Action Adventure / Second Coming (Analysis)

        I sat down on the comfortable leather of my proud throne, which was positioned squarely opposite the wide screen TV I’d bought at the same time, earlier that year to enhance my viewing pleasure. I was ready and looking forward to watching the latest episode of Hugh Laurey’s “House”, I‘d recorded from the night before. The living room had become redolent of a busy Friday night kebab shop; I had taken the liberty of visiting one, on the way home from work. The aroma from it, that was being produced would not be appreciated by my wife Scarlet. Scarlet and my daughter Katy were due to be arriving later that night. I would purge the offending stench with a chemical assault, that the late not so great Saddam Hussein’s former regime would have been proud of. Once I‘d eaten my not so wholesome meal. This prior preparation and planning would hopefully ensure the harmonious arrival home of my family, without risking the wrath of my wife, who hated the smell of takeaway Kebabs with a passion. She also hated the idea of them on ethical grounds, reasoning that they were nothing more than compacted mass murder; a rather colourful interpretation I always thought but Scarlet did have a dramatic imagination. After switching on the TV I began to un-wrap my heavenly scented, unrepentant promise of eastern delight.

         I jolted forward, given quite a start by the over exuberant officious knock at the front door, I wasn’t expecting anyone. Placing my kebab on the coffee table I rose to my feet, unfortunately not before Chile source jettisoned the Kebab and strategically placed itself on my crotch area. Cursing under my breath and wiping away the troublesome stain with a paper towel as best I could, I rounded my throne and headed towards the door. From the appearance of my jeans I was in no doubt that my unwelcome guests would assume I had made a hasty retreat from a throne of a different more porcelain variety. They would be well advised to hide any knowing looks. My mood had blackened, I opened the door sharply, hoping to cast the impression that I was not in a convivial frame of mind for company. I stood in the doorway with my stained crotch offered up for inspection, paper towel in hand. Shit I thought, this must look terrible, what if they think.

“It’s chilli sauce, the stain, I was eating, your knock disturbed me and I spilt my sauce, my chilli sauce that is.”
Phew not the greatest explanation but it would have to do.  

These two didn’t at all give the impression of sales people or other professional door knockers and gave no acknowledgement as to validity of my sauce story; the officious knock should have given it away.

        “Mr. Knight?” The small petite blond that addressed me was quite a comparison to her sidekick. She must have been at least a foot in height smaller than her male colleague, who was dressed in uniform.

        “Yes, that’s me, how can I help you?”
        “I’m Sergeant Collins and this is Pc Wray”
She raised her hand opened palmed away from the side of her cream immaculate pleated skirt towards her colleague but her movement was tentative almost uncomfortable, something seemed to be troubling her. I looked across at Pc Wray and met his gaze. He, in spite of his stature, which I would estimate to be approximately six feet four inches and heavily set with it, looked decidedly more at unease. His eyes lowered from mine and he managed a small pitiful smile. He almost looked child like, as if his mum had dragged him here under duress to tell me of some woeful wrong doing that he had committed against my green house window, not that I have one, I hate gardening but you get the picture.

It began to dawn on me that this was not normal authoritative police behaviour. I started to feel uncomfortable, something was wrong.

        “What’s the problem? Some things happened hasn’t it?” My God, Scarlet!
        Please god let them be ok was all I could think.
               “I’m sorry Mr. Knight there’s been an accident. May we please come inside?”

        
The begging look that manifested in her eyes gave extra emphasis to her request. I was under no illusions as to the seriousness of what she had to tell me. I’d seen that look on faces a thousand times before in movies, cop shows and on doctors faces before they spoke to desperately apprehensive relatives, who were hoping that their life’s were not about to disintegrate in an instant, with the inevitable announcement of catastrophic news. I stepped aside, to let them through. The large Pc following Sergeant Collins cast a foreboding shadow upon me, blocking out the sunlight from the doorway. He could have been the spectre of death himself. My intuition told me this darkness was only a preview to the engulfing blackness that was about to envelop my life. We gathered in the normally spacious living room but the walls constrained us as they tightened, I could feel them moving in, closing, cramping. I couldn’t wait any longer.

        “Please officer, just tell me they’re OK.” I spoke to the police sergeant, hoping         unjustly that, her softer stature by comparison would bring kinder news.
         “Please Mr. Knight I think it would be better if you sat.”

         She looked desperate the excessive moisture in her eyes gave away an underlying sadness. I didn’t resist her plea and sat down on the other armchair, which was positioned at equal facing angles to the sofa and the TV. Collins joined me in sitting, taking her place at the near end of the sofa. Visibly inhaling she began to speak.

        “Mr. Knight, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but your wife’s car was involved in
        a multiple vehicle accident, one of the vehicles was a petrol tanker. There was an
        explosion, your wife’s car was in direct contact. Your wife and daughter passed         away approximately one hour ago. It was instantaneous; there would have been no         pain. Mr. Knight, I’m so sorry.”

         I said nothing, unable to speak. I knew what she had said but I was unable to register it. My thought patterns began to brake down. I just stared at the kebab on the glass coffee table. I couldn’t even smell its disgusting scent, I felt as though I’d been paralysed from the neck down. My body was motionless. I wasn’t sure if I could move even if I wanted to, my detachment was complete. If I was still breathing I wasn’t aware of it.

        “Mr. Knight is there, is there someone we can call for you? A member of your         family or close friend, maybe?” Collins spoke anxiously.

         I heard the words but they meant nothing to me, I was transfixed on the kebab as if it were the most amazing thing I had ever seen while at the same time being completely oblivious to its presence. I’d stopped breathing or at least I felt I had, gasping for air broke my paralysis. Not sure what I was doing but unable to sit any longer I rose to my feet and looked up at Collins. Her eyes met mine, they glistened more than before. Her lachrymal glands were working harder now, secreting the excessive fluid that coated her eyes. She would not allow it to turn to tears. Collins professionalism would not permit it but she was young and far from immune to human emotion. Managing an uncomfortable smile I collected up the kebab and made my way over to the adjoining open plan kitchen. I dropped it in the bin and walked back to the armchair. Unable to sit back down and wanting to avoid eye contact I carried on walking past the sofa to the bay window that looked out onto the front of the house. Void of thought and unable or unwilling to comprehend the magnitude of what had happened I looked out of the window onto the street. Mature sycamore trees canopy the road that runs by the house. Placed at regular intervals along the pavement they give a protective shading effect from the elements. When in the full bloom of summer life, the street below becomes quite dark, the trees foliage greedily soaking up all the sun’s rays. On that mid autumn’s day their dominance was fading fast. In the brisk wind that continually swept through them, they found an undeniable foe. Like casualties of battle, a steady stream of leaves fell from the ranks riding the wind in a pendulum motion, slowly making there way to the ground to nourish the earth from which they had drawn life. This is the inescapable truth, which nothing can escape; the fact that we are all just bit players in the sometimes wondrously beautiful but just as often heart wrenchingly cruel game, that is the cycle of life.

         An avalanche of thoughts each more terrible than the last cascaded in my minds eye, I saw demonic flames clawing, wrenching at the souls of my family, which I loved with every part of my being, heard vile hideous screams of agonizing pain and fright, as life was ripped from my infant daughters eyes. Waves of claustrophobia and unbearable anxiety swept through me. My throat began to close in as if being contracted by an invisible hand slowly tightening its grip. Nausea came at me, in violent spasmodic convulsions, made ever more violent by the frustration of my closing windpipe. An irritable fire rose from within the very core of me and exploded in every capillary, which intern raged along every blood vessel until it reached the skins surface, where it burst in to torturous flames, as if every raw nerve ending was being dipped in acid. A crescendo of agonizing electrical charges began to fork its way across my brain in violent flashes. I dropped to the floor. I lay still, only my shallow breath fogged the polished wooden floor, betraying the death in me. Overwhelmed I felt nothing, blackness.

  

2
        
        
        I awoke held in the damp chill of bad dreams. My eyes strained to adjust under the invasive presence of the fluorescent lighting tube, positioned on the coldly painted pale blue ceiling above me. I averted my eyes to check my surroundings but was limited to the immediate space around the bed, which I lye in. A white plastic privacy curtain had been pulled around my bed. My head felt heavy and fuzzy but clear enough for me to realize that I was in a hospital. The over bearing smell of cheap smelling disinfectant only confirmed my suspicions. My vision began to blur with streams of tears, my ducts were in over drive. Lifting my arm accompanied by a tube, which I assumed to be some sort of drip I began to wipe the moisture from my eyes. The form of my eyelids did not feel as they should and I began to finger at them delicately. They were very swollen, puffed up by fluid retention and for a few moments I persisted on pressing up and down on their balloon like quality. I was curious as to what they looked like. Changing my attention I moved on to the rest of my face and although it too was swollen, it did not compare to any degree.

        I began to recall what had happened back at the house. What the police officer had told me. The life shattering news that my family had gone but my feelings and emotions seemed somehow detached from the event. The only uncomfortable feeling I had was in the pit of my stomach and felt physical rather than emotional, like I had been retching violently. Looking to my right my attention was caught by a free standing device of some sort, my blood pressure read one hundred and nineteen over seventy six and my heart beet was holding steady between fifty two and fifty three. I didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, in spite of my hideous facial features. Not that I was worried by the development. In fact I was strangely disconcerted about every thought that seem to cross my mind.

        Not wanting to think about the loss of my family nevertheless, feeling a sense of surreal guilt and dishonour to them in my present state of emotional detachment I embarked upon reasoning what had caused my current physical condition. Perhaps my promise of eastern delight had poisoned me but then I’d only taken one bite of the kebab and surely that would have taken hours to have had any negative effect, even in the unfortunate event that it was exceptionally bacteria laced. No the only reasonable explanation that I could come up with was that I had some sort of reaction to the terrible news I had received. . But my god what was wrong with me now? If that was the case how could I now categorize the fact my family was dead as news?
        
         Hearing before seeing, the white plastic curtain that surrounded my bed was efficiently retracted as a female nurse escorted it around the bed, gathering it neatly to one side. I now saw that I reside in small but well maintained modern private hospital suite, at least to me it didn’t look like your typical National Health affair. The nurse that I was in the company of seemed in no hurry to cast her eyes upon her patient. which I guessed she had come to check on. Being in hospital for observation is a curious thing they seem to do so little of it.
        
        “Mr. Knight you gave us quite a fright there for a while.”
        
Smiling she raised the top half of my bed a little with some electronic gizmo, which was attached to it through a wire, then placed it beside me on the bed.
        “If you could just place this under your tongue for me a while we can check your         temperature.”

She moved the thermometer up towards my mouth and I opened up as she guided it under my tongue.
        “My name is Tracy,”

She pointed to her name badge that was pinned to her smart blue uniform, while holding and paying attention to the watch, which was attached to the other side.

        “If you need anything at all don’t be shy press this button here, I’ll come running         along.”

While she smiled cheerfully I sensed her sincerity, as our eyes came together. I mumbled compliance. She took the thermometer from my mouth and looked at it.
        “Good, we’ll soon have you on the mend. I expect you’d like a drink. I’ll go get         you one.”

As she turned to leave Tracy paused and turned back towards me. Meeting my gaze with a smile filled with kindness and warmth she placed her hand on top of mine, holding it with a soft delicate touch.

        “Try not to think too much for now. It feels like you don’t have much to live for at         the moment but it will get better. You need to concentrate on building your strength for the funeral. I know you’ll do your best for them. I’ll get you that drink.”

Tracy turned and left. I’m glad she did I had no idea how to react.

3

        
        Later that day I was visited by a doctor Joshua Quinn, a small and heavily greyed white man, whom seemed to be very officious in his demeanour. I took him to be in the twilight of his career, he couldn’t have been more than a few years off retirement. He explained that they were keeping me sedated to some degree to prevent a repeat of any emotionally charged reaction that may manifest itself. Quinn could not hide his intrigue in the nature of my condition, explaining that as of yet all the tests for poisoning had come back negative, his best guess was that I had been afflicted with an idiopathic anaphylaxis, an acute allergic reaction brought on probably by the shock and trauma of the news I had received. He elaborated that it was very rare to have such an immediate response, like the one I had and that it usually takes weeks if not months of stress to cause such a reaction. He continued to explain that it was probably caused by a massive release of the gastrointestinal hormone, vasoactive intestinal peptide (VIP for short). This intern detrimentally affects the mast cells causing them to release large amounts of histamine, which as a result caused the anaphylaxis. Going on he pointed out that it was admirable that I had reacted in such a way and that I must be a very sensitive man indeed. A quality that I doubted my doctor possessed, from the detached way he was relating the death of my family to my medical condition. I took some comfort in the fact that my emotions were been pharmaceutically numbed. From what I could gather in my lucid state I was on quite an extensive cocktail of drugs. They listed, Hydro cortisone and Antihistamines for the anaphylaxis, plus antidepressants and sedatives for my well being. Comforting is a description that wouldn’t do their effects justice. For the rest of that day I drifted in and out of consciousness, either in dream or reality I was occasionally visited by nurse Tracy and what felt like at the time, her angelic quality’s. I guess she must have been about five or six years older than me, probably about thirty-five. In stature Tracy was quite tall, no more than a couple of inches below six feet. Her large frame carried the extra pounds well though. I would imagine a lot of men would find her very attractive. She was large busted and had immaculate teeth, which were manifested more often than not in the frame of a wonderful smile. This was perfectly complimented and given extra wow factor by her olive skin but by far her most redeeming features were her caring, compassionate and loving mannerisms. Tracy seemed to be the incarnation of the perfect nurse.

         The next day I was out of any immediate danger. My symptoms had subsided and my facial features were back to normal. The pain in my stomach was no longer physical and my emotions, were no longer constrained to any great effect by the cocktail of sedatives I had been receiving. The medicated comfort blanket I had enjoyed was being drawn back fast and as it was, I could feel the turmoil growing ever more formidable from within. Like a virulent disease multiplying and strengthening its grip, intensifying unchecked with every passing moment. I wanted the anaphylaxis to come back; to take away my consciousness, I couldn’t bear to think about the loss of my beautiful wife Scarlet and my ever so delicate daughter Katy. Why were they not here? Why could I not hold them? There must have been some sort of mistake. They couldn’t have died. I would not allow it. I began to well up from within; I could feel the sorrow rising up from the core of my soul, all the way up to my throat like a gushing geyser. Trying to hold it back I gulped but it was futile, like a breached damn there was no stopping its onslaught and tears began to stream uncontrollably down my face. I made no effort to wipe them I just laid there being immersed by the silent down pour. The tears kept flowing unabated, as if my very soul was being poured out of me.

         After what seemed like an eternity but, which was in all probability no more than half an hour, the tears stopped. Maybe through dehydration or the fact that my tattered soul had been fully decanted, I’m not sure to this day. I just lay there, exhausted in a state of numbed thoughtlessness. My trance like state was interrupted when someone walked in the room. After an initial glance I recognized her straight away, although I gave no indication of this. She approached slowly and stopped as she reached the side of the bed.

         “Mr. Knight I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you like this? I will         understand if you wish for me to leave. Just say the word and I’ll leave you in         peace.”

        If I had the energy I would have pointed out that since meeting her, life was now in pieces not peace and her leaving now, would hardly guarantee any comfort. Besides some small part of me was clinging on to the hope, that she was going to tell me it had all been a terrible mistake and in fact my family were alive and well. I said nothing but motioned for her to sit.

         “Where’s that big oaf of yours?”

I don’t know where that came from and I was going to add no offence intended but I didn’t have the energy. Sergeant Collins took a seated position before answering.
        
        
        “I’m not here on official business, it’s my day off.”

        A kind heartfelt look observably embraced her face and although in no doubt about it’s sincerity, it was similar to the ones Nurse Tracy had been giving me. It made me wonder if that was the way people would look at me from now on. If it was to be so I feared for my sanity. For a moment my senses and imagination were taken off somewhere blissful and thoroughly pleasant. I had been given a short reprieve from the over powering aroma of the hospitals cheap disinfectant by the subtle charming scent of vanilla. It seemed the perfect choice of perfume for Sergeant Collins. She was again immaculately dressed in a black trouser suit, which had been well tailored to give her petite figure extra length. I thought to myself she must have been going somewhere important after my visit, because it all seemed a bit formal to be normal day off work attire. She looked younger to me than she had appeared on our previous encounter, possibly no more than mid twenties. I always envisioned police sergeants to be middle age men with a passion for dough-nuts and cheap coffee. I’d obviously watched too many American cop shows and was out of touch with the reality of modern police forces staffing variables, Collins continued.

        “The reason I came here today is to let you know about a few developments. I thought you would appreciate been brought up to date on what’s been happening.”

She moved forward on her seat, it’s cheap imitation leather creaking as she wriggled herself comfortable, perching on the edge, legs crossed with hands placed neatly on top of each other over her knees. I moved my aching body more squarely to face hers.

        “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you. Please continue.” I said.

She smiled appreciating my response and I visibly saw uncomfortable tension release from her shoulders.

        “I’ve informed Mrs Knight’s parents about the accident yesterday and they are         taking care of all the immediate arrangements”

She paused looking for acknowledgement. I wanted to say my wife’s name was Scarlet, you can call her that but I just nodded.

        
        “Also I contacted your brother, as you probably know he’s in Iraq at the moment         but he has arranged a period of compassionate leave and should be arriving         tomorrow. He’s in touch with your secretary and is keeping her up to date on his         arrival.”

        
        “You spoke to my brother?”

        
        I was surprised; my brother was notoriously hard to get hold of. I usually left him a note on his email and he would get in contact as soon as he had the opportunity. Sometimes it would be a couple of days and sometimes it could be weeks. He also is a sergeant like Collins but in the Royal Marine Commando’s; his work takes him all over the world. Usually he instructs. As one of the senior members of the Mountain and Arctic Warfare Cadre he’s never happier than when he is on the side of some mountain somewhere, shouting at young lads in a blizzard. I’d been trying to get him to join my company for years, which would be a perfect civilian occupation for his skills; it deals with the corporate climbing and adventure training market, which I know he would love. For the time been though I couldn’t offer him the excitement of a war zone and I always got the impression from him that he feels hugely responsible for his colleagues and the young lads he trains. For now his loyalty lay with them, which I was always fine with and the offer remained open for when he is was ready to take it. That said it was a big surprise that she had contacted him so fast.
        
        “Yes we were lucky. Your brother was out in the field on manoeuvres but          through his superiors we managed to contact. His commanding officers were very         understanding when I explained the situation and were more than happy to grant         him leave, they also sent their condolences.”

        
        “Thank you it will be a great help to have my brother here close by. I only wish it         were under better circumstances.”

         I’d met some of his commanding officers on charity climbs, they were usually a bit up them selves but gentlemen never the less. I appreciated their help. I averted my eyes from Collins. I could feel emotion beginning to raise, the first gulps of tearfulness but tried hard to hold them at bay. Swallowing hard I turned back towards her. I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, after all she had taken the time to visit me in her own time and I appreciated that. The least I could do was to try and make her visit as relaxed as possible. I smiled trying to lighten the moment. Looking more closely at Collins to distract myself I noticed she really was quite a pretty little thing, in an unprocessed natural and understated way. Although I wouldn’t describe her as pin up  head turner. You know the type, big hair, big eyes and pouting lips, none of which were qualities high in my agenda. She definitely had a distinct effortless beauteous quality about her, much more pure in its ambience. In fact she reminded me facially a little of the actress Gwyneth Paltrow in her younger years, yes a vertically challenged Gwyneth.

        She smiled back. “Mr. Knight if you’re up to it I feel I should tell you a little bit         more about the details of the accident. I’ve consulted with your doctor in light of         your recent attack and he feels that as you’re on a treatment of sedatives at the         moment, there would be no danger of a reoccurrence and now would probably be         a better time.”

        
        Her top hand delicately stroked her bottom one in a self-comforting response to her statement. She looked at me pensively waiting for my own response. I told her to continue and tell me what had happened. I don’t think it was something that I could imagine myself ever wanting to hear but as she said I was on sedatives, which an automated machine had administered more of, now that I was awake. My receptivity with regards to what she had to tell me, was probably as good as it was going to get. For now my state of mind seemed to be in a state of genteel erratic, emotions fluctuating in and out, on the shore of my sanity. Like a sea in slow motion the swell rose and fell with each new wave of drugs. Collins began to speak and told me that the petrol tanker that Scarlet and Katy had collided with had just had a routine service. The mechanic that had worked on it had been taken ill. A suspected heart attack that turned out to be angina, as a result they didn’t know how at the moment but one of the crucial front wheels appeared not to have not been fully secured. Present thinking among the investigation team suspected that some of the bolts ensuring that the wheel was attached correctly were either missing or ill fitted and had come loose or sheered away. Due to it being a critical front wheel and not one of the doubled up rear, the resulting detachment had been catastrophic. Causing the petrol tanker to violently jack knife. The investigating officers preliminary conclusions based on initial findings had lead them to believe that sparks caused by the friction created as a result of the detached wheel may have been responsible for igniting the petrol tanker, once it had been breached but more probable is the likelihood that it was initiated by impact damage. The petrol tanker had been first hit by a much smaller truck. The sort used for general labouring, gardening etcetera. It had collided directly with the center of the containing vessel. This was compounded by my wife’s car following suit. Consequentially the transpired explosion had been immense. The entire event had come to pass in hundredths of a second. The other two drivers of the involved vehicles, both trucks, had also perished. The road where it had all happened had been surprisingly quiet for the time off day. There had only been one witness. A middle age gentleman, who had been out jogging,

         Collins went on to say that of course there would be a full and thorough investigation, which my solicitor was keeping on top of and would report any further developments. My secretary had mentioned that they would both shortly be in contact as soon as they got the OK from the doctor. Collins stood up straightening her jacket as she moved forward to a position at the side of my bed. She took my hand in hers.

        “I just want you to know that it all happened so fast. You don’t have to worry,         they wouldn’t have been conscious of what was happening, they would have felt         no pain.”
        

        This effort to comfort was in stark contrast to how officious her description of the accident had been, reminiscent of the emotional detachment that would come from a BBC reporter doing a piece on the story, like the ones that smile while telling the nation that someone had their head severed earlier that day while crossing a railway line. I guess she had done it that way to make it easier for us both to get through, trained professionalism. What ever her motives it seemed to have eased the passing over of the knowledge she had imparted or maybe that was just the sedation speaking. I lightly reciprocated her handhold gesture.

        
        “Thank you. It helps to know that.”

        
        I smiled not knowing yet if that statement would be true or not. Only by the passing of time would I come to know that but I felt somehow that me saying it would comfort her and hopefully be a good omen for myself. She smiled back at me, her demeanour lifted and I felt good that I’d made the situation a little easier on her. It can’t be easy doing the job she does, crap pay, crap hours and here she was on her own time, the least I could do was be civil.

        “We’re not supposed to do this, they don’t consider it professional.” She said         frowning in disapproval. “But I’ll leave you my card, just in case you know, you         feel like you need to talk about anything on a personal level. I keep strange hours         so feel free to call me at any time. I may not be in but you can leave a message and         I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

She placed it nervously on the bedside cabinet and I wondered if she was thinking if she had done the right thing. I’m sure her intentions were honourable but at the time I wondered if maybe she was letting her heart over rule her head.

        “Thank you, you’re very kind.”

I was beginning to tire rapidly from the accumulative effects of the sedation, my physical condition and the emotion that lye under the surface of our interaction. I had fought hard to keep under wraps. Collins caught on quick and sensing my predicament, hopefully just my physical one began to speak.

        
        
        “Right, well I really must go now. Oh I almost forgot. I’ll leave you this to look at, as and when you feel like it. It’s the card of an official grief counsellor. Normally the hospital would take care of that end of things. I was asked to give it to you by my boss, apparently she’s very good.”

Collins looked at the card and didn’t look at all convinced, before adding.

“She helped a lot of the recent victim’s relatives, of the terrorist bombings in London. Anyway I’m sure you don’t want to think about that just now. You need to get your rest.”

        
        
She placed it dismissively to the side of her own card on the bedside cabinet. We said our goodbyes and she left. I fell asleep as soon as she had gone.

4

         Mother Nature conducting a dark tempered symphony awoke me. Sheets of rain whipped into a frenzy, tapping accusingly on the window like a thousand angry fingers were the back beat to a sporadic chorus of growling thunder accompanied by a venomously spawned crescendo of licking forked tongue lightning. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep for but it seemed an age and the world outside was rapped securely in the blanket of night-time darkness. I sensed as well the crisp clean air of the storm and the distinct ambience of electrically charged ozone that we were nearing the brake of dawn. If I were right then I’d been out for twelve hours or more. I put it down to the copious amounts of intravenously administered sedatives and thought no more of it.

         My attention refocused on the machine that stood next to my bed when it started to make a light droning buzz noise. It wasn’t the one that measured my heartbeat and blood pressure, that one stood next to it. No this one was smaller in height and was attached to the I.V. line, which went into my arm. I assumed it had to be administering more sedatives or whatever else they were pumping into my blood stream. The thought of my body’s blood contents been managed by a machine did not exactly fill me with confidence. I decided to use my buzzer to give Nurse Tracy a call; maybe she could fill me in on what my little mechanical fiend was up to. Besides I needed a drink, my mouth felt like I’d been chewing on well-worn sock all night or I’d had a rather eventful sleep walking expedition and took to necking with the corpses in the morgue. The nurse that responded to my call did nothing to allay my suspicions of a morally questionable source for my death breath. Her cadaverous qualities were of the highest order. I only hope they were not matched by a deviant wonder lust. The medication I was on must have still been circulating my body in significant amounts, judging by the bizarre lengths my imagination was venturing to.

        “Mr Knight did you buzz?”
        
Relief, the grey old lady couldn’t have been deceased. I read somewhere that the dead don’t speak and I’m happy to believe it.
        

        “Yes nurse I was wondering if I may have a drink? My jug seems to have disappeared.”
        
        “Of course Mr Knight, I’ll get you one right away.”
        

        
        She didn’t hang around the old lady had turned around and was out of the door as her sentence tailed off. Returning a few moments later with my drink. She informed me that once the doctor had done his rounds that morning and had given me the all clear I would be free to leave. She also took out my I.V. line, which protested with an energetic but small squirt of blood, which was quickly abated by an apologetic but not entirely convincing in sincerity nurse Margaret wielding a plaster, the inconvenience seemed to be the main issue. I asked where Tracy had gone and nurse Margaret probably misinterpreting this as a complaint about the bleeding hand incident and seemed to take offense to this and did her walking out the room mid sentence trick, saying as she went that it was Nurse Tracy’s day off. At the risk of sounding sexist I would have thought that most women become less hormonal with age. Margaret seemed to be an exception. Or maybe I just have a natural talent for annoying certain types of people. I tend to think so, more these days. Although I’m sure you’ll agree as you learn more that’s not always a bad thing.

        
        Later that day after being given the all clear by the doctor and putting on fresh clothing, which my secretary had kindly brought into the hospital for me I was sent packing with a months supply of antihistamines, epinephrine adrenalin injection pens and antidepressants. With the insistent advice, that I take one a day of each of the tablets and use the adrenalin injections should an emergency arise by way of a particularly bad attack of Anaphylaxis.

         My secretary Jane drove me home. The journey was uneventful and I waved her off before I turned and stood hesitantly at the bottom of my home driveway. Looking up at the front door that had now become mine alone rather than that of ours the Knight family, the solitary and consequence of it all began to hit me. The prospect of advancing up the driveway and opening it mortified me. It could have been no more daunting to me had a metamorphosis taken it to the description of Nazi gas chamber door. That scene, the sight of countless tortured souls held no more horror for me than the envisioning of an inevitable silence that had befallen our once joyful love filled family home. It was a door that I had in the past loved to open. A pillar-box red, wooden square paneled heavy set oak with a black Victorian knocker that sat in the center. The door also sat in the center of our wonderful family home, which presided in our typically English and exceptionally beautiful seaside town. We had worked hard to bring it to realization and now finally we were reaping the benefits. I would fight irrational manic traffic, lashing gales. Sacrifice loyalty and promises, squander large sums of money, and disappoint the closest of friends just to open that door. For I new inside were unassailable rewards. Like that of being greeted by the rushing patter of tiny feet and the angelic voice of an adoring but equally worshipped daughter, and the loving smile and enchanting eyes of a wife whose whole being filled my heart with blissful beatitude. For me everything she was intoxicated me with love for her. I saw beauty in every imperfection because it was a part of her, a part of us. I loved them both in every breath. In every heart beat and now I had to face life without them. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t make it reality, not yet. I turned my back and walked away.

        
        

5

        Walking the mile or so to the seafront of Golden Bay, named so not surprisingly because of the picture perfect sandy beaches I decided that I would make my best effort to prevent myself from becoming emotional about the loss of my family, reasoning that to do so would be an admission that I had lost them forever. It maybe wishful thinking or a flaw in my character, but I am unable to accept my own mortality and the ones for who I care, in spite of me knowing that all scientific evidence points to that being the case. I truly believe that our spirits live on after this life. In my present form I would be limited and confined by my physical being but truly I hoped that it would be the tiniest of droplets in the sea of time that defines our existence. Somewhere somehow I would be with my angels again.

        After about ten minutes walking I arrived at the Bay Palace hotel, relieved to have made it unmolested by the knowing eyes of our small community. In such a small place where the population is about five thousand locals, everyone seems to know everyone else’s business. The event of what had happened to my family and I, would be the main news and point of gossip for the immediate weeks if not months to come. I knew a lot of the residents of our community and many of them I took pleasure in calling my friends but I couldn’t bare the thought of facing any of them yet, I was happy for the reprieve from the inevitable condolences, however well meaning I knew they would be. My main priorities for now were a shower and possibly a stiff drink and when I felt up to it a good meal. The Bay Palace hotel would be the perfect refuge or the foreseeable future. The Palace is an elegant Victorian building, which dominates the sea front and could easily cater for about four hundred guests in the midst of high season. Holding the center ground of Golden Bay it gives spectacular views. Without a doubt it wouldn’t look out of place in any modern city and would put even some of the finer hotels of London to shame. It is a real credit to our humble town. Although the high standards of comfort would definitely be a bonus, the attractions for me were the facilities and reception service. With relative ease I could vet any callers or visitors. My privacy would be assured and be firmly under my own control. I walked up the white stone steps and between the two large pillars of the main entrance. It was winter and as the hotel would have few guests the doorman’s position was unmanned, it remained manned only during the summer season. So I had the inconvenience of opening my own door. I hear you scoffing, put London hotels to shame indeed. Undaunted by the physical effort I moved into the foyer. Once past the main doors the foyer area is spacious and airy, a subtle peach aroma welcomed and gave a stark contrast to the cheap disinfectant I’d become accustomed to at the hospital. Underfoot lay what I presume to be marble tiles in rich red ochre that gleamed wonderfully, accentuated by impeccable cleanliness and complimented with perfectly balanced lighting. I made my way over to the reception desk and booked in for a fortnight with the young male receptionist. I also ordered a bottle of Jack Daniels to be brought up to my room. I needed to take the edge off and this would save me the bother of calling for a bottle from my room, I was tired and needed to sleep the Jack Daniels would smooth the way. I took the foyer lift to my third floor room and after a few seconds of dispute with my card key entered my room. My haven from the world and its future realities, at least until I’d built up the resolve to face them.

        

        My bottle arrived promptly, I’d just had time to ring Jane my secretary to arrange for her to visit the house and pick up some cloths and toiletries. She seemed a little concerned that I had not managed to get into the house once she had dropped me off but was tactful enough not to pursue or pry on the reason why. I made some feeble attempt at an excuse for her not to bring the bag of cloths to my room, reasoning with her that I was going to have a few hours sleep, so she could leave the bag at reception and I would collect it later. She didn’t protest. I opened the bottle and began to get reacquainted with my old buddy Jack.

        

        I woke up the next morning feeling like a pig had shat in my head, I must have been out cold for about twelve hours. I’d finished the full bottle of JD and it looked like I’d taken some of the sedatives I’d been given at the hospital. At first I thought I’d dreamt it but I recalled receiving a disturbing phone call after drinking well over half the bottle of JD. I’d decided to take a shower and took the bottle with me for company and sat down in the shower drinking for what seemed like an age but was only probably about an hour or so. After drinking the best of about two thirds of the bottle I stumbled out of the shower and made my way into the bedroom and crashed out on my bed in just a towel determined to finish off the rest of the bottle when the phone began to ring. I hadn’t wanted to answer it but the caller was persistent and my mood encouraged by the drink had convinced me to tell the caller where they could go, besides I’d told the receptionist in the foyer that I did not want to be disturbed under any circumstances, maybe I needed to make that point a little more clear. I picked up the phone.

        
        “Mr Knight?”
        

        I didn’t recognize the voice but took it for granted that this was another receptionist who had not been informed of my request not to be disturbed.
        “Listen I gave specific instructions not to be disturbed, I’ve had a very traumatic         day if you know what’s good for you, you will make sure I am not disturbed again,         do I make myself perfectly clear?”

I waited for a response it was not immediately forth coming.
        
        
        “Mr Knight I am not the receptionist”
        

This guy was beginning to piss me off who ever he was.
        
        
        “Listen not the receptionist I don’t care who the hell you are. How the hell did you         get this number?”

        Again there was a long pause before he answered but it was not intentional, at first I thought this guy was just rude but the delay in him responding… I’d experienced it before, when I spoke to my brother or I myself was on a business trip calling from somewhere remote. This guy was definitely calling long distance and if my suspicions were correct he was calling on a satellite phone.
        

        “Mr Knight you are right who I am is not important, in fact that will save us some         time, what is important is the information I am about to give you, whether you         believe it or not is also unimportant at this time, what is though is that you         remember it. So I suggest you go easy on the alcohol.”

        How the hell did he know I was drinking? I looked to check the windows. The blinds were closed.
        

        “Mr Knight, are you ready to hear what I have to tell you?”
        

        Who ever this guy was he seemed very sure of himself and although I didn’t like his attitude one bit he had definitely got my attention. I decided to play along to see where this was going.
        

        “Yes tell me what you have to say although I can’t make any promises about the         drink but I’ll be sure to take notes.”
        
        “That’s good Mr Knight notes would also be good, only be sure to destroy them         once you have read them, once you have sobered up.”

My sarcasm was lost on this guy but I decided to give him a second chance.
        
        “Yes I’ll tear them in to tiny pieces and swallow the evidence.”
        
        
        “Right Mr Knight listen carefully, what I have to tell you will come as a shock but         it is important that you hear it even if you don’t believe it, your wife and daughter;         they are still very much alive.”

        

        I believe myself to be a man of the world and although I wouldn’t put anything past the low lifers that preside in the gene pool, this was low. I’d heard of it happening to people, some crank exploiting the relatives of the recently deceased with promises of contact to the other side through highly suspect mediums. No doubt in return for large sums of money once the necessary grooming and manipulation had taken place. I was surprised it had reached the sleepy seaside town I lived in. Then again the accident could have reached the national news level. Petrol tankers exploding are probably dramatic enough to be deemed worthy of broadcasting to the nation. I doubt if the death of my family on its own would have been justification enough in itself. Either way I wasn’t standing for the tactics of this slivering swamp life.

        

        “Listen you turd, this pathetic stunt may work on little old ladies who’s minds are         not at their bests but don’t think for a second I’m going to fall for this ridiculous         repertoire of yours, you exploiting parasite”
        

He interrupted before I had finished my dressing down.
        
        
        “That is good Mr Knight you should trust no one, from now on you should         suspect anything that anyone says to you. Trust no one Mr Knight, No one! My         name is Siymion, remember it!”

        

        He put the phone down before I had chance to tell him where he could stick his advice. The audacity of the man, I hadn’t dwelled long on it though I must have finished the bottle of JD and from the collection of mini bottles on the floor I must have also started on the mini bar before I had succumbed to the effects and passed out.

          

Two weeks later

6

I don’t remember much about the following two weeks, I developed a real close relationship with Jack Daniels and spent much of the time either drinking it or recovering from its effects the only consistent period of time that I stayed sober was the day of the funeral much of which I don’t really remember. I seamed to be in some sort of emotional coma at the ceremony. My brother James had commented that I appeared to be in a sort of trance like state. He’d been drinking a lot with me over the last two weeks as well, his reasoning that it was all part of the grieving process and was understandable as long as it didn’t go on for too long a period of time. He also felt that as long as he was with me he could keep an eye on me. He would rather that be the case than have the situation where I would go off on my own drinking. At a time when my thinking was not in the most stable of conditions. The last couple of days though my brother had started to express more outwardly apparent concern, it was obvious that I wasn’t dealing with my loss. I was masking the reality with alcohol denying my emotions the chance to grieve. I’d conceded to my brother that I would visit the councillor that Sergeant Collins had introduced me to by way of a business card. I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting but the alternative was a constant assault on my will until I broke by James. I thought it best to save myself the trouble. James had done his fair share of interrogation technique courses in his time, in the Commando’s and similarities could be drawn between his character and with the race of Aliens called the Borg on Star Trek, who go around assimilating everyone into their race. Their motto is “Resistance is Futile” and to not submit to James’s will was exactly that, futile. Besides my brother was heading back to his unit in a week, his compassionate leave was coming to an end and with the shortage of manpower in the British armed forces his skills in mountain warfare were needed in Afghanistan. The Taliban had in recent days launched a summer offensive, no doubt encouraged by the constant reporting of a shortage of manpower on our domestic news channels my brother scoffed, he was less than impressed with the reported coverage and reasoned that we were giving them too much cheap intelligence. I made the appointment to see the head doctor over the phone, which turned out to be straight forward enough. I had a direct line; there was no secretary to deal with. The number on the business card  put me straight through to a self assured and affable Dr Helen Hunter. Dr Hunter had a delicate Australian accent, which she made no effort to disguise but at the same time I felt that it had either been subdued by an extended period of time mixing in the hierarchal circles of British society or maybe it was never that strong anyway due to an upper-class background in Australia. Although I wasn’t looking forward to her probing my mind, Dr Hunters pleasant almost over exuberant persona didn’t disguise the fact she had considerable intellect, that I was left in no doubt of, even with only a short telephone conversation as the only means of weighing her character up to go on. There was no way I was going to pull the wool over her eyes. What I was looking forward to was having my curiosity sated. I wondered what the physicality behind the voice would be like. My preconception was that she would probably dress pretty much along the same lines of style as Sergeant Collins. Well I would find out in a few short hours. I took the train to her offices, which was a short walk from her local train station so it made sense to do so. After an uneventful train journey I found myself out side her office door. I knocked and entered a small reception area that was very much a sterile affair just a small reception desk with two chairs adjacent to it either side of a small coffee table. I approached the reception desk that was occupied by a young female receptionist, who was stereotypically paying most of her attention to the condition of her nails. She had not responded to the knock on the door that I had made a few seconds ago and equally now she seemed unaware of my presence. I reached the desk.
        
        “Hi, my name Chris, Chris Knight I’m here to see Dr Hunter.”

        She looked up and gave me a cursory glance before reaching for what must have been an appointment book. She rifled to the last page of entry which was only a few pages deep.
        

        “Yes Mr Knight, you’re early, please take a seat and I’ll inform Dr Hunter that you         have arrived.”

She looked up gave a brief smile and gestured toward the seats.
        

        “Thank you.” I said

        

        I took my place on one of the seats. The receptionist had gone back to her world where I didn’t exist and where obsessive nail worshiping was the favoured religion. I briefly examined the magazines that were on the coffee table, they were all dedicated to female beauty products and their consumption there of. No doubt the receptionist had a subscription to most of them and as a result her obsessive nail management had been permanently impregnated on her subconscious by the brain washing effects of years of manipulation. Or maybe I was being overly cynical. I doubted it but still hoped so. The small room I found myself in was quite a depressing affair not at all how I expected a psychotherapist reception area to be. The walls were completely white washed with no pictures or other decoration. There wasn’t even a window to let in light. That was provided by ceiling mounted spot lights, which were too bright for the small room. My attention was drawn to the green blinking light of a camera opposite positioned to view the two chairs for visitors one of which I was sat on. I’d wondered why the receptionist had not announced my arrival via some sort of intercom to Doctor Hunter; maybe the camera provided the answer. The receptionist gave me another brief glance but no smile accompanied it this time, she didn’t seem to want me to notice her brief glimpse of me. I didn’t look back at her but observed her covert glance, which lasted no more than a split second as she followed my eyes to the camera that was observing me. She had made the connection that I had spotted it. Her attention went back to her nails. This behaviour seemed a little strange at first I thought the receptionist was just wrapped up in her own little world but her behaviour and lack of acknowledgement of my presence seemed somehow intentional.

The hoax phone callers’ words came to mind “trust no one.” Maybe I was reading too much into things. I was probably suffering from more than just a little paranoia brought on by apprehension about my session with the good doctor and the amount of alcohol I‘d sank over the last fortnight. I was more than a little scared about what she would bring up or try to make me face up to. I bet she had a whole bag of tricks ready and tested by eminent psychologist to bring my vulnerability to the surface. I’d spent the last two weeks strategically building a wall around those emotions, isolating them from the reality of my world. Now I was going to have to try and defend them against the aptly named Dr Hunter, with her box of tricks for circumventing my wall. Maybe I should walk out now. I wouldn’t strictly be lying if I told James that I had been to see the good doctor. A light buzzing sound preceded a barely audible voice from an intercom on the receptionists desk and then the receptionist gestured for me to go through to Doctor Hunters office. I got up from my chair and made my way to her office door, I gave a small cursory knock before entering. The room was light and airy, clinical like the reception area but with a large window facing me from the back of the office the blinds were shut halfway. This still let in plenty of light but restricted any view in or out of the window. The striking Doctor sat behind a heavy set desk a short distance in front of me. I couldn’t help notice her tanned toned legs under the desk. They were bare from just above the knee down and the light reflected off her shin bones as if they were shimmering silk. I tried not to make my observation too obvious by quickly making eye contact but it was to no avail she gave a knowing smile as to where my eyes had just been. I thought to myself great start you dim wit that’s already given her the upper hand. She uncrossed her legs no doubt revealing the most alluring of inner thigh, I made a conscious effort not to look down again as she stood.

        “Please Mr Knight be so kind as to take a seat” Her eloquent voice eased off her         tongue caressing my ear, it too was comparable to the touch of shimmering silk.

        “Thank you Doctor”

        I eased myself into the mastermind like black leather chair, which creaked under my weight. She paused for a second and looked at me before joining me in her own. My curiosity had been raised days earlier after talking to her on the phone as to how this lady would look and to put it bluntly she was conventionally stunning, her skin seemed to be flawless, not a mole or blemish in sight and the way it reflected the light was like nothing I’d seen before. She was obviously aware of her god given gift and took full advantage while remaining with a healthy semblance of taste and class. She wore a floral delicate dress cut just above the knee and plunging at the neck line to reveal a modest but proportionate cleavage, her long dark straight hair was straight out of a shampoo advert. As far as I could tell there didn’t seem to be even a single hair out of place. She was tall probably a few inches shorter than me but with the heals she was wearing I guessed the same height around six feet. Her facial features were quite strong well at least her jaw line, she was definitely model material but something was hard about her.

        “So Mr Knight You have recently had a very tragic loss and as you have made this         appointment in order to see me I’m assuming that you feel you need some         professional guidance in order to come to terms with it, to move on with your life. Would that be correct?” She smiled maintaining eye contact waiting for my         response.
        
        “Well I….it wasn’t my idea to come, my brother seems to think I’m not coping as         well as I should and thought it would be a good idea for me to seek professional help.”

         I was uneasy and fidgeted to find a comfortable seating position. She pondered on what I’d said for the briefest of moments.

        “There is no ideal way to cope with bereavement Mr Knight. everyone is different         and copes with loss in a variety of ways some good and some bad. It is my job to help you readdress the balance ultimately only you can resolve your loss, think of me as a guide who will give you the tools and direction to ease the transition from one part of your life to the many rewards and happiness’s of your future ones.”

I just nodded.

        “Now Mr Knight if I may I’d like to ask you why your brother feels that you’re         not coping, maybe you could tell me how you have filled your days since the loss         of your family?”

        She wasn’t wasting time straight to the jugular, I thought I would have at least been offered a drink at these prices. well I wasn’t going to pussy foot around it’s not my style.

        “I’ve been drinking, heavily, almost every day in fact yes every day since I got out         of hospital, and I’ve been taking sedatives as a booster if you like, to knock me         out at night.”

        I waited for her reaction not breaking eye contact but her expression didn’t change she just looked back at me intently as if she were studying something else rather than my words. As beautiful as she was she gave me the creeps. She picked up a note pad from the desk in front of her as well as the expensive looking silver pen at its side and jotted down the shortest of notes, she didn’t replace them I surmised she wrote down drink prescription drug abuse or words to that effect the thought amused me. I couldn’t help allowing myself a little smile. I was intrigued as to where she would take this next.
She looked up from her pad
        
        “I see.” the intense glare back again,”
        “Mr Knight I take it from the use of sedatives in the evening you have had         problems sleeping this is often caused by excessive alcohol intake combining it         with sedatives can have serious health implications, have you been taking my         tablets and has this been a daily occurrence?”

        “Well it was up until a few days ago but the sedatives don’t seem to work         anymore. I was trebling the dosage not sensible I know but they…well they just         don’t work now so I stopped taking them.”

        I’d thought this strange at the time, that they had stopped working but the good doctor just nodded and smiled, she didn’t seem to think it strange at all. She began to go through a series of questions trying to get me to open up about how I felt about the accident. She seemed to be trying to find out if I felt responsible but I didn’t and then she seemed to settle on the idea that I was in denial. Hunter kindly listed the phases of bereavement, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, depression and then finally acceptance. She said it wasn’t a hard and fast rule but a good guide as to what most people experience. I was starting to get a little bored with it all and decided to spice things up a bit, by declaring that Scarlet and Katy were not dead. I’d been told so in a phone call by a lovely man called Siymion. The look on her face was priceless she couldn’t hide from this revelation, in fact as professional as she was the shock on her face well it seemed quite an over reaction. Hunter looked well quite offended by what I had said as if his very actions aggrieved her personally. The uncomfortable situation didn’t last long only seconds before the phone rang.
“Sorry Mr Knight I really must take this.” She picked up the phone and I took the time to appreciate her beautiful tanned skin. I really had never seen anything like it I would prefer my wife’s pale English rose canvass seven days out of seven but even she had the odd freckle or blemish this women had nothing as hard as I looked for one it was completely flawless I couldn’t get my head round it. Hunter still holding the phone turned her attention to me but still listened intently. I began to take notice of the conversation. It consisted mainly of a series of yeses. I couldn’t make out what the voice at the other end was saying but the tone sounded quite manic. Dr Hunter smiled at me the type given to pacify by receptionist when they know they are keeping you waiting too long. I didn’t mind it didn’t seem like she was enjoying the conversation I’m sure she would end it as soon as she could. The voice at the other end raised and seemed to become even more manic. Hunter broke from her series of yeses

        “And you are sure that is the action you want me to take, you wouldn’t like me to         investigate further?” She was still looking at me and for a second I almost felt like she were talking about me but that couldn’t be right.

        “Ok if that is the action you want me to take I shall do it at the earliest         convenience, thank you, goodbye.” She sighed and put the phone down.

        “Sorry about that Mr Knight, I’ll just make a short note in my appointment book then we will proceed.” Hunter leaned to her side to open her desk draw.

        “Don’t mention it Doctor H……”

The shock broke up my speech instead of pulling a note book from the draw Hunter raised a gun quickly towards me, I had time to see her eyes they changed completely, almost feral with rage. Reflexes took over as adrenalin surged through my nervous system.  I kicked hard at the top of the desk trying to push my chair over and backwards away from the danger. She pulled the trigger of the gun pointed at my chest. My attempt at escape never stood a chance. A sharp burning impact washed across my upper torso. I would be dead within seconds, my shredded heart blown out of a massive trauma hole in my back. This was it.

      
  
  

7

        I woke up dazed groggy and confused. The room was completely white, bare and perfectly square. I couldn’t move, I lifted my heavy bowling ball head to see what was restricting me. My arms and legs were strapped tightly down with almost no play in them. I was laid flat on a trolley bed the type you see in hospitals that the porters unceremoniously wheel around from ward to ward. I too was dressed in gleaming white to match the room in the form of a hospital gown, for a brief moment I wondered if my arse was exposed. I felt relief to be laying on my back. Then the gravity of my situation hit home, maybe I had experienced another attack like before but then why was I strapped down unless this was some sort of mental facility. Think god dam it think, what was the last thing you can remember. I recalled sitting in the Doctors office, what we said was a fuzzy blur then it came to me, the gun! The bitch had shot me. This is crazy. It can’t be real. I wanted to hold my head in my hands. Why would she shoot me? It was obvious that it wasn’t a bullet that had hit me. I’d be more than likely stone dead if that was the case, so she must have used some sort of tranquilizer dart but why? What had I said to make her do that and surely that’s not common practice for a psycho therapist, to whip out a tranquilizer gun when someone says something a little crazy and have them carted off to the nut house. No I was definitely missing something, this was serious. What was I involved in?

        “ Your wife and daughter; they are still very much alive, trust no one Mr Knight         no one!”

That’s what that guy had said, what was his name? Siymion, god I wish I could speak to him now but then why should I trust him. It was obvious, he said they were alive. Denial the first hurdle of grief, was I really going crazy? This was messed up but I had to go with my instincts. I wasn’t crazy and maybe just maybe like my heart had told me all along they were alive!

        It wasn’t long before I heard the heavy movement of a large sliding lock being disengaged from the single door that provided entrance. I decided to pretend to be asleep the last thing I needed was to be dosed up again, I needed my wits. I had to find out what was going on. The door creaked ajar under its own heavy weight. I hadn’t noticed it before but it must have been made of steel or some other heavy metal. It stopped, momentary silence and then footsteps entered the r

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