Chapter 17

The next day was boring, although I was able to remove the dressings from my face. The scratch marks were healing nicely and I hoped they’d be undetectable by the weekend.

I spent most of the day catching up on schoolwork. After dinner we gathered in the lounge for our family meeting.

Mum started. “Whatever’s happening to Jon can’t go on,” she said. “Last time he got hurt and could easily have lost an eye. The question is, what can we do about it. Dr Kelleher doesn’t seem to have any answers.”

“I take it none of us fancy letting this Professor Palatinsky drill holes in Jon’s brain,” said Janey.

I shuddered at the thought. There was no need to vocalise my feelings on the matter.

“My Regional HR Manager came up with an interesting suggestion,” said Dad. “There’s a mental health facility named FreshFields on the outskirts of town. It has a specialist sleep disorder clinic where patients are continually monitored through their sleep periods. I’ve got to visit a client out that way on Thursday and I thought I’d stop by and take a look. Jon, do you think you can stay in your own bed for the rest of this week?”

I nodded. “The frequency seems to be dropping off so I should be safe for a week.” Obviously I’d have to forego masturbation and hope I didn’t have any erotic dreams.

I had serious doubts about whether there was a medical solution to whatever had happened to me on the moors, but my parents were right - things were out of control. What I really wanted most was to go back to the moors and try to find the metallic headband again before someone else got hold of it. Perhaps it could undo whatever it had done to me.

Nobody had any other suggestions so the meeting was adjourned until after Dad’s visit to FreshFields.

The next couple of days were routine. Dex stopped by with fresh schoolwork each evening. If he noticed the scratch marks on my face, he was too polite to mention them. The next morning I’d spend catching up on schoolwork then I’d continue reading the second doorstop novel from the hospital’s ‘Hospital Friends’ outlet.

Thursday evening the family meeting was reconvened.

“I paid FreshFields a visit and picked up a brochure,” said Dad. “It looks a bit like a warehouse from the outside, but inside it looks clean and modern. Jon would have to go as a private patient, but I think we could afford it for a couple of weeks or so.”

Dad handed me the brochure. “Have a read and tell me what you think. It’s run by a Dr Rabdoolia and he seems a decent guy. I think you should give it serious consideration because at this point I can’t think of any alternatives.”

I skimmed through the brochure. From the pictures, FreshFields looked nice enough: clean and well maintained. And there were pictures of doctors with happy-looking patients. I didn’t see anything about a sleep clinic though.

“Well, what do you think?” urged Dad. “Dr Rabdoolia suggested you pay it a visit tomorrow.”

“I guess it looks okay,” I admitted. At least it sounded a better proposition than having holes drilled in my brain. The brochure didn’t indicate what the cost might be, but I could hopefully refund my parents from the windfall I might be getting from the unusual Roman coin.

It was agreed that Mum, Dad and I would visit the facility the next day while Janey was at school, and if I liked it, I would enrol as an inpatient while my sleepwalking was investigated.

As soon as I saw FreshFields, my heart sank. It did indeed look like a repurposed warehouse. However inside it seemed to live up to the brochure pictures. The reception area was decorated with copies of Dr Rabdoolia’s qualifications, and pictures of him receiving awards and posing with various books and papers he’d published. When Dr Rabdoolia came to greet us in person, I had no trouble recognising him.

Dr Rabdoolia escorted us into his consulting room. He apologised for not showing us the whole facility, citing protection of the other patients. Dad explained about my sleepwalking and Dr Rabdoolia enthused about how much he could do for me. However he didn’t mention the sleep clinic until prompted, then he gave a very rapturous description of how new and modern it was, with state of the art equipment.