Offline

Rachel didn't wake Daniel immediately.

For almost a minute, she sat beside him with the notebook open across her lap.

Daniel slept.

Actually slept.

His breathing was slow.

One arm beneath the pillow.

The other resting between them.

Rachel looked back at the page.

She touched the words again.

Dry ink.

She turned the page.

Nothing.

The next page.

Nothing.

She flipped backward through Daniel's notes.

His rules.

Times.

Predictions.

Things he'd crossed out.

Things he'd circled.

Notes to himself reminding him that some things were normal.

Rachel stopped at one.

DON'T TRUST EVERYTHING.

Below it:

INCLUDING YOURSELF.

She stared at that longer than the message.

Then she looked at her husband.

"Daniel."

He didn't move.

"Daniel."

His eyes opened.

For a second he looked confused.

Then he saw the notebook.

He sat up.

"What happened?"

Rachel turned on the lamp.

Daniel squinted.

"What?"

She handed him the notebook.

"Read it."

Daniel looked down.

His face changed.

Rachel watched him read the sentence again.

Then again.

"Did you write this?"

Daniel looked at her.

"No."

"Don't answer fast."

"I didn't."

"You were asleep."

"I know."

"I had the notebook."

Daniel looked back at the page.

"Where?"

"In my nightstand."

"You're sure it wasn't there before?"

"Yes."

"How sure?"

Rachel stared at him.

Daniel stopped.

"Sorry."

She took the notebook back.

"I checked it at dinner."

"I know."

"I checked it in the car."

"I know."

"I checked it before I put it in the drawer."

Daniel said nothing.

"It wasn't there."

Daniel looked toward the clock.

2:16 AM.

"When did you wake up?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Did you hear anything?"

"No."

"Did your phone—"

"Daniel."

He stopped.

Rachel looked at him.

"I believe you."

Daniel didn't move.

She had imagined those words would make him feel better.

They didn't.

He looked frightened.

More frightened than she'd seen him yet.

"Daniel?"

He looked at the notebook.

"That's worse."

"What?"

"If you believe me."

"I don't understand."

Daniel looked at her.

"Then I'm not imagining it."

Neither spoke.

The house was quiet.

Rachel looked down at the sentence.

RACHEL IS NOT A VARIABLE.

"What does it mean?"

Daniel shook his head.

"I don't know."

"What is a variable?"

"In this?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"You keep writing about variables."

"Because that's what it called things."

"What called things?"

Daniel hesitated.

"NOVA. The messages. Whatever is behind it."

Rachel looked at him.

"You think I'm not part of the experiment."

"I don't know."

"Then what am I?"

Daniel had no answer.

Rachel closed the notebook.

"We're turning it all off."

Daniel stared at her.

"What?"

"All of it."

He almost smiled.

Rachel didn't.

"The speakers. Cameras. Wi-Fi. Watches. Phones."

"You don't have to—"

"I woke up at two in the morning and found someone writing messages inside my nightstand."

Daniel nodded.

"Okay."

"I don't care whether it's NOVA or someone accessing NOVA or some guy sitting in a basement somewhere."

She got out of bed.

"It's getting out of my house."