‘Of course, darling. Naturally you’re upset. Shandy’s been trying to reach you. I told her that you’re safe and not under suspicion—’

Perhaps I make some sort of involuntary noise because she stops and asks, ‘You’re not, are you? Under suspicion? You’ve been in Stratford, not in cells.’

I tell her about the Dream Police. She asks a lot of questions about Antonio’s behaviour, which in my view is the least of it. But I answer them. I’m getting used to answering questions.

‘You’ve had enough for one night,’ O concludes. ‘We’ll talk further after you’ve rested.’

Again I’m go to bed as London wakes. But first, I can’t help checking my Spacetime, just to see what I’ve missed while I was with the Dream Police.

O wasn’t kidding about the business. There are 1,732 new messages on my ASMR channel, and even after I run my spam-checker I still net over 400 that look legit. I have 3,778 new subscribers (up from 718) and there’s money in my Donation Hat. Video greetings from my new supporters appear in my field of vision, their icons physically poking me to get my attention.

What’s going on? My Spacetime is set to block anyone I don’t know, but the overflow of contact requests goes to mail. I start to sift through these.

CHARLIE!!!! Are you OK? How is everything going? I love the name Dreamhacker! So cool! Hope it’s all good, drop me a line sometime. Love, Alayna xx

Alayna’s a fellow ASMRtist, but we don’t know each other that well. How does she know I’m using the name Dreamhacker?

There are other messages from people in the ASMR community.

Hope you’re OK honey, sending love – Natasha

And even more like this:

We know you didn’t kill her, don’t worry. We support you. Love, Carlos

Aha. So the news has broken that I was there when Mel died.

And finally, in my e-mail:

Hi, Charlie, my name’s Surya and I’m a journalist with Troof Bomb. Hoping to speak with you about your ordeal last night. Can we meet for coffee?

There are variations on that last one from several different news outlets. As I’m reading, more messages are coming in. Chat requests. Subscriptions to my channel. The Hat is going Ker-ching every so often as credit rolls in. What the hell? Am I . . . famous?

I flop back on the pillows. If only this had happened before I took on Melodie, then I wouldn’t have been there when she walked off the building. I wouldn’t even have known about it, probably, because I’d have deleted Antonio’s message without ever reading it. But no – here’s my big break, right here, right now. And it has nothing to do with me or my work.

Melodie Tan is dead.

I’m under investigation by the Dream Police.