The doctor signalled to the other stranger in the room, who Edward could ascertain was a nurse. She brought him a sponge soaked in water and let him slurp on it. The flow of liquid into his mouth was like nectar for the gods and he instantly felt more alert, albeit very weak.
“OK Edward, glad you’re with us,” the doctor said. “I’m going to run some tests. Is that alright with you?”
Edward knew he didn’t have much choice and did his best to co-operate, despite feeling overwhelmed and uncomfortable. He wanted to scream at the top of his fragile lungs, to get someone to pay attention. Don’t these people ever move me? Did they really need four-hundred-and-fifty-two attempts at finding a vein to insert the needles? And for the love of God, couldn’t they locate a dimmer switch for these lights?
Frustrations aside, Edward scored well on the Glasgow Coma Scale. Moreover, levels of key metabolites in his blood were normalising, while the toxins and waste products that had infiltrated his gut had been mainly flushed out.
“OK Edward, now that the test results are stable and you’re awake and responding, I’m going to first introduce myself. I’m Vee Jay,” Dr Ananthaswarmy said. “Would it be alright if a police officer came in to ask you a few questions?”
“Yeah, yeah I guess so,” said Edward, straining to sit upright in bed.
The medics left the room and in stepped DS Demetriou. She smiled and introduced herself, then sat on one side of the bed, nearest the window. The Regises remained at the foot of Edward’s bed, holding his ankle tentatively.
“I’ve already had a little chat with your parents, Edward. Can they sit in with us?” the detective asked.
“Yeah, alright,” Edward rasped. Their familiar presence gave him a little surge of much-needed confidence. “And do you mind if I record what we say, using this,” she flashed a Dictaphone in front of him, “so I can play it back in my office later on?”
Edward consented with a cautious nod of the head. Demetriou switched on the small device and placed it on his bedside table. She stated the date, time and their location, then began her line of questioning. “Can you remember anything of what happened?”
“Kinda, well not really. I had an appointment at the hospital that morning.”
“Right. With Elizabeth Wells.”
Edward nodded tentatively. “I was walking through the park, I think. I saw someone ahead of me, walking in my direction. I don’t remember much else until I woke up here just now.”
“How many suspects? Were they male or female?”
“Just one, a guy.”
“Did you recognise him?”
Did I recognise him? Of course I recognised him. He looked over for the briefest of moments at Helen and Michael, then faltered.
Michael intervened. “Edward, think carefully. Anything you can remember—”
“Michael,” hissed his wife. “Leave the detective to do her job.”
Alison Demetriou turned away from Edward and courteously begged them not to interfere.
“Edward, we have spoken to a witness who saw the beginning of the incident. He saw you and another male having what he described as an ‘altercation’. Think carefully for me. Do you recall any words being exchanged?”
“Yeah, he blocked my path. I tried to get round him but he followed me.”
“The witness said that from where he was standing, it was six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. Can you remember fighting back? Perhaps in self-defence?”
Helen’s grip on her son’s ankle tightened for a moment. “Edward, the detective spoke to us a while ago and said—”
“Helen, honey,” Michael chastised her.
“Mr, Mrs Regis. Please.”
Edward stirred again. “Fuck!” His eyes danced from the detective to his parents, then back again. His gaze rested once more on his parents. “Get out. Just clear off, now!” He screwed his nose and eyes up and clenched his fists hard.
DS Demetriou cocked her head and a thin smile etched up the corners of her mouth. Raising a hand in a sympathetic gesture towards Helen and Michael, she encouraged them to leave the room. Michael understood, nodding apologetically as he rose to his feet. Helen reluctantly followed her husband’s lead.
Edward glanced around, gaze never lingering in one place for more than a split-second. He didn’t want to make any further eye contact with anyone. He didn’t want to look at the lights either. They were all blinding him, as though probing for the unspoken truth.
A knock on the door. Edward grabbed the end of his covers and cocooned himself deeper into the forgiving realm of his bed. DS Demetriou switched off the Dictaphone, then stood up to walk across Edward’s room. She pulled the door ajar and poked her head into the corridor outside. Hushed voices ensued. It was a few seconds before she opened it a bit further, revealing a familiar figure in the doorway, peering into the white-washed room.
“Hi Edward.”
“Dr Wells,” Edward exclaimed. He righted himself in his bed almost instinctively, while she and the detective took their seats beside his bed.
“If I try and finish asking you my questions Edward, Elizabeth can spend some time with you. Would you be happy with her sitting in with us now?” The detective resumed her seat beside his bed.
“That’s fine, I guess,” Edward attempted to play this as casually as he could. He did not try to fool himself into thinking that Dr Wells’ presence was anything other than a welcome relief for his tortured soul and scarred outer shell.
Adjacent to Edward on his bedside table, a small green light indicated the voice recorder had been switched on once again. DS Demetriou smiled in an effort to reassure Edward, who loosened his grasp of the bed sheets that enveloped him.
“Edward, we did find scraps of paper near to where you were left unconscious. Elizabeth has confirmed these are likely to be from your diary.”
Dr Wells said nothing but sat in her familiar pose. Bolt-upright with one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting patiently on a jotter laying upon her lap. She exuded compassion through her wizened charm, looking at Edward with neither pity nor any condescension. Edward could not help but purse his lips into a tight smile, which she acknowledged with a gentle nod of her head.
DS Demetriou continued. “We recovered a sample of DNA from the scraps, but haven’t been able to find a match with anyone known to us on our system.”
Edward hugged the bed linen closer to his body. A chill descended, a phenomenon that could not be readily explained. The detective’s police-issue fleece and Dr Wells’ cardigan looked snug and toasty. All Edward had to keep him warm was a wafer-thin gown and a flimsy top sheet.
“Do you want the heating turned up a bit, Edward?” Dr Wells asked him. Her voice soothed him, and he nodded.
“Listen, Edward,” said DS Demetriou. “Before your parents left the room, I asked if there was anything you could give us that might help to identify a suspect. Did you recognise the attacker, and were there any remarkable features about him?”
Yes, Edward’s inner voice screamed at him. Der, of course you knew the twat. Go on and tell them.
“I can tell you exactly who did it...” Edward started, much to the surprise of the detective and the doctor, both of whom leaned forward expectantly.
But then something strange happened. Before he could say any more, Edward halted again. He had a kind of epiphany, or a brain fart that held his tongue and numbed his voice box. A lightning bolt struck, out of the blue, and zapped his sense of reason.
“I could tell you exactly who it was. That is, if I could remember.” What are you saying that for, ya nutcase? Are you daft?! His name’s— “Never seen him before.”
“Is everything OK Edward?” DS Demetriou looked at him anxiously. “You’re sweating an awful lot.”
Dr Wells picked up on this too. “Shall we stop there and call Vee Jay?”
Tell them, go on. What’s stopping you?
DS Demetriou tried again. “That witness I mentioned earlier, who saw you perh
aps talking or engaging with the suspect. Can you remember what was said?”
Uh-huh. “Nuh-uh.”
“Like I say, the witness said that he saw you both fighting, but that you slipped and ended up being hit several more times. Do you recall any of that?”
Edward continued to give them the cold shoulder. He simply stared past DS Demetriou and out of the double-glazed window, looking onto the car park and residential streets beyond.
Somewhere out there, that bastard is laughing off what happened. Just. Tell. Them. The lightning bolt had short-circuited his brain. Now the fuses within had reset, the cogs whirred and Edward’s mind had other ideas.
He shook his head; one cheek touching his pillow, then swinging his head so the other cheek touched. His mind raced and he reeled at the unrestrained thoughts welling up inside him.
“OK.” Alison Demetriou stated the time and brought the interview to a close. She turned off the Dictaphone and nudged a cup of water closer to Edward, who accepted it gingerly. “I’m sorry we cannot be more help just yet, Edward. I’ll have a word with mum and dad outside and I’ll follow up with our leads back at the station.”
DS Demetriou left her seat and nodded in the direction of Edward’s therapist as she brushed past on her way out.
“Alison,” Dr Wells said. “Thanks for everything.”
“Not a problem,” returned the detective sergeant. “Thank you, Eliz.”
Alison Demetriou closed the door without looking back, leaving Elizabeth Wells with Edward in the sterile room. “Your parents can stay put out there for the time being. Unless you have a change of heart...” This intimation was met with a death stare from Edward. “Fair enough.”
Dr Wells edged her chair forward. “So, Edward. Do you want to have that chat with me, now?”
She took in Edward’s disfiguring injuries. No part of his head was unscathed. Puffy lips concealed gaps in his teeth; a reddened eye socket ruined the perfect symmetry of his face; his disjointed nose, engorged with blood; his short black hair shaved by medics to secure EEG probes to his exposed scalp.
“I’m sorry, Edward.”
“Why? Wasn’t your fault.”
“I tried calling you on the morning of our appointment, asking to rearrange.”
Edward shrugged and rolled his eyes. “You left it a bit late then. Why did you ask me to come to the clinic in the first place?”
Dr Wells sighed. “You told me you were in a good place when you dropped into my office earlier that week…” She raised her eyes to catch Edward with a thin, half-smile, accepting the irony with his more recent ordeal and his current state. She shifted even closer to him in her chair.
“Now that you’re older than when we first met, I had wanted to try something with you at the clinic.”
Edward stared impassively in her direction. Try as he might, he could not grow accustomed to the distortion in his field of vision.
“It’s been no secret to me, or your parents—”
“Please.”
“Helen and Michael. It’s been no secret to us that you have demonstrated in the past some key symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“The same thing that soldiers get in battle?”
“Many veterans do, but it’s far from exclusive to the military. It can develop in anyone who has witnessed a deeply distressing incident in the past.”
Edward lay cradled in his bed, breathing deeply, saying nothing.
“PTSD can manifest in different ways, but you have displayed some classic signs. Nightmares, flashbacks, an exceptional fear of death. Little things, like the one-year anniversary of the accident, can lead to a crisis. Having so many trips to hospital won’t help matters.”
“I bloody hate hospitals,” Edward remarked. If it were not for the shadows flitting around Edward’s face, Dr Wells could not have been certain that Edward’s mouth moved at all.
“They’ve worked wonders for you, but I take your point.”
Edward’s therapist took on a motherly role, inviting him to drink a little water. His hand trembled as he clasped his fingers around the cup. Even though Dr Wells gave no indication that she had noticed this, Edward felt himself blush deep down.
“My point is that I’ve focused mainly on CBT and medication to try and help you. The problems are your dislike of taking medication; and the fact that some tablets are not recommended for patients with certain medical histories.”
She waited for Edward to react. In accepting this, he twitched one corner of his mouth, forcing the shadows about his lips to dance a little more.
“I wanted to try a new technique. It’s controversial, even in adults. That said, when used correctly, I have seen strong improvements in my own patients. Sorry,” she muttered as she rummaged in her pocket for her phone, which buzzed intermittently.
After glancing at the screen, she apologised again to Edward. “I have to take this. I promise I’ll pop back shortly. You could probably do with some more rest.”
Out she strode, tall and sure-footed, flicking only a cursory look in Edward’s direction. The focus of her attention centred on the phone within her grasp, but Edward did not protest. By now, he was too drowsy. The effects of the painkillers nourishing his body lured him into a magical slumber.
XVIII
Before Edward could be transferred from intensive care to a general ward, he felt obliged to address the elephant in the room. An elephant that had been conspicuous by its absence throughout his recovery to date.
“How long has it been since I ended up here?” he ventured to ask one morning.
“Two days after you last asked us the same question, son. Getting on for two months since the attack,” Michael said.
“So, why hasn’t Tom been to visit yet?” Part of him was scared to find out the answer.
Helen and Michael glanced at each other. Tellingly, neither was forthcoming with an immediate answer.
Following much apparent soul-searching, Michael offered an explanation. “Close family and relatives only, Edward. Your immune system is shot to bits,” he said. Failing to ignore the disappointment in his son’s face, he added, “We’ll bring your phone tomorrow and you can give him a ring. We also have a card from Tom back home, don’t we dear?” He finished with a questionable inflection in his voice.
Helen’s hasty affirmation only fuelled Edward’s suspicions, yet he kept quiet. He wanted this to be true, not wishing to consider why Toshy might be unwilling to drop by. That Tom had simply moved on, and no longer cared.
Finally, the time came for his transfer to an open ward. There was very little in the way of fanfare running up to his move. However, it was a step in the right direction.
◆◆◆
Edward opened his eyes from another stint of I’m-pretty-sure-it-was-a-short-rest-but-in-fact-I’ve-been-sleeping-for half-the-bloody-day. Usually he was a deep sleeper, yet he still felt tired on this occasion. This must have meant that something – or someone – had woken him up.
A young nurse stood by the foot of his bed, looking sheepish. She mouthed an apology for clattering Edward’s medical notes into their cradle. Edward smiled sweetly; he had a soft spot for this nurse, who’d offered the damp sponge to moisten his lips on that first day after waking up from his sedation. She was Eastern European, but Edward was too groggy to remember her nationality. Or even her name for that matter. He just wanted to fall back to sleep.
The nurse stepped to one side and Edward nearly choked. Dr Wells, previously concealed by the nurse, sat in a padded chair directly ahead of Edward’s bed.
“Thanks for finally getting back to see me,” Edward grumbled.
“That’s OK. How are you feeling?” she enquired, clearly unaware of the sarcasm cutting through Edward’s snide remark.
To Edward, her voice sounded distant, more hollow. He swivelled his head to see if his ears were playing tricks on him. Dr Wells smiled, not in such a way as to seem unprofessional, but as an innate response to another’s idiosyncr
asies.
“I’m alright thanks,” Edward said after the shock of her arrival had faded. This was not really true, but he did not let on.
“Your drainage tube and cannula are sore, aren’t they? And your body must be very stiff, too?” she pressed, much to his puzzlement. How did she know exactly what he had been thinking a second ago?
“They do hurt, but the painkillers are working their magic,” he stated. This was also a lie. Edward had begun to feel less benefit, even from the heavy-strength painkillers he was receiving of late.
“Here, let me increase your dose,” Dr Wells said quietly, as though concerned Edward’s doctors would overhear and put a stop to her benevolence.
Edward was perplexed by the way she could penetrate his soul and gauge his true feelings. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“I wanted to see how you’re doing, and if you would like to finish that chat we had the other week.”
Edward flashed back to that conversation. It now seemed a faraway relic in his memory bank. “I’m not so happy now,” he lamented.
“All the more reason to talk things through. If you would like to, of course,” prompted Dr Wells.
Edward was unsure that he had much choice, given that he was going nowhere and Dr Wells had made the effort to visit him.
“Edward, how did it feel to almost die, again?” she asked.
Edward was taken aback, for a third time. Not just by the bluntness of her question, but the fact her voice seemed to sound even more detached and eerie. Perhaps his ears were playing up, or his brain was fuddled by the endless litany of medication he was on. It was like someone talking above the water’s surface while his head was submerged.
“I don’t know. I didn’t have time to think. When it happened, the adrenaline kicked in and I wanted to fight it but I couldn’t.”
“When you were unconscious, did you see anything? Any sign of what may lie – you know – on the ‘other side’?” she probed.
“Nothing. It was literally like a long sleep, with no dreaming, no sensations.”
“Peaceful though, I’m sure. No cares, no pain to contend with. And now you’re awake and faced with this crippling pain. What kind of quality of life is this?”
Screams of Thy Neighbour Page 13