Letfield

Letfield is about four people and how their lives unravel when the world is put through the most testing of times. It's not finished, the reason I'm putting it on here is so that I can get some feedback, whether to finish it or not

 

A bolt of pain ripped through Murray's chest. Suddenly, wrenched back to reality, the familiar surroundings danced around in front of his eyes. For six weeks this hospital room had been his cell, six weeks that felt like a depressingly large proportion of his remaining life.

As everything began to stop spinning and return to its normal state the room exploded with commotion. People charging around trying to achieve what seemed to be contradictory things in a massive blur of confusion. Charts were passed and scribbled on, machines tampered with but Dan Murray sat totally silent, the usual procedures were not interesting to him. Instead he lay thinking; trawling his memory for some things had become increasingly difficult over the past months. He felt weak: physically and mentally. The energy required to scrape at the cracks in his mind was beyond him now. Ignorance may not be bliss, but it's definitely a damn sight easier.

 

 

Al found himself staring at the hospital. From the hill that he sat on, he could see most of the city, bathed in the luscious glow of sunset. The colours framed a world on the edge of switching routine. The darkness comes again, but before it does, what a display! How perfectly crafted the sky can look, almost divine. Almost but not quite, in Al's eyes. There had never been a place for God in Al's life, he was a young man with far more important things on his mind, or at least that was the way he saw it. No, this sunset was just coincidence and maths, nothing more to it. That didn't stop it being beautiful though.

He rose to his feet and began to idly amble towards the gathering of people at the top of the hill. Some sort of new age weirdo's he assumed, this tai chi yoga bullshit that he saw as a useless way to piss away some spare time. This was something Al was an expert at, wasting spare time. He seemed to have a lot of it on his hands these days. Since The Factory closed down he was at a bit of a loose end. It wasn't so bad for him, he'd only been there a couple of years, but there were some guys there who he knew wouldn't cope. You work the same job for 35 years, when you get dropped out of it on your a*s where do you go? No, it definitely could be worse, and there was some minor financial compensation. Enough to keep him safe while he looked for somewhere to work. Besides, Al wasn't fussy and his occupational record showed it. Each new job was pretty predictable: nice people, mind numbing repetitiveness. So each place was called The Factory. By now it had caught on in several of the shops and call centres in the area. Al liked change, it helped you meet new people.

A twinge in his chest took him by surprise, god damn heartburn. Ah well, he was only five minutes from the Spar, he'd seen plenty enough adverts on TV to know what to do when this happened.

As he plodded down the road he looked back at the hippies. They were now gathered around in a circle of some sort, more of a huddle really. There was something happening over there, no doubt one of them had pulled a muscle stretching too hard. Al quietly laughed to himself.

The road at the bottom of the hill lead into town, and was usually a fairly busy one for traffic, however the time was well gone rush hour and only a few pedestrians scattered the street. A few kids were sat around outside the shop, no doubt looking for someone to buy them booze. Al considered doing this, he remembered being young well, but then thought against it. You can never be sure who's watching you nowadays and God knows he couldn't afford the fine. No, just some antacid tablets would do today thankyou. The young people were staring at him. Fine, just ignore them, don't make eye contact, I don't want any trouble, sorry kids, not me. He got one last glimpse of them as he pushed the door open, but didn't see the menacing eyes he had expected. They looked much more concerned, almost.. disturbed.

As soon as he was through the door he found the same sets of eyes in every head in the shop, all pointing at him, or more specifically, his nose. A nosebleed! And what a beast! He had been so caught up in his paranoia that he failed to realise he had already covered half his shirt with blood. His old Led Zep rags looked like they had been witness to some horrific act of violence.

“F*****g hell! That's a corker!” the shopkeeper yelled as he rushed towards him with a handful of cloths after a brief period of stunned inactivity. He shoved them into Al's hands who immediately put them up to his face. He was no stranger to nosebleeds, they used to plague him throughout his school years, although it had been a very long time since he had his last.

“I didn't even notice it!” he couldn't quite believe it himself “I was walking along then I guess I must've just erupted!”

“haven't seen a bleeder like that in a long time, boy” laughed the shopkeeper, although the concerned look still hovered across his face “You've really made a mess of yourself! Sure you know what you're doing?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine, just caught me off guard y'know” mumbled Al through the blood soaked wad covering the lower half of his face. “Got a bangin' headache now though”

“Hang on, I've got some aspirin here” offered the man who promptly searched behind the counter, returning with a small box of painkillers “These'll do the trick.”

The shopkeeper was a strange looking man, Al thought he looked as if he had just returned from some far away war and a part of him was still there. He had a bald head, an overweight, but far from obese body and looked like he could do some serious damage to anyone who crossed him. It was hard to place his age, he looked like a weathered 50 year old in all respects apart from his eyes. His eyes still had all the fire and passion of a young man.

Al snapped back from his daydream as the shopkeeper coughed. An outstretched hand was holding a box of aspirin towards him, which he gladly took and ripped into, pushing two capsules out into his hand. Down the hatch.

By this time the other shoppers had grown weary of this interruption into their lives. A queue was forming in front of the counter and the owner of the shop was forced to return to his business.

A few minutes passed by as Al sat down nursing his nose, the blood was clotting well and looked like it was not going to cause him much more trouble. Still holding the cloth he got up, wandered around the shop, picked up a Twix and a bottle of Dr Pepper and joined the queue.

At the till he offered a small sum of money for the cloths, but the shopkeeper refused it. He paid for his items, threw his bundle of bloody rags in the bin and carefully walked home. Picking up a bottle of milk on the doorstep he fumbled for his keys and eventually made it in.

By the time that Al remembered why he had gone to the shop in the first place it was far too late. Stabbing pains flew across his chest and left him bent double over the back of his sofa. The pain was unbearable, it felt like barbed wire being dragged through his veins. His body used the only defence available and forced the contents of his stomach up. Tears streamed from his eyes as he groaned in agony. My chest is actually going to explode he thought, this is it. this is how i go.

And then it was over. Al stared down at the pool of vomit soaking into the cushions in front of him and found just enough energy to push himself off the sofa onto the floor.

He lay there for a long time, chest buzzing the way your legs do after a long run, mind racing away remembering the pain. That was definitely no heartburn.

 

Time is less meaningful in hospital, especially when you have nobody to visit you. Murray was not a sociable creature. He kept to himself most of the time and avoided contact with other people, this was the longest he'd been around other humans for years. Thirty eight years old and single. His food was delivered every Tuesday morning at around 11:00 am, paid for on the internet. He lived in a small house, a couple of hours away, closer to the countryside. He would use most of his time up on the net, the inheritance from his long dead parents had ensured him financial security allowing him to trawl the web on pointless errands for most of the day. Occasionally, on a nice day, he would sit and read in his secluded garden. Murray had neighbours, and he was sure they pried on him, but the bottom of the garden was his place. The trees wrapped around in a U shape guarding him from onlookers, but the sunlight still found its way through. His house was a bit of a mess, not entertaining people left him to be lax on some matters, although the man clearly had some basic concept of hygiene.

Of course none of this matters.

In hospital, everyone is the same. Everyone has the same beds, the same food, and everyone spends each day hoping that they haven't passed their sell by date.

Or at least this is what Dan Murray had concluded. He hated hospital, everything about it, but was the first to admit it was a necessity for his survival. It was around 2 months ago that he had first noticed problems. The chest pains had got worse and worse, leading to increasingly regular blackouts. The body can only take so much pain before the automatic defence mechanisms start to kick in, never quick enough though.

He had initially assumed that it was heart attacks, in fact he was still pretty certain that this was the problem, trusting his own uninformed opinion instead of the “overpaid and under educated” doctors. In fact his case had been puzzling everyone since he had been admitted into the hospital, or at least that was what they told him. They seemed reluctant to give him any information. It's very easy to get paranoid in a hospital.

Dan sat up straight. They had given him a computer to use on his request, but just looking at the screen made him feel sick. His head swam with a deep nausea that came in waves, and he was riding a big one. Eyes tight shut, he gripped onto the covers of his bed with sweaty hands. His body felt wrong and unsettled, but he knew that it would pass, it always did.

Deep breathing, calm thoughts. His stomach turned over and over and he could feel the bile rising in his throat

Deep breathing, calm thoughts. The short mantra passed through his mind. Focusing on something simple seemed to help. He knew he was highly unlikely to vomit, he hadn't for a couple of weeks, and he almost wished that he would. The incessant queasiness was much worse than anything else.

Deep breathing, calm thoughts. And relax.

Dan slumped back into his bed, exhaling slowly with great control. It was at this point that he realised that he wasn't the only one in the room. There were two nurses standing at the door. They were talking in whispers and Dan couldn't make out any of the words, but was not oblivious to the facial expressions. They looked unnerved. Their conversation stopped as one of them pointed at something outside of the door. There was someone coming! Dan searched his memory for the small chunks of human contact in his life, who could be visiting him? He had a brother, but he had not seen him for over a decade, and things had ended on unpleasant terms. A neighbour? Perhaps even the Tesco's delivery man! He had made small amounts of conversation with him over the years, maybe he had become concerned when the weekly deliveries had stopped for so long and investigated. Yes that must be it. What a kind man.

Except it wasn't him that came through the door. It was just some unconscious girl in a wheelchair, being pushed along by a doctor. Her hair was blonde and down past her shoulders. It was matted and looked like it hadn't had the attention it deserved, yet she had a beautiful face. The kind that does not need to hide behind layers of makeup, just relies on it's natural bone structure. A thin line of blood remained on her upper lip, where the rest had been smeared away.

“This is Lucy. She has to share the room with you.” The doctor explained unnecessarily as a bed was wheeled in behind her.

Some b***h had decided to come and take his last scrap of privacy from him.

The room was clearly big enough for the two of them, but that was not the way Murray saw it. Yet, staring at that beautiful but vacant face he felt something new to him: a connection.

The doctor and nurses carefully lifted her up from the wheelchair. Her limbs fell down to her sides like a ragdoll as they moved her onto the bed. She was wearing the same standard issue hospital gown as Dan was. As he looked at her, he saw himself being lifted up. That same glazed look in his eyes and the lifeless lack of resistance in his body. Murray shuddered and turned the other way to look up at the window. It was dark outside, and as he glanced at the building's surroundings his eyes focused on a hill not too far away. A fire had started, it looked like a fairly big one too. There had not been any rain for a while and all the vegetation in the area had become dry. Flames jumped up into the air, dancing, devouring the oxygen around them. Somebody should do something about that thought Murray as he lay down and started to drift into the release of sleep.

 

He awoke to find his bed soaked in sweat. In that half dreamlike state of awareness Dan pushed the covers away from himself to let the air get to his body. The window was wide open and the cold hit him instantly. Turning over, his gown peeling away from his back, he saw the girl. In the darkness she was a monochrome blur, but piercing through the half light her eyes glistened. The glassy orbs directed themselves straight at Murray who immediately pulled the covers back over himself. That girl creeped him the f**k out.

A gaunt face haunted Dan's dreams throughout the rest of the night. He ran for miles but at every turn he was confronted with the image burned into his memory. Murray found himself escaping into a cave. It was lit by flames casting flickering shadows over the jagged walls. The air was cold, and his breath appeared in front of him as he nervously moved downhill, deeper into the tomblike cavern.

Whispers drifted down the path, immersing him with a foreboding sense of distress. Deeper he ventured, panic starting to fester in his heart. The air was really cold now, Murray shivered with each reluctant step he took. Then the whispers stopped. Silence. Somehow this was even worse. The cold air suddenly rolled through the cave taking all the light of the fire with it. Darkness drenched the place, it was so thick you could almost touch it. The silence was broken by a scream Murray knew he would take with him to the grave. It didn't sound human, a raw howl that sounded like whoever it belonged to was ripping apart their vocal chords with the effort; it was a cry that was pure fear.

Murray screwed his eyes shut and slammed his hands over his ears so hard that he nearly burst his ear drums, but the muffled shrieking still got through.

As he opened his eyes again the cave was gone, so was the darkness, replaced by the fluorescent lighting of his hospital room. But the noise! It was still there. He looked across at Lucy who was sat bolt upright, arms across her chest, with her fingernails digging into her shoulders. Thin trails of blood trickled down from the cut each finger made. As soon as he placed his eyes on her, the screaming stopped.

She fell back, limp, facing away from Murray. Seconds later the doctors rushed in and out again, taking the girl with them. Dan sat in a disorientated silence, hands still covering his ears.

 

Al was sitting under a blanket, nursing a cup of tea. He had cleaned up the mess that he had made the previous day, and feeling better he refilled his stomach with a healthy portion of chips. Trying to forget about what had happened, he flicked the TV on. Some guy in a suit droning on, as usual. Al had decided long ago that the world was a very predictable place; everybody just got on with what they had to do and most of the time it got done. But these days Al wasn't so sure. What was it that he was supposed to be doing?

The man in the suit stayed on the screen, then was replaced with another.

Al rubbed his chest. He was still sore and he ached a lot when he breathed, but it was a damn sight better. Should probably see the doctor about that, man. The nosebleed too, there's somethin' wrong with you..

The phone rang. Snapped back to reality, Al pushed himself up off the sofa and slowly made his way to pick it up. If it was anyone important they would be calling on his mobile, so there was no real rush. As he stumbled away from the living area, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His dark blonde hair was even more of a mess than usual and his face looked like he was midway through a brutal hangover. All pain no gain sometimes isn't it my friend? he thought as the reflection disappeared from view. Al removed the phone receiver from the cradle and reluctantly drew it up to his ear. He was definitely not in the mood for a long chat about double glazing or cheap international calls. How they ever got his number was a question that he had asked himself many times.

“Al. You've got to come quick, something's wrong with Dylan!” the voice instantly recognisable as that of his sister.

“Uhh.. Sorry Soph, I feel like s**t, you mind if I pop up in the morning?” This was a lie. Al was feeling pretty much back to normal, but all he wanted to do for the evening was watch crap on TV and smoke cigarettes.

“This is serious! He's gone wrong,” she cried “we had to lock him outside, Al, dad tried to put a chain around him and he nearly lost his hand!”

“Calm down, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. He's probably just pissed because someone forgot to feed him.” Wouldn't be the first time either. “Look, I'll be over soon as I can. In the meantime just chuck out a couple of chicken legs for him.”

Dylan belonged to Al's parents but he was definitely a family dog. Everyone did their part looking after him and in return they each received a lot of love. Al had not been fond of Staffordshire terriers until he had met Dylan. He was not the only one to feel this way; Dylan was a popular dog. Unlike most other staffies that Al had met he was always very passive with other dogs and accepting of strangers. Not a good guard dog though, aside from the deterrence of his brutish looks. He would joyfully welcome people into the home rather than scare them off. The one thing that he did get defensive about, however, was food. Ever since he was a puppy he would growl when he was eating, and generally Al's family accepted this and left him alone. The mistake that Al made was trying to refill Dylan's bowl before he had finished his meal. It was not a mistake that he made ever again, his lesson had been taught with two lightning fast bites deep into his forearm. They had a family meeting as soon as Al returned home from the hospital. Does the dog stay or go? In the end the decision was left down to Al, and he didn't regret the choice that he made.

 

Al wished his love then put the phone down. Feeling considerably better, but looking rough as ever, he picked up his coat and keys and left the house to travel across town to his parents'.

 

*

 

“I can totally understand your reservations Mr Murray” said the doctor, his face showing signs of frustration “however I must insist that you do this. The room needs to be used by other patients and we need to get you a place where you have access to specialist equipment.”

How dare he!? This blonde cocksucker thinks that he can uproot you just like that. Specialist equipment my a*s. They're just going to send you home to rot.

“Where is this place? Why was I not told about all of this?” Dan demanded.

“Letfield is the UK's leading institute for cardiology. We can have your heart examined thoroughly using state of the art equipment. Don't worry it's not far from here, we've arranged an ambulance to take you at Eleven AM.”

“How very f*****g considerate.” spat Dan.

“Mr Murray, I must remind you that we're doing this for your benefit, and your health could possibly depend on it.”

Hmm, hard to argue with that. Don't want to f**k yourself over here.

“Fine. But I want a good room there you hear me? Better than this one. And I'm not sharing it with anyone!”

“We will do what we can Mr Murray. It's coming up to nine thirty now, we will be here to collect you at ten forty five. It is not a long way to travel and we have made the necessary arrangements.”

The doctor whisked out of the room. Dan was pretty pleased with how that went, thinking about it he really had no attachment to this room at all. He was sick of the view out of the window, and the inside of the room was so depressing. No, maybe a change would be a good thing.

He picked up a magazine from the table next to him and began to flick through it. It was one of the generic women's magazines: Heat, OK or something like that. The pictures held his attention for a short while but soon enough Dan found his eyes drifting around room. The room was as bland as any other in the hospital, but Murray had come to know it quite intimately. He had no idea what most of the equipment around him did; the drip and heart rate monitor were pretty self explanatory but there were two more consoles that remained by his side. He had grown accustomed to the structured beeps that they each emitted and found the sounds comforting, everything clocking over just fine. The window ledge held more interest for him than the machines; two bonsai trees. One was definitely an oak with it's easily recognisable leaves, the other some kind of sycamore or maple. Murray was never much good with trees, but these ones fascinated him. They had barely grown in size since he arrived, their growth stunted so heavily.

He found himself thinking about that Lucy girl. His mind had been trying to distract him from doing so, pushing the memories away into the ether, but it was impossible.

Just the thought of that face sent shivers through him.

His eyes drifted back downwards and F**K what the f**k is that?! You've been stabbed! Jesus christ! His gown and blanket were coated in a deep crimson as small pools of blood had dribbled their way over his chest. How?! Who could have got in and out so quickly?

Dan ripped the soaking garment from his upper body and shakily tried to gauge the damage with his fingers, far too scared to use his eyes.

Odd.

Nothing there, he squinted down, then opened both eyes. The mangled mess of bone and sinew he expected was not there; apart from being slightly overweight he looked totally fine. He sighed with relief and as he did so, a final splatter of scarlet drops appeared on his bare torso.

You fool! You stupid fool! Just a f*****g nosebleed that's all!

Murray pulled the hospital robe all the way off and was beginning to roll it into a ball when he caught a glimpse of the blood. It wasn't fresh, sure it had soaked into the clothing, but at the edges it had already began to dry. When could it have happened? It can't have been when he was reading, because the magazine would be covered in blood. And after that, well he had daydreamed a little but

Four doctors walked in through the door and immediately his train of thought was interrupted. Murray didn't recognise these ones, they looked a lot more intimidating than the doctor he was used to. I guess he wasn't that bad a guy after all.

Seeming not to notice the blood smeared over him, they lifted Murray up and out of the bed without a word. He was held up by three of them, hanging naked but far too shocked and confused to be embarrassed. By the time he had snapped himself back to the real world he was sat in a wheelchair with a new white gown on. One man had left but the other three remained behind him. His blonde doctor appeared at the door.

“It's time to go now Mr Murray. I can assure you that the facilities at Letfield are second to none and you will be treated well. I hope you have a pleasant trip.. I wish you luck and good health”

Before Dan had a chance to reply the doctor span around and left the room. Murray followed shortly after, being pushed along by his new friends. When they reached the front doors he took a deep breath. Fresh air, it had been a long time. The doctors had said he was in no condition to be going outside, and that had suited him just fine, but now the sunlight shone on his face and the wind caressed his bare arms. This was bliss, to be out of that room, to be free again. Freedom from that recycled air. A ramp descended out of the back of an ambulance and Murray was pushed up into it. It was unlike any ambulance he had seen before, although he did not consider himself very knowledgeable on the subject. The chair was secured into place with industrial looking metal clips, a television was turned on in the corner. The men left, shutting the doors behind him. Onwards to Letfield. Murray had never heard of it, but if it was the best in the UK then it had to be pretty good. He cursed the lack of windows, the short burst of natural light had teased him, and this harsh artificial glare seemed like a cheap counterfeit.

 

Al reached his parents house to find what deep down he had suspected to find all along. Dylan was lying in the living room, legs stretched out enjoying the blissful warmth of the fire. The whole family was sitting in there too, watching Gordon Ramsey on TV. His father and mother were on the large sofa and Sophie was sat with Dylan, gently stroking his warm fur. Ralph, his father, was fast asleep. This was an increasingly common sight when the family was watching TV. His mother spoke first

“I'm so sorry love, we tried calling you but your mobile was off. Look at him now though, isn't he a dear. He looks so contented.” She was right, Dylan looked like the perfect family dog. “Do you want anything to eat?” It seemed as if everyone had forgotten why they asked Al over in the first place.

“Nah, I ate quite recently,” said Al “so what happened then?”

“Oh, I guess you were right, he was just being a grumpy little b*****d” said Sophie without even looking up from the TV screen “we chucked a couple of chicken wings out of the window and soon enough he calmed down. I can't believe we'd forgotten to feed him all day.”

“Well, hate to say I told you..” Al chimed in, a cheeky grin covering his face.

“Then feel free not to do so” was the inevitable reply. Al got on well with his sister, in fact the whole family was very tight. They had their squabbles and differences, but as a whole they loved each other very much. “I'm sorry I called you over, we should have thought about it a bit more, but Al you should have seen him, he looked so vicious.”

Al subconsciously ran his fingers over the lumps of scar tissue on his arm.

“I know, I remember.” He replied, somewhat distantly.

“I guess so, but still, I was scared. Look at him now though, you'd never believe it.”

With that Al took a seat and the evening drifted on as they all swapped their news. He decided to spend the night in the end, a few beers and some tv with the family sounded much more appealing now that he was actually here.

The house was quite a large one; three big bedrooms, a living room, dining room and kitchen. The kitchen was Al's favourite room in the house, it let all the light in for most of the day and always seemed very welcoming. His parents had stayed in the house since Al was two or three, around when his sister had been born. He had no memories of the previous house at all but his parents had told him that they had moved from it because of the size. Al understood this, his flat now was perfect for him but if he were to start a family then things would definitely start to feel cramped very quickly. Not that a family was on the horizon, but it's something that he did think of occasionally.

It was the next morning and Al was lying in bed, in his old room. It had been changed into a spare bedroom and so most of his old stuff had been shoved into the attic. There were still a few memories from his childhood littered around the room though; the furniture, lights and clocks were still all the same. He never had trouble sleeping in this room. It amazed him how much this place still felt like home. Whenever he woke up here his brain took a few seconds to work out that he was not just a child who had dreamt of being an adult for a while. This realisation saddened him slightly, although he was not sure why. The past few years since he moved out had mainly been good to him. He had lots of different jobs over the time, but always some kind of income. Enough anyway.

He found his mind drifting back over his relationships. Al had many girlfriends, for varying lengths, but none had seemed to stick. This didn't bother him too much, it was always the beginning of a relationship that he liked the best. Where you find out so much about someone in a short time, so new and exciting. His last girl, Mia, was probably the best yet. She was stunningly beautiful in a very strange way, or at least Al had thought so. Her eyes were very far apart, on the verge of being too far but not quite. Her pale complexion and jet black hair had been what had attracted him in the first place, but after a few weeks it had been her personality that kept them going. She was an honest and unselfish person, a rarity these days, and she had a quirky sense of humour that Al shared. This was the first time that he had really been disappointed at the breakdown of a relationship. She had called one day and said that it was over, Al remembered the feeling of his stomach falling away from him as she said those words. It turned out that she had taken a teaching job in Manchester. At the time Al had said that they could keep it going and it would work out, but even then he knew that he was lying. They had both tried long distance relationships in the past and they knew it wouldn't work. They parted on good terms, and there was a mutual feeling that maybe one day their paths would cross again, and next time they might stick. Al had heard it said many times before, but this time he actually believed it could happen.

Since he split up with Mia, there had been nobody. The usual flirting still took place and he caught several girls checking him out, after all he was a fairly good looking guy, but nobody seemed right. No rush though, still young, plenty more time for a lot more fun.

Al's day was fairly uneventful, he searched the internet for jobs and was appalled at the result. He was looking for work doing anything right now. A degree in Psychology was a great thing and could lead to some really high place jobs, a 2:1 too, but Al could not face it. The years he spent at Uni studying the behaviours of humans had totally drained him of the will use it in a job. It wasn't just being sick of the subject, it was the fact that you ended up applying everything you learnt to real life. You easily found yourself analysing people and everything they say as if they were a case study. Am I really the only one who has this problem? He thought to himself. Probably not, but the lure of the money will get most people over it I guess. Maybe in a few years he would get a career, maybe what he needed was to grow up a bit first. The time he'd spent at each variant of The Factory had done him good though, simple honest work. Had it made a better person out of him? Maybe, probably not, but it definitely taught him the value of money. He hadn't realised quite how hard you could be made to work for such a pittance, and he was one of the lucky ones. Al wondered how well he would survive in the third world, where his pittance and lifestyle may be considered that of luxury.

Al pulled himself out of bed and put on some clothes. Perhaps volunteer work? It was a good idea, it would be doing something positive in the world. Maybe he could go to one of these countries and try to help make a difference. Who knows, when he got back his mind might be sufficiently clear and focussed to get started on that daunting career path he had been avoiding.

The smell of scrambled eggs drew him readily downstairs, he had slept later than he wanted and his appetite reflected that. As he skipped downstairs to the kitchen he heard the clock chime eleven. Years of early starts had trained him well, but since his unemployment his waking hour had started to slip back.

“Morning hun, I'm making scrambled eggs. I was just going to come up to wake you. Hungy?” asked his mum, her usual cheerful smile covering her face. She was on her own in the kitchen, and had made enough eggs for two. The house was very quiet so Al guessed correctly that his father and sister must have gone out.

“Blatantly!” Al replied and eagerly took the plate. The eggs were good, done just how he liked them with plenty of pepper and a dash of Italian herb seasoning.

“You sleep well?”

“As always” Al answered, pausing to take a large mouthful “where are Dad and Soph?”

“Oh they went to the arts festival this morning, I didn't think you'd be interested.” She was right, arts exhibitions were not something that Al would really enjoy. He had nothing against art, but he had been to the festival before and was not impressed. Too many self involved, arrogant wankers.

“No, you were right. Thanks for the eggs though, I think I'm going to go for a walk. I'll take the dog too if you want?”

His mother looked very pleased by this idea “Thanks hun, I've got a million and one things to do, this house is as untidy as always.” She smiled once more and headed of to work away at the ever returning mess.

Al made his way into the living room where Dylan was asleep again, this time in front of the sofa. He picked up the dog's lead and shook it so that the metal parts jingled. No response. Lazy f****r! he thought, although he was really in no position to judge. Al walked towards the dog and gave him a quick pat on his side, at which point he noticed the blood around Dylan's mouth. He pulled the lips back to look closer and was shocked by the coldness and the lack of breath.

Al and his mother rushed him to the vet's but, of course, it was too late. Dylan was dead.

 

***

 

The journey was a long one and the company provided (Jeremy Kyle being his usual manipulative, arrogant self) was driving Murray quietly mad. No real pain though, it's been a good few hours. He had no idea where they were going, but it had to be at least a hundred and fifty miles at his best guess. Murray had been expecting some kind of pamphlet describing the place, he was feeling more and more uncomfortable about the situation. He had been rushed out of his familiar surroundings, and had tried to take it in his stride, but some things didn't feel right. At least there can't be anything immediately wrong with me otherwise they wouldn't move me. They aren't using a normal ambulance so they must be saving that for the more sick patients, the real emergencies. The explanations the doctor had made and the ones Murray had made to himself, were all water tight, but nothing could shake the uneasy feeling eating away at the back of his mind. Change is scary. Change is bad.

After half an hour or so more travelling the van finally pulled to a halt. The time was now twenty to four and Murray's wheelchair was getting uncomfortable. He was also getting desperate to use the toilet. I better have my own toilet, I'm not sharing with all those other sick fuckers. The back doors of the van opened and the doctors came in to fetch him, only two of them now though. Murray was wheeled into position and the doctors pulled the ramp out to guide him down. Their faces looked blank and uninterested as they pushed the wheelchair down the slope into a large grey room. There were other vans parked alongside Murray's, obscuring his view of the entrance and he was pushed into an open elevator before he got a chance for the surroundings to make any real impression on him. There were 18 buttons on the wall of the lift, the doctor to his left pushed one that said 6 and it started to glow a deep red colour. They began to move and Murray was immediately surprised by the fact that it was in a downward direction.

“So where is this place?” he asked, Murray was not a talkative person in general, but the disconcerting whirr of cables and motors had to be blanked out somehow, plus it would be nice to get some information about where he was.

Silence. Ignore me then you miserable b******s.

The lift clunked to a halt and the doors were opened. The insides of the building looked very familiar, but only because they were the same generic hospital colours of pale green and cream. He was pushed past several rooms, although he couldn't really see through the windows without standing. They arrived at a room which looked identical to the others and he was moved inside. The men helped him up onto the bed, although he probably could have done it himself.

“The doctor will be with you shortly Mr. Murray, please make yourself comfortable.”

The first thing that struck him about the room was the lack of windows, aside from that it was very similar to his old room. No windows underground dumbass. The light in here was much worse than the old room, a sterile artificial glow radiated from the bulbs around him. Murray looked directly in front of the bed and was stunned by what he saw: the television was a beast! It must be at least twenty-eight inches, almost double the size of the one in his old room. A few seconds of searching found him the remote on the bedside table. The list of channels was enormous; Murray had lived with only four, for pretty much his whole life. He didn't recognise any of them, and the ones that he was used to were not there, but he recognised some of the shows. Frasier was on nearly constantly which he very much approved of. He settled down to watch when his bladder reminded him of the situation. He pressed the Help Wanted button by his bed and soon he was being moved to the toilet by a man and a lady, both in scrubs. The bathroom was small but clean and, more importantly, his own. He was helped back onto the bed and began to flick through the channels.

 

The next couple of weeks were largely uneventful. Murray slipped into the same routine he had in the other hospital: pain, drugs, tests then rest. Rinse and repeat. He had been put under quarantine for the first 4 weeks, which meant he was not allowed to leave his room. This was standard procedure apparently and, although it did seem a little strange, Murray was quite happy to stay where he was. He had no intention of infecting anyone else, or more importantly catching something from another patient. The doctors were kind, if a little quiet, but they provided him with puzzles and computer games to help him pass the time. The games did not interest Murray but the crosswords were a godsend. They made him feel like he could exercise his mind a little after he had let it comatose during the endless sitcoms on TV. He was told his condition was improving quite regularly, but they did not know when he would be ready to be discharged. In for the long haul I guess. He had expected as much. It was clear that what was wrong with him was still largely unknown, but at least he was getting better. Murray felt better. The chest pains were still common, but since he had arrived at Letfield they had been getting much easier to cope with, especially with the drugs that they gave him when it got bad. He felt generally healthier and found his breathing a lot smoother. Truth be told, Murray liked Letfield. He was treated well and the doctors were clearly doing their job properly.

Some of the questions about the new hospital were answered, some not. It was indeed the top in the UK regarding cardiology and Murray found out that it was positioned somewhere near Bristol. They were apparently underground because it allowed them to use the advanced equipment without the interference of radio waves. Mobile phones were banned for the same reason, even though there would be no chance of getting any signal. This did not bother Murray as he didn't have one anyway, he had never seen a good reason for him to get one. In total there were around 150 people at Letfield, although he was yet to meet any of the others.

At first he was frustrated by the lack of the internet, which was available to him at his old hospital, but soon he got used to it. Thinking back to the hours he used to spend drifting from page to page without really taking much interest, he was quite glad to be free of it. The net had become like an addiction to him and the price he paid for it was the loss of his time; his life. Without it's distraction he found himself nurturing his artistic side. When he was young he had enjoyed art, but as he aged this passion had leaked away from him. Now he was practically bed bound and computerless he found himself drawing a lot more. It started with the obvious things, the items in the room around him. He drew the machines that kept him alive (or at least monitored the fact that he still was), the cupboards and crockery, even himself lying in the bed. After he ran out of things to draw he moved on to people. The first person, aside from himself, was Stephen Fry. He had been watching QI at the time and noticed the kink in his nose. Murray's hands had grabbed the paper instantly and soon enough Mr Fry's face was looking up from it. It wasn't a perfectly accurate drawing but it had captured his character and personality; a vibrant but intelligent smile drawn across his face. Others had followed of course and soon there was a great pile of them by his bed. A collection of Hollywood's greats to bit part Z-listers, anyone who stayed on the screen long enough. A seemingly limitless supply of pencils was given to him which pleased him greatly.

Murray found himself sleeping a great deal of the time. The drugs that he was given did wonders for the pain, but they made him awfully drowsy. He would spend large parts of the day dozing in a semi concious slumber.
In no time at all he found that the four weeks had passed, the calender had been flicked over to October: a heart warming picture of a tabby kitten curled up in a flowerbed. Murray began to long for sunlight and fresh air once more and was really starting to get sick of his room. He asked several doctors about the quarantine procedure and when he would be given the chance to go back outside but apparently nobody had the authority to answer him. Days passed and the questions remained unanswered. It was around this time that Murray first noticed the door to his room was locked.

 

 

Author's Note

is it worth continuing?