Dropping Graham Halloway’s business card on the table, Rachael dialed Ebony’s number, trying to decide how to go about telling her friend the prank was over--and not that funny. Ebony answered on the first rig. “Rachael! Where. The. Hell. Are. You.” The words weren't even phrased as a question.

“Still playing that game are you, Eb?” Rachael said, chuckling and shaking her head at the audacity. “Okay, my friend. The jig is up. Or is it gig? Anyway--playtime is over. Your friend, ‘Graham Halloway,’ just left my apartment, and while I have to compliment you on finding such a compelling actor, I really don’t understand why anyone would go to such great lengths to make me think I’d lost my mind. I mean, all you’d really have to do to make me think I was crazy was… put my car keys in the refrigerator or something. I’d be looking for them for days.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Rachael, but you’re about to get fired. And Frank’s not real happy with me at the moment, either, since I am kind of the one that recommended he give you a chance. Sure, that was three years ago, but after you fucked up the Stenzel account, he’s kind of ready to throw everyone overboard. Even me.”

“Eb. On. Y,” Rachael said, over-pronouncing her friend’s name, “I don’t work there anymore. I haven’t in over a year. This is… crazy. You can let it go now!”

“What are you talking about, Rachael? You do, too, work here. Your desk is right across the hall from my office. There’s a picture of your mom next to your computer, and that sickly little plant I got your for your birthday a couple of years ago, that desperately needs watered, is right there, too, and your little squishy ball think you choke the living shit out of every time you get nervous. Are you feeling all right? Have I been so busy wanting to murder you I missed some signs of serious illness?”

“Ebony, none of those things are at Merek and Merek. They’re right here on my… desk.” Rachael looked over at where her laptop was sitting and realized none of those items were there--in their usual spots. She looked around the room. “Did you come and take them--when you stole my flowers?”

“Stole your flowers? What the hell, Rachael? Seriously, you are starting to worry me, girlfriend. Who is this man you said came to see you? Did he have a white jacket with him? Did he offer to let you borrow it?”

“Ebony, give it up!” Rachael insisted, though she could tell in the tone her friend was using that she wasn’t pretending. She swallowed hard; was there a possibility Ebony wasn’t behind this? “You had to have something to do with this, Eb. Who else could sneak into my apartment, take my stuff, delete my book, find a guy who looks just like a fictional character I created, make my contact at the website pretend she doesn’t know me, and make me think I’m losing my ever-loving mind? No one--no one else could’ve done this, Ebony. It had to be you.”

The other end of the phone was silent for a long moment before Ebony asked in a calm voice, “Do I need to come over there, hon? Are you okay? Should I call your mama?”

Rachael sank down on the edge of her sofa, not sure how to answer. Her eyes flittered around the room. Everything that should’ve been on her desk, the items she’d brought home that last day from Merek and Merek, were gone. How was that possible if Ebony didn’t come and get them, or send someone to retrieve them? What had happened to her story? Did Lark really have no idea who she was? And… who was that guy?

“Rachael? Rachael? Are you there? Sweetie, I know I’ve been giving you a hard time the last couple of days, but that was because I just thought you were slacking. I didn’t realize… something was actually wrong.”

“Uh, you know what Eb… something is wrong. I’m not feeling very well. I think... I think I’m going to call the apartment sup and see if he’ll come check the place for black mold. Maybe I’m… maybe that’s why I feel like this.” Rachael knew that wasn’t the case. She didn’t feel sick, and there was nothing wrong with her apartment. Either she was losing her mind--or the whole world had just gotten tipped on its ear. But neither one of those things required scaring her best friend. “Can you please go tell Frank I’m ill--seriously ill--and that I’ll be in touch with him as soon as I can?”

“Yes, of course. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”

“No, sweetie. It’s okay. I’m going to make a few phone calls, get the place inspected, go see a doctor, and see if I can go stay with my mom or someone for a few days… until I feel better.”

“That sounds like a good plan, hon. All right. Well, if you need anything at all, you just let me know, okay? And try not to worry about work. I’ll go talk to Frank. I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t know this was so serious or else I wouldn’t have been so hard on you.”

“It’s okay, Ebony. I know that. I didn’t realize it was so serious myself until… just now.”

“Take care, sweetie,” Ebony said, and Rachael hung up without saying anything else--because there was nothing else to say. She set the phone aside and held her head in her hands for a few moments, trying to sort it all out. None of it made an ounce of sense. She didn’t feel like she was losing her mind. She had fresh memories of actually writing her book--of reading the posts--of reading the comments left on the posts. So where the hell did it go? And how the hell did she end up with the last two or more years of her life being a fabrication?

She had no answers, but she thought she knew someone who might be able to help her sort it out. Until she could figure out what had happened, she would just have to play along. With a deep breath, Rachael stood up and crossed to her desk. Her fingers drummed nervously for a moment before she took another deep breath and picked up Graham Halloway's business card.