Seven Point Eight by Marie A. Harbon Page A

glimpse of the upper floors. Pictures of scientists adorned the walls and he gazed at Newton , Heisenberg, and Einstein, to name a few. On the first floor, he saw a few men in lab coats enter and leave one of the rooms, although the second floor seemed more subdued.
    Miss Tynedale presented Paul with another sterile room, which had an iron-framed single bed, blanket box, chest of drawers, wardrobe, and spindly chair. Paul put his suitcase on the floor at the end of the bed, and closed the fine drapes at the large dormer window.
    “Supper is served at 7:00pm. If you wish, we can bring something to your room.”
    “That’s very kind of you, but I’ll take it downstairs.”
    “Breakfast is served between 7:00 and 9:00am. When you’ve finished, please meet me in the office. You have a busy day ahead.”
    She closed the door on her way out and he parted the drapes, watching the activity on the streets below. Then he just sat on the bed, feeling quite deflated.
    “Jesus Christ…what am I doing here?”

    ***
    He slept restlessly, as it took time to adjust to a new bed and this one wasn’t particularly comfortable. Initially he dozed, dreaming of his little cottage but the dream became disjointed, tainted by sounds of the city. Around 3:00am, he woke and sat bolt upright in bed, disturbed by a presence in the room. He looked to the window, and saw a feminine figure by the drapes framed by moonlight, which startled him for there shouldn’t be anybody in the room.
    “Miss Tynedale?”
    The figure didn’t turn to meet his gaze or reply, which disconcerted him further.
    “Excuse me, but this room is private. You shouldn’t be in here.”
    Finally, the figure spoke. “Where am I?”
    Paul attempted to hide his jitters. “You’re in my room, please leave.”
    “Where is your room?” she continued.
    “You’re in The Institute, and I strongly believe you have no right to be in here.”
    “The Institute?”
    “Yes, and you must leave.”
    She paused, as if considering Paul’s words then she made a decision.
    “There is a better time and place for this,” she declared, and promptly vanished before his eyes.
    Paul heard a clatter, as if something had fallen to the floor.
    A feeling of coldness washed over him and he felt sick. The experience left an aura of surrealism and he began to question if he was actually awake, as lucid things could happen on the verge of consciousness. Even though he’d subjected his mind to LSD in the preceding years, this appearance had a more disturbing aspect to it. He sat quietly for a while, but finally resumed his slumber.        
    Sleep lasted until the morning and he awoke to the light of dawn, barely remembering the interlude from 3:00am. His rational mind had accepted the experience as part of the dream state. He rose and moved over to the window, to part the drapes but on doing so, he trod on something sharp. Wincing, he bent down to look and found an ornate hair pin on the floor, which he picked up and admired with some curiosity. It was certainly very beautiful, set with gems arranged into six numbers, 787878, which seemed odd for a hairpin. Someone must have loved it, for it looked well used. It could have been here a while, unnoticed without piercing the foot of a visitor until now. Then he had a flashback of 3:00am. The female figure had vanished with the sound of something clattering to the floor.
    No, there couldn’t be a connection…the female figure didn’t exist while the hair pin was a material object.
    He took breakfast downstairs and sat in the huge communal living area, a more homely room than the rest of the house. It had delicately patterned 1940s wallpaper, which was green and yellow, and a slightly threadbare carpet with a traditional pattern on it in green and brown. Numerous old sofas sat around, looking well used, while a sideboard with a gramophone and Bakelite wireless on it suggested entertainment took pride of place. Three round teak tables stood