“I’m going to leave you alone for a minute and get the doctor. Make yourself comfortable.”
Rebecca left the room with the Mariner’s eyes upon her, and passed through a door that swung silently on its hinges. The Mariner sat on a sofa, relishing its soft support. Filthy nails and torn cuticles stared up from his lap. Bright lights and clean surfaces were an unknown influence, and they highlighted his bedraggled state. Was this really the place for him?
Surprisingly, despite his exhaustion, he found himself unable to shift the image of Rebecca’s behind from his tired head, the way her hips swayed slightly with every step, the curves of her clothed buttocks. He felt a familiar stirring. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman, not since-
No, he didn’t want to think about that.
But perhaps it was time to put that behind him? And Rebecca appeared a fine way to do just that. The right way this time.
“I’m glad you decided to join us.”
The Mariner was surprised Doctor Tetrazzini had appeared without notice, a quick glance at the floor explained the stealth; it was carpeted in rich green fuzz. Soft. Everything was soft.
Tetrazzini confidently strode over and shook the Mariner’s hand. He was the older, hair grey and face lined from age rather than toil. A small beard speckled with gold surrounded his board smile. Even his clothes seemed non-threatening: a purple sweater with a picture of a dog knitted into it.
“You may not remember, my name is Doctor Tetrazzini. Though if you forgot that, you clearly managed to remember my message. Welcome to rehab.”
“Rebecca said you treat all addictions?”
“Oh yes,” Tetrazzini nodded enthusiastically. “Everyone I invite is an addict. All addictions, chemical and psychological, are cured within these walls. Without a shadow of a doubt I can tell you there is a hundred percent success rate.”
“This place is certainly unique.”
Tetrazzini looked about the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Yes, I suppose it is. I’ve spent so much time up here I forget just how archaic the rest of the world has become.” His kindly face suddenly registered concern. “What’s wrong?”
The Mariner hesitated. “I have nothing to offer in return. For the treatment I mean… and saving my life.”
“No money? No goods?”
The Mariner shook his head.
“No matter,” Tetrazzini dismissed the matter of payment with a flick of his hand. “Patients are usually so grateful, they return and pay me weeks, even months later.”
“You have weeks and months here?”
“I have an old calender that I keep a careful watch on. It’s only for one year, so obviously needs to be adjusted every time it’s reused, but at least it gives some sense of time passing.” The Mariner didn’t bother asking what year it was; such a concept was meaningless.
“Come, walk with me while we talk.” Tetrazzini led the Mariner for a brief tour around the grounds.
Returning to the outside, fresh air, warm sun and gentle cooling breeze took the Mariner by surprise. On his way up he’d been so concerned with the pain wreaking havoc upon his body and mind that the outside world hadn’t factored for much. Now that he was taking the time, he could see it was beautiful. The hill and copse crown offered a panoramic view of Sighisoara, the multicoloured medieval buildings, brilliant in the sunlight, looked like a candy necklace laid around the rising citadel.
“You’ve got the best place on the whole island.”
“Maybe, maybe,” Tetrazzini conceded. “The ruins give the impression of importance, but the walls supply no protection. The gates are always open. The days of this being an operating fortress are long gone. The view, however, can’t be beat.”
The Mariner watched as a large gull swooped overhead, close to the trees and then out over the drop, soaring above the town below.
“I suppose you’re curious about how this is all going to work? I treat addiction with a simple two-pronged approach. Firstly, counselling. Don’t be intimidated. It’s only a small part of the treatment. Some doctors believe that addiction arises from psychological flaws, from displaced negative emotions and the such, and the way to cure addiction is by treating these root causes. Their theories are not welcome here. It is my theory that addiction is a simple chemical imbalance that can be corrected the same way it was caused: with chemicals. Medication. The therapy is just to ease the transition. Some find that when released from the grip of their disease, they feel empty and lost. Not surprising given how long their affliction dominated their lives.”
“So the second prong is drugs?”
Doctor Tetrazzini nodded, studying the grass in front as they strolled around the rehab centre. Down below the sounds of the town floated up, sounding eerily close despite their great height. “Drugs, yes, although they are mild on the system. You won’t find any side effects or withdrawal. My medication is designed to end intoxication, not cause it.”
It all sounded too good to be true. Could this doctor be serious? Could his addiction be cured by just a few pills? For the first time in an eternity the Mariner felt hope. Real hope instead of trudging weariness. One thing worried him though, would he get a chance to have a final drink before the therapy began? Surely, to start this difficult journey feeling so awful would hamper progress?
“That door over there leads to the guest quarters, though occasionally patients stay in the infirmary on the other side. Sadly, one of my patients is there almost permanently because of wounds acquired in her destructive past. You, on the other hand, will stay in one of these rooms and have access at any time to the garden outside for your recreation and relaxation.”
Ahead were two figures sat upon a bench, enjoying the shade of a tree. One was a woman in a thin polo-neck, a book upon her lap that she studied intently. Beside her was a young girl, no more than seven, kicking at the ground and looking thoroughly bored.
“Who are they?”
“One of my many success stories. Beth Masterson. She’s only with us for a few more days, she’s completely cured.”
“What was her addiction?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Tetrazzini held up a hand and called to Beth. She looked up, beamed a smile and approached them, leaving the book in her place. The girl picked it up and flicked through the pages. Whether she enjoyed it or not could not be seen, her thick brown hair spilled in front of her face from her tilted head.
“Beth, I’d like to introduce you to our latest guest!”
“Welcome,” she said taking his hand in hers. “You’re safe here, the doctor is a genius. Our hero!”
“Not so, not so,” Tetrazzini pleaded. “It’s you who do the work. I just dish out the pills.”
“Well, even if that was true, I’m sure I would be dead if I hadn’t found this place.”
Tetrazzini addressed the Mariner. “Beth was in a very bad state when her boat arrived. Another day out at sea and I doubt the rest of the crew would have bothered feeding her.”
Beth shook her head sadly. “They weren’t what you could call ‘good guys’.”
“Why couldn’t you feed yourself?”
“My wounds were septic. I was a self-harmer, have been most my life. Since… all this, it’s gotten worse and worse, and I ended up cutting deeper than I should. The wounds went bad and I almost died. My ship was on its way to trade with Sighisoara and I don’t remember arriving, but by the time my fever broke they were gone and I was here. In rehab.”