Mr and Mrs Westlake were there, but some distance away. The consultant was sitting closest, gazing through large glasses. Dr Warren stood behind him, with a file of notes in his hand – and he was dressed differently. His bow tie was gone, and he wore a white coat over a dark jersey. He was holding a set of forms under the nose of a woman seated in a metal chair. There was a silent clock, and the buzz of air conditioners. Monitors flashed, but they too were noiseless.
Richard wasn’t sure if he was able to speak or not.
‘Something’s wrong with Rikki,’ he said carefully. His lips felt thick. Rikki’s eyes were closed, and his breath came in low, juddering snores. Richard could feel the sedative in his own brain, heavy as sand, and he could hardly lift himself – the bedclothes pressed him to the mattress too. He managed to wipe Rikki’s chin gently – he was dreaming, and a small bubble of spit formed between his lips.
‘What’s wrong with Rikki?’ Richard asked.
Dr Warren smiled. ‘We’ve calmed him down a bit,’
‘Have you knocked him out?’
‘Richard,’ said his mother. ‘Try not to worry. You’re all right – that’s the main thing.’
‘Why is he knocked out, Mum? Who said they could sedate Rikki?’
‘It’s a mild dose,’ said Dr Warren. ‘We can crank it up if we need to, though: we’re getting better at judging how the drugs work, Richard. That’s a step forward in itself. He’ll be out for a couple of hours, so we can all have a talk. You remember Doctor Summersby?’
‘No.’
The consultant sat forward and his glasses flashed. ‘She’s here to help us, young man. I think we need an informed discussion, don’t you?’
‘Maybe. But it’s not very fair, knocking Rikki out – I don’t like that.’
‘Why not?’ said Dr Warren.
‘He wouldn’t like it, and you know he wouldn’t.’
Dr Summersby looked up. ‘He’s still loyal,’ she said softly. ‘Rationality’s good, and that’s the left hemisphere leading.’
‘I think it’s wrong,’ repeated Richard more assertively. ‘I wouldn’t want you knocking me out so you could talk to him behind my back. And where are we? Where have you put us?’
‘Richard,’ said his father, ‘it’s only for a short time.’
‘Am I in prison?’
‘No! Of course not. You said it yourself – things can’t go on like this, didn’t you? You nearly died today, and we had that fight yesterday. We had the fire – which we never properly talked about . . . now this. So the doctors are going to look at some options, and—’
‘Dad, I don’t even know what happened!’ cried Richard.
‘Then we’d better inform you,’ said Dr Warren lightly. He sat on the bed and Richard drew his feet up, away from him. ‘Let’s go back a bit – before your rather spectacular dive. Maybe we should start with the arson, Richard? Do you want to talk about that?’
‘Not to you.’
‘That’s what it was. Rikki tried to burn your house down.’
‘It was me that tried.’
‘Was it? Really? What about the violence at school? We know Rikki broke the painting – had he already defaced it?’
‘If he did, he did it when I was asleep. That’s what I told the headmaster, and that’s the truth.’
Dr Summersby spoke again. ‘That is entirely possible. We had a case in Asia with a similar pattern.’
‘Dr Summersby was out in Vietnam,’ said the consultant. ‘She’s an associate surgeon here, and spends a lot of time in our research ward. She’s been to-ing and fro-ing a little . . . but she’s back with us now and has some very good news.’ He leaned forward, and smiled. ‘We think we have a solution to all this, Richard – if you’re brave enough. If you’re ready to move fast, and take a chance.’
‘We’re at the critical stage, Richard,’ said Dr Summersby. ‘I’ve seen it before.’
‘What stage?’ said Richard. ‘I don’t understand you.’
‘You’re experiencing symbiotic enmity. It’s a competitive process between cranial zones. There’s a refusal to empathize with other people – it’s similar to your friend, Eric, and we’ve been developing strategies for exactly these kinds of crises.’
Richard stared at her.
‘Intervention is now possible,’ she said.
Dr Warren smiled. ‘The counselling failed, Richard,’ he said. ‘Rikki refused it, while you tried to make it work. He’s not easy to live with any more, is he?’
‘He’s not so bad.’
‘Really?’
‘He’s me. I’m still alive.’ Richard closed his eyes again, and felt his mother’s hand on his. His parents seemed curiously distant, and he couldn’t work out why – it was as if they’d been told not speak. ‘I just don’t know where I am, Mum – where have you put me?’
‘You’re in a private suite, Richard,’ said Dr Warren. ‘We can take care of you here, and get things sorted once and for all. We have a team ready—’
‘It’s a mental hospital, isn’t it?’
‘No!’
‘Then why are there no windows?’
‘You’re here for your own protection,’ said Dr Summersby. ‘Only special people get to come here—’
‘You cut up monkeys, don’t you? Eric told me!’
‘Richard!’ said his mother.
‘I’m not one of your monkeys. I want to wake up Rikki! He’s the one who needs help right now, so—’
‘Why do you want him with you?’ said Dr Summersby. ‘Let him go.’
Richard stared at her again, and for a moment he was lost for words. She held his gaze, unblinking.
‘Why are you so anxious about him?’ she said.
‘I just told you,’ said Richard at last. ‘He’s me.’
‘Is that what you feel?’
‘Yes!’
‘But he’s poisoning you,’ said Dr Warren. ‘The drugs only slow things down, especially as he fights against them. He’s taking over, isn’t he? That can’t be good.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘He wants to destroy you, Richard – it’s as simple as that. He made a pretty emphatic attempt this morning, and there was nothing you could do about it.’
‘That’s not true!’ Richard tried to sit up, but couldn’t. ‘We work together. He’s me, and I’m him, and that was clear right from the start. You told me that!’
‘Richard,’ said the consultant, ‘We’ve read your diary here, and—’
‘My diary?’
‘Yes.’
Richard gaped. ‘How did you get that?’
Mr Westlake sat forward. ‘They asked us for it, son,’ he said quietly. ‘We didn’t feel we had a choice—’
‘But, Dad . . . I write private stuff in that.’
‘I know, Richard, I know.’
‘How could you just give it to them?’
‘It’s routine procedure,’ said Dr Warren. ‘You mustn’t be so sensitive, and you mustn’t blame your parents. We have legal responsibilities, you see. The last thing anyone wanted was police involvement, so we all worked together and kept it friendly.’
Richard closed his eyes.
‘The diary’s a fascinating aid to the diagnosis,’ said Dr Summersby. ‘It’s allowed the team to move forward.’
‘There’s a team?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And they all read it. You sat round and read my diary—’
‘There’s blood on it,’ said Dr Warren. ‘We were obliged to read it.’
‘So you took it out of my drawer, did you? What else did you take? What else have you stolen, Doctor Warren? You inject Rikki and knock him out, and I know why you do that – it’s because he’s smarter than you, and saw through you from the start. You hate him, so you’ve kidnapped us. You couldn’t deal with Rikki, so you’re finding other ways now. That’s what this is about!’
‘Paranoia,’ said Dr Summersby softly. ‘Very common.’
&nb
sp; ‘Who’s paranoid? How am I paranoid?’
‘Richard,’ said Dr Warren. He wasn’t smiling. ‘Nobody here hates Rikki.’
‘You do!’
‘Emotions like “hate” play no part in diagnosis.’
‘You’re scared of him!’
‘He’s a destructive intruder. There comes a point when he can be indulged no longer.’
‘Please,’ said the consultant. ‘The clock is ticking, and the panel will be with us in a few minutes. I think we should move to the briefing suite.’
‘Good,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I wonder if I should take over at this point?’ said Dr Summersby. ‘We can show you some photographs, Richard, and lay out the options.’
‘I want to wake up Rikki,’ said Richard. ‘This affects him!’
‘No,’ said Dr Warren.
A male nurse appeared right on cue. He was pushing a wheelchair, and in a moment the sheets were pulled back and Richard felt strong arms lifting him. His parents were ushered to the side, and a door he hadn’t seen slid open. He was lowered into the chair, reversed, and turned. A long corridor stretched out in front of him, and he was rolling down it under pale blue strip lights. All he could hear was the thundering of wheels.
CHAPTER FIVE
They came to a cinema.
It seemed dark after the glare of the corridor, and a large screen dominated one wall. Around this hung several television monitors, leaning in on hydraulic arms. Cables looped between them, and a satellite dish stood blank and white on a rack of electronics. A technician whispered into a microphone, and as soon as the door closed, the television sets started to glow.
Dr Summersby moved onto a platform, and Richard was aware of Dr Warren just behind him. Rikki’s head still lolled against his ear, and he could feel spittle down his neck. Another door opened, and his parents stepped through.
‘I want to go home!’ said Richard.
‘I know, love,’ said his mother.
‘What do they want with me? Let me go!’
His father took his hand. ‘Give them a chance, son. That’s all we ask. Nothing will be done without your permission.’
‘What do you mean, Dad? Permission for what?’
His parents sat on either side of him, and Dr Summersby peered into the gloom. ‘Can you hear me?’ she said. The technician raised his thumb. ‘Is Professor Reed with us?’
‘Patching him in. Any minute.’
‘OK. And—’
‘Doctor Tibbitts is online too, standing by.’
‘OK. Richard . . . let me explain,’ said Dr Summersby. ‘You’re about to meet our emergency team. They’ve all want to talk to you, because they’ve been following your case, just like me. Sorry, there’s a buzzing . . .’ A microphone amplified her voice and pushed it out of several speakers. There was a squeal of static, and each television slowly resolved into a human face. The faces hovered, blinking. Dr Summersby pressed a key on her laptop and the screen behind her burst into a multi-coloured grid. ‘This is the age of technology,’ she said. ‘Professor Reed?’
‘He’s through,’ said the man at the desk.
‘Edmund Reed is one of our top surgeons, Richard—’
‘Hello?’ said a voice. ‘I can see you, but I can’t hear anything.’
‘You’re loud and clear, Ed,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Julius is with us too – so’s Fergal.’ The heads nodded and smiled, then all at once the faces rolled upwards, disappearing at the chin. Foreheads returned, and then staring eyes. The images settled again, grinning.
Richard clung to his father’s hand, as Dr Summersby continued: ‘We’ve discussed your situation,’ she said. ‘As I said before, your case is not unique, and—’
‘I’m not a case,’ hissed Richard.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Shh, dear,’ said his mother. ‘Let her explain.’
‘I’m not a case!’ said Richard again. ‘I’m just a . . . boy, and I’m not sick or mental. I don’t know who any of you are!’
Dr Summersby smiled. ‘We understand your sensitivities,’ she said. ‘When I said the word “case”, all I meant was that we’ve had a very similar . . . example of your situation, out in Asia.’
‘A successful procedure,’ said one of the televisions. ‘Richard, I’m Mr Feeney, and I can tell you, right now, that we’re ready to go on this. Butterfly’s doing well, and—’
‘Very well,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Let’s show him, Fergal.’
‘Sure.’
‘He needs to see the miracle – it’s important, Richard.’
Dr Summersby continued her explanation. ‘Edmund led the surgery for Butterfly, and it taught us all a very great deal about properly timed intervention. So . . . let’s get right to the point.’ She pressed another key and the grid on the main screen broke up into a host of thumbnail images.
‘How are you feeling, Rikki?’ said one of the televisions.
‘Julius, this is Richard,’ said Dr Warren.
‘Oh, right. Hi.’
‘We thought she was a mutation,’ said Dr Summersby. ‘At first. That was the logical diagnosis, because there are a lot of nerve agents left in Vietnam. That’s the legacy of war, of course, and some of those poisons lay dormant for years. Then the water supply gets contaminated, and before you know it—’
‘Two-headed pigs,’ said Dr Tibbits. ‘Two-headed dogs. Mutations sprouting everywhere. But the little girl—’
‘I’m not a mutation,’ said Richard through gritted teeth.
‘You’re not what? I can’t hear you, son.’
‘Nor can I,’ said the screen opposite. ‘I can just about hear—’
‘I’m not a mutation!’ cried Richard. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’
Dr Summersby was nodding. ‘You’re not, of course. You’re a very sensitive young man,’ she said quickly. ‘And you’re right to be picking us up on our language too. You’re not a mutation, Rik—Richard. You are a . . . fully functioning, ultra-normal schoolboy, and your teachers speak very highly of you.’
‘So do I,’ said Dr Warren.
There was a smattering of warm laughter, and Mr Feeney leaned forward into his screen. ‘You’re not the problem at all, Richard,’ he said. The voice was suddenly loud, and the face was all nose and glasses. ‘Everyone knows that, my friend. We want that secondary cortex removed, once and for all. You deserve a normal life, same as everyone.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘We’ve found a way, at last. OK, there’s a level of risk—’
‘Rikki!’ said Richard. ‘I need you, man! Will you wake up, please?’
‘Shh!’ said Dr Warren.
‘Show him the pictures,’ said the consultant.
‘Be patient, love,’ said his mother. ‘We agreed to sedate Rikki. We all agreed—’
‘Wake up, Rikki!’ shouted Richard. ‘I need you! We’re in a madhouse!’
‘He’s right here with you,’ said Mr Westlake. He put his arm round his son’s shoulders and held him tight. ‘He’ll be awake soon, Richard. Let these people show you what they have in mind – go with us that far. Please.’
Richard laughed. ‘You hate him too, Dad, I know you do.’
‘I don’t hate him, son. How can I?’
‘He’s me! He’s me, and I’m him, and . . . Oh God, you can’t just cut out the bits you don’t like! Where’s Grandad?’
‘Look,’ said the consultant loudly. ‘I think it’s best that we outline the treatment, and take it from there. The schedule is tight.’
‘The funding’s through, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Then we’re flying tonight. Show him the first slide.’
A thumbnail burst open, and two little Asian girls appeared, laughing with delight. They filled the room, and Richard blinked at the brightness. They were seven or eight years old, in pigtails and ribbons – and the whole room was transformed by their energy. Richard gazed, and it took him a full five seconds
to realize that while there were two faces and two radiant smiles, there was only one pair of shoulders. His mouth fell open, for it was a single child. Like him, she had two heads, sitting neatly on one slender torso.
‘That’s Butterfly, Richard,’ said Professor Reed. ‘We airlifted her from Ho Chi Minh a month ago: the Vietnam experiment.’
‘Butterfly?’ said Richard.
‘Yes.’
‘Is that her real name? Why did you call her that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dr Tibbits. ‘Because she was cute as a butterfly, I guess. And none of us could say her real name. Anyway, that’s not the issue. We got her down to Brisbane, where Ed runs a neurological unit just like this one. Show him some more.’
Images clicked and slide followed slide. The child was holding a cat. She was sitting in a chair. She was standing again, in school uniform. The smiles were still dazzling.
Dr Warren said, ‘Now look what we did. This was the result of teamwork, and – as I said – the implications are huge. The behaviour changed totally.’
The next picture showed a child in pyjamas. She was in a wheelchair, and one of the heads had shrivelled. It was as if somebody had let the air out of it.
‘That was three days after admission,’ said Dr Summersby. The television faces nodded and smiled. ‘The radiation therapy was instantly successful – more than anyone would have believed.’
‘It was amazing,’ said Mr Feeney. ‘We’d found where to target it, right?’
‘We bombarded the parietal lobe first,’ said Professor Reed. ‘That was the big decision . . . show him the next one.’
The screen melted into another huge close-up, and the child’s eyes were suddenly closed. She was held in some kind of clamp, and two discs hovered just above her temples.
‘My God, she was a tough cookie.’
‘Brave, as well,’ said Dr Tibbits. ‘Never complained.’
‘She had endurance, Richard,’ said Dr Warren. ‘There were some minor complications, of course there were. Temporary paralysis, loss of speech. But we’ve learned from those experiences, and we want to try again. We can help you lead a normal life – the extremes . . . the rage. The death wish. They’ll be all in the past.’