaphone and speeds across the lounge to the phone, mounted on the wall in the reception. 'Hey now, Hart Miller.'
'Have you seen Maria?' The voice is surly.
'Maria?'
'You know who.'
'Who's this?'
'Her boyfriend, and I want some answers.'
'We got something in common.'
The man goes silent. Hart prompts him: 'I'm not prepared to discuss my investigation with anyone not directly –'
'Oh, come on. You're not even a proper doctor. No wonder my girlfriend lost it. She's stressed out and you should have known better, instead of filling –'
'Hey listen up, buddy,' Hart barks, feeling whisky-brave, his pride stung by the kid's attitude. 'I haven't even seen Maria. She blew off her interview. So chill.'
For a few seconds, there is just the sound of two men breathing across the static distance.
'I can't find her.' The young man's voice is about to break around the edges. Hart hears him clear his throat.
He softens his tone. 'When did you see her last?'
'It's been two days now.'
'Maybe she's with a friend or something.'
'I've seen her every day for three years. She never goes anywhere without telling me first.' The man has become impatient again; the volume of his voice rises and his tone becomes shrill.
'OK. Right. Cool it. You keep shouting and my phone goes down. You hear me, buddy?'
Silence.
'Can't hear you,' Hart says.
'Yeah,' the voice replies, still petulant in tone.
'Now who are you?'
There is a pause. 'Chris.'
'So, Chris. You're looking for someone to blame. But I'm not responsible here. I've been in town like five minutes. But there's one thing I do know: people like your girlfriend have suddenly begun to experience nightmares. A special kind too. Like nothing they've known before. They get frightened, they behave strangely. Maybe you even stop recognising them. That can happen. A few individuals have been to see me. But your girlfriend was not one of them. She called for an appointment, sure, but she never showed up. And hasn't answered my calls either. I'm concerned too. Got me?'
Silence.
'I take that as a yes. So allow me to get things straight. Maria takes off a few days back and there's no word since. Am I right?'
'Yeah.'
'Would she go home?'
'No. She left her door open and all her things are still in her room. Her neighbour heard her leave after midnight, on Monday night.'
'Go on.'
'With someone.'
Hart presses his forehead to the wall. 'Any ideas who?'
'Maria would never fuck around. And I'd kill whoever took advantage of a sick girl.' Chris's voice is rising again, to something mean.
'Dude, I never said she would. This is something totally beyond anything that Maria would ever do. You two are close and she tells you everything.'
'Right,' Chris says, putting his voice back together with an effort.
'And you have no idea where she could go.'
'No.'
'She been sleepwalking?'
'She said so. She asked me to watch her, but I couldn't. She doesn't understand. I have things to do.'
'Sure. This is not your fault. She was frightened and unless you have suffered this first-hand, you cannot understand what these dreams are like.'
'Come on, mate. We're talking about dreams here. They're not the cause. She's bulimic. That's how this started. You can't help.'
'Don't hang up,' Hart says. 'Tell me where you've looked.'
Chris sighs, exasperated. 'I've checked out her friends. Then I phoned her home and frightened her mom. The police said she doesn't even qualify as a missing person yet.'
Hart speaks quietly but firmly. 'Chris. Listen to what I have to say.
Don't freak out. Just listen up.'
'What?'
'Have you had a nightmare recently?'
'No,' he says, irritated by the question.
'Good.'
'Why is it? I told you, this dream thing is ridiculous.'
Hart interrupts. 'Did you attend any of Eliot Coldwell's group meetings?'
'What's that got to do with anything? My girlfriend's gone missing and –'
'Just answer me. Did you go?'
'To that load of bollocks? You got to be joking.'
Hart takes a deep breath. 'Might still be a good idea for you to leave town, Chris. Just for a while.'
'What?' the man bellows.
'Leave town, yes. There is evidence to suggest . . .' Then Hart gives up and moves the receiver away from his ear.
The verbal barrage continues from a distance. 'My girlfriend goes missing and you say I should leave! Why would I leave? What exactly would that achieve? Who'd find Maria then? Waste of time! All you Yanks are the same! You're all full of shit! And if I find out that Maria's been there, you're dead.' The phone clicks