“She’s been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours now,” he said angrily. “What did your man Walker give her?” He stood boldly in front of the desk with his legs uncharacteristically apart. Realising this, he shuffled his left leg slightly closer to the other and regained some of his more reserved self.
Seth Mallus turned round in his chair to face him. “Nothing that will harm her, Henry. Simply a facilitator for sleep.” He stood up and walked to the video wall dressed as a window. Reaching behind a blind to the left-hand side of it, he switched it off. “She was very reluctant to go with Walker, aggressive even. The drug was to protect her, more than anything else.” He ushered Patterson out into the corridor, and then followed him. “Which is also why she has been restrained,” he continued.
“To stop her hurting anyone?” Patterson asked bitterly.
“You are cynical. To stop her hurting herself, ” he corrected.
Still walking along the same corridor, they arrived at a long window on their left. Patterson stopped and gestured to the small room beyond the glass.
“Is this really necessary?”
In the middle of the small room was a single hospital bed in which Gail lay, fast asleep. Nonetheless, thick restraints wrapped round her body and limbs and held her to the mattress. Set into the headrest of the bed was a small computer screen, on which a line made its way from left to right, jerking rhythmically to the woman’s pulse. Apart from this and a small bedside table, the room was bare and sterile.
Mallus nodded slowly. “You seem genuinely upset. And yet Dr Gail Turner was brought here on your request.”
“I did not request her specifically, and I wouldn’t have requested anyone had I realised it would have been against their free will!” he retorted.
“I think that you may be forgetting yourself, Doctor,” Mallus warned sternly. “Dr Turner will be awake within the hour, sometime after which I will arrange for her to join you in your office.” He didn’t leave much room for argument, but just as Patterson was about to reply, he continued, more softly. “We would not normally have gone through this process, as you can see for yourself from the perfectly normal way in which I recruited you. However I know you understand that the situation, despite our best efforts, was beyond our control.”
Patterson said nothing, but dipped his chin almost imperceptibly.
“Good,” he said. “Because together, and with her help, we have to find out what Aniquilus is.”
Chapter 48
Gail awoke, opening her eyes slowly, tentatively, like a child who dare not peek at what was under the Christmas tree for fear that it may all disappear without warning.
Please, not another dream.
The past few hours, days, maybe even weeks, had been the strangest of her life, notwithstanding the fantasy of youth, where as a small person barely four feet high you could walk in a land of giants, dragons and adventure every day.
What the hell? The fact that she was even thinking of dragons and giants raised fears that she was again dreaming, and that she had not woken up after all. Widening her eyes she let the bright white light of her surroundings flood her pupils, which shrank to the size of pin heads as a result. She forced her eyelids to stay open against their will for as long as possible, until eventually they snapped shut and opened again, less wide this time, like the shutter of a high-speed camera.
Instead of bright-white light, she saw a bright-white wall directly in front of her.
“Hello!” she shouted. Immediately, the pressure in her inner ears reported back to her the fact that she was lying on her back. The wall in front of her had to be the ceiling. This is good, she thought. The fact that she heard herself perfectly, and understood what she was saying, had to be good. The fact that her sight and ears were now working together as a team, giving her balance and a sense of direction, was even better. I am awake. Within milliseconds of this realisation, Gail decided to get up and see where she was.
She struggled with her arms and legs, even wriggling her whole body, for several minutes before admitting defeat. She tried to lift her head but couldn’t. Peering along her nose and over her outstretched body, she understood why: thick belts were wrapped around her. She counted at least ten, tightly hugging her body and limbs which underneath were covered by a thin white sheet. Beyond her two wriggling feet, she could see the end of the bed, white-painted metal, with what looked like a flip-chart attached to it. Apart from that, her field of vision was clear – the room seemed empty. To her right, she could just see the top of a door and a window frame, but it was either night time or it was an internal window, because the only light she could see came from two long strips in the ceiling.
Gail had never stayed in hospital herself, but knew exactly what a hospital bed looked like. From what she saw at the foot of the bed, this was definitely one of those. The last time she had seen one had been when she had visited a friend after an operation. The doctors had said that they had got to her appendix just in time, and that another day without surgery may have been fatal. She could still remember the big grin on her face as they had told her she would have to take two weeks off school.
But her friend hadn’t been strapped to her bed. Simply thinking about her restriction made her develop an itch in the small of her back. Shortly after that, the back of her left knee started tickling, followed quickly by the sole of her right foot.
Within a minute, she was in mental anguish, writhing within her restraints, trying in vain to rub some cover or strap against the numerous itches that seemed to have attacked from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Arching her back, she pushed her chest tightly against the straps. Lifting herself half an inch from the mattress behind her, she involuntarily let out a long, pained moan. It was quickly followed by a more verbal complaint.
Then, she started screaming her head off; putting to full use the only part of her that had not been restrained.
All of a sudden she heard the door to her right open. A man in a white coat entered and stood at the end of the bed. She looked at him and abruptly stopped screaming, although she consciously kept a few choice words at the ready.
“You’re awake,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if his job was to go into rooms and make comments on such things.
She hadn’t expected him to say that, and had to make a few quick changes to her pre-chosen expletives. Nonetheless, her reply brought a touch of pink to the pale white cheeks of the young man.
“It’s good to see that you are feeling better, Dr Turner,” he replied, ignoring her verbal assault. “You certainly look much better than yesterday.”
American, she thought to herself. Or possibly Canadian? She widened the scope, not confident enough in her ability to distinguish between the accents of the two countries. He unclipped the flip-chart from the bottom of the bed and looked beyond her towards the bed’s headrest. She tried to tilt her head back to see what he was looking at, but gave up quickly, deciding it was probably some kind of medical monitoring equipment.
“I’ll let the kitchen know you’re able to eat again.” He turned and walked towards the door, taking the chart with him.
“Wait!” she exploded, following him with her eyes. “Wait!” It was painful to look down and to the right without being able to move her head, but she forced herself. “How long have I been here? Where am I?”
He stopped and went to the side of the bed. He was now looking down on her face. It was a more comfortable position for her eyes, but with his head silhouetted against the bright light from the ceiling, she felt far less at ease. She was suddenly much more aware of her own helplessness and vulnerability.