Jan, with exceedingly bloodshot eyes, drank a large mug of black coffee. She tried to call Greg, but got the familiar three beeps, followed by a continuous tone. Emotionally exhausted, she had no resistance left to dispel her growing anxiety and the doubts that hammered at her brain.
Who was this Gregory Houseman? Why had she trusted him? She had no sensible answers. He seemed to understand so much about UFOs and tricky spirits, but he could be a demon himself for all she could prove to the contrary. On top of this, she was worried she was losing her wits. It must have begun when she’d seen the light in the field. Then Greg appeared from nowhere. Was he a secret agent working for Hemingway? Was he monitoring her mental collapse as part of some fiendish experiment?
"Who are you Greg?" she
