Shadow Woman A Novel Page 0,5

was just that: a hallucination.

Except she didn’t feel sick. And that was strange, because she’d just thrown up so violently her stomach muscles ached, and she’d had that piercing headache, but she didn’t feel sick. Now that it was over with, she felt perfectly well.

She also felt annoyed. Her schedule was completely shot; by now her hair should be dry, and her makeup on. She hated when anything disrupted the timeline she’d laid out for herself; she was so regimented, she made a Swiss watch look harumscarum—

Wait a minute. Regimented? Her? When had that happened? It felt wrong, as if she were thinking of someone else entirely.

Abruptly she was retching again; she surged to her knees and bent over the toilet, choking, her stomach rolling, saliva dripping from her open mouth. This time the stiletto of pain behind her eyes was blinding. She gripped the edge of the sink beside her, holding on to prevent herself from collapsing on the floor—or headfirst into the toilet. Even as awful as the nausea and pain were, somewhere deep inside she felt an incongruous tickle of humor at the idea.

The spasms gradually faded and now she did collapse, but at least it was on her ass on the floor. Leaning back against the vanity, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, mentally watching the pain pull back like a visible tide.

Obviously, she had to have some kind of bug. Just as obviously, no way could she go to work. Not only did she not want to make a spectacle of herself dry-heaving all over the place—or worse, wet-heaving—she didn’t want to give this to anyone else. After they recovered, they’d probably be after her with torches and pitchforks.

This was crazy. She didn’t think this way, about toilet-diving being funny, or about mobs with pitchforks. She thought about work, and her friends, and keeping the house clean and her laundry done. She thought about normal stuff.

Pain twinged again, not as sharp, not blinding, but there behind her eyes. She froze, waiting for the beast to grab her. Her stomach rolled, then calmed; the pain faded.

She needed to call in sick, the first time she’d done so since she began working at Becker Investments. Her department head, Maryjo Winchell, had a company-issued cell phone for this type of thing, and, being the careful type she was, Lizette had programmed Maryjo’s number into her own cell phone.

They would know.

The eerie words echoed through her brain again and Lizette tensed, but this time they weren’t followed by debilitating pain and nausea. Why hadn’t it happened now?

Because she’d had that thought before.

Yes. The answer felt right. She didn’t know why, because on the surface it was both stupid and paranoid, but—yes.

Okay. The best thing to do, then, was to not let people know she’d flipped out, and just act normal—sick, but normal.

She got her cell phone from the table where she’d left it, and turned it on. She always turned it off at night, because … She didn’t know why. No answer came to mind; she just did.

When the phone had booted up, she scrolled through her contacts until she found “Maryjo,” selected the number, and hit the green call icon. She heard ringing almost right away, but she’d read that the first couple of rings were placebo rings, put in place so the caller would think something was happening, when in reality the connection took a few seconds longer to happen. She tried to think where she’d read that, and when, but came up blank. Maybe it no longer held true; cell phone technology changed so fast—

A click, and “This is Maryjo” sounded in her ear. Lizette was so caught up in thinking about cell-phone technology that for a second she was blank, trying to remember why she’d called. Sick. Right.

“Maryjo, this is Lizette.” Until she spoke, she hadn’t realized how ragged she sounded, her voice thick from throwing up, her breath still too fast. “I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it to work today. I think I have a bug. Trust me, you don’t want me spreading it around.”

“Throwing up?” Maryjo asked sympathetically.

“Yes. And a splitting headache.”

“A stomach virus is going around. My kids had it last week. It lasts about twenty-four hours, so you should feel better tomorrow.”

“I hate that it’s such short notice.” Though how she could have anticipated getting sick, she didn’t know.

“Not your fault. This is the first sick day you’ve had in three years, so don’t sweat