Visitation - Reality (book 1 of 2)

Phew, I was feeling exhausted.

My eyes were complaining and I had to sit back in my chair, closing them to seek some rest. How long had I been reading?

I had no watch to check, but hang on, yes I did. I always wore a watch, it must have been taken off by the medical staff; where was it? I did not want to rise from my welcome rest but this fresh thought of something so close to me and likely another of the mind restoring steps, changed my mind. I placed the book face down on the bed.

A quick check in the cabinet drawer and there it was at the back, but it was no longer working; of all the times for the battery to run out. Where was I going to get a new one now, I didn’t think there would be any market stalls or jewellers here where I might normally obtain one.

Another step forward; I had recalled the market place in town and the jewellers' watch stall in the shopping mall.

There was no point in putting it on my wrist if it was not working, but I felt wrong without it. I slipped it on and fastened the catch giving myself a boost in the feelings of normality I desperately needed.

Its failure to be ticking away took an edge off the sense of elation but this was strangely enhanced by the realisation that this was also what a non-ticking watch was doing; providing a further step of reality.

I had a need to know what the time was but there was no clock that I could see in this room, and a glance out of the window didn’t help. It was still snowing in the same gloomy greyness. I must have been reading for a few hours and the concentration had worked wonders but I had neither any idea of the time I had started nor of the time now as I stopped for a break. By the failing light outside I decided that it had to be late in a mid-winter's afternoon, perhaps somewhere close to three-o'clock.

I felt better within myself; I was starting to remember who I was. I sat back down to ponder once more on what I had just read. I closed my eyes again, breathed a long welcome sigh and sat quietly for a few moments more, slipping with my eyes shut into the increasing sense of satisfaction that was building from somewhere or other.

I let myself contemplate on what I had placed into my lap, ready for reading further when I felt the correct moment. This was some story I had written and there was still more to go.

There was a strange sense of déjà vu about all of it; perhaps that was supposed to happen, be part of the treatment. I was no longer finding it hard to believe that I had written such a story. I seemed to recall something of this sort had been bubbling up in my creative side for a long time but this was still more of a feeling than a fact.

I recalled that since I had reached the age of twenty, or thereabouts, I had picked up a serialisation of Erich von Däniken's first book in a national newspaper and found that a fire had been lit most suddenly within my psyche. A process was started that I could not, nor did I wish it to, stop; that became the start of my 'enlightenment'.

This process continued for many years thereafter with copies of his successive and other author's books on similar subject matter. I had continued to ask myself, almost constantly, the many questions I encountered within myself and sought the answers within these books whenever and wherever I could.

Over the following years there had been many authors on many related subjects but always in some way addressing the questions of the world's religions, their associated mysteries and the alternative explanations to be found in science, history and the ‘Gods’ of old and new.

Each time I had visited a book-store I had browsed through rows of titles and in a strange way, knew when I had picked up the correct book to read. Sometimes with a few titles in my hand and undecided, the one to read almost spoke to me. “Read me. Now is the right time to find out what is inside, put the others back.” It became, increasingly so and almost as if, I was following a lifetime course of study planned by others.

Latterly my reading of various sources had almost seemed directed towards snippets of information and to resolving those unanswered questions that had been raised by each step in my educative reading. It had all seemed to be adding to an unknown total, or was I, with retrospective thought, in some sort of convoluted self-prophecy thing?

My self indulgent mental ramblings were synthesising into a coherent whole and this was making me feeling better as time moved forward; I was on the mend and it felt good.

This book, my writings, seemed to be a coming together of a lot of things. I had written fiction, on the basis of my bits of knowledge, but the plot and the record of events seemed to have a feel of accuracy. I may very well be ‘loosing-the-plot’, as I thought to myself, but at least, it would in a state of compos mentis, or was that a contradiction; it certainly raised an internal smile.

I was coming out of the mists with rational thoughts, a slowly recovering memory and it most certainly felt good.

“I’m glad you think that, Ian,” the Doctor stated as he stood at the end of the bed. “I told you it would work.”

I jumped as though an electric shock had gone through me.

“When the hell did you come in?” I spluttered out.

“As soon as I was advised that you had put the book down for a break and were thinking normally again,” he replied.

“But how on earth could you know that,” I queried.

“Are you forgetting about the mind reading 'trick',” he responded, “well there are a few more techniques you are also not aware of for the present. Don’t forget, I am here to assist you in recovering fully especially at those times when you tell me that you are ready. And you do tell me how you are performing even though you are not aware of it directly.”

“I have a pleasant surprise for you,” he beamed as he spoke these words.

“You need to get dressed and then we are going for a little walk, out of here, for a change of scenery, so to speak. I need you to get dressed and your clothes, or rather the ones we wish you to wear, are in the locker here.”

He pointed to a blank area of wall, but turned to add, “And I want the fruit juice finishing off. It is helping you even if you are not aware of its restorative and health giving properties. I know that you enjoy its incredible taste so please go on enjoying it until this pitcher has been emptied.”

“Now is the time to prove you’re on the mend properly. Don’t ask me, as you were about to, of how the wall is capable of opening to reveal a wardrobe. Part of your recovery and improvement will give you the means to perform what you previously thought of as some sort of magic. A tip; go to the wall, reach for it and think the door to open and it will, I promise you.”

His face no longer portrayed a sense of humour; he meant what he said.

“I will be back in about twenty minutes or so when I would expect you to be washed and dressed and ready for a gentle stroll. Oh yes, the bathroom is at the end of the room, over there, through the door you can’t see just yet. Use the same technique as for the wardrobe.” And with a loud chuckle he finished, “All will be revealed.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist that; I do enjoy a silly joke or two.” With a smile now betraying a wicked sense of humour, one that I could certainly appreciate, out he went.

I let the hospital gown slip off my shoulders into an untidy heap on the floor and walked to the end wall. I took a chance by stroking my hand down where a door might be expected to be and wished it to open.

“Wow,” I cried out as a door did open; not exactly where my fingers had touched the wall but, the door gently swung open away from me. I stepped through it and found myself within a bathroom with no other apparent surprises. It all looked perfectly normal.

“Hang on, there's no locker and no towels, where the hell are these?”

I tried running my fingers along the wall and, there it went again, doors opened. Cupboards with neatly folded and hot towels appeared, as did a cabinet with my shaving gear, or something very much like it. I felt myself starting to smile and liked the feeling it gave me.

I ran my fingers over my face but I didn't really expect to find it shaving itself. My sense of humour was definitely returning and I guessed that I had to be on the end of the process of whatever I had been through. I was almost clean-shaven, perhaps no more than a day’s slight growth. I had been told that I had been here, wherever ‘here’ was, for six months, so who had been shaving my face and, moreover, keeping me bathed and clean. Not a single bed sore or an aching joint and yet, ‘six months’; what kind of hospital was this?

I felt like I needed to freshen up, I was alive and feeling well, let’s try to make a proper start to the day, or was it now evening or even perhaps night; I didn’t know. Stepping into a shower room, I could see the shower-head but no taps.

  “Try running your fingers over the wall where you might expect them to be,” I thought to myself.

I did and the shower burst into life at just the right temperature and I was thankful that I was no longer wearing the gown. I moved my hand a second time and the fine, hot, spray stopped, more movements and it started and stopped again. I laughed out loud with the pleasure of the warm water splashing over me and as a child that had been given a new toy to play with.

I stood in front of the vanitory unit sink to go through the motions of shaving with my new found items. The memory of that procedure was well burnt in to the old grey stuff following a lifetime of practice. The mirror of every hotel I had ever stayed in always misted over while I shaved but this one didn’t, interestingly.

The razor was of the simple fixed twin-blade type that I preferred, someone had been doing their homework, and soon I had the satisfaction of a smooth face and neck that comes from brand new blades.

I stepped forward to the shower area, waved my hand and that comforting spray of water at just the right temperature greeted me again. This time I stayed within the shower and enjoyed the pleasant experience of using a gel having the unmistakable scent to be found in hotels in all parts of the world, at least the ones that I had had the privilege to stay in.

The hot water, the feeling of the freshness that comes with a relaxing shower when one is needed, and that particular scent always made me feel good.

I guessed that my sense of taste and smell could not be that far out of kilter but is this what six months asleep does to you? Did the food, drink and now the soap all have tastes or smells that were not in my experience but coming fresh to my senses to deliberately give me the impression of familiarity?

A good shower and a warm towel and I felt restored simply to a degree of normality, so much so in fact that this was much better than I remembered 'normal'. A hairbrush, remarkably similar to the one I had used at home and a splash of after-shave round my cheeks and some ‘splash it on’ elsewhere, finished the job.

“Did I say home?” I said out loud; more memories coming back; I remembered where I lived, or had lived, not far from Manchester, another memory, it was all flooding back.

Fingers ran down the wall and the door opened back into the bedroom. Then I tried running fingers down the walls of the bedroom and I found not only the other door that the Doctor had come through but also a dressing room with clothes on neat rows on hangers, drawers full of underwear and socks and even some shoes in racks. None of this was my previous style but they all seemed casual enough and felt comfortable to the touch, so I got dressed.

A loose fitting tee shirt, easy fitting slacks and a pair of slip on shoes that were a perfect fit, easy on the feet and did not need any breaking-in. This suited me well, I dressed easily and felt a sense of relaxed normality; someone had really been doing their homework. I sat on the bed to finish off the last of the fruit juice and felt very satisfied with myself when in walked the Doctor; this time I saw him enter.

“Good work Ian. What do you make of what you have read of your book? It must have done something for you; look at you now, almost ready for discharge,” he smiled. “But not quite yet.”

“There are still a few things to settle upon before that happens, however. Firstly, tell me what have you made of your reading?”

“I thought I was about to be taken for a walk,” I queried.

“Shortly, shortly, there's no need to panic. You will be, but first just take a moment to talk while you are feeling this good,” he replied.

“Come on, a few words, a quick impression, what do you think of it so far?”

“The first half, or thereabouts, includes a good story in places,” I offered, “Some of it seems very dry. I find there is a strange ring to it, somehow, something I can’t quite put my finger on, or is that me simply remembering the words I once wrote.”

“I did write this didn’t I?” I asked holding up the book, “you’re not fooling me are you, this is not some big practical joke, or is it?”

I was on a roll and feeling good. With every five minutes that passed I seemed to be feeling better than the previous five.

“This is no joke,” he sounded quite serious. ”And yes, you did write the book that has your name on the front of it. Before we discuss it any further, I want you to read it all the way through, right to the end and by then the significance of the words should come to you. You will then be answering your own questions; Yes?”

“Ok,” I acceded, “But come on now, what about the promised walk? Are you now asking me to read it all beforehand,” I queried seriously.

“No, no, don't rush ahead, don't make assumptions like that. I said we were going for a walk and we will; have a little patience, we're nearly there. A second question beforehand and this will be the last,” he continued with a slight smile.

“This might seem a bit superfluous right now, but, how do you feel in yourself, really?”

“Never felt better,” I replied, “six months sleep seems to have done me the world of good. Food to fill my stomach, a shave and a shower and now being properly dressed has perked me up no end; I almost feel normal.”

I laughed.

“Better than normal, if that makes sense; was I really asleep for six months?” I asked.

“You were,” he replied, “but not what you would call a natural sleep, rather one that we induced in you for a good reason. I'll explain more later.”

“And this fruit juice,” I continued. “The more that I drink, the better I feel; is there something in it besides juice?”

“Yes there is Ian, but I don't know the precise details so I cannot go into any sort of detailed explanation even if I wanted to. What I do know and can certainly tell you, is that it is very specific extract from an ancient plant that came with our ancestors and is only grown and available here. And it does have significant recuperative and healing effects.”

“It’s not drugs, in the sense that you may consider or anything like that, but something very natural, just a very special natural juice extracts. It has, to my knowledge, always been added to the drinks and occasionally the food, of hospital patients to aid their recovery. Your fruit juice includes this additional extract because we needed to move on your recovery as quickly as possible. The changes we made to the way your body functions required a little extra help to consolidate and stabilise them.”

“You clearly enjoy the taste, do you not?” he asked rhetorically knowing that I could not leave the juice alone. “And you are also feeling much more like yourself with each passing hour, is that not so?” I did not need to consider the last part as I had not felt this good for years.

“Correct on both counts,” I responded almost laughingly. “But what changes are you referring to? What’s happened to me, or rather what have you done to me?”

I wanted to know more and found myself becoming slightly agitated; a sense of impatience was creeping in. This was not me; I had all the patience in the world, without which I could not possibly be an engineer, if I still was one. But this was different, all my emotions seemed to be heightened, from humour to anxiety; I was bubbling inside and needed to calm down.

“Yes you do Ian. I would appreciate you calming down a little. You are starting to 'bubble over' just a little bit too much.”

“The ‘changes’ that have occurred in you are responsible for your feeling of slightly exaggerated well-being so don’t get so upset, once you get used to it you will regain more control, I promise you. Right now you are something akin to a giddy adolescent trying to find his feet as he leaves childhood behind.”

He smiled broadly and came out with “Come on young man,” he said stressing the ‘young man bit’, “get a grip of yourself and control your hormones or you may end up with zits.”

He enjoyed his own little jokes and I couldn't resist a chuckle myself. If I was experiencing the emotional control, or perhaps lack of it, as might be displayed by an adolescent, what had I put my parents through?

“You needed a little bit of repair work,” he continued with his more matter of fact Doctor's tone.

“Remember your dodgy heart, well it’s not dodgy any more; we sorted that out so it will never be a problem again. The back pains resulting from the spine operation you had and your increasing age will not appear again. That’s some of the reasons you feel so well at the present.”

“Well thanks for that,” I responded, “But it doesn’t take six months of sleep to fix a dodgy heart or a back ache does it?”

“No. A very astute observation; we are getting better, are we not?”

I thought he was being very dry, perhaps, but there was no sense of humour follow up; he was becoming serious again.

“We have needed six months to make some small changes to your DNA. This is the main reason you were kept sedated for so long and another of the reasons you feel better in yourself. To receive the full benefit and feel the effect we required, you had to be kept ‘out-of-it’ while your body adapted to the few small changes we made.”

“You wrote about the DNA yourself, the genetic alterations that were required to set the indigenous hominids of this planet on the road to where they, you, are now. You have just read it, haven’t you?”

“That was just a story I wrote,” I started, coming back to what had just been said.

“Ah ha, you remember that it was you who wrote that book,” he interrupted quickly before I could say anything else. “A few moments ago you were questioning yourself about it,” finishing with yet another smile.

His outward emotions seemed to swing from the very serious to the openly flippant and humorous although seemingly under control. I was having trouble reading him but I recognised that, possibly, it was me with the strange emotional responses of an adolescent. I was becoming confused.

“You can also read minds, can’t you?” I queried, probing for stability.

  “And speak with them, as you also can,” he came back at me. “Have you forgotten? he finished with a question.

I was caught out, I had just about forgotten about this gift that I had been endowed with. I had been speaking with the doctor verbally for the last five minutes without a thought that I might also be able to do this with thought only.

“Not a problem Ian,” he swiftly replied verbally; not mentally.

“Stay with whatever comes naturally, you will soon find yourself ready to swap over. You heard me quite naturally and your only surprise was that we had been chatting verbally for a while and you had failed to consider that you possessed a new means of doing so.

“Keep this light, you have just been ploughing through a heavy read and your mind has been fully engaged in what comes naturally to you and hadn't spotted it could change into another mode. Keep our words verbal and soon the opportune moment will reveal itself and life will then never seem better. Are you OK with that?”

I was and couldn't help smiling at the realisation.

“To answer your question; do you remember what it was?”

I did, nodded in the affirmative and found myself smiling yet again.

“To answer your question, only some of us have the ability to fully read minds and communicate with them, and we operate predominantly in the medical services,” came the reply, again verbally.

“It’s not something that we are all capable of. Our DNA, as a species, has been undergoing change over the millennia, as has the human population of this planet and some of us find that we have been born with this wonderful ability. It’s limited in range and in whose presence we are but, yes, some of us, in simple terms, can read minds; yours in particular while you’re here,” he explained.

“Mine in particular?” I queried further, still not satisfied.

“Later, later; that's enough questions for now, mustn't rush too much, must we?” came the firm response.

“Let's stick with verbal from now on, for a while anyway.”

That was a statement and in a tone that I recognised as a finality and I knew I could not push further.

“Come over to the window, I want to show you something,” he said getting to his feet and moving in the direction of the snowstorm.

He had definitely changed the subject and I knew that there was to be no more questions and answers, so I followed him over to the window.

He reached out, between the blinds, to touch the glass slightly, when the scene changed to a large sunny grassed area with trees and benches.

“How did you do that?” I asked with incredulity.

“Do what,” he said. “Oh you mean change the view. Ah well, I guess you thought this was a window, didn’t you?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Well it’s not a window at all, but what could be described as a sort of high definition screen, something similar to the televisions you're familiar with but beyond anything you may have seen in the outside world,” he explained.

“Take another look out of the window,” he directed with yet another smile on his face. “This is one of our parks, where we spend quite a bit of time relaxing.”

I returned to the subject of the window television, or whatever it was.

“But by what you tell me, I have been here six months and I don’t believe TV technology could have developed that quickly.”

“Not on the outside, but in here we’ve had this for many, many years,” he explained. “The technology, so our history says, is ancient.”

I looked back at the window, or whatever it was and considered what had just been said.

“What do you mean by the outside?” I queried as the use of the word finally caught my attention.

“You have remembered your home and I have heard you mention, to yourself, of Manchester. Try to recall a special flight that brought you here. Just try to think about it slowly; try closing your eyes, it may help.”

“Special flight,” I repeated in a mumble, “special flight...”

“Think about going on holiday, to Jamaica I think it was,” he prompted.

It all started to come flooding back but in disconnected snippets.

“There was ‘Smiley, the taxi driver, organiser and some sort of secret agent, the planned holiday that hasn’t happened, Manchester Airport, the interview that nearly killed me, and the flight . . .”

“Yes the flight, I’ve got it; bloody hell, I came here in a flying saucer,” I shouted out.

I expected the Doctor to fall about laughing but he only managed a slight smile and waited for me to say more. The flight in the UFO, for want of a better term, suddenly came to mind but while I could recall it taking off from the hanger and the unexplained airport incident, I could not remember more. Where had Hazel and I ended up, presumably here, wherever ‘here’ was and why in some sort of hospital receiving some very strange treatment, and for what? All memory of the flight, our arrival, presumably the both of us, but more importantly why, was a complete blank.

“If that’s what you want to call it Ian, a flying saucer, it’s OK by me,” the Doctor smilingly confirmed. “And the other questions you are currently considering, all will be revealed, mostly by yourself, believe me. What I will tell you is that ‘here’ is a place of safety and recovery, not part of the outside world of this planet and you are well protected. Now, we are on the road to a full recovery, are we not? That’s enough information for now. Come, let us walk,” and with a sweeping arm gesture he beckoned me out of the door.

I eagerly walked through it with a feeling of elation that I had no reason to experience, but now I was being told that I was well protected.

“Why am I well protected? The question 'what is here' has not been answered,” ran through my mind.

“Later Ian, later, come on now,” the Doctor chided with a slight smile.

I stood at the end of a long straight corridor. This was the same featureless pastel shade that kept changing colour slowly as it lit my room. The seemingly endless walls of this corridor were broken only by a few more pictures, photographs and the odd painting, nothing particularly special in what must be a very special place. I followed the Doctor, who was leading the way along it, ahead of me.

Hearing a sound behind me, I swung round to see a nurse exiting from another room but with no apparent door, like my own. She was carrying a tray with an empty fruit juice pitcher on it.

  “It must be popular stuff,” I thought.

“It is,” the nurse agreed with another mind reading feat for me to consider. With a warm smile, she glided past us effortlessly.

“Come along Ian, don't stand there with your mouth open, you might start catching flies,” the Doctor cautioned.

Where had I heard that before?

I continued with the Doctor who directed me to turn left into a side corridor. Here I quickly found myself at the top of a long flight of stairs going downwards.

“Now you may find this interesting,” he offered, “just step off as though you’re about to walk down the stairs and simply let yourself go.”

I must have had a queried look on my face, I certainly didn’t want to fall down this many, or any of steps that I could see, come to that.

“Stop panicking Ian, this is not back outside where you come from,” he chided. “We have been developing our technology longer than the human race has been in existence, quite literally; you know that.”

“Those of us who stayed behind here that long time ago and as you referred to in your book, were joined by many who decided for various reasons over the years, to return. Most of those who did so were accompanied, in the main, by their families, and with all those fresh pairs of hands we continued to develop this base and have done so ever since.”

“What you see here and now, are the results of many hundreds of years of steady development on the back of an already advanced technology tens of thousands of years old.”

I stepped forward ahead of the Doctor onto the first step.

To my consternation I was suddenly cruising down the incline, in a gentle manner, and with the steps in tandem. This was an escalator, I recognised that, but it only moved when it needed to and in the direction the person stepping onto it wanted to; this was strangely new to me.

There was no sense of inertia, falling back as the feet went off; it was as if my entire body was being held firmly to travel in the same direction at the same increasing speed.

It arrived at the bottom of this large incline and came to a halt just as I was about to step off. I didn’t fly forward or have to jump; this really was most unusual.

The doctor, immediately behind me, waited until I had stepped forward when the ‘escalator’ continued the remaining few steps of his journey.

“First door on the left,” he directed.

There were no doors but guessing right, I briefly touched the wall with my fingers and ‘wished’ the door open, and open it did.

“Nice to see you’re getting the hang of it,” he smiled at me. “In we go because there is someone I would like you to meet.” His grin was broader now.

This was a small room with what appeared to be a continuous Perspex screen between floor and ceiling dividing it in two and with benches on each side.

“Yes,” Hazel's voice filled the room, “at last I get to see you close up. But I’m still not allowed to touch.”

There she was sat on the far side of the screen looking nicer than ever; what a feeling of elation and warm happiness surged through my veins at this meeting. I rushed up to the screen but there was not a fraction of give in it; our hands met on either side.

“I’ve been seeing you on a regular basis for the last six months,” she said, “but only through the inside of a funny sort of suit, at a distance, and never allowed to touch you. Now no suit, but I still can’t touch.”

“How are you, how do you feel, when are you coming out?” the questions came thick and fast; that sounded familiar.

Wow, did I feel so well inside? I felt like a child might on Christmas morning, this child, and straight from my memories.

“Coming out?” I explained loudly. “I’m supposed to be in a hospital but this guy might as well be a prison Doctor?”

I turned to face him and he still had that slight inflection of a smile on his face. He thought I was joking; I wasn't.

“That’s the impression I’m now getting. Come on Doc, can I not go across to the other side to my wife?”

Hazel replied before the Doctor who remained impassive.

“Not yet love, you still need more time before you can be let out of the clean environment you’re in. It’s all been explained to me, several times over the last few months. Don’t worry, I’m just pleased to see that you’re now up and about and don’t worry, were all OK over here. This is one hell of place; you must write some more books if this is the reward.”

I was stunned. It seemed that Hazel was better briefed than me.

“Have you not been told when you’re coming out?” she asked me.

I turned to ask the same question as a silly joke with the Doctor, but he was gone. How did he manage to move so silently, it baffled me? My smile dropped and I no longer had the flippant sense of humour from a few seconds ago.

We sat facing each other and talked for what seemed like ages, perhaps an hour. What had happened on the flight here, her accommodation and how she was coping; the latter was a stupid question.

Memories of the family started flooding back as we talked about each of them but they could only be the subject of conversation. No-one was allowed to be in here with the two of us. There were no clocks in this room, on both sides of the screen, Hazel was not wearing her watch and mine wasn't working but we just lost track of time as everything under the sun, concerning the family, was discussed.

The family, all of the family, were in this place, she told me, and they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Hazel described it as the best ‘all-inclusive’ hotel we had ever been to. She was strangely over-accepting of the strange situation but explained that she had never felt better, it had to be the clean air or the food; whatever it was, it was suiting her perfectly. The initial nervousness of the older children, parents themselves, was overcome by the younger grandchildren simply finding the situation rather thrilling and a great adventure.

There is always a fly in everyone's ointment. Ours concerned the absence of our other immediate relatives, who had been asked in a surreptitious manner to join the great adventure but had declined for family reason or because they were wary of such offers, and our close friends who had simply not been approached.

While many people were being gathered here, the accommodation was not limitless, Hazel told me as she had been briefed, and no more approaches would now be made. Those that were here were here, and there was to be no more additions. The happy feelings were now tinged with a touch of sadness but it had to be accepted that life was sometimes like that.

“Visiting time over,” the Doctor’s voice behind me chipped in.

“How do you do that?” I asked almost leaving my seat. “Come and go so quietly? You just frightened the life out of me.”

Hazel chuckled.

“It’s something you must get used to, you will probably start doing it yourself before too long,” he replied.

Hazel chuckled again.“It’s something I’ve still not got used to love, and I’ve been awake for the last six months.”

“Visiting time?” I queried with a very broad smile. “Now that does sound as though I’m in a prison,” I added jokingly. My emotions were running at top speed in a most pleasant direction and I was finding it hard to keep control of myself.

“You may feel well Ian," the Doctor responded eventually. "But you’re not up to full strength yet, not physically, possibly still not your immune system, fully, and we are not altogether sure of your mental condition,” he continued seriously.

“There you go,” Hazel interjected. “I always said you were a mental case.”

We both started to laugh but the Doctor retained his coolness with merely a further slight raising of his lips.

“I have to ensure,” he said, “that you’re one hundred percent in all matters before the next stage of your treatment. This is a hospital and visiting time has to be over sooner or later. Say goodbye and we’ll return to your room. You may not think so, but there is still about another month’s treatment before we can let you out to the great outdoors, or should that be the great indoors.” He chuckled again at his own silly joke although he had not laughed at Hazel’s or mine.

We parted with another hand-screen-hand touch and a blown kiss and I left her smiling really broadly. Was that really for me or was it her hospital reassuring smile? Either way I felt even better for it.

Back up the ‘escalator’ which now operated in the opposite direction, along the corridor and back into my room.

“I’m sorry that we have to keep you apart like that Ian,” the Doctor wished to explain. “You’re in a very sterile environment here and we can’t take the risk of you picking up any odd bacteria. You are in an isolation ward and I can’t let you out, not just yet. As soon as the final stage of your treatment is complete things will change. Don’t worry, it will come soon enough.”

I had no choice but to go on with the course set out for me and ‘do my time’. Hazel seemed happy enough and I’m sure that she had been genuine about that.

“Don’t worry, just get on with it,” I thought to myself.

“Good man,” the Doctor responded reading my mind again.

I poured myself another fruit juice, the Doctor declined, and sat down in the easy chair.

“Before I leave you to read the rest of your book . . .”

“You mean I have to read the rest of it, this fictional novel?” I interrupted and queried with tongue in cheek.

“Fictional,” he queried in a sharp but tonally flat response. “Are you sure it's fictional?”

“By the time you have read the remainder,” he continued, “you will be ready for what I will then be able to explain to you, and not before. Now put that to one side in your mind, just for the moment, and come look out of the window, or whatever you want to call it.”

He caught my attention and I looked at the screen-window again.

“Look down there,” he pointed in the direction of a small area of the park where there was a children’s playground. As he touched the window the image zoomed up.

“Wow, some window,” I thought.

There in the children’s park was Hazel with the younger members of the family, the grandchildren. They were enjoying themselves in the sun and our young grandson Louis, was running wild from swing to slide and back again. They were all genuinely enjoying themselves.

“You see,” he said, “stop your worrying, they are all perfectly happy, and come, let’s get back to work.”

This was spoken in a simple, brief and matter of fact manner which I considered almost casual. I wanted more time to watch and consider for myself their well being, but it was not to be.

He changed the picture back to the snow scene. I wanted to watch the grandchildren for longer, I could have done that for ever, and I was certain that he knew it. The Doctor insisted that the snow should keep falling and so it did.

“The snow's not real then,” I ventured. “Just some sort of computer graphic?” I added rhetorically but with an edge.

“No, it is very real,” came the bland reply, “and you will come to know about it in due course. Please, come, take a seat.”

He was being bluntly efficient but I found myself more at ease and unconcerned, somehow. Was this from his odd bed-side manner or from what I had just experienced and learnt from Hazel; I wasn't sure but I found my mood changing rapidly.

If he could read minds, what else could he do with my thoughts? I did not want the answer, not yet. So I went easily with the flow of the request and we both sat down again. Querying the snow seemed irrelevant now so I didn't pursue the subject any further.

A lot of memories had come back to me, but what I didn’t know was how the whole family had got here. Hazel and I had been the only passengers aboard on our flight, as far as I could recall, which was not that much. They had to have come on subsequent flights, which would tie in with Hazel's information that family members had been approached, presumably after our crazy turn of events getting here.

The Doctor read my mind again and explained.

“A short time after you joined us, we quietly met your relatives to give them the story that you had arranged and paid for their flights out to Jamaica and that you had requested them to join yourselves on an incredible holiday.”

“Our mutual friend John, or as you know him, ‘Smiley’,” he chuckled, “told them all, in another of his guises, that he was a travel agent and had just received your e-mails at the bureau and because of the short notice had come to see everyone personally.”

“He even had a photo on his lap top of you and Hazel on the beach with cocktails in your hands. Yes it was a forgery but sometimes such things are needed.”

“They were all told that the flights had been arranged at the last minute and that they had to catch the late flight that same night. Those of your family who agreed to join you didn’t take much persuading especially when they were able to speak by mobile phone to Hazel who confirmed what we asked her to.”

“That she was unable to send photos on her phone, something to do with the connectivity and that the same problem was occurring with her I-pad was accepted easily.”

“The hotel had arranged with the travel agents to send the message and a photo via their system. She also confirmed that you were both waiting for them all to enjoy another big family holiday.”

“That last wish wasn’t a forgery, Hazel went along with what we asked after we had put her in the picture; well, as much as she needed to know. Almost as soon as you both landed, you nicely ‘asleep' and after some explaining, she went along with the subterfuge to bring everyone here.”

“They came by the same transport as you did, not openly of course but much the same as yourselves, and they did not have to suffer the same frightening cloak and dagger nonsense beforehand.”

“We did subsequently find out, however, that they were about to be placed in similar dangers as yourselves; houses had been broken into and questions raised with employers. Thankfully, we guessed right on this and our timing was good.”

“Others were actively seeking your family for the same reason they wanted you; the book you wrote. If they couldn't get to you directly they were trying to do so through your family. That would not have been pleasant for you or for them.”

I was being told that the book, which I had to accept now that I did write, had caused much distress and threat to the well-being of my family; I wasn’t so sure that I could accept that.

“You must accept it, Ian,” he said mind reading again, “but I cannot explain why until you have read it all and understand what it is you have been saying there. Treat it as a novel, if you wish, and you will eventually come to understand the significance of the ideas you have expressed.”

“Right,” he said, “You have seen that your family is alive and doing very nicely, so we must move on, you must finish your reading and then I will come back later.”

There was an easy chair in the room for me now, which had not been there previously, and I took advantage of it, sinking nicely into its soft warmth. The window now looked out onto a very dark snow scene.

“Before you ask, Ian,” he continued, reading the question still residing in my mind, “that is real snow and your family are in the sunshine, both at the same time. The snow is falling outside because we are located very high in an area of the world you know as the Himalayas.”

I just sat stunned by that snippet of information. We were all in the Himalayas? There are no runways of any significant size in this part of the world and certainly not at the altitude he was intimating. I had no recollection of trekking anywhere in the cold so how had I come to be here?

“We are quite safe from detection and much else besides,” he continued ignoring my concern.

“The view is from what you would describe as a camera, we would call it something else, because there are no genuine windows anywhere in this base. The park area is an internal space with the sunshine artificially generated, but it is very real, nicely warming and as healthy for you as if it was the real one.”

“It is only a matter of weeks before you are reunited with your family but you must continue along the path we wish you to go, and while it may seem slightly odd, finishing your book is key to this. Please read on and we will know, I assure you, when to come back to see you and move on.”

I believed every word now. It was making sense and the book was becoming true; how had I managed that? But my thoughts on the Himalayas; they were just ignored.

And what was this reference to being safe from detection; what did that mean? I realised that a feeling of calmness ran over my thoughts and that I was less concerned about any unanswered questions; me or something else? It didn't matter, I needed to know more in a different direction, and the snow could wait.

I had to keep reading, as I was sure now that all would come back to me, all the explanations I wanted. I felt certain that a lot more information would be provided in due course.

Most important of all, the whole family was safe and, it appeared, genuinely to be enjoying themselves. Why had certain people tried to kill Hazel and me and also go after the family? That was scary and I was suddenly worried as to what I had gotten all of us in to.

I looked up to find the Doctor departed as if in some silent move; it didn’t surprise me any more.

I had to read on.

I settled into the easy chair with another full glass of this amazing juice, opened the book where I had left off and continued to read.