The curtains of the viewing room open and close, and I experience strange visitations: children returning, images out of order, glimpses caught in reality and on super 8, transformed, contaminated, and lost.
I touch my neck and it’s cold.
Visions swimming.
‘Elda,’ I yell. ‘Elda!’
It takes the woman minutes to reach me. Minutes or hours. She stands over me, blocking the sun. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m not taking any more of these. They’re making it worse.’
‘Doctor Best said they’ll quell the pain.’
‘They bloody well quell everything.’
‘Should I call him?’
She walks away before I can answer.
‘Tell him no more. It’s only pain for Chrissake.’
Out of the soup and daydream murk and into a vivid stretch.
Minutes or hours.
But an answer in the noise: Use the interloper.
Amy.
Yes, Amy will do. She fits.
It’s fated. She delivered herself unto me. And …
She has a weakness, a soft spot for lost brothers.
Doctor Best is anything but. His father—the original Doctor Best—was a good man. A lifelong friend of the family. Trust me, you feel your age when you outlive your doctor.
Today, in the stark midday light, Doctor Best Junior takes my heart rate.
He checks my eyes.
Blood pressure.
Looks in my mouth.
‘And?’ I ask.
‘No better and no worse. We can change the medication, though.’
‘I just need a couple of clear days. I need to get my affairs in order.’
‘I can make you comfortable.’
‘Fuck comfortable. Can you make me young?’
He laughs.
So do I, but if I could, I would kill the little bastard with my own hands.
Hours or days or weeks later, I’m lucid.
I have dizzy spells, hot sweats and cold chills.
I vomit up my tea.
I cough until there’s blood.
But I’m clear.
Very, very clear.
Now we’re talking.
The last push. Elda brings my tablets and I dissolve them in my tea then send it back.