The car journey was unending, thought John Staples, wedged
as he was between the ginger haired man who hadn’t spoken since he had come to
and the quiet, small man called Martin. In the front, on his own, was the
Doctor, Jackson, who had been treating him for, well, quite some time. The
drugs had started to wear off some hours earlier but out of the fog they had
created came little clarity. The doctor had been unforthcoming in explanations
on how the treatment had gone, answering questions in an off-hand, curt manner
and John’s memories were more confused now than ever before.
Unlike the memories John had recalled prior to the
treatment, many of these new ones were unlinked to himself directly, were about
world affairs and news items. He had always been able to recall such details
about his other existences, if that was what they were, but the over-riding
memories were always of a dramatic ending to his life. He knew he had acquired
a number, a substantial number indeed, of such external events but had no new
memories related to himself that were as striking and unsettling as the
previous memories had been. The whole experience felt odd and wrong, certainly
very different to how the memories had manifested themselves in the past. John
knew nothing of the drug regime he had been subjected to apart from the obvious
continued application of tranquillisers he was now surfacing from. What John
didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that the chemicals used to probe other
existences had been stopped for some time and that most had left his body
already. He was also unaware that he was occasionally slipping into other
memories, new ones, without the aid of these drugs. As he sat in the back of
the car, gazing absently at the Porsche that had led the way from the medical
building he had been escorted from earlier, John’s mind slipped again.
‘He’s going,’ commented Martin. Jim Forsythe looked at the
glazed eyes of the man he was being asked to provide close protection for. More
than before, Jim felt great unease over this whole situation. Notwithstanding
all the blarney over the need to assist in an activity concerning ‘national
security’, Jim felt he was probably involved in something drugs related,
perhaps a witness protection programme or some such. What he didn’t understand
was why the military were involved instead of the police, and he was extremely
concerned that he had been armed with a pistol, concealed in a shoulder holster
under the suit jacket that was consequently far too tight for him. Even if this
was a military problem, he rationalised, surely a formally trained member of
the RAF Regiment or someone from the special forces would have been more
appropriate. The briefing on the use of the firearm had been scant, the issuing
officer from the station armoury clearly unhappy with the issue and the
following briefing from the man answering to the name of Martin contradicting
some of the terms of engagement. Jim had nodded and grunted in the correct
places, but had decided that the pistol would be unholstered as a last resort
in the case of personal self protection, and if anything went so badly wrong
that looked like needing firearms he was going to try and back out without
getting involved at all.
Sam looked in the rear view mirror, straining his neck to
get a clearer view of John Staples’ eyes. Martin was correct, Staples had
slipped into a trance-like state again, and although he hadn’t mentioned it to
anyone, Sam was very concerned about this state of affairs. The previous slip
into a trance had occurred while both Martin and the RAF man had left the car
for a comfort break at the motorway service station. John had been muttering
some words under his breath, a narrative almost, relating a similar journey to
the one he was currently undertaking, but naming a person that Sam only knew
from the probing sessions at Fylingdales. It was one of the ‘nightmare
scenario’ sessions that had flagged up this name, probably forgotten by most of
the team by now, but a detail Sam had chosen to remember as he wanted to try
and track the situation as closely as possible. Sam had used the hypnotic
suggestion that he had programmed into Staples’ subconscious at the first
session in the hospital on that first meeting to query what Staples was
‘seeing’. The answer he got sent a chill right through him, because if he was
right then Staples was accessing the other dimensions without the drugs, as if
a direct line had been established. He had decided not to discuss this with
Martin at this stage, but to raise it with Michael when they got to Salford.
In the Porsche, Michael was doing a lot of thinking while
he tried to maintain a legal speed on the route to Manchester. Martin had
always been a pain in the arse, as long as he had been attached to the DTRU,
but now he was becoming intolerable. Co-opting the airforce guy was a big
mistake, Michael was convinced. The trip to Manchester was surely avoidable,
but at least it was an opportunity to let the patient come to. Deep down, his
biggest misgiving was the way Staples was being manipulated. There was no way
any of this treatment would alleviate his problems and probably would make them
worse. He had tried to talk with him before they set off, but he was clearly
still doped, his eyes glazed over and his speech remote. This surprised Michael
as he had understood the drugs would have been virtually out of Staples’ system
hours ago. As Michael checked his rear view mirror he determined to himself
that he would try to talk to Staples again, once they had arrived.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright Ray Sullivan 2011
The characters, places and events described in this novel are fictitious and any resemblance to persons, places or events, past or present, is coincidence. All rights reserved
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