Delivering Caliban by Tim Stevens Read Free Book Online

glimpses had gone.
    Rachel was between jobs and, luckily for Nina, was home. Her eyes had flared in alarm when she’d opened the door to Nina’s knocking. She’d seen Nina once before like this, after her grandmother’s death when the Watchers had reappeared and crowded closer than ever against the invisible glass enclosing Nina’s life. On that occasion Rachel had taken her in for a week, nursed her back, persuaded her to see the doctor and accept meds, at least in the short term. The doctor had wanted to refer her for follow up, had urged her to start on a regular course of antipsychotics, but as always she’d refused.
    In the kitchen now, Nina helped Rachel prepare the evening meal, tossing salads and chopping vegetables. Rachel glanced at her from time to time, not often enough to make her feel uncomfortable. At one point she said, ‘Are  the voices back?’
    ‘No. Not this time.’ Nina managed a smile. But she wondered if it was only a matter of time. Usually the voices came first, warning her she was being watched, before the fear set in. Sometimes it was one voice, a woman’s; sometimes a man’s voice would join in. They never addressed Nina directly, but always spoke about her as though she wasn’t there.
    Through the kitchen door came the sound of keys in a lock and a man’s voice: ‘Hey, babe.’ Nina gasped and dropped the colander she was holding, leaves and tomatoes exploding across the floor. Rachel hurried to her, wrapped her in her arms.
    Kyle came into the kitchen, loose-limbed and rangy, his pony tail swinging. ‘Nina! Great to –’
    He caught Nina’s eye across Rachel’s shoulder, grimaced in concern.
    Rachel gave him a swift, undramatic summary. Kyle nodded throughout, watching Rachel and Nina in turn, with none of the embarrassment others might have shown.
    Supper was at six, burritos loaded with everything Rachel could find in the refrigerator. Nina’s appetite was huge, as it often was to her surprise at times like this. It was as though her body was preparing itself for a fight. Kyle cracked open bottles of Mexican beer. Nina declined. Booze never helped: the fear only expanded and her ability to cope with it diminished.
    Afterwards they lounged on the eclectic sprawl of beanbags and couches that made up the living room furniture and chatted about Kyle’s work, Nina’s playing, Rachel’s as yet unsuccessful attempts to find a new job. For a while it was as though circumstances were normal, as if they were a trio of old friends simply catching up after a long separation. The evening drew in, the daylight contracting and the shadows spreading across the room as the sun worked its way behind the apartment block.
    Nina realised suddenly that she didn’t have any extra clothes, or a toothbrush. Nor did she have a plan. She could stay with Rachel and Kyle one night, two, a week – and then what? Home again, alone, each creak on the landing outside her door, each glance from a stranger in the street sending her running in terror?
    Maybe it was time, at last, to consider meds. She hadn’t done any research in the area for over a year; there might be new products available, ones that didn’t impair your dexterity, make your hands shake. She’d have that talk with Rachel tomorrow, perhaps, when they were on their way to Rachel’s latest interview. Tonight was for burrowing down, feeling comfortable and comforted, protected from the darkness.
    Kyle asked her opinion on a selection of soundtrack options for a new role-playing game he was developing. One of the pieces in particular unnerved her: it sounded like a sample of Penderecki’s Threnody For The Victims Of Hiroshima laid over a grinding industrial beat.
    Rachel seemed to sense her discomfort because she sighed, ‘Jesus, Kyle, turn that shit off.’
    He rolled his eyes at Nina and clicked  on to another track.
    The knock came at the door, four raps, firm but polite.
    Nina felt her abdominal contents squeeze upwards,