In his dream he was stung by a bee, so at first he thought he was dreaming.

'Paul?'

In his dream the bee was dangerous and he wanted desperately to escape.

'Paul!'

That was no dream-voice: it was Annie's voice.

He forced his eyes open. She was standing there in the shadows as if she had never been away, wearing her ugly clothes. He saw the syringe in her hand and understood that it hadn't been a bee: she had given him an injection. But what had she-?

Fear came again, but his mind was too dull to feel it strongly. Whatever drug she had given him was making things unreal for him. He tried to lift his hands and it felt as if there were invisible weights hanging from them.

It's the end, he thought. The end of the story of Paul Sheldon. Curiously, the thought almost made him happy. The end of the thousand and one nights. Strange, half-formed ideas kept coming into his mind as the powerful drug crept into all the corners of his brain.

'There you are!' Annie said. 'I see you, Paul... those blue eyes. Did I ever tell you that I think your eyes are lovely? But I suppose plenty of women have told you that - and bolder women than me.'

She was sitting on the end of his bed. She bent down to check something on the floor and for a moment all he could see was her broad, strong back. He heard the sounds of something metal and something wooden - and the unmistakable sound of a box of matches.

She turned back towards him and smiled. Whatever else might have happened, she was no longer depressed. That must be good, mustn't it?

'What do you want first, Paul?' she asked. 'The good news or the bad news?'

'Good news first.' He managed a big, foolish grin. 'I suppose the bad news is that you don't really like the book. I tried. I thought it was going well.'

She looked at him sadly. 'I love the book, Paul. Why do you think I asked you to fill in all the "n" s yourself? Because I don't want to read any more until the end. I don't want to spoil it.'

Paul's drugged grin widened. If she loved the book she wasn't going to kill him - at least not yet.

Annie smiled back at him, 'The good news,' she said, 'is that your car has gone. I've been very worried about your car, Paul. I knew only a big storm would wash it away. When the snow melted in the spring the water from the mountains was enough to wash away the body of that dirty bird Pomeroy, but a car is much heavier than a man, isn't it? But the storm and the melting snow at the same time did it. Your car has gone. That's the good news.'