The Midnight Hour by Neil Davies Read Free Book Online Page A

suddenly his fear was gone.... replaced by a foul tasting surge of anger and hatred.
    How could she leave him? How could the bitch just walk out like that! No one else would have her. No one else could have her!
    The black shapes he still thought of as his arms rose up, long blades sliding from them, not so much held as grown.
    As Lisa turned he plunged the blades into her eyes.
     
    He woke.
    He screamed!
    He checked his hands, his body, shaking with fear and panic.
    Fingers. Thumbs. Skin. He was normal, himself again.
    The shadow was back in his eye.
     
    “Richard, you are clinically depressed.”
    Doctor Charles tapped on his computer keyboard as he spoke, glancing up at Richard who sat, head down, in the consulting room’s other chair.
    “I think the stress of work, of a relationship breaking down, has just proved too much for you over these last few weeks. I’m signing you off work for a month and giving you a course of anti-depressants. Nothing too strong to start with, but we’ll see how things go on those.”
    The dot-matrix printer in the corner whirred and clattered as it printed out the prescription form.
    “This ‘shadow’ you see in your eye is just a manifestation of that stress, of the chemical imbalance in your mind. As we treat your depression and relieve the stress around you I’m sure you’ll see an improvement in that. In time it will disappear altogether.”
    He handed the prescription over and rose to escort Richard to the door.
    “Come back and see me in a month. In the meantime, think about getting away somewhere, away from your flat. Away from the area even.”
    The doctor smiled at him.
    “Take a vacation.”
     
    It had taken most of his savings but as Richard stood at the hotel room window and looked out over the small town of Benodet in Brittany, past the old church, along towards the beach, he knew it had been worth it.
    Already he felt better and he had only just unpacked!
    The shadow was still there but somehow it seemed less threatening, less frightening than when he was sitting in his flat back home in London. France was in the middle of a heat wave, people were walking around in shirtsleeves and sunglasses and the cafes and shops along the front bustled with life. He couldn’t have timed it better if he’d planned it months in advance. For a last minute booking it was amazing.
    Perhaps things really would start to improve now.
     
    On the third day of his vacation, while he bought an ice-cream from the cafe on the corner and watched fellow tourists lining up to board the boat for a river cruise, he suddenly realised that the shadow had faded back to a faint, vague grey.
    It was now no darker than that first morning, perhaps even lighter.
    He grinned a “merci” at the cafe owner, not even worrying how bad his French accent was. He smiled as he crossed the busy road, dodging teenagers on scooters, and sat on the wall facing the beach. The doctor had been right. He was going to be ok.
     
    Her name was Sally and she was from Devon.
    They had started a conversation for the simple reason that they were both sitting alone in the cafe and they were both obviously English. They took the conversation out of the cafe and round the shops, up to the local market, down to the beach, and eventually for an evening meal at a restaurant overlooking the quayside.
    She had long black hair, a face that was pretty rather than beautiful, a smile that sparkled and shone, and a body to die for!
    When he woke in his hotel room after their first night together, Sally still sleeping peacefully at his side, the shadow in his eye had gone.
     
    Saying goodbye to Sally had been hard, but the two weeks of his vacation had finally finished.
    They promised to keep in touch, exchanged phone numbers, addresses. He had every intention of keeping that promise when she finally reached her home a week after him.
    He thought of little else but Sally on the flight home. Lisa was an ever fading memory, sometimes a