Chapter 1

James was having a really enjoyable dream. In it, he was naked and sandwiched between two equally beautiful naked women. Yet somehow, he both knew that it was a dream and that something was trying to wake him up. He didn’t want to wake up, the fun was just getting to the good bit. His eyes cracked open to bright light, which made him wince and squint his eyes.

This wasn’t his bedroom, this wasn’t his bed. In fact, this wasn’t making any sense.

Two random strangers, about his age were peering down at him concerned. Actually, as his vision focused, the woman was more than concerned, she was positively distraught.

Who the fuck are they? And where the fuck am I...

“Your awake!” The female weirdo exclaimed.

No shit Sherlock. Am I?

“You had us so scared love. We didn’t think you would pull through.” The woman continued.

Pull through? What the fuck are you muppets on about?

James tilted his head over at the sound of a sob. Jesus, his neck hurt. A young boy about fifteen years of age was not so quietly sobbing on a seat nearby. “Wo wrle”. The sound that reached James’s ears, was not the ‘Who the fuck are you lot?’ That he had sent to his mouth from his brain.

There was a rather loud and annoyingly continuous ‘beep’ from his bedside that didn’t sound like his phone alarm. Fuck, he must have really hammered those Jagermeisters last night. He tilted his head over to the other side. He didn’t want to look at the two adults, they were just plain irritating. There was something parked next to his bed that was making all the noise. Except that it wasn’t his bed and he was definitely not in his room and that woman standing back a bit was definitely a nurse.

What the actual fuck? His vision was coming back into focus, which didn’t make sense as he was short-sighted and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. What he was wearing, was a mask over his nose and mouth. The damn thing was digging into the bridge of his nose. He lifted his right hand to remove it. He still felt spaced out, his body not his own. The hand, with its white plastic hospital tag round a slender wrist, was definitely not his. Cannula needles were taped down onto the back of the hand that wasn’t his hand, finger nails painted black. The nurse quickly moved over and stopped the weird hand from touching his mask and gently pushed it back on the bed. Bizarrely, he felt the nurses touch on the hand as though it was his.

“Just leave the mask on. You need the oxygen.” The nurse said kindly.

Need the oxygen? I need a fag and a coffee so strong you could surface a road with it.

James tried speaking again, but his vocal chords weren’t playing ball. “It’s okay.” The female nurse gently said “Just rest. Don’t try to speak.” The nurse was seriously starting to get on his tits. And talking of tits, why did he have a pair? Hospital gowns were not flattering items of leisure wear by anyone’s standards, and they were failing to conceal two mounds of flesh that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

James was starting to get angry. This was neither fun nor enjoyable and he wanted the two naked twenty five year olds back. Failing that, he needed to wake the fuck up.

Something to the side of the bed was starting to beep angrily in pace with his rising anger. The nurse quickly moved on to another machine and adjusted something.

“Nadine needs to sleep now.” The nurse calmly stated to the two adults taking up most of James’s view.

Who the fuck is Nadine? James’s vision narrowed into darkness.

Awareness slowly encroached. James opened his eyes again. The weird couple with the crying brat were gone, but the rest of the dream-stroke-nightmare was still there. Along with the black painted fingernails and the breasts. James curled those fingers inwards and pushed those fingernails into the palm. It didn’t hurt like he expected it to. It seemed all a little ... detached ... James focused on the wrist band. Nadine. A series of numbers that looked like a birth date. An ID number and a blood group.

A female nurse appeared. Not the same one as last time. “Hello Nadine. How are you feeling?”

“Shit.” The voice that spoke was female, hoarse, and wasn’t his, but he felt the vibration in his throat and it said what he was feeling.

“Could you be a little more specific Nadine?”

“I think I’m high as a kite.”

“Hmm...” The nurse did something to one of the machines beside him. “I’ve reduced the dose of your painkiller. If things start to hurt unbearably, let myself or one of the other nurses know and we will increase the dose slightly. Okay?”

“Where am I?”

“You are in the children’s ward of St Thomas.” Which meant absolutely fuck all to James.

“Could I have some water please? My throat’s like Ghandi’s flip flop.”

The nurse reached down to the side of the bed and the back of the bed started to rise up. When James was sitting upright, the bed stopped. The nurse poured a small amount of water into a plastic tumbler and held it to his lips. “Small sips...”

The water felt wonderful going down. “Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

A taxi home? There was a strange burning sensation lower down. He knew what it was, it just wasn’t in the right place. “I think I need a piss...”

“I’ll get you a pan.”

“Can I not just go to a toilet?”

“Just rest for now, maybe later.” The nurse departed from sight but was soon back carrying a brown cardboard looking contraption. With a speed and competency of many such operations. The nurse pulled back the single blanket and reached up under James’s gown. “Hips up if you can.”

Still dazed and confused. James lifted his hips and felt his underwear being pulled down and the brown cardboard and some absorbent pads placed between his thighs. James had never felt so surreal in his life, but he needed to go. The water had felt so good going in and it felt even better going back out.

“All done?”

James nodded dumbly as the nurse wiped between his legs with a pad and pulled his underwear back up. He was so tired and hadn’t realised how the pain of his full bladder had been keeping him awake. Darkness took hold.

When he was awake next, it was to intense hunger and the sound of a girl laughing.

His eyes were gritty, the lashes stuck together a little. The light was bright. Daylight, not artificial. He was in a different room. A larger room. James tilted his head round, his neck was still sore and stiff. He was first in a row of four beds from the door. Another four opposite him. All were occupied by young girls. The laughter came from a girl at the end, who had a male and female adult sat next to her. Most probably her parents as she was a younger image of the older woman. Most of the machines that had been hooked up to him had gone, though he still had the mask on his mouth and nose.

James wiggled himself up the bed slightly, so his head was more elevated and he could survey his new domain better.

“How are you feeling Nadine?” The nurse appeared out of nowhere.

“I could murder a bacon roll.”

“I’m not sure that I can magic up a bacon roll, but some soup is a possibility. Do you fancy some soup?” James nodded “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Do you want to sit up more?” James nodded again as the nurse handed over a remote “This button here lifts the back, this one lowers it. These two control the bottom at your feet. It just hooks on the edge of the bed here.” She handed over the controller and James raised the back of the bed so that he was sitting upright. The nurse checked his temperature and blood pressure before recording the results on the chart at the foot of the bed. “Can you take some large deep breaths for me Nadine?”

James automatically took a couple of deep breaths.

“That’s better.” The nurse recorded his blood oxygen level on the chart, checked her watch and recorded the time. She hung the chart back up at the foot of the bed. “ I’ll just go and see what I can rustle up for you to eat.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem Nadine.” The nurse said with a wide cheerful smile.

James lifted the hands that were not his and studied them. Some of the needles had been removed whilst he had been asleep, leaving him with just the one attached to the drip and another one that terminated at the end of the cannula. James turned the not-his-hands over and studied the palms. All his callouses were gone. The skin soft and unmarked. The yellow nicotine stain on his right index and forefinger gone. And those fingers, so spindly and long. The proportions to the rest of the hand didn’t look right.

Now that he was upright, other differences were coming to light. like the extra weight on his chest that kept pulling him forward.

“Here you go.” The nurse pulled over a table and adjusted the height so that it was just above James’s blanket covered thighs, and deposited a tray with a plastic bowl of what looked like scotch broth and slice of bread, in front of him. Reaching up, she deftly removed the oxygen mask from his head “Do you need a hand or can you manage?”

James lifted the foreign hand and picked up the spoon. “I’ll manage, thanks.” It was nice to be free of the mask. The nurse waited till he had taken a spoonful, and happy that he could indeed manage, left him to it as she carried on with her duties.

It wasn’t just his hands that were weird. His mouth was weird as well. His tongue felt strange, as did the inside of his mouth. His missing teeth were no longer missing, as was the sharp chip in one tooth he had always meant to get sorted as it was forever catching the edge of his tongue painfully.

The taste of the soup was an explosion to his taste buds. Even the smell of it was overpowering. His senses seemed so much stronger that it was uncanny. Not only was his vision improved, but his hearing was as well. Life just seemed so much more ... alive...

James pushed the bed tray aside and marvelled at how full he seemed. His ravenous hunger didn’t seem like it would have been satiated by such a meagre affair, but it had. He needed the toilet again. It seemed that not only had his stomach shrunk, but his bladder had as well.

The ever watch full nurse re-appeared and moved the table away and took hold of his tray. “You wasted no time in demolishing that did you?” She caught him looking towards the small bathroom that was part of the ward. “Are you needing to go?” James nodded. “Do you wish to try a few steps or do wish a pan?”

“I’ll try a few steps.” His dignity could only take so much.

The nurse removed the sensor from his finger tip, hanging it up on the wall behind his head before she moved his drip clear of the bed and lowered the side rail that would have stopped him from rolling out of the bed. James swung his legs out and stared down and the spindly, pale hairless things that protruded from at the bottom of his hospital gown.

“Are you okay? Are you feeling dizzy? Noxious?”

“No I’m ... I’m fine. “ James wiggled the toes that weren’t his.

“Do you want to try standing?” James tried standing. His balance was all to pot and the nurse slipped a hand under his armpit to steady him. “If you use your right hand to hold onto your drip stand, yes just like that. Now try taking a few steps...”

His head swam, his point of view was at least a foot and a half lower than it should be. He should be looking down at the nurse, not up at her. His centre of gravity had changed as well. It felt like he was trying to walk whilst drunk. With the nurses help, he managed to stagger into the toilet. James took hold of the rail next to the porcelain throne.

“Are you going to be alright?” James nodded. “If you have any problems, just pull that red cord there at the side of you.”

“Thanks.”

The nurse left him alone and slid the door shut behind her. Reaching up under the gown, James pulled his pants down, sat on the seat and let his bladder release. He had to look. He just had to. He lifted the hem of the hospital gown clear of his groin and stared down at the light thatch of brown hair. There was no getting away from it. His cock and balls were gone and that was definitely a vagina. It was almost too much to take on board. He pulled off some toilet roll and dried himself. His strength, such as it was, was coming back and he managed to stand unaided and flushed the toilet. James had avoided looking at the mirror on the way in, but he couldn’t avoid mirrors forever. Head down, he shuffled over to the sink, dragging his drip. He stared into the porcelain bowl and steeled himself.

For fucks sake! Just fucking do it!

James looked up into the mirror.

A young teenage girl looked back at him. She looked terrible. Short hair greasy and bedraggled. Haunted green eyes stared back, not his brown ones. Skin pallid, gaunt, a few acne spots, cheeks freckled. James watched the figure in the mirror lift a hand and touch her cheek. James felt the corresponding touch against his own skin. The girls neck and throat was badly bruised, the skin abraded in a narrow band seemingly all the way round. The fingers in the reflection traced the bruised skin, reaching round to the nape of her neck under the short shoulder light black hair. The pain James felt at the touch to the back of his neck telling him what he already suspected. That the damage did indeed go all the way round.

He was no expert, but it looked as though the girl in the mirror had either tried to hang herself, or been hung.

Every time he thought things could not possibly get any stranger, they did.

James turned on the tap and washed his hands and face. The door proved harder to open than it should have. This body of his completely lacked all the muscles he should of had, was used to having.

The nurse was waiting at his bed. “Better?” James nodded as she pulled the blanket back and helped him back into bed, replacing the oxygen/ heart rate monitor back on his fingertip. “We’ll leave the mask off, see how you get on...”

James nodded. The short walk had left him exhausted and he closed his eyes just for a minute...

The smell of food woke him. A catering firm was making its rounds, a man and woman pulling trays from an insulated wheeled trolley.

“Sausages and mash okay?” The man asked. James nodded and the man moved James’s bed tray into position and placed a tray containing a plastic plate with two sausages, some mashed potato and some sliced carrot in front of him. He added a little polystyrene pot of ice cream to the tray, a plastic tumbler of orange squash and finally, some plastic cutlery.

James had just finished eating when the strange couple with the crying brat entered the ward. The woman started crying when she saw James up, awake, and rushed over to wrap her arms round him in a tight hug.

It was all very awkward. James, after a moment of indecision, hugged her back, as to not do so, would just make an already weird situation even weirder.

“My love.” The woman sobbed in James’s ear. He said nothing. He felt nothing. He didn’t know these people, felt no emotional attachment to them. The father and son, since that was what James reckoned them to be, hung back.

The woman finally let him go, but perched on the edge of the bed, holding both his hands in hers. The man moved to the end of the ward and separated two plastic chains from the stack, carrying them over to James bed. The man and son sat down.

They asked him safe and simple questions about the food, the nurses, the medical care. James quickly got the impression that there was a lot of questions they really wanted to ask, but were too terrified to do so, that there was something they were nervously skirting around. James thought back to the mirror and the rope burns around the girl’s neck. He was fairly certain what the proverbial elephant in the room was.

The girls’ parents continued to speak about bland safe topics and James just nodded or replied back with one word answers.

“You sound funny.” The young brat suddenly spouted.

“Toby!” The mother exclaimed aghast.

“Well, she does.” Toby said and lapsed into a sulky silence. Things petered out into an awkward silence after that.

It was with great relief when they finally left several hours later. Had he been their daughter, he would have probably been grateful for their company, as it was, they couldn’t have departed fast enough as far as James was concerned.

James kept coming back to Toby’s outburst, about sounding funny. The girls family had a strong London accent, so it stood to reason that the girl, Nadine, would have a London accent as well. James was a northerner, from up near Stoke and had a Northern accent. It would appear from the kids outburst, that he still had an Northern accent.

The girls’ body seemed to tire easily. James wasn’t sure if that was because of the trauma or the physical discrepancy. He lowered the back of the bed and drifted off.

When he awoke, the lights were dimmed, the world dark on the other side of the windows. His bladder. Her bladder, was annoyingly full again. He pulled the blanket back and slipped his finger out of the sensor. Taking hold of the drip, James wobbled his way to the toilet.

Being so top heavy was going to take some getting used to. The bald girl in the bed next to him was awake when he returned to his bed, he could see the dim light reflected off her open eyes. James climbed into bed and slipped the sensor back over the tip of his finger and pulled the blanket up to his neck.

“What’s it like?”

James canted his head over to look at the girl. “What’s what like?”

“Dying. What’s it like to die.”

James didn’t know. He didn’t recall actually dying, and was he even technically dead? Was there some fourteen year old girl stuck in a thirty year old male’s body somewhere, confused to fuck?

“I overheard the nurses,” The girl continued. “They said you were well dead at least an hour, but that the paramedics had to go through the motions until a doctor arrived on scene and called it. So they, thingied you, you know with the paddles where they say ‘stand clear’ and you came back to life when you shouldn’t have.”

“I really don’t recall dying.” James said truthfully, but the girl seemed to need more. “It’s a bit like going to sleep. You know you are going to sleep but you are never aware of the moment, and then you wake the next day. It just ... happens...”

“Oh.”

They lapsed into silence. The glint of her eyes the only indication that she was still awake.

“So, what’s, you know, wrong with you?” James asked.

“Leukaemia.”

“Well, that’s just shit” There was movement from the girl that could have been a fatalist shrug. “They won’t tell me anything, even when I ask. But I read my notes at the end of the bed. They are sending me home. Palliative care.”

Oh shit.

“I didn’t even know what ‘palliative care’ means, so I borrowed my mums phone. Said I wanted to play a few levels of ‘Candy Crush’ but Googled instead...”

“How long have you got?”

“The paperwork on my clipboard says a few weeks, maybe a month?”

Oh fuck. How do you even start to deal with that knowledge...

“You’ll be home, with your family. Do you have any pets?”

“Mr Snuffle. Our cat.”

“You’ll be home with your family, and Mr Snuffles. You’ll go to bed, Mr Snuffles will be there, snuggled up to you. You will drop off to sleep and, and, you just won’t wake up...”

“That will be nice.”

And your family will spend the next few weeks, possibly months, possibly longer, mourning your passing, wracked with guilt that there was something they could have done to prevent it. That it was something they had done that caused you to develop it. Even though There was nothing they could do. Could have done... James stayed silent. His thoughts left unsaid.

The nurse, Rebecca he now knew, come in pushing a wheelchair. “And how are you feeling this morning Nadine?”

“All right Rebecca.”

“Excellent.” she had a big smile. “We are going on a journey!”

“Does it involve alcohol, hard drugs and strippers?” Leukaemia girl giggled in the bed next to his.

The smile faltered. “Err, no, not quite.”

“Damn.”

Rebecca helped him into the wheelchair and placed a blanket over his lap and legs. His drip she removed from its stand and hooked onto one built into the wheelchairs frame.

“Let’s go shall we...” Rebecca effortlessly wheeled him along and down a veritable maze of corridors and lifts and James quickly lost all sense of direction. Rebecca eventually wheeled him into a small, homely, well-kept office.

“Right I or someone else will be round later to collect you. See you later Nadine.”

James stared up at the grey haired man who appeared to be in his sixty’s at least.

“Hello Nadine. I’m Barry and I deal with the emotional wellbeing of our young charges here.”

“You’re a shrink?”

“Well, err, that’s putting it a bit bluntly, but yes, I am a psychologist. Do you know why you are here Nadine?”

“Here, as in this room, or ‘here’ as in this hospital?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m guessing that it might be to do with the rope burn around my neck. Possibly?”

“And what can you tell me about those burns Nadine?”

James kept his eyes’ locked on Barry’s and broke into a wide smile. “Absolutely nothing Barry. I have no recollection of the incident what so-ever” James said truthfully.

James caught the surprise flicker across Barry’s eyes.

“You have no recollection whatsoever?”

“None.” James said happily.

Barry wrote something on the pad in front of him. “What about the events leading up to it, the days, weeks preceding?”

“Absolutely fuck all.”

Barry carefully placed his fountain pen down. “Why do you think that is Nadine?”

“Fuck knows. You tell me. You’re the shrink.”

There was a prolonged silence between them. “It’s not uncommon,” Barry eventually said “that for those who experience great trauma in their lives, for their subconscious to lock away those difficult memories until such time as it decides the conscious mind can deal with them. What can you tell me of your life, your aspirations?”

“Nothing.”

“And why is that?” Barry continued, his voice calm and measured.

“Because I don’t remember anything.” Okay, it’s not strictly true, but there is no way I’m going to tell you that I remember being a thirty year old car mechanic...

“What do you remember?”

“Coming round in the hospital.”

“Nothing before that?”

“Nope! Nothing. Nada.”

“Does it concern you, not remembering anything. Your life, your family your friends?”

James gave it all of two seconds thought. “Nope.”

“It would concern me. The loss of all those memories. The good ones and the bad.”

“We are all different. We do things differently to each other.”

Barry made another notation. “You have no memories of school?”

“None.”

“Yet, you seem to have lost none of your language skills. What’s Sixteen plus eight?”

“Forty two “James promptly answered. Silence. “Well, obviously it’s twenty four.”

“Why did you say forty two when you clearly knew it was twenty four?”

James shrugged.

“I spoke with your parents before this meeting. They have some concerns.”

“Like?”

“They mentioned how you seem emotionally detached to them. How you don’t appear to be yourself.”

“Like I said, I can’t remember anything beyond waking up in here. I don’t know them. They are strangers to me.”

“Can you see how distressing that statement would be to them Nadine?”

James shrugged. “I suppose.”

“What are your thoughts on going back to school?”

“Ugh!”

“So you remember school?”

Shit! “As a concept. But not the details. I couldn’t tell you who my teachers were or who my classmates were.”

“Were?”

Shit “Are.”

“Another thing they mentioned, was how you have never lived outside of London.”

“So?”

“You don’t have a London accent.”

For fucks sake... “Wasn’t there a documentary on TV just a few weeks ago about someone who came out of a coma induced by a car crash speaking with a French accent?”

“Yes there was. How do you remember that, but nothing else?”

Fuck!!! Don’t say another word James, you dick.

Another scribble on the notepad. Barry said nothing and James refused to be drawn in by the silence. Barry placed his pen down again and steepled his fingers. “I see many patients in your situation Nadine. Enough to see that in circumstances like yours, they fall into one of two groups.”

James saw the trap and didn’t bite, staying quiet. Seeing that he hadn’t elicited the expected question, Barry continued on as though he had. “Those that have no intention of actually following through fully with whatever means they have decided to end their life, and those who have absolutely no intentions of failing to end their life, but yet, somehow do. The first group are pigeonholed as the act having been a desperate cry for help, the second, as just being ‘unfortunate’.”

“What about those who have no intention of succeeding but do?”

“I don’t speak with them, for obvious reasons.”

“So, what camp do I fall into?”

Barry avoided answering the question. “The other common factor between the two groups, is their manner afterwards when in hospital. Quiet, reserved, depressed and withdrawn. Sometimes even angry. You are none of these Nadine. Even the nurses remarked that you are different to the norm.”

“Who wants to be normal?”

“Yet by all accounts you technically succeeded in your suicide as you were clinically dead.”

“Even a technical win, is a win in my book.”

“By rights, the chances of you being brought back were next to non-existent. The oxygen starvation alone should have made you brain dead and dependent on artificial means of continued respiration. Yet here you are.”

James shrugged “Here I am. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.”

“And they certainly don’t go joking about it.”

“So, why am I here? What is the point of this?”

“The point? The point is to help those struggling with their demons, to help them manage their issues so they can function adequately in society without being a further risk to themselves or others.”

“And if they can’t live with their demons?”

“To explore different avenues with the goal of ensuring that they are safe and secure.”

“Does that involve really long sleeved white coats with lots of buckles?” Barry didn’t reply. “So where do we go from here?”

“That’s really up to you and the assessment of your medical team. Finding out what caused you to make and act on the decision the way you did, is a priority, as are ways of ensuring that you don’t find yourself in that position again.”

“That could be an issue, as I can’t remember.”

“So you say.”

“So I stay here until I remember?” James asked.

“You stay here until you have no medical reason to be here.”

“Which is how long?”

It was Barry’s turn to shrug. “Today, tomorrow...”

“So, what happens now, I go back to the ward with all those really healthy girls and do what exactly?”

“What would you do at home?”

Smoke, drink, watch porn. “I don’t know, do whatever it was I did before, I suppose.”

“Which resulted in you being here.”

“Okay, bad answer, but I thought it was better than saying ‘get drunk and wasted... ‘“

“Is that what you would normally do?”

Yes. “No idea. I can’t remember, can I? Actually, now that I think about it, I had blood samples taken, didn’t I?”

“As a matter of course, yes.”

“What was the toxicology result?”

“No alcohol or drugs, illegal or otherwise were detected.”

Boring! “There you go. That rules out drink and drugs doesn’t it then?”

“It would appear at first glance, that yes, that would be the case.” James leant back in his wheelchair as Barry continued. “I’m going to refer you to radiology for an MRI scan, it’s a machine that...”

“Magnetic Resonance Imager. Uses magnetic fields and radio waves, makes a racket.”

“You’ve had an MRI scan before?”

“No idea, can’t remember, can I?”

“Yet you know what one is.”

Oh shit. James shut the fuck up will ya! “They must have mentioned it on that TV programme about the Scot’s girl waking up with a French accent...”

A male porter wheeled him back to the ward and moved his drip to its stand as James climbed into bed. The TV on the end wall was on, showing some cartoons. James reached over to the bed remote and raised the back so he was upright. He thought about what Angela in the next bed had said about her charts. He looked across at her. She appeared to be sleeping. James reached down with his left, non-drip encumbered arm and lifted over his medical notes. He leafed through the pages, most of it was technical jargon that he didn’t understand. There was a record of the food he had eaten and the amount of fluids he had drunk. There was even a record of the times he had gone to the toilet. Including the times in the dead of night when it looked as though he was the only one up and about. Apparently not. Which was a little bit disconcerting.