The room was red.
Or, at least, the carpet was. A deep, scorching, bloodlike red, so fierce and passionate against the room’s glossy white walls that Sarah Jane felt like it would rise up and consume her at any moment.
So she ignored it altogether. If you can’t make something listen, just pretend it doesn’t exist. That was what her Aunt Lavinia had always said, a strange and frankly juvenile piece of advice which Sarah Jane had always chosen to ignore – until now.
She placed her hand against the wall. It nearly slipped straight off – the wall was so smooth and polished that nothing could get a grip on it. When Sarah Jane looked closely, she could see her own face reflected back at her. Not even Foxgrove’s best- and only- window cleaners could manage that.
It was the same on all sides. As the worrying aspect of that fact occurred to her, she found that, suddenly, she was not appreciating the fine finish on the walls.
“Where am I?” called Sarah Jane, loud enough so that anyone outside could hear her, but not so loud as to sound desperate. “Who brought me here?” She raised her voice again, summoning enough courage to stop it from shaking. “What do you want?”
The wall ahead of her changed, suddenly. Appearing on its surface were numbers; a time, she assumed, like one you’d read on a digital clock. They were about as tall as her, projected from some unseen device, in the same red as the carpet.
20:00
19:59
19:58
19:57
Sarah Jane took a deep breath and a step back. Her first editor had given her some tough deadlines, but this set a new record.
“Twenty minutes to find out what on Earth I’m doing here…”
Or, at least, the carpet was. A deep, scorching, bloodlike red, so fierce and passionate against the room’s glossy white walls that Sarah Jane felt like it would rise up and consume her at any moment.
So she ignored it altogether. If you can’t make something listen, just pretend it doesn’t exist. That was what her Aunt Lavinia had always said, a strange and frankly juvenile piece of advice which Sarah Jane had always chosen to ignore – until now.
She placed her hand against the wall. It nearly slipped straight off – the wall was so smooth and polished that nothing could get a grip on it. When Sarah Jane looked closely, she could see her own face reflected back at her. Not even Foxgrove’s best- and only- window cleaners could manage that.
It was the same on all sides. As the worrying aspect of that fact occurred to her, she found that, suddenly, she was not appreciating the fine finish on the walls.
“Where am I?” called Sarah Jane, loud enough so that anyone outside could hear her, but not so loud as to sound desperate. “Who brought me here?” She raised her voice again, summoning enough courage to stop it from shaking. “What do you want?”
The wall ahead of her changed, suddenly. Appearing on its surface were numbers; a time, she assumed, like one you’d read on a digital clock. They were about as tall as her, projected from some unseen device, in the same red as the carpet.
20:00
19:59
19:58
19:57
Sarah Jane took a deep breath and a step back. Her first editor had given her some tough deadlines, but this set a new record.
“Twenty minutes to find out what on Earth I’m doing here…”