Flux

mopping his genitals; he felt his scrotum wither and split, setting free the sweetmeats within. His body went into shock and stiffened, convulsing.

    “He’s fitting!” One of the nurses shouted. “Quick!”
    They pinned him down, even Inspector Rodgers helped and the doctor produced a large syringe, plunging it into Iain’s buttock. With him unconscious they could commence their gentle but thorough cleaning before the orderlies were bought in to sort out the room.

    Someone was whispering into his ear; “Iain, wake up. Come back to us. Don’t give in, stay strong: You can do it.” Soft, gentle and caring, it was a voice he’d heard before, in the hospital following his accident. It was the voice which had given him hope, strength and comfort. The same person who’d scratched his leg and eased his misery. Half asleep and three quarters sedated, he smiled. Cracking his eyes open a touch, the figure standing over him swam into view. It was Eve and he’d never been gladder to see anybody in his whole life. At seeing her soft features and kind, painted smile he let out a deep sigh of relief. He was no longer in the dungeon; white painted walls replaced rough stone and instead of mouldy straw, he lay on a mattress with rough cotton sheets. It was the most comfortable bed he’d ever known.
    “You? It was you all along?” he breathed, eyes still half-closed.
    “Yes; it was me. Now, sshhhh. Relax, get some rest. You need it.” She was stroking his hair, his forehead.
    He sighed before falling into a tranquil slumber.

Chapter Thirty-Six
    Thumbs

    The following day, he thought it was morning but having no point of reference made it impossible to tell, Iain woke to the white walls of the hospital room. Other than being confused and more than a little frightened, he felt quite normal and like himself. Breathing a sigh of relief, he relaxed back onto the bed and shut his eyes again, trying to make sense of what was going on. From outside the grey door he could hear every-day hustle and bustle along with the occasional shout of ‘let me out’ or something similar. More infrequently there would be a faint scream.
    After a while of lying motionless, listening and thinking, Iain got up to pace the small space. Apart from the bed, the room was bare with the exception of a door on one of the walls. Opening it, he found the room on the other side to be small, containing a plain white toilet and a sink. He started to worry that stuck in such an uninspiring environment, boredom may quickly get the better of him.
    Set into the metal door was a small hatch; for observation or feeding he didn’t know. The hatch itself was drilled with many small holes, forming a kind of mesh. He walked up to it and peered through in an attempt to view the hospital outside his room.
    Iain gave a little shriek and jumped back, for on the other side of the door was a man, face close to the hatch and staring into his cell. Iain decided he must be a patient, judging by the clothes he wore. The man was not small and had a bald head with stubble coating his wide chin. Iain quickly tried to work out what the man was doing but he was simply standing and staring, head cocked to one side and wearing a simple grin on his face which was more than a little unnerving. Iain looked away and counted to ten, just in case the character on the opposite side of the door was merely an hallucination, before looking back.
    The man was still there, still motionless and still staring although the background had changed from clean hospital walls back to the dingy, dark dungeon. A long tunnel of damp stone ran away into the distance, fading to black. Walls mottled with mould and non-descript stains were illuminated by few and far between torches, set into sconces in the wall; flames made the shadows dance and sway. At intervals along the corridor were rusted iron doors, each opening into a different cell. Most were closed tight but one or two stood ajar, hanging limp and crooked on aged hinges.
    Screams drifted to his cell; screams which were now so constant in Iain’s head that he hardly noticed them at all. There were cries of pity, of anguish and of agony; pleading cries and mournful sobs. Far away and deep within the tunnels, the baby cried.
    Iain looked away, back into his cell which still presented itself as the clean and sterile hospital room. It now seemed oddly out of place, as if it were the dream world.
    On the bed sat Bert, still in his pyjamas, still