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.""You met Annalise Seven!""She didn't say.And I've met an Annalise from Boston.""You actually saw them and talked to them?""Yes, Annalise One came to my house on Sunday and helped clear the bugs.""That was you!""That was me.""So you think there's just the one of you and you flip between programs?""I don't know.""I'll find out.Won't be long."Graham waited, wondering what Annalise was doing, wondering if it would be so bad if he casually glanced behind to find out.He didn't.He turned another page of the newspaper instead, his stomach rumbling as he did so.Maybe he should take the opportunity to have his sandwich? He checked his watch.He'd give her five minutes and then he'd eat.Two minutes later Annalise returned."Just got through to four of the girls.The others are elsewhere.But there's at least five Graham Smiths sitting in Green Park at the moment.And you're the only one reading a newspaper."Graham didn't have time to reply."There's a woman coming towards you on your left.She's looking right at you."He glanced furtively to the left, lowering the newspaper a touch and quickly pulling it back up.She was looking at him.A young woman, mid twenties, short hair.He waited, his hands tightening around the newspaper.She sat down at the far end of the seat, rummaged in one of her two voluminous bags, brought out a book and started to read.Graham observed her as he pretended to read.She showed no signs of leaving any time soon, nor signs of any interest in Graham.She just sat there, her head bowed over her book.Graham folded the newspaper, placed it back on the bench and took out his sandwich.No doubt he'd find another wet paint sign in St.James's Park tomorrow.* * *He was unsettled for the rest of the lunch hour.The idea of there being other Graham Smiths hit him more than he'd expected.He didn't like it.He didn't like it at all.And the possibility that he wasn't Graham Smith but someone else entirely was even worse.Admittedly his life wasn't great.As a child he'd have given anything to be someone else.But not now.Now, he was used to being who he was.He'd adapted.And he wasn't sure he could do that again.Especially given the choice of new identities—an abductee at the heart of an alien experiment or a guinea pig in a brainwashing project.Annalise must have got it wrong.And there were other explanations.His old theory for one: the unstable world shedding threads of existence.That's where the other Annalises were living—on unravelled strands of reality that had been discarded and were slowly fading away.His was the only true reality, all the others were transient, ephemeral memories of what used to be and could never be again.The planet was alive, an imperfect unstable sphere that evolved by shedding its outer layers.Layers of reality detaching every now and then, part of the natural evolution of the planet.Wafers of existence shed like dead skin and replaced from beneath.Something similar but never identical.The planet slowly evolving, sloughing off its outer layers.And some of those outer layers could still harbor life—for a time.While they drifted aimlessly, slowly decomposing, unaware of their impending disintegration.And, somehow, Annalise had learned to bridge those strands of existence.She could talk to her other selves and those other selves could talk back, tell her something of their lives, of what they did and saw on their slowly degrading threads.Where his other selves, the shadow Graham Smiths, sat and ate and slowly unravelled into nothingness.By the time he returned to work, he'd pushed all thoughts of virtual worlds deep into the recesses of his mind.The world was real—imperfect and unstable, but real.SeventeenLater that afternoon, Graham was waiting by the coffee machine on the second floor lobby.He wasn't sure why, but the coffee always tasted better from the second floor machine.Brenda said it was because they cleaned it more often, though he couldn't see why that would be so.Why would anyone clean one machine more often than the others?Stephen Leyland was ahead of him in the queue, talking quietly to someone Graham couldn't quite place.Brian, was it? Roger? The name escaped him but it was someone from the fifth floor."How long's he been missing this time?" asked the unknown man.Graham tensed.Had someone else noticed that people were going missing?"Four weeks," mumbled Stephen, so softly that Graham had to strain to make it out."How's Janie taking it?" continued the man, extracting his fifth cup from the machine and placing it precariously on a small tray."Bad."Janie? Wasn't that Stephen's wife?"Haven't the police got any leads?"Stephen shook his head and turned away from the conversation while another plastic cup clattered into position, the machine whirred and a dark brown liquid streamed out.Had someone in Stephen's family gone missing? Someone close?"They say he'll probably get in touch when he needs money.And that the best we can do is check the answer-phone every day and wait.""They told you that?"Stephen nodded."It's no way to live, is it?""Can't you hire a private detective to go round the shelters?""The police say they've done that already.All the shelters have Jason's picture."Now Graham understood.Jason was Stephen's son.Fourteen, fifteen? Something like that.Stephen had a picture on his desk.Always had, ever since Graham had known him.The lift bell rang
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