Read Infinite Rooms: a gripping psychological thriller that follows one man's descent into madness for Free Online Page A

aggressive way, Dr Leibkov? I see, it can’t be you, the stupid apparition’s walked away.
    There’s the bank I’ll climb again. Call out her name once more. I have to. The only reply is that stuttering bird’s cry and a flurry of wings.

5
    F ound the carpet of moss again. Veering off, flattening another channel through the ferns. Walking further until I see the poppies and daisies over to the right and glimmers of sea through the clusters of trees lining the cliff edge.
    The pool of pastoral grass; thick roots of the oak tree like embracing knuckles. The hamper open and a picnic laid out: bowl of strawberries and plate of sandwiches, tomatoes, pâté and sticks of celery, on a chequered cloth. And my Bernadette there on the grass, sitting with bare legs curled to the side, holding a glass of wine.
    ‘Binny, where the heck have you been? Was so worried.’
    Getting to me, it really has. I was beginning to believe you’d ceased to exist. This mindroom was in danger, was becoming compromised.
    ‘Brush those bits out of your hair. Look peahead, you’ve ripped your jacket; you’ll put blood on it.’
    ‘Blood?’
    ‘You’re bleeding, there, the wrist.’ Just above our slingshotband of love and perfect understanding. ‘What a state you’re in. I doubled back, was following. I was going to jump out, give you a surprise,’ she’s brushing my wig, ‘but you ran off again. I’ve eaten most of the sandwiches, it’s your own fault.’
    Dabbing smears from my face with a handkerchief.
    ‘No, leave it.’ She doesn’t understand homage makeup.
    ‘I was only joking.’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘Eating the sandwiches. I’ve only eaten my half.’
    I must throw myself at her as a wave of pure joy cleanses me. I plant kisses on her forehead and cheeks. ‘Oh Binny, I lost you.’ I must cling to my wife, my friend, my meaning of existence. Have to hold tight, make sure I never let go again.
    ‘Silly.’ She’s pushing me away to take a sip of wine.
    Two cabbage whites flitter and twirl. We will create garlands of buttercups to cup the light.
    ‘I love you; love, love, love you.’ Distinct laughter, not certain why.
    Yes, I see, how can three simple words hold total meaning? They’re only syllables strung together. They can’t contain the passions and yearnings, the wanting, more than bodily – the blending of minds, a meeting of spirits. Every ounce of me needs to enfold her for always. A shuddering elation is swelling in my throat.
    Gently pull her to me, like this, my hands meeting around her. I have her, she has me forever. The joy of knowing her is incomparable. A light breeze is rippling the poppies, makingthem dance.
    ‘Do you love me?’ I had to ask. Damnation, why did I say it? She’s pulled away and appears hurt as she bites her lip. ‘Sorry.’ I’m no better than a beggar cringing in a shop doorway rattling a tin can. I’m not sorry to you though, doctor, in case you were somehow responsible for promoting that question.
    Still not clicking despite you seeming an intelligent man, is it? Let me explain another way then. If I get this precise – really accurate – here in the mindrooms, it’ll inevitably happen in the real future dream. Perhaps not exactly but the same ambiences and love colours will occur again. I’m working through such an elegant solution.
    Excuse me please while I correct the mistake for the next dream time.
    There we are. She appears to have brightened.
    We’ll eat in silence awhile, let our skin tingle in the warmth within the tranquillity of our abundant surroundings.
    ‘Didn’t mean to ask, you know. It was an aberration in the mindroom.’
    ‘Don’t start.’
    ‘Trying to say, can never live without you.’
    Have I said too much again with no mystery or wonder left? What’s your opinion, doctor? You can’t speak, can you? I haven’t heard you speak for months. But then you don’t have to. Bernadette is engaging enough. No matter what she says there’s deepness