Everything was black as though I was in the deepest, darkest night, and for a moment I thought oblivion had taken me, but then I realized I was still breathing. I pressed my fingers into my palm and felt my digits and hands were where they should be.
‘Give me a second,’ Ben said.
I heard shuffling and then a click, and I was dazzled by a bright light.
My eyes adjusted. Ben stood in the same clothes he’d been wearing, black trousers and a navy blue sweater, but rather than his office, behind him loomed high steel shelving that supported bottles of bleach, soap, and other cleaning products.
I grabbed him by the collar. ‘Where are we? What just happened?’ I asked.
‘Come on,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘We don’t have much time.’
He opened the door to what turned out to be a cleaning supplies cupboard, and we went into the corridor beyond. I followed warily, but the moment I stepped out, I was unnerved by the familiarity of the place. The corridor was eight feet wide with a dark-grey linoleum floor, grey walls to the halfway point, a black rubber dividing bumper and white uppers and ceiling.
We were in the Royal Stoke Hospital.
‘This way,’ Ben said, hurrying on. ‘Quickly.’
I was stunned. Speechless. He jogged back for me, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me forward.
‘Come on.’
I was dazed and put up no resistance. We went through a set of ward doors and I caught sight of an exterior window. At first I didn’t register what was wrong, but when I realized, my mind rejected what it was seeing.
‘This isn’t possible,’ I remarked, gesturing at the bright street light that illuminated the darkness outside. It had been daytime only moments ago.
‘We don’t have time to address the limits of your understanding,’ Ben said. ‘We have to hurry.’
He pulled me through another set of doors into the oncology wing. I’d always found it terrifying. Not like an overblown slasher film – it was far too real for that. This was the kind of quiet place where real horror happened; people were torn from their loved ones by a foul disease that darkened the lives of everyone it touched.
I staggered on in disbelief. How had Ben done this? How were we here? We had travelled without moving. I started to question myself. Was this some sort of lucid dream? I couldn’t fault my perception. I felt as though I was awake.
I’d been in this corridor many times and I’d never expected to come back, but what made my return worse was the sense of dread that Ben had done something unnatural in an attempt to achieve the impossible.
We stopped outside what had been Beth’s room, a few feet from the door. Ben looked directly at the closed-circuit security camera that hung in the top corner of the corridor. He had one of the glass spheres in his hand, and seemed to squeeze it softly. The light on the camera went out and he turned to me.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Look.’
He urged me forward to the door to Beth’s room. It had a narrow strip of glass cut in one side, and I looked through the window, beyond the wire that criss-crossed the pane. I gasped, and my mind reeled as I tried to take in what I saw. Even now my pulse races, my stomach churns and I feel light-headed and dizzy at the thought of that moment.
I looked into my wife’s room and I saw her lying in bed. I saw myself asleep in a nearby tan leather armchair. I watched Ben cross the room and gently wake me. I rose with tears in my eyes and looked at Dr Jackson, who nodded sombrely.
Impossible.