slam straight into Beardy.
‘Where are you going?’ He puts his hand on my arm. His eyes and voice are cold as ice.
‘Just a walk,’ I say, trying to strike the exact right balance between casual and not-to-be-messed-with.
Beardy’s eyes dart about and he licks his lips. ‘It’s not a good idea to go wandering,’ he says. ‘You’re still quite weak. Come on, back to your room.’
He takes me by the arm again and I try to shrug him off but his grip is strong.
‘But I’m not weak!’ I say. ‘I feel fine!’
‘That’s as maybe,’ he says, ‘but you don’t know what’s best for you right now. You need to rest.’
Within about four seconds I’m back in my room. I hear a key turning in the lock.
I pace about furiously. This is all wrong. Why won’t they let me go where I want? And what’s with all the guns? I try a few experimental bangs on the door but no one comes.
Ages later, two female nurses come in, locking the door after them. Without saying anything or looking at me they start putting together a tray with syringes and stuff on it. I’ve had
enough. I snatch a syringe from the trolley and hold it to my throat.
‘Go get Cavendish,’ I say, ‘or I’m going to stick this in my neck and you’ll have to explain it to him. Do it!’
I must look crazy enough because the two nurses look nervously at each other and one scurries out of the room. Seconds later, Cavendish comes bustling through the door.
‘Just put that down, Cal, and we can talk. You could hurt yourself.’
‘I want to know why I’m locked in,’ I say and he approaches slowly, nodding. ‘And I want to know everything you know about me. About who I am.’
‘OK! OK . . . Please, Cal, you could hurt yourself. If you’ll just put that down we can talk. Please?’
I feel a bit stupid, to be honest, so I drop the syringe onto the trolley.
Cavendish visibly relaxes. ‘Right, thank you. Sit down, Cal.’
‘I’ll stand, thanks.’ I lean against the wall and cross my arms.
He sighs and then sits down on the end of the bed. ‘First of all, what we do here is not just any old research,’ he says. ‘We’re at the very cutting edge of
neuro-technology.’ He clocks my baffled expression. ‘That is, technology as it relates to brain science and the study of consciousness.’ He brushes a bit of dust from his
immaculately pressed trousers and leans closer. ‘We don’t publicise what we do, because much of our work involves confidentiality of patients, but, inevitably information sometimes gets
out. The fact is we’ve had a security breach. There’s an organisation that wants to disrupt our work and we discovered that someone working here, one of our nurses, was involved. They
are criminals who are against the work we do. They want to turn the clock back. They spread lies and propaganda about our organisation.’
‘What kind of lies?’
He blinks. ‘They’re just fanatics. Extremists. They really shouldn’t concern you because you are perfectly safe here. We just have to protect our patients and our valuable
technology and, sadly, that can necessitate high security.’
‘But why lock me in?’
There’s the briefest pause. ‘We’re carrying out a security check. Please don’t be concerned. It shouldn’t take long.’
I take a deep breath. ‘OK. So how come you know my name is Cal? What’s my surname? What else do you know about me?’
Cavendish runs his tongue across his lips. His expression is weird and he keeps blinking. ‘Your full name is . . .’ He hesitates, as though making a decision. ‘Callum Conway.
There will have been paperwork. I’ll have to look at our records.’ He looks at me. ‘You shouldn’t really be out of bed yet. Have you been taking the medication we’ve
been giving you, Cal?’
I go cold inside. ‘Yeah,’ I lie. ‘Why?’
‘Just checking. I’ll be back later, OK?’ He practically runs out of the room and I hear it lock again.
I prowl the room, feeling like
‘Where are you going?’ He puts his hand on my arm. His eyes and voice are cold as ice.
‘Just a walk,’ I say, trying to strike the exact right balance between casual and not-to-be-messed-with.
Beardy’s eyes dart about and he licks his lips. ‘It’s not a good idea to go wandering,’ he says. ‘You’re still quite weak. Come on, back to your room.’
He takes me by the arm again and I try to shrug him off but his grip is strong.
‘But I’m not weak!’ I say. ‘I feel fine!’
‘That’s as maybe,’ he says, ‘but you don’t know what’s best for you right now. You need to rest.’
Within about four seconds I’m back in my room. I hear a key turning in the lock.
I pace about furiously. This is all wrong. Why won’t they let me go where I want? And what’s with all the guns? I try a few experimental bangs on the door but no one comes.
Ages later, two female nurses come in, locking the door after them. Without saying anything or looking at me they start putting together a tray with syringes and stuff on it. I’ve had
enough. I snatch a syringe from the trolley and hold it to my throat.
‘Go get Cavendish,’ I say, ‘or I’m going to stick this in my neck and you’ll have to explain it to him. Do it!’
I must look crazy enough because the two nurses look nervously at each other and one scurries out of the room. Seconds later, Cavendish comes bustling through the door.
‘Just put that down, Cal, and we can talk. You could hurt yourself.’
‘I want to know why I’m locked in,’ I say and he approaches slowly, nodding. ‘And I want to know everything you know about me. About who I am.’
‘OK! OK . . . Please, Cal, you could hurt yourself. If you’ll just put that down we can talk. Please?’
I feel a bit stupid, to be honest, so I drop the syringe onto the trolley.
Cavendish visibly relaxes. ‘Right, thank you. Sit down, Cal.’
‘I’ll stand, thanks.’ I lean against the wall and cross my arms.
He sighs and then sits down on the end of the bed. ‘First of all, what we do here is not just any old research,’ he says. ‘We’re at the very cutting edge of
neuro-technology.’ He clocks my baffled expression. ‘That is, technology as it relates to brain science and the study of consciousness.’ He brushes a bit of dust from his
immaculately pressed trousers and leans closer. ‘We don’t publicise what we do, because much of our work involves confidentiality of patients, but, inevitably information sometimes gets
out. The fact is we’ve had a security breach. There’s an organisation that wants to disrupt our work and we discovered that someone working here, one of our nurses, was involved. They
are criminals who are against the work we do. They want to turn the clock back. They spread lies and propaganda about our organisation.’
‘What kind of lies?’
He blinks. ‘They’re just fanatics. Extremists. They really shouldn’t concern you because you are perfectly safe here. We just have to protect our patients and our valuable
technology and, sadly, that can necessitate high security.’
‘But why lock me in?’
There’s the briefest pause. ‘We’re carrying out a security check. Please don’t be concerned. It shouldn’t take long.’
I take a deep breath. ‘OK. So how come you know my name is Cal? What’s my surname? What else do you know about me?’
Cavendish runs his tongue across his lips. His expression is weird and he keeps blinking. ‘Your full name is . . .’ He hesitates, as though making a decision. ‘Callum Conway.
There will have been paperwork. I’ll have to look at our records.’ He looks at me. ‘You shouldn’t really be out of bed yet. Have you been taking the medication we’ve
been giving you, Cal?’
I go cold inside. ‘Yeah,’ I lie. ‘Why?’
‘Just checking. I’ll be back later, OK?’ He practically runs out of the room and I hear it lock again.
I prowl the room, feeling like
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