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‘Oh, yes?'

She came forward and stood very close to them. Natasha kept her face pressed against Michael's chest and didn't turn around.

‘Yes,' said Isobel. ‘They said you were remembering things about your past life, before you had your accident. Only a few stray things, apparently, but enough to worry them. Me too, of course.'

Michael frowned to show that he didn't understand what she meant.

‘You were my new companion, sweetheart. You were the one who was going to warm my bed for the rest of my days and keep me alive. Of course I was worried about you. I didn't want you suddenly waking up to who you really were and walking out on me.'

At this point, Natasha turned around and confronted her. ‘So where was I supposed to come into this? They knew that Michael and I were going to be married.'

Isobel shook her head in amusement. ‘Where do you
think
you came into it, sweet cheeks? If Greg – if
Michael
, sorry – if Michael remembered who he was, and realized that he was alive and well, the chances are that he would have left Trinity, and worst of all he would have left
me.
And as it happens, I love him.

‘They gave you wonderful treatment, Natasha. You can't fault the clinic for that. But you were too badly brain-damaged for them to be able to save you. To begin with, they had no intention of bringing you back as one of us, and giving you an afterlife. But when Michael started to remember things …'

Michael said, ‘It's OK, Isobel. I get it. They gave Tasha an afterlife and arranged for her to live with us to make absolutely sure that I would stay here.'

‘Exactly,' said Isobel. ‘Which is why we all need to get along. You, me and Natasha. I wasn't very happy about it at first, I have to admit. But we can have some amazing times together, can't we?'

‘You know that I don't love you, Isobel, don't you, and I never will.'

Isobel gave him a tight, hurt smile. ‘People can
learn
to fall in love, Michael.'

‘Well, we'll have to see about that. Meanwhile we're very tired and we're both going to go to bed. Our own beds.'

‘You know that it was my idea, Michael. You ought to be grateful.'

‘What was?'

‘Giving Natasha an afterlife. Usually, if companions start to ask too many questions, they give them the treatment.'

‘What treatment?'

‘It's a form of lobotomy, as far as I know. That's what they did with Jack Barr and Lloyd Hammers. They wanted to do it to you, but I begged them not to. You wouldn't be any good as a lover if they did that to you. They did it to Emilio, and he was useless after that.'

Michael held Natasha close to him. ‘So they brought Tasha back to life so that you could continue to get your jollies in bed?'

‘Oh, come on, Michael. What we have together, it's much more than that. I thought we were close friends, too.'

‘Yes, Isobel. So did I.'

Sometime in the small hours of the morning, long after the moon had set, Michael thought he heard a crunching sound, like car tires rolling over frozen snow. He lifted his head from the pillow and listened, but all he could hear was a thin wind blowing from the east, and the persistent rattling of the TV antenna. He went back to sleep and dreamed that he was sitting in the back of a car, silently weeping.

A few minutes before seven o'clock the next morning, the doorbell rang – one of those sharp, jangly rings that leave the taste of salt in your mouth. He heard Isobel coming out of her bedroom and shuffling in her slippers along the hallway. She unlocked the door and then he heard voices. He could feel the cold draft from outside blowing under his bedroom door.

After a few seconds, the front door was closed again, but whoever was calling on them, Isobel must have let them in, because he heard the voices again: Isobel's, and another woman, but much less distinct. Then there was a tentative rapping at
his
door.

‘Michael? Are you awake?'

Michael climbed out of bed and opened the door. It was Isobel, in her robe. Her hair was all messed up and she was wearing no make-up.

‘What is it?' he asked her.

‘Somebody to see you. Doctor Connor.'

‘Catherine? What does she want at this time of the morning?'

‘You'd better come find out.'

‘Wait up one second.'

Michael pulled on his jeans and struggled into a sweater. Then he walked barefoot into the living room, where Catherine was standing in front of the fireplace. She was wearing a black coat and a black beret and black leather gloves and her expression was almost theatrically grave.

‘What?' said Michael. ‘What's happened?'

‘Do you want to sit down?' Catherine asked him.

‘No. No, I don't. Just tell me why you've come here.'

Catherine said, ‘Very early this morning the Highway Patrol found Isobel's Jeep by the side of the road, about a mile north of a small town called Lookout.'

Michael said nothing, although he felt a cold flood of apprehension, because he could guess what was coming next. He thought of those tires that he had heard in the middle of the night, crunching over the snow.

‘The Jeep's engine was still running, but there was nobody in it. Only some women's clothing in the driver's seat. An orange sweater, a pair of jeans, and underwear. They also found a pair of sneakers on the floor.'

Without a word, Michael left the living room and went to Natasha's bedroom at the back of the house. The bed had clearly been slept in, but the covers were pulled back and it was empty. He looked around the room while Catherine watched him from the doorway. Natasha had left a few clothes in the closet, and some lipstick and moisturizer on top of the bureau, but that was all. No sign of a note.

‘I'm sorry,' said Catherine.

Michael didn't answer her, but stayed where he was, in the middle of the room, staring at Natasha's empty bed. All that was left of her now were creases in the sheets where she had turned over and the indentation of her head in the pillow.

‘We'll have to talk,' said Catherine.

‘About what? About the fact that you should have let her die when she was supposed to die, and not turned her into a ghost?'

‘Michael – you don't seem to understand how difficult this is. We're trying to balance along a high-wire here.'

‘How do you think Tasha felt, when she found out that the only reason you gave her an afterlife was so that she could be a hostage, to keep me here? She loved me, Catherine, as much as I loved her, and what she's done … well, I think that proves it, don't you?'

‘I'm so sorry, Michael.'

Michael turned to face her. ‘I bet you are. How are you going to keep me in Trinity now?'

Isobel was standing in the hallway, hugging herself tightly as if she were freezing cold – which of course she was.

‘Come up to the clinic later,' said Catherine. ‘There's a few more things you need to know. Maybe we can appeal to your better nature.'

‘My better nature?' said Michael, in disbelief. ‘The woman I was going to marry has sacrificed herself so that I can walk away from you people – and you seriously think that you can appeal to my better nature?'

‘Michael – I've told you how sorry I am. Everybody at TSC is really upset about what's happened. But there are some very much larger issues at stake.'

‘Oh, really? Such as what?'

‘I can't tell you now. But come up to the clinic when you're ready and we'll talk it through.'

Michael took a deep breath. He suddenly realized that he was very close to crying. He looked at Isobel and Isobel's cheeks were shiny with tears. He didn't know whether she was weeping because she felt sorry for Natasha, or whether she was sorry for herself, because now there was nothing to stop Michael from leaving her.

He was on the brink of losing his temper – not only with Catherine, and everybody at the clinic, and Isobel, too, but also with himself. Although he knew that the clinic had manipulated his mind, he still felt that he should have been mentally stronger, and remembered who he really was, and what had happened to him. It wouldn't have saved Natasha from being killed when they first crashed, but it would have saved her the pain and humiliation of being brought back to life, and dying for a second time.

However, he said nothing, except, ‘OK. Give me a chance to take a shower.'

Catherine held out her arms to him, as if she were offering him a conciliatory hug, but he ignored her. After a few moments she left the house, and Isobel closed the door behind her. Michael heard her saying, ‘I'll see you later, Isobel. Take care of him.'

Isobel came up to him and said, ‘I'll make you some coffee.'

‘No, thanks.'

‘I don't know what to say to you. I really don't.'

‘You don't have to say anything, Isobel.'

‘But I blame myself. If I hadn't been so selfish …'

Michael laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘Forget it, Isobel. When it comes down to it, we're all doing what we can to survive.'

‘That's what Neale Donald Walsch said. “Our choices are largely based on survival. But if life is eternal, life is not a question.”'

‘Neale Donald Walsch? The guy who wrote
Conversations With God
?'

‘That's right.'

‘The same Neale Donald Walsch who plagiarized somebody's account of a miraculous happening at his children's Christmas pageant, and then said that his memory must have been playing tricks on him?'

Isobel smiled at him through her tears. ‘There's not much wrong with
your
memory, I'm sorry to say.'

H
e delayed his return to the clinic for as long as he could.

Whatever it was that Catherine had to say to him, he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to hear it. His grief at losing Natasha was physically painful, as if his lungs had been filled up with molten lead, which had then chilled hard, so that he could hardly breathe. At the same time, however, he felt a strange sense of relief. She hadn't been the real, warm Tasha after all, and he wasn't sure that their relationship could have lasted very long – especially knowing that she had been revived only to keep Isobel alive and satisfied.

He stood in his room, staring out of the window at nothing at all, and Isobel left him well alone. She didn't even switch on the TV.

A few minutes after 11:00 am, two vehicles drew up outside the house – Isobel's Jeep and a black Toyota Landcruiser. The doorbell rang and Michael went to answer it. One of the white-haired security men was standing outside, holding out the keys to the Jeep.

‘The Highway Patrol brought it back,' he said, in a back-vowel, Oregon accent. ‘They said that they didn't need to keep it for forensics because there was no suspicious circumstances. Nobody reported missing or nothing.'

‘I see,' said Michael. He took the keys and went to shut the door. As he did so, however, the security man said, ‘Keeping our eyes on you, sir. Trust we won't have no more disturbances. Don't want anybody hurt. Namely you.'

‘Don't count on it,' said Michael. After he had closed the door, the security man stood outside for well over a minute, not moving. Michael waited, too, standing in the hallway watching the security man's distorted image behind the hammered glass window. In the end, he turned around and walked away, but Michael definitely felt that he had been making a point.
We're here, we're always going to be here, and we're watching you.

In a way, it was the security man who made him decide what he was going to do next. Around midday, he put on his coat and laced up his boots and got ready to leave the house. He also picked up a book of matches from the Black Butte Saloon in Weed.

Isobel came into the hallway and said, ‘You're off to see Doctor Connor, then?'

He nodded.

‘I don't suppose it's any use, my telling you again how much I love you?'

‘You don't love me, Isobel. You love being alive, and you love making love. That's all.'

‘You're very cruel, Michael.'

‘Yes. And doesn't it turn you on? You don't mind if I take the Jeep, do you?'

‘It depends how far you're thinking of going.'

‘Just to the clinic. To begin with, anyhow.'

‘And what does that mean? “To begin with”?'

‘You'll see.'

He climbed into the Jeep, started the engine and drove off up the slope, leaving Isobel standing in the porch. As the clinic wall came into sight, his heart was beating so hard that it was painful, and he thought he could understand how suicide bombers must feel, as they approached their targets.

He stopped outside Henry's booth, waiting for Henry to come out and challenge him, but when Henry saw who it was, he simply scowled and waved him through. Michael turned into the parking lot, and saw that the black Toyota Landcruiser was parked there, too. God was on his side so far, anyhow. He parked as close to the front entrance as he could.

When he went inside the clinic, the receptionist told him that Catherine was still engaged with another patient, so he sat in the waiting room, next to the tropical aquarium. The two security men were hunched on a couch on the opposite side of the room, going over a duty roster together, by the sound of it. One of them glanced up at him over his sunglasses, but he quickly looked down again when Michael gave him a hard, challenging stare.

A young gingery-haired man on crutches came out of Catherine's office, and Catherine beckoned Michael inside.

‘I can only repeat what I said to you this morning,' she said, as they sat down. ‘What your Natasha decided to do … it was selfless beyond all imagination. But you and she could have led a very fulfilling life together here in Trinity.'

‘Oh … you think?'