Professor Robert John Dyer sat on the edge of his hospital bed. He wore a shirt and trousers, with no belt and soft disposable slippers. His shoes, tie, belt and other personal belongings had been removed from him. He had not been treated well, probably due to being the pariah he had become. The constant observation of him through the vistamatic window in the door was suffocating. Robert felt as if another layer of his sanity had been stripped from him, along with his wife and child. He wondered if he would spend his fortieth birthday in this secure institution detained under the mental health act.
A brief knock at the door and a young female nurse came in. She was kinder than the others he thought, of the nurses and doctors he had met so far. Rather embarrassingly he had trained some and lectured to many of those who were now acting as his captors.
Gillian, a staff nurse, held a medi pot with five millilitres of chlorpromazine in.
“Hello Gillian,” Robert said smiling.
“Professor,” she replied with a slightly anxious smile in return. He noticed her pretty white teeth and blue eyes.
“So they think the pretty nurse who has struck up a rapport with me can convince me to take my largactyl?”
“Something along those lines,” she replied with an honesty that he liked.
Robert smiled and stood up, “How long have you been qualified Gillian?”
“Just over a year,”
“Do you like the work?”
“Yes, very much Professor.”
“Robert please. Am I like many of the schizophrenics you have nursed in your brief career?”
“No, Robert. Not all.”
“Then why are you persisting with trying to give me psychotropic medicine with such damaging irreversible side effects, tardive dyskinesia, weight gain, cog wheel rigidity, a mask like face and a shuffling gait?”
Gillian coughed awkwardly, partly due to the question but also as she knew she was being observed by her colleagues through the door. Administering the medication to a resistant professor was a test of her place in the team.
“What signs of madness have you seen from me since I arrived here, three weeks ago?”
“You’re symptoms Robert predate you’re admission, you’re beliefs about time, it’s in your notes and in here you’re failing to engage, you’re staying in your room, long periods of non-communication. So not obvious psychosis but the doctors believe you need help. Please take the medicine,” Gillian stretched out her hand offering the small plastic pot to Dyer.
“Do you believe I killed my wife Gillian?”
Gillian’s heart rate increased, no body had been found but Mrs Dyer was missing, vanishing without trace months before. She found it hard to believe the man before her was capable of murder. His research pursuits had become eccentric, mad even, but murder?
“No, Robert, I don’t. Please take the medicine.”
Robert took the pot from Gillian and stared into its treacle brown contents. Gillian smiled at him. It was then he noticed the subtle change in her. A slight tremor in her hand, the softest of ripples on the skin in her arm, feint blue hues curling around her retina.
“Did you feel that?” Robert asked.
Gillian had just felt a slight nauseous unease, “Feel what? I’m fine.”
“Whoever it is they’re good, very good.” Robert said moving around Gillian studying her. He was aware that her colleagues would enter the room soon if he did not take the medication, so he swallowed the bitter syrup. He went to his locker and poured a glass of water and drank half of it.
“Thank you Robert,” Gillian said.
“Whoever is in there please speak, I think Gillian needs to know she is experiencing something remarkable.”
Gillian felt certain the first signs of Robert’s madness were now emerging, until she heard the distant singing sound in her head. It made her cock her head to one side.
“Tra lal la tra la lal la I am here joining you don’t be afraid I just want to stay a short while, la la la la la tra la.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Robert?” Gillian protested refusing to acknowledge the strange phenomena inside her head.
Dyer felt certain that any visitor was significant in his life now. Warnings, messages, he had resisted them before but he still needed to know who else was out there. Dyer had contemplated suicide since he was detained and he had a forensic knowledge of his room. The constant observations would make suicide tricky he thought and had planned ways to buy enough time. Whilst wearing a yearning look and staring out of the window, over several days he had removed the screws that fitted the wardrobe to the wall. It was now only fixed down one side.
In a quick move that startled Gillian and wrong footed those observing through the vistamatic panel in the door, Dyer grabbed the loose side of the wardrobe. He pulled it out forty five degrees, the force easily shearing the fittings down the fixed side. He toppled the wardrobe forward, making Gillian jump back onto the bed. Dyer slid the heavy wardrobe forward against the door and shifted the base sideways so that a corner wedged against the jamb of his en-suite bathroom door.
The staff outside shouted and tried the door but it would not open one inch. Dyer was pleased with his calculations but knew he had little time. He turned to Gillian who was stepping down off the bed and looking very frightened. Dyer spoke calmly and deliberately to Gillian to secure her confidence and cooperation.
“I promise you will come to no harm. I know you can hear something Gillian, now you’re friends will take about four minutes to remove the door frame, I need to know who you are hosting. You can just nod or shake you’re head if you are feeling frightened though I won’t harm you. Is the person speaking to you?”
Gillian nodded her head.
“Female?”
Gillian nodded yes.
“Who could be visiting me? Is it a threat or a warning?”
A shake of the head, no.
Dyer rubbed his chin thinking. Three and a half minutes to remove the anti-barricade door frame he thought, having timed this process at the weekend when he had observed a similar incident across the corridor from him.
“Quite the opposite,” Gillian whispered, “it’s your daughter, Jennifer.”
Dyers eyes widened and glistened, “Jennifer, how did she find me?”
Gillian answered on her visitors’ behalf, “Her gift is strong, controlled now, stable?”
“Good that’s good, I wonder how?” Dyer mused.
“Jennifer wishes she could have stayed with you and hopes you will be together one day.”
Dyer shed a tear, “How old are you Jennifer?”
“Twenty seven.”
“I assume you have adoptive parents, I hope they raised you well.”
“She had a very kind, good upbringing.”
The response team arrived at the door, a hand held power screw driver started to remove the screws that held the door frame in place. Once these were removed they would be able to open the door outwards and gain access to the room. Nurses called into the room from outside the door, imploring Dyer to be calm, offering reassurance for Gillian.
Dyer was perfectly calm, he ignored the noise, knowing he had under three minutes left, “How did you find out I was your father, did you come looking for me?”
“It’s complicated, she just wanted to see you now when you were younger, know your face as her father when she was a little girl.”
Dyers tears rolled down his face, “I would have dearly loved to have held on to you Jennifer, I am so sorry I lost you. I love you baby girl.”
Gillian cried too as the emotion from Jenny washed through her, “she loves you too Robert and Jennifer is very proud she is your daughter.”
Less than two minutes. Dyer knew he needed to share important messages with Jennifer, messages he knew he would never have the chance to until (and if) she chose to seek him out as an adult. He was relieved to know that her condition had not ended her life prematurely. He had been given a chance to protect
her. Dyer held Gillian firmly but warmly by the shoulders.
“Jennifer, darling Jennifer, your gift has a dark side. You may already have experienced this. I have had my own visitors, warnings, in the past. I should never have ignored them. Are you in contact with others who can regress?”
“Yes,” Gillian replied for Jenny.
“I thought so it is only natural to seek solace in those similar to you. Are they studying the regression experiences Jennifer?”
Silence, Gillian shrugged. Dyer held her more firmly, he moved closer to Gillian’s face. One minute he thought.
“Jennifer, please baby, I have less than a minute to talk to you.”
“Researching and developing, developing it to the point of replication.”
This was the worst Dyer could have heard, “No, no, no Jennifer. They must stop, you must stop. Get away from them, whoever they are, no matter how important they are, run and hide. That will be my first act after I leave this hospital, to conceal myself, make myself small.”
The first door jamb was removed and Dyer heard the team being to ready themselves.
“Jennifer, there are dark forces who want to destroy anyone who is close to the Tempus Genesis framework. They and anyone close to them are in danger, a dark force from beyond our time wants to kill us all. You must flee your planned future and find sanctuary somewhere far away. Do as I say. Hide yourself. I love you my beautiful baby girl.”
The door burst open and the team pulled the wardrobe up onto its side and slid it out into the corridor as quickly as possible.
Tears streaming down her face, Gillian spoke her soft voice breaking with mournful emotion, “I love you daddy.”
Gillian stepped forward and a tearful bereft Dyer moved to her, they embraced and Gillian shed Jennifer’s tears for her.
Dyer whispered softly into Gillian’s ear, “I would suggest you write none of what you just experienced in my notes.”
Dyer stepped back from Gillian and gave her a warm smile. She smiled back as the response team passed quickly around her. A male colleague pulled her from the room, she turned as she was pushed out of the door. The response team, quite unnecessarily given Dyer offered no threat or resistance, hit Dyer hard taking him onto the bed and wrestled him into a three man restraining hold. A nurse passed by Gillian with the inevitable (though not needed) rapid tranquilisation drawn up ready for injection.
Within the human restraint Dyer laid on the bed, ignored the pain and discomfort of his limbs being forcefully manipulated and closed his eyes and smiled.
Tempus Genesis Page 50