George

“Welcome back George.”

The voice was coming from somewhere below my feet, but I couldn't sit up to see whose it was; I couldn't bend my neck – it was in a brace. I gurgled as the pipe in my throat started choking me.

“Relax George! You're making it worse!”

The voice was familiar, but I couldn't place it. The heart-machine next to me was beeping uncontrollably and there was the sound of running footsteps outside the room.

“He's choking, nurse, he is choking!”

“Out of the way sir, let the doctor come through.”

A tall, thin man stood over me. He slapped on some latex gloves and my heart stood still. This was just like before...or was before some sort of weird living dream. I closed my eyes and trembled.

It had been Monday, well, a Monday; I didn't know what day of the weak we were at now. Or what week of the month, month of the year...you get the idea. Just your other 'manic Monday' where I really wished that it was Sunday. Work was tough, times were tough. I heard nothing but talk of lay-offs and cut-backs from management and I had considered looking for another job. Considered, briefly, and then I had taken a look at the queues at the temping agencies, at the career counselling centers – anywhere where people could go to apply for work – and had decided that I was out of my mind. I would just have to work hard and develop some form of religion; praying for my job to still be my job at the end of the day. But I digress. It had been a Monday.

“Sir, Sir can you hear me?”

I gurgled again and tried to swallow. I decided against it – swallowing caused too much pain. However, as soon as I had decided against it I needed to swallow. My fists clenched.

“Sir, you need to keep your hands flat for us sir. If you don't we will need to re-site the drip.”

Drip? Oh god! Hospital! The gloves! The man! I began to panic and something started beeping rapidly.

“Sir! Sir you need to calm down!”

Monday kept flashing through my head. I would never forget the snap of those latex gloves or the smell of mould. The blinding light, as if God himself was coming down for me. But it wasn't God. Oh no, not God.

“Sir, you need to breathe now sir.”

“George! Breathe damnit!”

The voice was familiar, but I couldn't tell if it was a good familiar or a bad familiar. I blinked rapidly and raspyly I breathed. I started crying. Snot ran down into my mouth and I tasted salt from my tears.

He had abducted me on Monday. Hit me over the head with something hard. I never saw what it was, will never know. I was walking out of the office into the parking lot, looking for my car, when I had heard the crunch of gravel behind me. It had hit me. And then I had woken up tied to a table with a light in my eyes. I was in that position for hours, days? Then he had come. The man with the gloves. I heard them snapping. Saw his shadow as he had leant over me. Saw him raise a hypodermic needle filled with I don't know what.

“George, do you know why you are here?”

This voice was annoying. What was more annoying was that I couldn't place it.

“You almost overdosed on heroin George.”

I what? What had the disembodied voice said?

“I didn't know that you used George.”

But I don't! I have never done drugs in my life. The man! The needle! Heroin?

“They will be transferring you to the nearest in-patient treatment program for addicts as soon as you are well.”

No, no no. I gurgled. I gurgled again.

A figure leaned over me and I smelled mould. My heart stopped momentarily.

“You will be out of my way, George, and I can finally have your job.”