Free The Chrysalid Conspiracy by A.J. Reynolds

when I get there.” He grinned.
    “Yes, I can imagine,” she said as she followed him out to lock up. “See you on Monday, on the road,” called Amelia.
    As she closed the heavy coach house gates, she noticed for the first time that the storm had completely blown itself out. There was no wind and the stars were out.
    ***
    Her mother looked tired and seemed edgy when Amelia woke her. She drank her tea but said she wasn’t hungry and would have something later, maybe, which worried Amelia intensely, especially during physio when her mother seemed to be in more discomfort that usual.
    “Am I hurting you, Mum?” asked Amelia.
    “No my love,” Lucy said. “You’re nice and gentle and very effective thank you.”
    “Then what’s wrong?” Amelia was determined to find the cause of her mother’s distress.
    “It’s nothing really,” her mother said, evasively. “I think Mrs Orugo was a bit heavy last night. That’s all.”
    Amelia knew instinctively that her mother’s problem was not physical. Something wasn’t right.
    “Come on Mum, you can’t fool me that easily. What is it? The truth mother, remember, always the truth.” Lucy relaxed back into her pillows.
    “It’s hard to explain, really. Anyway, you’d only laugh,” she said.
    “Try me,” insisted Amelia.
    Lucy knew she was on thin ice, so thin in fact she was almost trying to walk on water. One mistake and she’d be floundering.
    “Well, how can I explain it?” she said, looking for some kind of metaphor. “You know in films, when you see a nice country scene? Trees, sunshine, flowers, someone walking, that sort of thing. They always play nice bright music. It lulls you into a feeling of peace and tranquillity.”
    “Yes Mum, I get the picture. Where are you going with this?”
    “Well, if you see the same scene and the music is a sustained, ascending cello, you know that something awful is going to happen.”
    “Yes Mum. So what’s your point?”
    “All right, I’m getting there,” she answered shortly. “Don’t get me wrong, but I have to ask, did you put any music on yesterday? About the time the Vicar was leaving?”
    Amelia’s mind did a quick circuit of the universe. “What on earth?” she exclaimed, what are you talking about mother?”
    “I’m sorry my love, but I need to know. Was it perhaps the Elgar cello concerto?”
    “Of course not mum.” replied her daughter. “If I had done I would have used my earphones, I don’t think Bridie and Rayn are too keen on our type of music and…” Amelia froze as an unbelievable thought came at her like an express train. With a fragile voice she asked, “Have you been hearing a cello?”
    Amelia felt sick, and nausea wasn’t her preferred state. That part of her dream had been such a small part of a weird sequence of impossible events she had all but forgotten about it and she had never mentioned anything about a cello to her mother, describing her dreams as just ‘nightmares’.
    Her mother had always denied that the voice Amelia heard calling for help was just a trick of the subconscious, and claimed there was no possibility of any ‘psychic connection’ between them, calling it ludicrous. She needed to think but her mind had turned to jelly. “What do you mean, Mum? I didn’t hear anything,” was all she could say.
    “I’m not surprised,” answered Lucy, grateful that her daughter wasn’t laughing at her, but not realising the impact she made. “It was in my mind.”
    For a fleeting moment Amelia was back in her dream, staring down into the abyss, then something totally unexpected and completely beyond her sphere of reference happened. Her mind switched gear, rejecting both fantasy and reality at the same time as she watched her childhood vanish into the darkness, leaving her with nothing but cold, emotionless logic for company.
    “I need to know what triggered the reaction mother.” Her voice felt cold and disembodied. “And have you heard this