Thursday, January 22, 2009
Rachel looked up at the kindly doctor, whose sudden smile contrasted so beautifully with his oil-dark skin. “I can’t stop writing about these people,” she said. “Devils and shopkeepers and whores… it’s like an addiction. Look at me. I prompt appears and I write. A thousand times over, quite literally.”
“I see.” The doctor wrote something in the patient notes. “And you believe these angels and other fantastic creatures really exist?”
“Of course. I see them all of the time.” Rachel sighed. “It’s not just that. I’m not even sure it’s me writing them,” she said. “Sometimes it feels as if I’m just one of the characters in this Laverstone place and someone else is writing me.”
“Don’t be silly.” Jasfoup patted her hand. “You take your tablets and have a nice sleep. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Yes, Doctor, thank you.” Rachel frowned. “Have we met before?”
He laughed. “Of course we have. Yesterday, on my rounds. Now go to sleep.” He watched until her breathing pattern changed, then closed the book, sliding it carefully onto the shelf. Hell was full of such stories, but it was rare that one of the souls suspected the truth.