. . . it looked like instantaneous transmission of material
items; nothin? else could explain it.
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Heading by Vincent Napoli
Astra
Mary Hale opened her eyes slowly, knowing that the terror was with her again. It dribbled out of her hair in beads of sweat, though the time was winter and the big house always cold at night Cold sweat made her feel as if all her taut body were a bleeding wound. She was instantly aware that Fred, behind her as she lay on her side, was awake, waiting, perhaps, for her to tell him again.
In her dream, which couldn't possibly be a dream and produce such definitely visible fearsome results, she preferred another man to her husband. Had she ever blurted it out while she slept? Didn't Fred behave strangely toward her? Hadn't he begun eyeing her with questions in his expression since the first of the . . . no, she simply couldn't call them dreams. Astral traveling? She simply couldn't believe in such nonsense. She could, of course, be going mad.
She turned to her husband, bursting into tearing sobs as his ready arms came about her, drawing her close.
"Again, Baby?" he asked softly.
"Yes, Fred, and if, when we go down to the kitchen—Fred, am I going mad?"
"Of course not, beloved. It isn't anything,
