Kitabı oku: «The Doctor»
LISA STONE
THE DOCTOR
Copyright
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2019
Copyright © Lisa Stone 2019
Cover design © Alison Groom 2019
Cover photography © Shutterstock
Lisa Stone asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008322922
Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008322939
Version: 2019-06-27
Praise for Lisa Stone
‘The Darkness Within hooked me from the start. Once you start you won’t be able to stop!’
Katerina Diamond, No.1 bestselling author of The Teacher
‘This is a cracking good read that had me hooked from the beginning until the end. Full of murders, spiritualistic intrigue and just a hint of romance. It is quick paced, extremely thought provoking and full of twists and turns. I didn’t want to put this book down.’
Amazon reviewer
‘Fantastic book, couldn’t turn the pages quickly enough!’
Amazon reviewer
‘A well-written and extremely addictive novel that will stick in your head long after putting it down.’
Amazon reviewer
‘I flew through The Darkness Within; it maintained a dark and gritty atmosphere whilst covering some rather disturbing subject matters. But despite there being some very emotive and hard to read scenes described, I raced through the pages desperate to know how it would end and I certainly wasn’t disappointed.’
Goodreads reviewer
‘A unique plot and storyline – I enjoyed the book immensely. It really makes you think.’
Goodreads reviewer
‘What a powerful novel. I have read all of most of Cathy Glass’s books and here she is writing under a new name Lisa Stone. I love the fact she has branched into crime thriller and I think she has done it really well.’
Goodreads reviewer
‘I really enjoyed this. Interesting and captivating story line, great characters and easy to read – not the subject matter which is difficult, dark and pretty violent, but the style of writing. A gripping thriller.’
Goodreads reviewer
‘The Darkness Within is certainly a dark and gripping read and one that will win over new fans as well as old.’
Goodreads reviewer
‘With areas that lead us to the dark depths of our own imagination, and parts so well described you could almost be in the same room, The Darkness Within is a struggle to leave unfinished.’
Amazon reviewer
‘Thank you Lisa Stone for making my long train journey feel like a ten minute ride! I will now look forward to your next book.’
Amazon reviewer
‘A great read. The author has a style of writing that makes the words just flow off the page and as the story develops it’s a difficult book to put down as you want to know how it’s all going to end.’
Amazon reviewer
‘Absolutely fantastic, I could not put it down. Cannot recommend this book highly enough. You will become addicted to this author.’
Amazon reviewer
‘An enjoyable chiller for the summer reading pile!’
Goodreads reviewer
‘I loved the premise, it appealed to the horror/sci-fi loving side of me. Lisa understands human relationships and the ugly side of people very well, and this shone through in her work.’
Amazon reviewer
‘Stalker had me hooked from the beginning and I read it in one session!’
Amazon reviewer
‘Stalker got better and better, with a few surprises along the way. I’d highly recommend Lisa Stone.’
Amazon reviewer
‘Had my heart pounding towards the end! Couldn’t put it down.’
Amazon reviewer
‘Stalker is a completely and utterly gripping, engrossing read. What starts off as a case of voyeurism turns into something much darker and sinister, leading up to a fantastic ending. If you want a cracking good crime thriller, then I highly recommend this one.’
Amazon reviewer
Contents
Cover
Title page
Copyright
Praise for Lisa Stone
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Author’s note
Suggested topics for reading group discussion
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Books by Lisa Stone
About the Publisher
We all want to live forever, don’t we?
Chapter One
It was pitch-black outside except for the small light coming from the outbuilding at the very end of their neighbours’ garden. Emily could just make out the slither of light through the tall shrubs and trees that flanked their boundary fence. No moon or stars shone in the cloud-laden sky and no wind stirred the foliage. She liked their secluded garden, it had been one of the reasons she and Ben had bought the house, but sometimes it felt just a bit creepy. Especially at night.
‘What do you think Dr Burman does in that outbuilding so late at night?’ she asked Ben as she stood at their bedroom window, gazing out, before drawing the curtains. ‘He’s in there most nights, often until very late.’
‘It’s his man cave,’ Ben replied. ‘His escape. It can’t be easy being a doctor all day, only to come home and have to look after your sick wife.’
‘I suppose,’ Emily said. ‘But I do find him and his wife odd. We’ve been in this house over a year now and they just about manage to say hello. I’ve tried to be neighbourly, but she doesn’t want to know.’
‘He says a few words to me in passing,’ Ben said, joining her at the window.
‘I would have thought she’d be grateful for some company. I never see her go out or have any visitors.’
‘Not everyone is sociable like you,’ Ben said, kissing her cheek.
‘And all those CCTV cameras at the front of their house,’ Emily continued, reluctant to let the matter go. ‘It’s completely over the top for these houses. I mean, none of us is rich or famous.’
‘Perhaps they’re secret millionaires,’ Ben laughed, then looked seriously at Emily. ‘Em, are you sure you don’t want to go back to work when your maternity leave ends? Is being at home really enough for you?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said, and turned to him with a smile. ‘Thank you for giving me the chance. I want to stay with Robbie a while longer. I know money will be tight, but I really wouldn’t be happy leaving him with a childminder all day until he’s a bit older.’
‘OK, I just wanted to make sure. I should be due a rise soon.’ He kissed her cheek again. ‘It’s late, love, I’m going to hop into the shower now.’
As he left their bedroom, Emily turned again to the window and began to close the curtains. The light went off in Dr Burman’s outbuilding, plunging their garden into complete darkness. Eleven thirty. The same time as the night before. Why she should make a mental note of the time, she wasn’t sure. It was something she found herself doing, as well as looking into their house and garden at any opportunity. It seemed important to keep watch. A gut feeling that it felt safer that way. Although had she told Ben, she was sure he would have laughed.
Chapter Two
BACK FROM THE DEAD!
A 15-year-old boy is to be frozen in the hope he can be brought back to life at a later date and cured of the disease that killed him.
The teenager, who cannot be named for legal reasons, is close to death from a rare genetic condition. Because he is a minor he needed the court’s permission to have his body frozen using a process called cryonics.
He told the judge he had investigated cryonics and was convinced that it would give him the chance of life in years to come when a cure had been found. The judge agreed.
Following his death, his body will be taken from where he lives in England to the US, where it will be frozen and preserved at a cost of £40,000.
‘Read it!’ Dr Amit Burman snapped, throwing the newspaper onto his wife’s lap. ‘Perhaps you will believe me now a judge has ruled it’s acceptable.’
Alisha picked up the newspaper, her fingers trembling, and read the article while he stood by waiting impatiently. She hated him when he was like this, all agitated. He scared her even more.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice slight. ‘You know my feelings. I think it’s unnatural, macabre, and against the laws of God and nature.’
‘And where is your God now you, you silly bitch?’ Amit demanded, his eyes blazing. ‘I don’t see him saving your life. Only doctors and advances in medicine can do that, and research is not progressing fast enough.’
‘But …’ she began and had to stop as a coughing fit took hold. She picked up the glass of water she always kept within reach and took a few sips. Her hand shook.
‘Don’t you see there’s nothing else the doctors can do for you?’ Amit persisted, trying to lower his voice. ‘You’d be making medical history. At the forefront of science. I’d do it if it was me.’
‘This is not the answer,’ she said quietly. ‘And there is no proof it will work. I think that poor lad and his parents have had their hopes raised for nothing. It is immoral. All that money that could have been better spent. I would hate to think of being sealed in a metal drum rather than at peace in the earth. He won’t even have a grave they can visit.’
‘No! Because he won’t be dead. You’re not listening to me!’ He thumped the coffee table hard and her water slopped from its glass. ‘He’ll be in a state of suspended animation. Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?’
‘Amit,’ she said, already recoiling from the blow that was sure to follow if she crossed him, ‘I’m not doing it. I don’t want to be frozen when I die and you can’t make me.’
But the look in his eye as he raised his fist said that he could and would if necessary.
Chapter Three
‘Welcome to the future. Welcome to ELECT – the gateway to everlasting life. I’m Owen, your guide for the day. You all have your information packs? Good. Sit back and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll start by saying a bit about our organization, then we’ll watch a short film of an operation in progress, followed by a tour of our facility.’
As Owen began his talk, Dr Amit Burman glanced around the room. There were twenty of them seated in rows of matching leather armchairs in this small lecture room. Of different ages, ethnicity, male and female, but united in the belief that they or a family member could be preserved after death and brought back to continue their life. Some were clearly already ill – one woman had a portable oxygen tank hissing quietly by her side, while others, like him, were planning ahead. Here was the proof that old age and terminal illness needn’t be the end, that science would allow them to return and continue where they’d left off. Amit couldn’t understand why there weren’t more here. Twenty wasn’t a huge number considering what was on offer.
He was taking notes, as were some of the others, although he thought he probably knew more than most – from being a doctor and all the research he’d done. He probably knew as much as Owen, he thought smugly, who was, after all, only their rep and tour guide.
Owen was winding up the introductory talk now and about to start the film. The room fell silent as he pressed the remote control to dim the lights, and moved away from the large wall-mounted screen. The film began with a smiling shot of the founder, welcoming them and explaining their mission statement. Then his voice continued on the voice-over as the film moved to the operating theatre.
Amit sat upright in his chair and concentrated hard. It was just like any high-tech operating theatre, and he was used to that. A dozen gowned and gloved staff: doctors, nurses, technicians, but with one significant difference – the patient was already technically dead. As the surgeon cut into the patient’s artery to drain the blood, the camera moved to a discreet angle to protect the squeamish. But Amit didn’t mind blood, not one bit. He saw it a lot in his job.
‘The patient’s blood is replaced by a chemical solution to stop ice crystals forming,’ the commentary on the film continued. A mass of wires and tubes could be seen snaking from the patient to bottles, monitors and a computer. ‘Then the body is gradually cooled down to minus 130 degrees Celsius before being submerged in the aluminium tank.’ A shot of rows of aluminium tanks standing like soldiers in the storage facility, their motors running in the background and labelled with the dangerous chemical symbol. ‘Inside the tanks, the temperature is minus 190 degrees Celsius. Colder than any place on earth and cold enough to stop the body from deteriorating. They are checked daily and will remain there until a cure is found when they will be brought back to life. Welcome to the future. Welcome to ELECT – Eternal Life Education Cryonics Trust.’
The film ended and the room remained very quiet as the enormity of what they’d seen stayed with them.
Owen slowly raised the lights and then returned to the front. The silence in the room continued until he spoke.
‘Quite something isn’t it?’ There were murmurs of agreement. ‘I’m sure you have plenty of questions, so if you could raise your hands we’ll take it in turns.’
‘I’m sorry.’ A middle-age woman stood. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, this isn’t for me. I won’t waste your time further.’
‘No problem. If you go to reception someone will see you out.’
Apologising again, she hurried from the room, which left the group feeling united with the dissenter gone.
Hands waved in the air.
‘Yes, sir,’ Owen said, pointing to a man in the front row. ‘Your question.’
‘How do you check on them each day? Is there a window in the aluminium tank?’
‘No, sir, we lift the lid of the tank. The liquid nitrogen needs topping up a little each day and this is done manually at the same time.’
The man nodded and Owen pointed to the next hand.
‘Why are the patients suspended upside down in their tanks?’ a young woman in her thirties asked.
‘So that if there was an incident, the head would be the last to be affected. I would add that we haven’t had an incident yet.’
He moved swiftly on, pointing to another person with their hand in the air.
‘All this relies on electricity. What happens if there is a power cut?’
‘We have our own emergency generating system. Also, the building is designed to withstand hurricanes and earthquakes.’
‘Do you store family members?’ a man asked.
‘Yes, we have a husband and wife here already.’
Amit watched as an elderly lady raised her hand a little sheepishly.
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘This may sound silly, but do you store pets?’
Idiot, Amit thought.
‘Absolutely,’ Owen said. ‘It’s not a silly question. We have two dogs and a cat. They are held in a separate room as their preservation tanks are that much smaller.’
‘Is ELECT financially stable?’ a middle-aged man asked. ‘What you are doing here is obviously very long term. How can we be sure you will still be here in fifty or a hundred years’ time?’
‘We have insurance to cover bankruptcy but our organization is sound. You can view our accounts online.’
‘Can loved ones visit the deceased here?’
‘Yes, but we encourage them to visit their memorial stone instead. It’s a more pleasant experience. All you can see here is a metal tank.’
‘The film we’ve just watched said you also store body parts,’ someone else asked. ‘Why?’
‘So that when we wake the patient we can replace any damaged or diseased organs.’
‘I am right in saying that no one has ever been woken yet?’ a man asked sceptically.
‘That’s correct,’ Owen said, unfazed. ‘No human at least. But we know the process works. Embryos have been frozen successfully for years using this method.’
Amit slowly raised his hand.
‘Yes, sir, your question.’
‘Do you always need the consent of the person to be preserved or do you accept the consent of their next of kin?’
‘We always need the consent of the person,’ Owen replied. ‘The decision to be preserved is made in life, unlike organ donation that can be made by the next of kin after death.’
‘And there is no way round it?’ Amit asked. ‘I mean, supposing the person is too ill to make the decision or not of sound mind?’
‘Then it would be a matter for the court to decide.’
Amit was about to follow this up with another question when Owen’s phone bleeped. ‘Excuse me,’ he said and read the message, then addressed the audience. ‘That was to let me know a new patient is on their way. A fifteen-year-old boy from England. We have time for a quick tour, then the operating theatre will need to be prepared for his arrival. I’ll answer any further questions as we go.’
Chapter Four
‘Not again!’ Amit shouted as he read the delivery card Alisha had left on the hall table. ‘I told you a parcel was coming for me today! Couldn’t you have answered the fucking door?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, anxiously watching him from the far end of the hall. ‘I was upstairs and couldn’t get down in time. They only ring once and then rush off and leave it with the neighbour.’
‘That’s the third time in two weeks, you silly cow, and that woman next door is fucking nosy.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Alisha said again. ‘I’ll serve your dinner so it’s ready when you get back.’
Amit threw open the front door and went down their garden path, seething at her incompetence. He didn’t ask much of his wife but got even less! Couldn’t she do anything he asked?
Latching their garden gate behind him, he paused and breathed in the fresh air. He couldn’t turn up next door in a rage. Others weren’t as forgiving as Alisha.
At seven o’clock it was still light, but the air had an edge to it, a reminder that autumn wasn’t far away. Amit liked the seasons, the changes, the cycle of nature, that spring came after winter with the promise of new life. It was a metaphor for his plans, he thought as he began along the pavement. Alisha had refused to sign up to ELECT, but that wasn’t the end of it, oh no, not by a long way. He could – and would – succeed. Maybe not the first time; it would take trial and error, but he would practice until he got it right. Thanks to the internet, he could buy virtually everything he needed online, but it was worrying that his parcels kept being delivered next door.
He continued up the neighbours’ drive. They didn’t have a gate; their front garden and drive were open plan. Ben Johnston and Emily King; they weren’t married. He seemed OK and was content with ‘good morning’ and a few words, but she wanted to talk and kept inviting Alisha in for a coffee. He’d warned Alisha to stay away and he knew she wouldn’t disobey him. He’d seen Emily King looking at their house, scrutinizing it as she walked by or drove past in her car. He doubted she suspected, he was too careful, and had given her no cause for suspicion. She’d do well to concentrate on her baby and housework. The elderly couple on the other side weren’t a problem, but he couldn’t ask them to take his packages, they were frail and took longer to answer their door than Alisha did.
Pressing the doorbell, he took a step back and waited. Their cat appeared from around the corner and meowed loudly, wanting to be let in. Amit detested cats or any domestic animal. As far as he was concerned, they served no useful purpose and just cost the owner money.
The door opened, the cat shot in, and even before he’d had a chance to say good evening, she was inviting him in.
‘Come in while I fetch your parcel,’ Emily said, smiling.
‘Thank you, but I’ll wait here.’
‘You always say that,’ she laughed and disappeared down the hall, leaving the door open. Why didn’t she have his parcels ready in the hall? There was always this palaver and she knew he collected them on the day they were delivered.
Ben appeared. ‘Hi, how are you?’
‘Well, thank you.’
‘Em won’t be a minute. She puts your parcels upstairs for safekeeping. Robbie is crawling now and into everything.’
Amit assumed Robbie was their child and managed a polite smile.
‘Here we go,’ Emily said, reappearing and handing him the shoebox-sized package.
‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been troubled again.’
‘No problem. How is Alisha?’ she asked.
‘As well as can be expected,’ he said tightly.
‘Please tell her I’d love to see her for coffee. If she isn’t up to coming here, I could pop in with Robbie.’
‘I’ll tell her,’ he said, with no intention of doing so. Saying goodbye, he returned down their drive and the front door closed behind him.
The irritation he felt at Emily’s bouncy cheerful personality was quickly replaced by excitement. He knew what the package contained: another vital piece of equipment. As soon as he’d had dinner, he’d go to his workshop and continue.
Half an hour later, leaving Alisha at the sink washing the dishes, Amit let himself out the back door, briefcase in hand and the package under his arm, and went down their garden path. The sun was setting now, elongating the shadows of the house and trees across the lawn. He preferred this time to the harsh light of day, which seemed to highlight flaws and imperfections. At the end of the path, he unlocked the padlock on his workshop, switched on the light and, going in, bolted the door behind him. No one could see him now. Blackout blinds were permanently down at all the windows, and he’d covered the glass in opaque film. It was pure luck the house had come with this substantial outbuilding, built by the previous owner as a recording studio. Already soundproofed, well insulated and with electricity running from the house, it hadn’t taken much for him to adapt it for its present purpose.
With a growing sense of pride and a little apprehension, Amit carefully took the bottle of anaesthetic from his briefcase. Opening one of the metal cabinets that stood against the wall, he placed the bottle on the top shelf with the other bottles of solutions. Drugs such as these were the only items he needed that couldn’t be bought legitimately from the internet as they required a special licence. Doubtless he could have bought them illegally, but there would be no guarantee they were pure and hadn’t been watered down or mixed with something to give the supplier more profit. The wrong or inferior drugs would be disastrous, and besides, no one at the hospital would notice the drugs were missing. As the anaesthetist, he was responsible for signing the drugs in and out of the operating room, and he took them one at a time.
Returning to the workbench, he slit open the package and took out the bag valve mask. It was in a sealed sterile package and was used for manually pumping air into a patient’s lungs. It would be crucial that Alisha’s brain received oxygen while he lowered her body temperature. He’d already bought a portable heart-machine. He’d use the manual pump as he transported her body from the house down the garden to his lab and then hook her up to the machine.
Retrieving a pen from the bench, he flicked through his list of essential items and ticked off the bag valve mask. He placed it in the cabinet on the second shelf. The shelves were nearly full now: bottles, tubing, scissors, forceps, scalpels, speculums, retractors, wound dressings, and so on. Items he would need to operate. Not a standard operation of course. He’d do what ELECT were doing: drain the blood from the body and replace it with preservation fluid. Then he’d store Alisha in liquid nitrogen at minus 190°C until a cure for her condition could be found. He’d be at the forefront of medical science, making a name for himself, and finally his parents would be proud of him.
Taking his laptop from his briefcase, Amit set it on his bench and perched on the stool. He brought up the bookmarked web page and ordered an aluminium tank large enough to hold a body. He’d been surprised at just how easy it had been to find what he needed online, partly due to the trend in cryotherapy – a treatment where otherwise healthy people paid to stand in a tank at minus 90°C for two minutes. It was being used to treat minor conditions, including sports injuries and skin conditions, as well as supposedly generating a feeling of youthfulness and well-being.
Having entered his card details to pay for the tank, he arranged a delivery date, then went to another website and ordered half a dozen white mice. He’d only get one chance with Alisha, so he’d practice the procedure on small animals first, until he was confident he had everything right, just as any reputable scientist would.
His mobile phone rang, making him start. He took it from his pocket and saw the call was from the house. It would be Alisha. Reliant on him, she phoned if she needed him urgently. Irritated at being interrupted, he pressed to accept the call.
‘What is it?’ he demanded.
‘I need your help quickly.
He sighed. He had to go. ‘I’m coming.’
Leaving everything as it was – he’d return later – he let himself out of his workshop.
The sun had set now and the lights were on in his and his neighbours’ houses, including Ben and Emily’s bedroom window. Emily was standing at the window looking out, watching him, as he’d seen her do before. His anger flared. Didn’t the nosy cow have anything better to do! Standing there brazenly. She must know he could see her. Drawing his head in, he hurried down the path to the back door. She needed to be careful, if she knew what was good for her.
Chapter Five
While the surgeon, Mr Barry Lowe, worked on his patient’s abdomen, Amit sat by her head and monitored her vital signs on the screen. Heart rate and rhythm, breathing, blood pressure, body temperature, oxygen level and body fluid balance were all normal. It was a relatively minor and straightforward procedure – an appendectomy – on an otherwise healthy thirty-year-old, so he didn’t envisage any problems. In operations like this, once the patient was under there was little for him to do but monitor the green and blue lines that ran across the screen.
Being an anaesthetist was a thankless job, he thought now as he often had before. Anaesthetists were at the bottom end of medicine. A branch you went into when you didn’t really want to be a doctor or didn’t make the grade. He’d been forced into medicine by his pushy parents who saw it as the gold-standard career. That or being a lawyer, which had appealed even less. Having a doctor or lawyer in the family gave his parents respect in their community, and he hadn’t had the guts to stand up to them. So with no calling to medicine or the law, and achieving poor grades at med school, he’d become an anaesthetist. Thankfully it involved very little contact with patients and required no bedside manner as they were unconscious, which suited him fine.
He watched Barry Lowe snip the infected appendix clear of the intestine and, with a sigh of satisfaction for a job well done, drop it into the stainless-steel bowl. He began closing the wound.
‘How’s your wife?’ he asked Amit, glancing at him over his surgical glasses.
‘As well as can be expected,’ Amit replied stiffly. ‘Thank you for asking.’ Those he worked with were vaguely aware Alisha had a life-limiting illness, but he’d never told them the details. He kept himself to himself and used Alisha’s illness as an excuse for not socializing with colleagues or attending hospital functions.
‘Did you ever get in any agency help?’ Barry Lowe asked, stitching the wound.
‘It’s not necessary,’ Amit replied. ‘She’s still able to look after herself. I can manage.’
‘Well, don’t get burnt out, we need you here,’ he said and put in the last stitch.
With the wound closed, Amit switched off the drugs that had kept the patient asleep and began the process of bringing her out of the anaesthetic. He turned down the nitrous oxide and turned up the oxygen. As expected, the patient’s facial muscles began to twitch as she started to regain consciousness. Then she gagged and he removed the endotracheal tube from her throat.
The operation over, the team began to dissemble. Barry Lowe removed his surgical gloves, dropped them in the bin and called goodbye as he left. The theatre nurses were clearing up, but, as usual, Amit stayed by the patient, monitoring her vital signs until she was responsive enough to speak.
‘Can you hear me?’ he asked her. ‘Your operation is over.’
‘Thank you,’ came her groggy reply.
Satisfied, Amit flexed his shoulders. They were always stiff, even after a short operation. His patient was ready for the recovery room and one of the theatre nurses would take her through soon. They were occupied at present, facing away from him as they cleared up and swabbed down after the operation. Quietly and quickly, in a smooth, well-practised movement, he slid the unused bottle of anaesthetic from the cart and tucked it into the pocket of his scrubs.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ he said politely, moving away from the operating table. He always remembered to thank the theatre staff even if the surgeon forgot.
‘Goodbye, Dr Burman,’ the nurses returned.
The locker room was empty, good. Changing out of his scrubs, he transferred the bottle into his briefcase and headed for home where his true work awaited him.
Chapter Six
‘Well? What do you think?’ Emily asked Ben as soon as he came home from work. ‘Have I been busy or what?’ She led him to the patio doors.
‘You have been busy,’ Ben agreed. ‘You’ve done a good job, Em. It must have taken you ages.’
‘Most of the day. But it’s saved us having to pay a gardener. I enjoyed it. Robbie was with me, playing in the leaves. Now he’s toddling it’s so much easier to do stuff as he can amuse himself.’
‘Where is the little fellow?’ Ben asked, looking around.
‘In bed. He was exhausted. So am I. My arms are already aching from using the pruning shears. I’ve got muscles I didn’t know I had.’ She laughed. ‘Obviously I couldn’t trim the trees, they’re too high, but the hedge looks neater.’
‘It does. I hope Amit approves.’
‘What’s it got to do with him?’ Emily asked. ‘It’s our hedge and on our side of the fence.’
‘Whoa,’ Ben said, raising his hands in defence. ‘I just thought perhaps we should have mentioned it to him first. You really don’t like that bloke do you?’
‘Even less so now,’ she admitted. ‘While I was up the ladder trimming the top of the hedge, I could see over and into the living room. Alisha was standing at their living room window watching me. I waved and signalled for her to come out, but she shook her head. She looked like a scared rabbit, Ben. I’m not kidding. I’m sure it wasn’t that she didn’t want to come out but more that she daren’t. I think he could be abusing her.’
‘Oh come on, Em, just because you don’t like the guy doesn’t mean he’s a wife beater.’
‘Maybe not, but there was something in the way she stood there – like a trapped animal. I might have another go at asking her in. Anyway, glad you approve of my gardening. Let’s eat. The spag bol is ready. Can you dish up while I try to get Tibs in? She hasn’t been back all day.’
‘Will do,’ Ben said and kissed her cheek.
As Ben served dinner, Emily took the bag of cat treats from the cupboard. Opening the patio door, she called, ‘Tibs! Tibs!’ whilst shaking the bag. Usually by this time of day Tibs was home and wanting her dinner, but if not, then hearing the bag of treats brought her running from whichever garden she was in. ‘Tibs, Tibby,’ Emily called again, rattling the bag of treats, but there was no sign of her. ‘I’ll try again later,’ she said at last. Closing the patio door, she took her place at the dining table. ‘It’s not like her. I wonder if she’s got shut in somewhere. If she’s not back by tomorrow, I’ll knock on some of our neighbours’ doors and ask them to check their sheds and garages.’
‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ Ben said. ‘It’s a dry evening. She’ll be off hunting.’
‘Tibs! Tibby!’ Emily called repeatedly at 9.30 p.m. She was outside now, standing on the patio and shaking the bag of treats. ‘Tibs!’ She paused and listened for any sound suggesting Tibs had heard and was starting her journey home. Sometimes when she strayed a long way she could hear her in the distance. The foliage stirring, her claws scraping as she clambered over wooden fences, going from garden to garden. Then, when she entered her own garden and saw Emily, she meowed loudly. But now the air remained still and eerily quiet, a clear November night, with a waxing moon rising in a cloudless sky.
Emily tried once more before she went to bed at 11 p.m. This time she put on her coat and went right down to the bottom of the garden, calling ‘Tibs, Tibby!’ The light in the outbuilding next door was on and with the hedge lower now she could see the top of the windows. As usual, the door was closed and the blinds were down, but even if they hadn’t been it would have been impossible to see in for the film covering the glass. She had watched Amit stick it on about six months ago when he’d started using the building every evening and most weekends. What he did in there, she’d no idea, but if Tibs wasn’t back in the morning, she’d ask him or his wife to check it and their garage for Tibs, although she doubted she was in there. Amit didn’t hide the fact he hated cats. She’d heard him throwing stones at Tibs when she’d strayed into his garden – one of the reasons she didn’t like the man. She’d read somewhere that people who were cruel to animals were invariably cruel to people too.
‘Tibs! Tibs!’ she called again. Giving the bag of treats a final good shake, she admitted defeat and returned indoors. All she could do now was leave the cat flap open and hope that Tibs found her way back during the night.
‘We’re going to find Tibs,’ she told Robbie the following morning as she zipped him into his snowsuit. ‘She hasn’t come home. I think she’s lost or got shut in somewhere.’ The alternative – that she’d been run over – she pushed from her mind.
Robbie babbled baby talk and tried to say Tibs.
‘Yes, that’s right. Tibs. Good boy.’
Strapping him into his pushchair, she then tucked her phone, keys and the missing cat leaflets she’d printed into her coat pocket and left the house. It was mid-morning and she knew many of the houses would be empty, with their occupants at work. If there was no reply, she’d push one of the leaflets through their letter box. It had a picture of Tibs and gave her address, telephone number and asked them to check their shed, garage and any outbuilding in case she’d been shut in. It was of some consolation that Tibs had been microchipped and Emily’s mobile phone number was engraved on a metal disc on her collar, so if someone found her dead or alive they would hopefully contact her. However, it was also possible, Emily thought, that Tibs had been lured into a home with food and hadn’t wanted to leave. Cats were renowned for cupboard love. But when they let her out for a run, she’d return home.
‘Tibs,’ Robbie gurgled again.
Emily approached the task methodically and began with the house to the left of theirs. She knew the family would be at work, so she pushed one of the ‘missing cat’ leaflets through their letter box. She continued to the next house and worked her way up the street, crossed over at the end and began back down the other side. It was time-consuming, but those who were in were generally sympathetic. Some invited her in to check their garage or shed, others said they’d check as soon as she’d gone and hoped she found Tibs soon. The Burmans’ house was the last and by now Robbie had grown restless, having had enough of sitting in his pushchair. ‘Soon be home,’ Emily reassured him and gave him a leaflet to hold.
It was only after she’d unlatched their gate and began up their path, giving her a clear view of the house, that she saw it.
‘Bloody hell!’ she said out loud. All the windows at the front of the Burmans’ house were now covered with the same opaque film Amit had used on the windows of his outbuilding. He must have done it last night after she’d cut the hedges, for it hadn’t been there yesterday. Although she’d cut the front hedge as well as the back, it still offered them privacy. The man was obsessed, she thought. Had he done the same to the windows at the back of the house? Surely not?
Robbie agitated again, squirming to get out.
‘Last house,’ she told him.
Glancing up at the CCTV, she pressed the bell on the entry system, then began folding one of the missing cat leaflets ready to push through their letter box. She doubted Alisha would answer the door; she hadn’t for a long while. Robbie grumbled and struggled to get out, then to Emily’s amazement, she heard a noise on the other side of the door and a key turn in the lock.
‘Alisha, how nice to see you. How are you?’ she asked, barely able to hide her surprise.
‘I’m not bad, thank you.’ She looked very thin and pale and had dark circles under her eyes, but she managed a small smile.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but have you seen our cat, Tibs? She’s been missing for twenty-four hours.’
‘No, I haven’t. But I’ll ask Amit when he comes home tonight.’
‘Thank you. Can you ask him to check your garage and that outbuilding in your garden in case she’s got shut in?
‘Yes, of course.’ She didn’t immediately start to close the door as she had done before.
‘Your husband has certainly gone to town on your windows,’ Emily couldn’t resist commenting. ‘Is that because I trimmed the hedges?’
Alisha nodded, embarrassed. ‘Amit worries about security with me in the house all day. We were broken into where we lived before.’
‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry,’ Emily said and felt slightly guilty. ‘Has he done the back windows as well?’
‘Yes, even the upstairs. I’ve told him we’re safe here, it’s a nice neighbourhood. But when he gets an idea into his head he won’t listen to reason and there’s no stopping him.’ It was the most Alisha had ever said to her, Emily thought.
‘I understand,’ Emily said. Robbie began whinging. ‘I’ve got to go now, but won’t you come in for a coffee? I know I’ve asked you before, but I would really like it if you did.’
Alisha hesitated but didn’t refuse outright. ‘It’s difficult. Amit wouldn’t like it. He worries about me.’
‘Does he have to know?’ Emily asked. ‘I mean, I’m not suggesting you lie, but couldn’t you just pop round while he’s at work? Or I could come to you?’
‘No, it’s better if I visit you,’ Alisha said quietly. ‘But I can’t stay for long.’
‘That’s fine. Stay as long as you like. I’m free tomorrow afternoon.’
‘OK. I’ll try to come at one-thirty.’
‘Great. See you then.’
And although Tibs hadn’t been found yet, Emily went away feeling she had achieved something very positive indeed.
Chapter Seven
That night, Amit sat at the workbench in his lab and looked dejectedly at the dead rat; its pink eyes bulging and its mouth fixed open in a rigor mortis snarl. He couldn’t understand why it and the mice had died. He’d only stopped its heart for fifteen minutes, during which time it had been submerged in ice. Animals and humans had survived much longer than that after accidentally falling into icy water; their hearts stopping as they entered a state of suspended animation and then restarting once resuscitated. In one case, a child had been brought back after being submerged in a freezing lake for two hours with no ill effect, so why couldn’t he replicate that here?
He threw the rat into the bin with the others and dug his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. He stared at the remaining two rats in the cage. Perhaps there was a genetic weakness in the rats and the mice he’d bought, for doubtless they’d been interbred. Yet the other animals he’d tried the procedure on had all gone the same way. He knew from a science journal that dogs in a lab had been brought back to life after three hours following this process, so what on earth was he doing wrong?
Resting his head in his hands, Amit studied his notes and calculations, then opened the cage door and took out one of the remaining rats. It squirmed and squeaked as if sensing its fate. He placed it on the bench beside the syringe that was ready with the solution and held it down firmly. He’d try a smaller dose this time – see if that made any difference. Then he suddenly stopped and looked up, deep in thought.
He’d been stopping their hearts artificially, but of course when a person or animal fell into icy water, their heart was still beating as they went under and suspended animation occurred. Patients who were going to be preserved for cryonics treatment were put on a heart-lung machine until they could be submerged in ice, so they too were technically alive. Was that the answer? Something so simple: the subject’s heart had to still be beating. At what point the heart-lung machine was switched off, he didn’t know. It wasn’t a detail ELECT made public. But it was possible it wasn’t switched off until the person was frozen, so they were frozen alive, although unconscious. Could that really be the solution? If he froze the rat while its heart was beating would that allow him to bring it back from the dead?
Amit temporarily returned the rat to its cage while he took a bottle of anaesthetic from the top shelf of the cabinet and drew some into a syringe. It was the anaesthetic he used on his patients at the hospital and would keep the rat asleep while maintaining its vital signs. He would only need a drip or two as the rat’s body was a fraction of the size of a human’s. If this worked, he’d try the process on larger animals, just as scientists did in lab experiments, before he attempted it on a human.
Opening the cage, he picked up one of the rats – the other squeaked in protest at losing its mate – and set it on the workbench. Holding it firmly by the scruff of its neck, he injected the anaesthetic. Almost immediately, the rat’s eyes closed and it relaxed, unconscious, on the bench. Taking his stethoscope, he listened to its heartbeat and then placed it into the ice bath and began monitoring its temperature. Normal body temperature for a rat was 37°C, the same as for humans. It quickly plummeted to 30°C, 24°C, and then down to 20°C. Circulatory arrest happened at 18°C and its heart stopped beating. The rat’s temperature continued to drop to zero and further still. When it reached minus 90°C, following the procedure used at ELECT, Amit took a scalpel and made a small incision into the rat’s jugular vein and drained off half its blood into a bottle. He then injected preservation fluid into the vein – the same solution used for preserving organs for transplant – and returned the rat to the ice bath.
He felt hot, clammy and anxious, for despite carrying out similar procedures before, if he failed now he’d made the adjustment he’d no idea what else he could do. Failure wasn’t an option.
The rat’s temperature continued to fall down to minus 130°C. It was at this point in the cryonics procedure the body was lowered into the tank of liquid nitrogen and stored at minus 195°C. But Amit waited five minutes and began to reverse the process, gradually raising the rat’s temperature and then returning its blood. At 37°C he tentatively placed his stethoscope on the rat’s chest and listened for any sign of a heartbeat. Nothing. Not the faintest murmur. He massaged the rat’s chest, hoping to stimulate its heart, and listened again. Still nothing. It had gone the same way as all the others! Whatever was he doing wrong?
He stared at the lifeless body of the rat and was about to give up and throw it in the bin when he thought he saw one of its toes twitch. Returning his stethoscope to its chest, he listened hard, his breath coming fast and low. It wasn’t his imagination! He could hear the very faintest murmur of a heartbeat. He massaged the rat’s chest again and listened. Yes, there it was, stronger now. The irregular beats joining to form a steady rhythm. Then the rat gasped its first breath. He’d done it! He’d really done it. He could barely contain his excitement.
But scientists never rely on one positive result, he reminded himself, so he would repeat it on the last rat and then on larger animals. How proud his father would be if he knew his son was about to create immortality.
Chapter Eight
‘Come in,’ Emily welcomed Alisha the following afternoon as she opened her front door. ‘So pleased you came. I wondered if you would.’
‘Thank you, but I can’t stay for long,’ Alisha said straight away, slightly out of breath from walking from next door.
‘Come through into the living room. We’re in here.’
‘We?’ Alisha asked, stopping still in the hall.
‘Yes. Robbie and me,’ Emily laughed. ‘Don’t look so worried.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Alisha replied and cautiously followed her into the living room. Emily noticed how tense she was, as if attending an interview rather than a neighbour’s for coffee.
‘Do sit down. Make yourself at home,’ Emily encouraged. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Just a glass of water please.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Emily left Alisha in the living room perched on the edge of the sofa and went into the kitchen to pour two glasses of water. Robbie toddled after her. Returning, she set the glasses on the occasional table within reach. ‘So how are you?’ she asked.
‘Not too bad, I manage.’
‘You know if you ever need anything to let me know. I’m on extended maternity leave.’
‘That’s kind, but Amit sees to everything I need.’
‘OK,’ Emily said. She took a sip of her water and wondered what to say next. The poor woman seemed so ill at ease. ‘Good boy,’ Emily told Robbie who was playing with his toys, then smiled at Alisha. An awkward silence fell, and then Emily asked, ‘You don’t have children?’
Alisha shook her head.
Another silence before Emily asked, ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a hot drink?’
‘No thank you. Did you ever find your cat?’
‘No. But she’s microchipped and my mobile number is on her collar, so I’m still hopeful someone will spot her and contact me.’
Alisha nodded.
‘I miss her,’ Emily said. ‘She’s like one of the family. We had her before we had Robbie.’
Alisha gave another small nod. ‘I’d like a pet, but Amit won’t have one.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’ Emily asked, seizing the chance to make conversation.
‘He doesn’t like them. Says they carry germs. My immune system is weak, so I have to be careful.’
‘I see. Although I think if pets are well looked after they don’t carry many germs, do they?’
‘I don’t know, but Amit won’t change his mind.’ As Alisha took a sip of her water, Emily saw her hand tremble.
‘So Amit looks after you and treats you well then?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What does he do in that shed every evening? He’s often still in there when I go to bed.’
‘Research,’ she replied without hesitation.
‘Research on what?’
‘The disease I have. It’s a rare genetic condition and hardly any research has gone into finding a cure. We lost our only son to it five years ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’d no idea.’
‘We don’t really talk about it. It’s too upsetting, especially now I’m going the same way.’
‘I am sorry,’ Emily said again and felt even more uncomfortable. ‘Do you have friends and family who can help and support you?’
‘A few.’
Robbie came over and tried to engage Alisha by placing a toy on her lap. She removed it straight away and set it on the floor. Then stood. ‘Thank you for the drink, but I must go now.’
‘Really, already? You‘ve only just arrived.’
‘I can’t be away from home for long.’
Was it Robbie’s presence, after losing her own son? Emily wondered, as she saw Alisha to the door. But if that was the reason for her sudden departure, why come at all? She had known she had a child.
‘If it’s difficult for you to go out, perhaps I could come to you next time?’ Emily offered as she said goodbye. But Alisha was already heading down the path, eager to get home.
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