It wasn’t like Steve to be a bit down. Ever since I’d know him he was chipper, would talk to anyone about anything. Dee, too, was not her usual self. The confident American hot-shot lawyer who could tear you to shreds in an instant with her tongue, was now strangely subdued. It was the drugs of course. The daily diet of drugs which did it.
Tom had stopped taking his drugs. They were plastic coated and so he could stick them under his tongue and spit them out later without the staff knowing. He’d stopped taking them for about a week now and things were becoming clearer. He’d almost worked out how he, Steve and Dee had been ‘forced’ into this place, this laboratory, or hospital or clinic or whatever it was. They had been on a night out reliving the days when they were BT’s ‘big deal’ team. Those were the days!
Yes – they’d been for a curry and somehow they’d been drugged and carted off to this place. It was irrelevant now. What he needed to do was get out of there. He’d tried it once before. He wasn’t sure when, but he’d made it as far as the main reception before the guards gently escorted him back to the room where he, Steve, Dee and a few others spent their days in beds facing the same way. Not speaking. Not smiling. Not doing anything. Every now and then, one of them would be wheeled out and would return later and they would not wake for another 24 hours. And then there would be more drugs.
He’d told Steve about his plan to leave and hoped he’d understand but his glazed eyes were not a positive sign. ”‘I’m doing a runner’, he’d told Steve. ‘I cant take you with me but I’ll be back’. Steve nodded but Tom was sure he did not have a clue what he was on about.
It didn’t take long to find a locker with male clothing and a white doctor’s coat in it and he changed into them in the nearest toilet. They fitted too. ‘Just like in the movies’, he thought. As he wandered the corridors looking for the door to the grass square which would lead him to reception and hopefully escape, he noticed the various operating theatres. There was one for kidneys and one for livers and lungs and yet another for hearts. It hit him immediately. They were all guinea pigs. Human’s drugged to the eyeballs and then used for transplant operations to teach medical students how to do it properly without risking hospital patient’s lives. God knows how many kidneys, lungs and other organs had been in and out of his body. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Eventually, he found the door leading to the grass square. He remembered this from before. He’d gone only a few yards across the grass when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned fearing the worst. Fearing he’d be taken back like before but was relieved to see Steve. Steve thrust a few bottles of drugs into his hands and said he’d need them. Poor Steve – he turned and wandered away in his zombie-like state, heading back to his room, his bed, his prison.
Tom crossed the square and then discarded his white coat before entering the reception room. The clock said it was 3.30am and of course it was quiet. The security guards were in their room at the back of reception. As usual, they were not focused – reading newspapers or playing Solitaire on their PCs no doubt. The main door was right in front of the security booth. ‘No way out there’, he thought, but there was another glass door at the side of reception which, although bolted, might be worth trying. Tom looked around the room and spotted the one moveable thing which might be heavy enough to break the glass. He picked up the metal stool and threw it at the centre of the door which shattered into a million pieces. He ran outside and looked for the best way to go to escape the guards who would be following him. Luckily there were some streets close by which had lanes and alleyways leading off them. He ran down one, turned left, then right and kept going. He didn’t have a clue where he was. It was definitely London – a street sign confirmed that but which way to go? The guards would be in cars by now, scouring the streets looking for him. He had no coat or jacket so would be easily spotted. He moved along the doorways, all the time looking for a bus heading in his direction, any direction! Damn Ken Livingstone for bringing in buses with doors – what he’d give to see a good old London Routemaster with its open back door. He could have jumped on to one of those and pleaded with the conductor to let him ride without paying.
As he half ran, half walked, all the time with searing pain in his sides and stomach, Tom wondered how he would tell his story. It sounded incredible. A hospital, where drugged, kidnapped people were being used as transplant guinea pigs. Even Julie would think he was bonkers. Anyway – how long had he been away? No idea.
All he wanted was a tube station or a taxi. Eventually he found a station - Seven Sisters. He was in North London but, of course, it was closed. He was an idiot. Everybody knew the tubes did not run through the night.
He was fading fast. The pain was excruciating. Then he spotted a taxi dropping some people off. He waited until they paid their fare and then started to get in the cab but the lady driving it said she was heading home it was the end of her shift. He got out and sank to the floor. That was it – he would lie there until they found him and took him back. He didn’t care anymore. The drugs were not so bad after all he thought.
Then I woke myself up. Yup - it was a dream. A horrible one. What did it mean? It probably means that J is watching too many medical soaps on TV!