27
I drop my bread-crusts into the paper bag, wipe my mouth with a napkin, and then turn on my mobile phone. Sipping my coffee, I wait impatiently for the screen to power up. After a few seconds, a text message from Marie appears, asking if I’ll be home for dinner. She sent it at 7:45 P.M., and it’s now 11:07 P.M. I turn it back off and slip it into my pocket. No point replying; she knows I’m still at The Facility. And anyway, she’s probably in bed by now—and I’m pretty sure dinner has long gone.
I throw the paper bag and plastic cup into the bin, and then step out of the office, heading for the lab.
This place gives me the creeps at night because there is hardly any staff here, it’s colder, darker, and these normally silent corridors are now filled with the wretched screams of four-hun
