"The sign says this is it. The institute."
"Oh shit, Stone, I'm feeling really strange," she said after a moment of getting her bearings. "Everything around me seems like it's moving. It's as though the space I'm in has an extra dimension. I don't know . . . maybe it was totally stupid to come back out here. Maybe I should have just gone to my doctor in the city."
"Hey, you've got a seriously deficient sense of timing. We're here now. I've been breaking the speed limit for the last half hour."
"I know. Shit. I really don't know what to do. I don't trust anybody."
"Well, you could start by trusting me. I'm along to try to make sure nothing bad happens." He paused. "So what do we do?"
A brass plaque on a redbrick pillar beside the gate bore a two‑inch‑high inscription, the dorian institute, and just below it was an intercom. She stared at it for a moment, then said, "There, give it a buzz. I think there's a video camera around here somewhere. Last time I was here, they knew I'd arrived."
He reached out and touched a black button.
"Yes," came back a quick voice. She recognized it as belonging to the woman she'd spoken to on the phone.
"It's Alexa Hampton." She leaned over. "We talked—"
"Yes, I know, Ms. Hampton. He's been waiting for you."