PROLOGUE – DREAMS NEVER END 7
‘What do you like to be called?’ asked the nurse. She’d been warned
that this patient never responded to his name, but was so attached to his
alternative persona that almost nothing seemed to be able to get through
the barriers and defences he had meticulously constructed.
‘I am the Doctor,’ replied the patient.
‘Doctor of what?’
‘More than any mere human could ever know.’
‘You think you’re not human?’
‘You are a psychiatric nurse,’ said the man. ‘You of all people should
understand that appearances cannot always be trusted. Do most people
in here look “mad”?’ Something like a smile played across the man’s lips.
‘I don’t accept that term, of course, but before you began your work as
a nurse, did you not have some stereotypical picture of the mentally ill?
It might be a subconscious one, of course, and I’m sure it was modified
over the months and years of your training, but even so. . . How many of us
would look out of place in everyday life?’
The nurse indicated the man’s newspapers – apparently he had three
broadsheets and two tabloids delivered daily, though he also subscribed to
the National Enquirer, New Scientist and the Beano. ‘When I see the House
of Commons sometimes I do wonder about their sanity,’ she commented
with a grin.
‘I notice a former Member of Parliament has been found guilty of per-
jury,’ said the man. ‘To be in such a privileged position, and then have your
honour and dignity stripped away, one layer at a time. . . I know how he
feels.’
The nurse reckoned the MP deserved everything he got. She tried to
change the subject. ‘What did you do, when you travelled in the stars?’
‘Many things. I started as an observer, a traveller if you will, became
– if I might be arrogant enough to use the term – a hero, then. . . ’ He
paused again, staring at the bars on the window. ‘Then it all became rather
complicated.’
‘And how did you end up somewhere as dull as the Retreat?’
‘I have retired,’ announced the man grandly. ‘Illness and regret have
caught up with me. I now need to rest – unfortunately, I have absolutely
no choice in the matter. The rural isolation of the Retreat is as good a place
as any to while away my remaining years.’
‘And how long is that?’ asked the nurse, sitting on the end of the bed.
‘Oh, I expect I shall outlive this place – the bricks and mortar, I mean. I
shall certainly be here long after you’ve gone.’
‘You know that I’m new, then?’