Delirious by Daniel Palmer Page A

Besides, he reasoned, without that e-mail, how would he have known to meet her at the cafeteria? To accept any other explanation would be to embrace the possibility that they had never met. That Anne Pedersen, as Yardley had implied, was his invention.
    Charlie switched the BlackBerry to phone mode and dialed Solu-Cent. He asked to be connected with Lawrence Washington in IT.
    “Lawrence here,” a husky voice growled into the phone.
    “Lawrence, Charlie Giles. How are you?”
    “What do you want?”
    Charlie found it ironic that those in IT who manned the help desk were often the least friendly and helpful people in the company. Lawrence was no exception. Even though he liked Charlie and respected his level of technical acumen, years on the job had made Lawrence a hard man.
    “I need a favor, Lawrence.”
    “Don’t we all.”
    “This is serious,” Charlie said.
    “Okay, I’m listening.”
    “I need to know if my e-mail has been compromised.”
    “Why do you think it has?”
    “Doesn’t matter. Trust me. I just need to know all the times I’ve logged into my e-mail. I need to know the exact date and time.”
    “Might take me a little while. When do you need it?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Big surprise. That it?” Lawrence asked.
    “No,” Charlie said. “I need to know if anyone has reported a stolen or lost employee ID. I need it over the last few months.”
    “Can’t give that out, Charlie.”
    “Lawrence … I … need to know.” Desperation had replaced the confidence in Charlie’s voice.
    “Sorry,” Lawrence said. “But that ain’t your business.”
    “Are the Red Sox yours?”
    Lawrence paused.
    “This Saturday. Green Monster, against the Jays,” Charlie said.
    “That’s bribery, Giles.”
    “It’s the Red Sox,” Charlie said.
    “No e-mail. I’ll drop by with a disc. You can see the names.”
    “And I’ll drop by with the tickets tomorrow.”
They’ll cost only a hundred and fifty dollars each from Corner Ticket
.
    Charlie slid the BlackBerry back into its holder and caught the yellow flash from the sticky note he’d found days earlier and taped to the inside flap. He read it again.
    If not yourself, then who can you believe?
    The words had taken on an almost prophetic significance. What was happening to him? First a note that he didn’t recall writing, then a woman who didn’t exist, then a presentation he apparently authored without any recollection.
    A sickening thought swept through him, like a wave of grief. Could Yardley be right? Perhaps the pressure was more than he could handle, and now his subconscious mind wanted a way out.
    Charlie shook his head side to side.
    “No. It can’t be,” he said aloud. “I know what I saw … don’t I?”
    He looked back down at the sticky note on the inside flap of his BlackBerry holder, resting open on the passenger seat. His handwriting looked both familiar and alien.
    “When did I write this?” he asked. “And why?”
    He pulled the Post-it note from his BlackBerry holder and stuck it to the inside cover of a notebook he kept in the glove compartment. He didn’t want to give the note any more thought, but he wasn’t preparedto crumple it up and toss it away, either. At least not until a few other mysteries were solved.
    Charlie drove as if on autopilot into a hazy midafternoon sun as he replayed the events of the day. Assuming Anne Pedersen did exist, it still did not explain his authoring the PowerPoint presentation, the missing e-mails, or unfamiliar notes in his handwriting.
    Is it the pressure, Charlie?
    Yardley’s biting words came to him again.
    It had been obvious from the man’s eyes that he had already embraced that conclusion. If Yardley was thinking that way, Charlie lamented, the others would soon follow.
    I’m going to be branded a nutcase.
    Step one, Charlie decided, was to prove that wasn’t even a possibility. It seemed inconceivable that work pressures could trigger his creating an elaborate fantasy