The Doctor

‘When did you find Tibs’ collar?’ Emily asked.

‘About an hour ago, when I came home from work. Now, if that’s all, I must go. I have to see to my wife.’

‘Yes of course.’

Emily supposed she should have thanked him, but the door had already closed. She walked back down his path, looking left and right and into the foliage for any sign of Tibs. Then in the gutter. She must be dead. If she’d been alive and had slipped her collar outside the Burmans’ house, then she was close enough to find her way home. The most likely explanation for her collar being in the road was that she’d been run over, perhaps separating from her collar in the accident. If someone in the street had found Tibs’ body there was a chance they may call, as her number was on the leaflets she’d pushed through letter boxes. Otherwise she might never know, for she doubted anyone would bother to take a dead cat to have its microchip read. If there was still no sign of Tibs by the weekend, she’d have to accept she was dead.

Chapter Ten (#ulink_5c08fa98-a793-5019-a66a-63f5e4a0bbbf)

‘I disagree,’ Amit said forcefully. ‘The process of cryonics has already been shown to work on animals in laboratories. They have survived three hours using existing medical technology. Even longer periods if the preservation solution is continuously circulated.’

Mr Barry Lowe was staring at him, as was the student doctor.

‘You seem well-informed,’ Lowe said. ‘But three hours isn’t a hundred years. It’s a fantasy playing on peoples’ fears of death. Humans have been searching for immortality since they became intelligent enough to realize that one day they would die. It used to be just religion that offered immortality, but now this pseudoscience has got in on the act.’ He paused to concentrate on what he was doing – a hernia operation. The discussion had begun after he’d asked if anyone had seen the documentary on television the night before on cryonics, and had quickly become heated.

‘You can’t put religion and cryonics in the same category,’ Amit retaliated. ‘And it doesn’t matter if it’s three hours or a thousand years. At minus 190 Celsius there is no cell degeneration.’

‘And you can be sure of that?’ Lowe asked sceptically, glancing up at him. ‘There is no proof whatsoever. Those frozen bodies could be mush when they are thawed.’

‘Also, cell degeneration will have already occurred,’ the student doctor put in. ‘My cousin is a doctor at Saint Claire’s where that fifteen-year-old boy died. It was over an hour before he was put on ice.’

‘That’s appalling!’ Amit cried passionately, unable to hide his feelings any longer. ‘It’s a breach of our code of ethics.’

‘That’s a bit strong,’ Lowe said. ‘The boy was dead.’

‘Temporarily, and his wishes were that he should be frozen. The system failed him.’

‘Why the wait?’ Lowe now asked the student, as he began to close the wound.

‘My cousin said the instructions were not to touch him as it needed someone trained from ELECT who knew what to do.’

‘Who knew how to stabilize him,’ Amit clarified.

‘His mother phoned a member of ELECT,’ the student continued. ‘But he got stuck in traffic.’

Lowe laughed cynically. ‘The traffic always gets you in the end!’

‘I assumed the boy was put on a heart-lung machine during that time?’ Amit said.

‘No. The staff didn’t realize he should be. He was dead and his organs weren’t going to be used for transplant.’

Amit shook his head. ‘Appalling. What a waste. When I …’ he stopped. ‘It’s crucial the patient is kept on a heart-lung machine until intravenous lines can be put in and protective medications administered.’

‘You know a lot about it,’ Lowe said. ‘Is bringing people back from the dead a hobby of yours?’

The theatre staff laughed.

Amit fought to retain control. Ignorant lot. What did they know? But he had expected better of Lowe, a surgeon. He’d be laughing on the other side of his face one day when he showed them what could be achieved. Just you wait and see, he thought.

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_e6a3df4d-3c67-5d68-aae2-554ed318b1de)

‘Let go of me!’ Alisha cried in pain as Amit’s fingers dug into her arm. ‘You’re hurting me.’ He was half pushing, half dragging her out of the living room and through the hall. ‘What are you doing? I haven’t done anything wrong. Where are you taking me?’

‘The cloakroom,’ he snarled.

‘No! I don’t like being shut in there. I’ll be good. Please. No.’ The room didn’t have a window and Amit had changed the lock so it could be locked from the outside. Alisha knew from experience what it meant to be shut in there – sometimes for hours at a time. She struggled and tried to free her arm, but his grip tightened. ‘Please,’ she begged.

‘If you’re good and stay very quiet, I’ll let you out after he’s gone.’

‘Who? No, don’t, please. I can go upstairs and be quiet if you want.’

He dragged her the last few paces and pushed her in. Slamming the door shut, he locked it.

‘Amit! Let me out. Please, I promise I won’t look.’ She banged on the door.

‘Shut up now or I’ll leave you in there all night.’

Alisha bit into her bottom lip and tried not to cry.

Perspiration stood out on Amit’s forehead as he hurried to the back door, let himself out and then rushed down the sideway. He unpadlocked the gate. The lorry was just parking outside, half an hour fucking early! If it had arrived when it was supposed to, he’d have had Alisha sedated and out of the way in plenty of time. He had taken the day off work to receive the delivery and a couple of minutes ago the driver had texted to say he’d be with him shortly. There was no way he could risk Alisha seeing – the size and shape would raise her suspicions. He hoped the nosy cow next door wasn’t watching. He needed to get the cylinder down the sideway and into his lab as quickly as possible.

‘Delivery for Dr Burman,’ the lorry driver called from the pavement, reading from his e-Pod.

‘That’s me, but you’re early.’

‘Do you want me to come back later then, mate?’

For a second Amit thought he meant it and was about to say yes.

‘Where’s it going?’ the driver asked. ‘It’s big.’

‘The building at the very rear of my garden. It will fit down the sideway.’

‘I’ve heard that before; I’d better take a look.’

Amit led the way down the path.

‘It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’ll give it a go,’ the driver said. ‘What’s plan B?’

‘Through the house,’ Amit said. ‘But it will fit down here. I know, I measured it.’

‘With the packaging?’

Amit felt his stomach sink. He should have thought of that. How stupid! He’d taken the dimensions of the cylinder from the website and had checked them against the width of the sideway. He could have kicked himself.

‘If it won’t fit down here, it will have to go through the house and out through the patio doors,’ he said. But with Alisha not sedated that ran the risk of the driver hearing her if she began screaming and shouting again.

Amit followed the driver out to the front and then watched nervously as he climbed into the back of the lorry. He reappeared a few moments later with his precious package balanced on a hand truck. It was huge and, clad in padding, overhung the edges of the truck, but at a glance it could pass as a very large hot-water cylinder, Amit thought. His heart raced as the driver slowly lowered the tailgate and then pushed the hand truck off, then paused and waved up at the neighbour’s house. Amit followed his gaze. The bloody woman next door was holding her son up at the window to look!