30/10/2025
I've decided to let you have chapter one for free.
Hope you like it.
Chapter 1
1997
The old man looked about the room and shuddered. He went to the bed and gently rocked it, testing the bolts that secured it to the floor. He released a locking bolt and rotated the bed to the vertical position. He examined the webbing that formed the bed base. He tested the restraints, rotated the bed to a 45-degree angle and locked it in place. Unconsciously, he rubbed at his wrists and turned away toward the sound of the front door opening. His heels echoed on the white tiled floor. He passed into the next room, this time containing two beds, neither of which had restraints, and also containing some basic medical supplies. He was dimly aware of the change in the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the red linoleum before he reached the stairs and climbed out of the cellar. He greeted Marianne with a thin smile and went forward to help her with her shopping bags.
“Go and get the rest out of the car.” said Marianne, a little tersely. The old man thought about mildly rebuking her for her tone, but he knew that she was feeling the stress of his coming ordeal. She would be his sole carer over the coming weeks. He would be helpless as a new-born. The old man smiled apologetically and said “Of course. Sorry.”
With the last of the shopping put away, the old man put the kettle on and prepared a small pot for tea. An old yellow Labrador watched him from its basket in the corner of the kitchen. As the tone of the kettle slowly changed, the old man went to the dog and stooped to gently scratch behind his ears. “Not long now Reg.” the old man said, and the dog's tail wagged feebly.
Marianne woke to the sound of vomit splashing onto the floor. She rose into a sitting position and listened. There was no further sound. She inhaled deeply and failed to detect any strong scent. She rose and went through to the adjoining cellar room. The old man lay naked, strapped face down to the webbing base. Marianne took a torch from the shelf and shone it onto the puddle of fresh liquid that steamed in the cold room. She saw no trace of blood against the white tiles and so was able to relax. She took the old man's pulse and then busied herself with other chores. She checked the IV rehydration bag and then went to mop up the pool of vomit. Then she rotated the bed to raise the old man's face to where she could see it and shone a pen light into his open eyes. The pupils did not contract. She spoke. “Arthur. Can you hear me?” No response. She returned the bed to the horizontal position. Marianne went to the dog, which lay in a sling, his paws just touching the ground and the rest of him comfortably supported. He too had an IV drip. He too was unresponsive to gentle stimuli. Marianne saw that the IV had fluid in it. Enough for another hour, she estimated. Marianne returned to her bed and was asleep within moments.
The old man woke up. He felt exhausted. He blinked. His eyes felt dry and crusted and he could not quite focus on anything. A figure appeared at his bedside. The old man tried to speak, but his voice would not work. The figure, a woman by the sound of the voice, spoke, but he could not make out the words. She sat on a chair by the bed and looked at him. Then she reached into her breast pocket and took out a thermometer. Speaking clearly and loudly, right into the old man's face, she said “Open.” The old man opened his mouth, and the woman put the thermometer under his tongue.
Then she took hold of the old man's arm, and began to feel the muscles, first in the forearm and then the upper arm, gently kneading and pinching. She took a blood pressure cuff from the bedside locker and fixed it to the old man's upper arm. She inflated it, took a reading, then another, and then a third. She noted the numbers on a hand drawn chart and then took the thermometer from his mouth. She noted the temperature.
She spoke again, and this time the old man could make out her words.
“You appear to be approaching normal. I think a day, or two more rest and you'll be back on your feet. Water?” The old man nodded his reply, and she carefully handed him a glass, and then supported his hand as he moved the glass to his mouth. He drank in little sips. Little by little he emptied the glass and then slumped back onto his pillow. The woman refilled the glass and placed it onto the bedside locker and looked at him. He closed his eyes again, but rather than sleep he cleared his throat and tried to speak again. This time he made a noise, coughed a little and then spoke in a croaky whisper. “I think I've found one.”
