Book3:WereMyDreamIs

wererushingthroughherbrainsinanunstoppableflowandthatherwriter’sblockofthepastyearwasover.Butafterawhilehissmilevanishedasherealizedhewasfeelinganinexplicablenervoustensionthesourceofwhichhecouldnotfathom.PerhapsitwasbecausehewasworriedaboutthetwolittlepeopleVioandMr.Finger,wwheretheywere…Justthentheringingofthecellphoartledthemboth.Whocouldbecallingthisteinthenight?Charinatookouthercellphoneandasked,

    “Hello,whoisthis?”

    10

    “Sorryfordisturbingyouthisteinthenight”saidaman’svoiceattheotherend.“ThisisRichard.IsDimitrithere?Ihaveamessagethatmustbegiventohim.”

    “Ofcourse.Holdonaminuteplease.”Sayingso,shehandedhercellphooDimitri.

    “Whatisit,Richard?It’sveryte.Hassomethingimpo