Chapter 27

“How did it go?” Sandra asked me as soon as she got home from work. “Are the police searching for you?”

“No, the judge refused the application to section me. The police had been trying for a while to get a warrant to search FreshFields, but up until now hadn’t been able to provide sufficient grounds. The judge granted one to Richard Masson based on my being treated with illegal drugs. When the police raided the place, they found the mental health facility was a front for an East European drugs syndicate masterminded by Mr Ferguson, the man who has a grudge against me.”

“So everything’s good?”

“Not yet. The police raid on FreshFields will be on the news this evening, so Richard Masson and Ms Edgeway are going to pay my parents a visit to coincide with the news breaking in order to assess their level of complicity in my maltreatment.”

“Do you think they knew you were being abused?”

I explained about my treatment at FreshFields, including the visit from my parents, who wouldn’t take me home even though I begged.

“That’s awful,” acknowledged Sandra. “To be let down by your own parents.”

I nodded my agreement. “But that’s enough about me, how was your day at work?”

Sandra gaped at me. “You’re serious, aren’t you! You’re the first man I’ve had living with me who bothered to ask.”

“I’ve read some more of your medical textbook. I hadn’t thought as far as career choices, but now I’m thinking of something in the medical field. And you’ve practical experience to share.”

“It was an uneventful day,” Sandra replied, “but that’s a good thing. It meant I didn’t have to chase after half-witted doctors who made basic errors on their prescription forms, or pharmaceutical suppliers who got orders wrong. Doctors are the worst because they think they are God’s gift and everyone else should wait on them.”

“I didn’t know doctors made mistakes on prescriptions,” I admitted.

“Let’s order some food and then I can tell you some of the horror stories over dinner.”

A Vietnamese restaurant Sandra liked did deliveries. After calling in our order, she showered and changed then, over dinner, she regaled me with stories of the mistakes made by arrogant doctors, some of which could have killed patients if she hadn’t spotted them and double-checked with the doctor concerned. And the food was good too!

After I cleared up the debris, Sandra settled down to watch her daily quota of soaps so I retired to my room to read.

My reading was disturbed by a gentle rap on the bedroom door. “Jon, the FreshFields raid is on the local news. Do you want to see it?” called Sandra.

I put down the Russian doorstop novel and hurried into the lounge. The local news had just ended but Sandra’s television had a sixty minute pause and rewind buffer so she was able to rewind to the start of the news item. It showed a still of the warehouse-like building with the ‘FreshFields’ name clearly visible on the front. The announcer said that police had raided the building, seizing a large quantity of illegal drugs and taking several men into custody. Then the news cut to the next item. There was no mention of the mental health facility, Dr Rabdoolia or Alex Ferguson’s dad. All-in-all it was an anticlimax.

“Again?” asked Sandra.

“No thanks,” I said, shaking my head.

“That place looked more like a warehouse than a mental health facility.”

“It was more convincing inside, or at least what little I saw was. Reception had framed copies of Dr Rabdoolia’s qualifications and achievements but I have to wonder how many were genuine.”

Sandra nodded, then fast-forwarded the television back to live for her next soap opera. I went back to my room and settled down with the Russian doorstop novel, which I was thankfully close to finishing.