Chapter 8

Dr Kelleher listened to my heart through a stethoscope, made me cough a few times, took my blood pressure then shone a light into each eye. “That’s good, everything seems normal,” she said, seemingly aimed at my parents as much as me. Then she turned back to me. “You slept through breakfast, but I can get the kitchen to rustle up a sandwich if you’re hungry.”

Now she had brought it up, I did feel hungry. “Yes please.”

Dr Kelleher summoned an orderly and an order was taken for a sandwich and a cup of tea. Then she scribbled some notes on my chart and left the room, promising to organise the electroencephalogram for me.

“What happened?” asked Dad, now I was alone with my family.

“John, Richard Masson’s on his way,” interceded Mum. “Why don’t we wait until he’s here then Jon only was to tell his story once?”

My breakfast arrived. I felt a bit guilty about eating when my family didn’t have anything, but Mum gave Janey some coins and sent her to a nearby vending machine for some coffees.

Richard Masson arrived shortly after I’d finished my breakfast. I’d been introduced to him before but never really had occasion to talk to him so I was a little intimidated.

Mum started by describing the circumstances in which they’d found me, handcuffed to the bed and guarded by a detective.

“Hmmm, said Richard. “Did the detective arrest you or inform you of your rights?”

“No Sir.”

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir’, said Richard. “Think of me as a friend who’s here to help you.”

“Thanks.”

“Did the detective try to question you?”

“Yes. I asked whether there shouldn’t be an adult present but he said I’d be in a world of trouble if I didn’t answer his questions. I didn’t answer though.”

“Very sensible, Jon. The detective is the one who’s going to be in a world of trouble. Now can you tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened earlier this morning?”

“Well, last night I went to bed early because I’d had a rough day. When I woke up this morning, it was still dark. A blinding headache suddenly came on and I blacked out.” There was no way I was going to admit to masturbating while thinking of Alex Ferguson. “When I woke up again the headache had gone but I realised I was somewhere different. At first I thought I might have sleepwalked into Janey’s room and I was in bed with her, but Janey doesn’t have blonde hair or wear pale blue pyjamas with pink hippopotamuses. Then the person I was in bed with woke up and turned over to look at me. I think it was Alexandra Ferguson, who’s in my class at school. She screamed, the headache came back and I blacked out again. When I woke up again I was here, handcuffed to the bed.”

“And you have no idea how you got to the Fergusons’ house or gained entry?”

“No. I’m still wearing the same pyjamas I had on at home.”

Richard turned to my parents. “Did you see your son handcuffed to the bed?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Dad. “Dr Kelleher saw it too. She was the one who insisted they be removed.”

“Good,” said Richard. “It’s always better to have independent corroboration.”

“I can do even better,” piped up Janey. “I’ve got a picture.” She pulled up the image on her smartphone. Then she paged to a picture of the detective. Finally she played a short segment of video from when Dr Kelleher entered the room until the detective left. The word ‘pervert’ was clearly audible.