Connected (16 page)

They were silent for a few minutes while Susan
negotiated a busy roundabout somewhere on the outskirts of Cambridge, then Doug
turned to her. “So anyway, Singh wants me to go back and see him next Monday, I
think he wants to see if he can trigger another seizure to confirm the
diagnosis.”
“Sounds reasonable. He’ll probably sit you in front of flashing lights and play
high pitched sounds in your ears, while measuring your brain activity again.”
“So did you learn all this stuff at university?” asked Doug, his eyes following
the girl’s profile from auburn hair gradually down to her very shapely calves.
“Mostly yeah, I studied Diagnostic Radiography and Imaging at Hertfordshire –
but I also have a cousin who was diagnosed with TLE a couple of years ago, so
I’ve read up on this more than most other conditions.”
“And how is the cousin doing now?” asked Doug. “Did they manage to get rid of
it?”
Susan frowned, shifting her hands on the steering wheel. “It took a while to
find the right combination and dosage of meds, but now he’s doing much better.”
“But he’s going to have to be on medication for the rest of his life?”
“Listen, I don’t know. Every case is probably different, and I’m far from an
expert on this.” She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. “Please
don’t worry. Singh is one of the best neurologists in the country. You’re in
great hands.”
He looked down at her soft white hand on his arm until she pulled it away. “So
you enjoy what you do?” he asked, trying hard not to think of a lifetime on
anti-epilepsy pills.
“I love it. Ever since I had my broken leg x-rayed when I was about seven, I’ve
always wanted to be a radiographer.”
“Not a doctor or a nurse?”
“No, not really, You see I’ve always had this fascination with machines. I
think I got that from my Dad. He’s a mechanical engineer – always fixing things,
and I used to love watching and helping him.”
“Does it pay well?” Doug asked.
“It’s okay… Not brilliant, but okay.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.
“Doug, have you told your folks yet?” asked Brian with uncharacteristically
genuine concern in his voice.
“Not yet. They know about the cheekbone – although I told them I’d fallen down
some steps. Don’t want to worry them until I know what I have.”
“Ah, that’s very considerate of you,” said Susan, first smiling and then
looking puzzled. “So what did happen then?”
“Doug had a run-in with the Russian Mafia!” explained Brian.
“Really?” she asked.
“He’s exaggerating,” replied Doug, still thinking about the possibility of
being on medication his whole life.
“Yeah, he just thought he’d try to break a guy’s fist with his face - all to
save a young damsel in distress.”
“Oh…I see,” said Susan. “Your girlfriend?”
Doug looked at her blankly for a moment, while his brain tore itself back to
the conversation. “Girlfriend? Err…maybe – not quite sure at the moment.” He
turned away and looked out across the passing fields. He hadn’t seen Cindy
since she dropped off his things at the hospital. He had left some messages,
but she had only replied with a brief text saying she had gone to London for a
few days. Doug suspected that he may have frightened her off with his
spontaneous declaration of love, and the thought made him sick to the core.

They stopped to refuel and answer calls of nature
at a small service station just past Kettering. Doug offered to pay something
towards the petrol, but Susan let him buy the refreshments instead. She and
Brian took their overpriced and under-flavoured coffees to a small grubby
aluminium table by the window, while Doug stuck a pre-rolled cigarette between
his lips and continued outside. Stepping into the cool spring air, he lit up
and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs a few seconds, and savouring
the calming wave of nicotine that flooded his system. He turned and watched his
friends through the window. Judging by the changing expressions on Susan’s
face, Brian was still playing the clown. Each time she laughed, her small
straight nose crinkled up and her eyebrows arched skyward as if in surprise. They
were leaning towards each other, their legs almost touching under the table.
They appeared to be getting on very well. Oh well – good for them, thought
Doug. He had felt flattered by Susan’s interest and concern on the first half
of the journey, and his automatic flirt-response had kicked in, but as he
looked at her now, he found himself comparing her to Cindy. Although Susan was
cute, it was really no comparison at all.
“Hey Brian, you can sit in the front this time if you like,” he said, flicking
his butt into the gutter as they came out, “I think I’ll try and get some
sleep.”

Sleeping in the back of the mini was harder than
he had imagined, and he soon began to regret trading places. Reclining across
the seats, and using his jacket as a pillow, he reached for his iPod and set it
to shuffle. As familiar music filled his ears, he closed his eyes and thought
again about what an epilepsy diagnosis would really mean to him. So far, the
only times he was supposed to have suffered seizures were immediately after
being socked in the face with brass knuckles, and then apparently twice while
asleep. None of these instances had left any real impression on him - except
the knuckle duster of course - and even then, he hadn’t noticed the seizure. If
that was the worst he could expect, he failed to see any good reason to seek
treatment at all. As random tracks from his pleasingly eclectic collection
streamed from the small white earplugs, Doug slowly began to drift asleep.

He eventually awoke as the car pulled up abruptly
at a set of lights. “So how are we all doing?” he asked, feeling unusually well
restored after such a brief snooze.
“I think we’re nearly there!” replied Susan. “Brian’s just trying to find it on
the map.”
Doug glanced out of the window. “It’s the third turning on the left,” he
announced confidently.
“Have you been here before then?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder
with a look of surprise.
“Never,” he replied, now wondering himself how he knew. “I took a look at
Google Maps last week, when I first got the address. I guess it must have
stuck.”
“He’s actually right,” said Brian.
Taking the third left, they pulled into the grounds of the crematorium and
followed signs to the car-park. Susan immediately began to adjust her make-up
in the rear-view mirror, while Doug and Brian got out, stretching and groaning
as blood returned to their stiffened limbs.
“This is like having two bodyguards,” said Susan, finally stepping out between
them, and taking each by the arm, as they set off toward the chapel. A small
group of men and women all clothed in white were beginning to gather outside
the modest brick-built building set among firs and closely cropped lawns. The
three stopped for a moment looking at each other’s predominantly black attire,
exchanged oh-well-never-mind glances and continued. For twenty minutes or so,
they stood around wondering what to do next, as increasing numbers of mourners,
some thankfully also dressed in black, began to aggregate around the entrance
to the chapel. Doug recognised no more than a half dozen of them.

“In three hundred yards, you will arrive at your
destination,” announced the haughty female tones of Peter’s satellite
navigation system. He parked the Volvo and made his way to the gathering crowd,
still wondering whether he really wanted to attend the funeral of a complete
stranger. He looked around and spotted a tall, thick-set, young man, dressed
uncomfortably in a cheap, ill-fitting, dark suit, and sporting a large plaster
across the left side of his face. Peter smiled and walked towards him,
extending his hand. “You must be Doug.”
For an instant, Doug looked surprised and then, gesturing to his face, as the
penny dropped, smiled also. “Peter! Glad you could make it.”
“Well, it made a convenient half-way point to break the journey. How are you
doing?”
“Fine!” said Doug, turning to Brian and Susan, who were looking at him with
surprise and bewilderment.
“Erm, guys…sorry, I completely forgot to mention. This is Peter – his brother
knew Kal.”
They shook hands and introduced each other.
“So is your brother here too?” asked Susan.
Peter glanced at Doug for a moment. “My brother passed away two weeks ago.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” said Susan, her mind clearly processing the
coincidence. Brian was looking at Doug for some sort of explanation, but
received none. An awkward silence ensued, each presumably wanting to talk about
it, but nobody quite sure how to do so with sufficient sensitivity. Eventually,
they were interrupted by the sudden beating of a drum. The door of the chapel
was open and the congregation, now numbering at least sixty were starting to
make their way slowly inside.

Laid on a long table to one side of the chapel and
dressed in white and orange was the body of Kal Gupta. A dozen candles
flickered around him, casting a serene glow over the robed form, and those at
his side. An elderly woman Doug recognised as Kal’s mother, wailed
uncontrollably as people filed past. As Doug finally approached the table, a
vivid image of the Golf cabriolet with Kal’s broken body protruding from the
roof, flashed before his eyes. He started to feel nauseated. Loosening his
shirt collar, he forced himself to look at the thing lying before him. There
were no signs of injury now. His hair had been washed and combed - more carefully
in fact than Doug ever remembered having seen it while he was alive - and as he
looked closer at the greying skin and sunken features, it dawned on him that he
was looking at nothing more than a broken and condemned bio-mechanical machine.

Whatever had made Kal ‘Kal’ was no longer here.
Whatever it was that had animated the carcass in front of him had disappeared
along with any identity. He turned and stared at the other mourners, their
heads bowed in what each considered the appropriate degree of grief. What was
everyone doing here? It certainly didn’t matter to Kal anymore what happened to
the meat he had left behind. In fact there was no longer any Kal to care one
way or another. He then realised for the first time in his life, that funerals
were actually nothing to do with respect for the deceased. Their purpose was
merely to make the friends and family feel better about the loss. The more he
thought about it, the more he was convinced it was really just a group therapy
session, sugar coated with religious ritual, for those whose only way to cope
was to find solace in the delusion of an afterlife. Doug felt sweat bead from
his forehead and neck. The proximity of the other mourners as they shuffled
meaninglessly forward, began to feel oppressive and somehow hypocritical. The
relentless monotony of the infernal beating drum hammered into his mind, and a
heavy darkness descended upon him until eventually there was nothing.

Doug blinked, daylight filling his eyes. Soft
grass pressed against his back. Susan’s face loomed above.“What happened?”
“You passed out!” It was Peter’s voice.
“Are you okay?” asked Susan, consternation across her face.
Doug looked around. Brian and Peter were standing nervously to either side
while Susan knelt by his head.
“I’m fine, look, you guys go back in, I think I’ll just sit it out here and get
some fresh air,” he replied.
“We can’t just leave you,” said Susan, “what if you have another seizure?”
“He won’t be alone,” said Peter. “Look, I never knew Kal anyway. I only dropped
by here to meet with Doug. You guys go back in and I’ll stay out here and keep
an eye on him.”
Brian and Susan looked at each other.
“Having come all this way, I suppose we should see it through,” said Brian,
putting his arm around Susan.
“We’ll be all right,” confirmed Peter.
“Hang in there buddy!” said Brian. “We’ll see you later.” And with that they
turned and disappeared into the chapel.
“It was getting a bit much for me anyway,” admitted Peter, extending his hand
and helping Doug to his feet. “Two funerals in two weeks… and all that
incessant drumming was starting to give me a headache.”
“Ah, you can say that again,” groaned Doug, massaging his temples with the tips
of his fingers.
“Fancy a stroll through the grounds or do you want to sit down somewhere?”
“No, a stroll sounds good.”
“The girl called it a seizure? I thought you’d just fainted,” said Peter, as
they walked slowly away from the chapel towards some trees.
“You remember that EEG I told you about? Showed I might have a form of
epilepsy. Need to go back next week to confirm.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is it something you’ve suffered from for long?”
“No, it all stated a couple of weeks ago when I got knocked out during a game
of rugby. It was just after Kal died. My head hit the post just as I was scoring
a try.”
Peter looked him up and down. “Second row?”
“Yes, as a matter fact. Do you play?”
“Used to… when I was at Cambridge. I was usually number eight though.”
“Cambridge eh? What did you read?”
“Physics for my degree, and then maths and theoretical physics as a post grad.”
“Wow – like string theory and stuff?”
Peter stopped and looked at him. “Yes, as a matter of fact, my thesis was in
Superstring theory. Are you familiar with the field?”
“Not really, but I’ve looked at some of the maths. In fact it was the
Calabi-Yau flop transformations that inspired my work on the evolving fractal
patterns.”
Peter slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Of course, I thought
those operations looked familiar. That was very clever stuff by the way.”
“Thank you,” said Doug, beaming with pride, “so what do you do now?”
Peter’s shoulders slumped, as he continued walking. “I sold out I’m afraid. I
now design electronic control systems. Not nearly as much fun, but the pay is a
hell of lot better.”
“Yeah? Still sounds pretty cool. I still don’t really have any idea what I want
to do when I leave uni.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Peter with a smile. “Hardly anyone does at this
point I think. It’ll all become clear eventually.”
They watched as a squirrel scurried across the path and up one of the trees.
Doug pulled out another cigarette. “Do you smoke?”
“Not for a long time …but please, go ahead.”
Peter looked on, as the blue-grey tendrils rose and dissipated in the gentle
breeze. The aroma was sweet and unusually pleasant. He had never been a real
smoker, but had enjoyed the occasional cigar when younger. In the end though,
Abigail had kicked up such a fuss, he had decided the pleasure was not worth
the aggravation.
“You know what? That actually smells pretty good. What tobacco do you use?”
Doug pulled out the pouch from his pocket and showed it to him. “Are you sure
you don’t want one? I rolled a few on the way up – here.”
Peter eyed the roll-up for a moment. “What the hell! Why not?” he finally said.
The nicotine hit him like a train. “Whoa!” he gasped, feeling dizzy, but strangely
euphoric.
“Thank you!” he said, and then coughed.
Doug laughed, “Yeah, it’ll do that, if you haven’t smoked for a while.”
He looked at Peter for a moment. “Did Martin show any signs - you know –
depression - before he died?”
Peter took a long drag and exhaled slowly. “According to my sister-in-law, he
was very distant. You know, lights on – no one at home - kind of distant. Not
miserable, but kind of obsessed…” he trailed off.
“Obsessed with Dream-Zone?”
Peter stopped, pursed his lips, and frowned. “Yes, I think that was probably
it.”
Rows of flower-beds extended either side of the path. Peter bent down to read
one of the memorial markers, then continued. “So how was Kal in the final days?”
“Absolutely no change! If anything, he appeared happier and more excited than
usual. He even sent me a text a few hours before he died inviting me to check
out the latest file.”
“The Dream-Zone combo file?”
“I assume that’s what it was.” Doug paused, looking thoughtful. “Look, I’ve
been thinking. Do you still think it’s wise for us to try and recreate that
thing – given what happened to Kal and Martin? I mean, we don’t really know
what happened, but can we take the risk?”
The thought had been hanging at the back of Peter’s mind for some time now,
growing bigger, darker and uglier every day. “I just don’t feel as though I
have any option.”
Doug was still looking at him as though he clearly didn’t consider this to be
an adequate response.
“Have you ever heard of Plato’s allegory of the cave?” asked Peter suddenly.