Tunnels 03, Freefall

that anyone else should help themselves to them. Mrs. Burrows knew she was being irrational -- it wasn't as if she needed any more of Dr. Burrows' junk, her flat was stuffed with his possessions as it was. But if he wasn't around to read them, she didn't want anyone else to get them either. And she certainly didn't want them snaffled by people who wouldn't have her husband's appreciation for them.
    "Bloody leave them alone! They're Roger's! Buy your own bloody magazines!" she shrieked. Through the rain she could see that both men had on flat caps and, as one of the men reacted to her shouts and slowly swiveled towards her, she could make out that he was wearing dark sunglasses. That made no sense at that time of day, with the light almost gone. With another flash of lightning, she saw his face clearly. His skin was startlingly white. She skidded to a halt. "Those pallid men ," she whispered, immediately recalling her husband's description from his journal.
    Both men were regarding her now. She was close enough to see their wide jaws and grim-set mouths. The one holding the suitcase clapped it shut, and they started to stride determinedly towards her, completely in step with one another. Mrs. Burrows' anger immediately turned to fear. There was no doubt in her mind that they were coming for her.
    She glanced quickly around the High Street to see if there was anyone who could help, but the rain seemed to have emptied it of people. She turned and ran, her shoes sliding on the wet pavement. She scoured the shops for anywhere she could take refuge, but of course Clarke's had closed down and it was far too late for the Golden Spoon cafe to still be open. There was nothing for it but to get across the road and take the side street in the direction of her flat. She would be safe there.
    As she ran, the pounding on the pavement behind her was getting louder, and it was as if her fear opened up a remote corner of her mind. She suddenly remembered the incident from the previous year when three men had forced a lock on the French windows of the sitting room and broken in. It had happened at a time when Mrs. Burrows was in the clutches of a chronic depression, spending nearly every hour of the day asleep in her favorite chair in front of the television.
    She'd surprised the intruders and they'd dragged her out into the hall. Then she'd surprised them some more. With the almost superhuman strength of someone not in their right mind, she'd walloped the intruders about their heads with a frying pan. They'd been scared off. The verdict from the police was that the thieves must have been watching the house from the Common, and that they were after the usual -- the television, mobile phones and any cash lying around the place.
    But now, as these men pursued her, something in the way they carried themselves recalled to mind the intruders of that night.
    As she reached
    Jekyll Street
    there was a loud peal of thunder, and she hared across the road to the opposite pavement. She didn't see the approaching car until it was too late. She heard the squeal of brakes and tires sliding across the wet tarmac as the car slewed to a halt. Blinded by the headlights, she threw her arms around her head. The front bumper struck her, and she went over.
    In an instant, the driver was out of the car and at her side.
    "Jeez, I didn't see you! You just stepped out!" he said. "Are you hurt?"
    Mrs. Burrows was sitting up now, her wet hair in her face as she peered over her shoulder to look for the strange men.
    "Where are they?" she mumbled.
    "Does it hurt anywhere? Do you think you can walk?" the driver asked, his voice full of concern.
    She pushed her hair back, seeing the driver clearly for the first time. It was the bearded American from the library. "I know you," she said.
    The man crinkled one corner of his mouth as he squatted by her, his dark eyes searching her face. "You do?" he asked.
    "Ben... something."
    "Yeah," he said, quizzically. "Ben Wilbrahams."
    "Yes. Mr. Ashmi in the town archives said I should talk to you. I'm Celia Burrows," she told him.
    He frowned, then his eyebrows rose in an arc above his wire-rimmed glasses. "So that would make you Dr. Burrows' wife," he said as Mrs. Burrows got to her feet, wincing as she tried to put weight on her left leg.
    "I think I've sprained my ankle," she said.
    "Look, you're completely drenched and I live just along from here -- at the end of
    Jekyll Street
    . The least I can do is to make sure you're all