‘Well, Charlie, if someone is setting you up for murder then it’s in your interests to be incompetent, so long as you can prove to the police that you’re incompetent. But if the Creeper comes after you, then you need to be able to fight back. So you’ve got to decide whether you’re going to run and hide, or whether you’re going to face this . . . whatever it is, this entity . . . whether you’re going to face it head-on.’

I can’t believe how she’s dodged the whole issue of Daphne and put it back on me.

‘O, aren’t you afraid for yourself? I’m less worried about myself than I am about you.’

‘You’re being ridiculous now. I don’t even use Sweet Dreams, so how could I be hacked? Charlie, go home.’

‘All right, I’ll go.’ But I’m checking windows and scanning the room for anything dangerous. Out in the corridor, I pull one of the nurses aside and warn her about the sleepwalking risk. Then I station myself in the lobby and field client messages and write an update to Shandy, but after a while I’m told that visiting hours are over and I’m not permitted to stay for ‘security reasons’ which is code for ‘you look homeless and we can’t have that here’. I then sit outside on the steps, but a security guard moves me along. It starts to rain, of course.

I have such a bad feeling that something’s going to happen to her. Why won’t she take me seriously? Why doesn’t anyone? What do I have to do?

I go home. I take out the earring and fall asleep. Again.

Sleep paralysis personified

Sleep paralysis personified

‘Charlie! Wake up! Charlie, it’s Roman. Wake up!’

Someone’s buzzing downstairs and shouting on the intercom. I scramble out of bed, trip over Edgar, vault over the sofa and finally get to the door. This time it’s Roman holding a brolly and a cardboard tray of coffees. At least my visitors are feeding me.

‘I tried to contact you but you were unreachable,’ he says when he’s huffed his way up the stairs. The delay has given me enough time to put on a sweatshirt and smear some toothpaste over my nasty tongue, but I’m still dazed. ‘Did you take my advice?’

‘Yeah, I’m offline,’ I say, accepting a coffee off him and pausing to inhale the smell before I take my first sip. We sit on O’s sofa. It’s weird without her here. Edgar immediately installs himself on Roman’s lap and begins kneading. Roman strokes the cat awkwardly.

‘I have some new information.’

‘I’m listening.’