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corner and nearly collided with Amber Validator. She was surprisingly petite, but as blonde and buxom as Cosmo liked them. She wore too much make-up. She was dressed in a fawn-colored buckskin suit that appeared to have been designed by some cowboy couturier, and she had spectacularly beautiful green eyes, now wide with surprise. “Oh! Hi,” she said with a breathy voice as she backed up two steps.
    â€œHello,” said Dan. He glanced down at his full hands and shrugged, hoping Amber would get the message that he couldn’t shake hands. Did she shake hands? “I’m Dan Crowen. I’m the president of Cosmo’s company.”
    â€œOh… yes. I see. Are you here to see Cosmo? Because he’s not here.”
    â€œYes, I know. I’ve been told that I’m to see him in the morning when he gets back.”
    â€œWell, that’s good. Have you been here before, er—?”
    â€œDan. And yes, I have. I was even here once when it was being built. Quite a construction project.”
    She nodded blankly. “Well, I just got in from a meeting and I need to… freshen up. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” She started to leave, then caught herself. With a slight lift of the chin and an equally small drop in her voice, she carefully enunciated, “If there is anything that you need, my people are at your service.”
    â€œThank you. And it was great to meet you, Mrs. Validator. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    With that, Amber Validator spun around and headed down the long hallway to the master’s quarters. Dan watched for a moment as she went, appreciating the view, then pushed any thoughts about the boss’s wifeout of his mind. As he walked into the kitchen, Virgil gave him a wink, and Mary, already rinsing plates, mouthed, “I told you.”

v. 1.3
    T hat night, Dan’s dreams were filled with odd and unsettling images. Later, he couldn’t remember any of them well, but only that he seemed to be in a perpetual, unresolved struggle: wild animals, sinister figures, giants, monsters, zombies, wraiths. Every time he was on the brink of escape or victory, or even death, he was snatched away and deposited in the next dream… only to repeat the cycle again. In each dream, he sensed that there was another force at work in the background—an enemy? the Devil? just pure evil itself?—arraying these forces against him, laughing at his victimization, never letting him lose or win.
    The night seemed endless, unrelenting. Every time Dan tried to escape into wakefulness, clawing his way up to consciousness, he found himself in yet another dreadful, unresolved dream.
    He finally awoke, exhausted, to bright light streaming in through a gap in the curtains. With a groan, he rolled over and checked the clock. Nine o’clock. Jesus Christ. He dragged himself out of bed and stumbled into the shower.
    Twenty minutes later, he made his way into the great room. The maid vacuuming the big Persian carpet looked up at him in surprise. So did her counterpart, who was using a feather duster on the bronzes. Dan glanced grimly out the giant window. The sun was high over the mountains, and the sky had already turned from pink to blue. He hurried his step.
    He reached the kitchen, so friendly the night before, to find Mary busy at work with her assistant, preparing dinner. Her mouth was tight as she nodded to him. “I think he’s still in the breakfast nook.” Dan hurried on.
    He found Cosmo sitting on one side of the nook, his long legs and cowboy boots splayed out into the passageway and a pair of greasy and empty plates and the dregs of a cup of coffee in front of him. His silver pompadour was longer and flatter than usual, and he was wearing a cowboy shirt and an old A-2 bomber jacket. He was reading through a stack of printed pages—no doubt a draft of his shareholders’ address—and marking it with an automatic pencil,