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Evil
J. S. Raynor
Published by Dolman Scott Ltd 2015
Copyright © 2015 John Raynor Front cover Copyright J. P. Raynor, 2015
Book cover design by J. P. Raynor
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher. The rights of Alex Lowery as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN: 978-1-909204-74-4
Dolman Scott Ltd
www.dolmanscott.co.uk
DEDICATION
I would like to dedicate this book to my family. My wife, aleth, son James and daughter Kimberley all suffer the effects of having to live with someone whose mind is always in the midst of new story ideas or engrossed in typing manuscripts in the office.
In addition, I would like to mention how the Royal National Institute of Blind people’s Talking Book library has inspired me. After many years of being unable to read physical books, I felt liberated when, in 2011, I bought my first talking book device and started reading their books. In the first four years after this, I had read one hundred and seventy books. The superb stories created by such magnificent authors as Lee Child, Stephen King, Tom Clancy, Nelson Demille, Jack Finney, Dan Brown, Tess Gerritson, Dene Koontz, Harlan Coben, Robert Ludlum, James Herbert and E. L. James have all intrigued and Inspired me into using what I hope is an ability to create all the stories I have written so far. My wish is that I can continue to write stories for many years to come.
After sponsoring the production of a talking book version of Dan Brown’s “Inferno” in 2013, I would like to sponsor many others should sales of my work permit me to do so.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One : 20th. April, 2011
Chapter Two : 22nd. April, 2011
Chapter Three : 15th. July, 2011
Chapter Four : 15th. July, 2011
Chapter Five : July, 2011
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven : 9th. August, 2011
Chapter Eight : 12th. August, 2011
Chapter Nine :
Chapter Ten : 15th. August, 2011
Chapter Eleven : 16th. August, 2011
Chapter Twelve : September, 2011
Chapter Thirteen :
Chapter Fourteen :
Chapter Fifteen : November, 2011
Chapter Sixteen :
Chapter Seventeen : November, 2011
Chapter Eighteen :
Chapter Nineteen :
Chapter Twenty : December, 2011
Chapter Twenty-one : December, 2011
Chapter Twenty-two :
Chapter Twenty-three :
Chapter Twenty-four :
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven : December, 2011
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine :
Chapter Thirty :
Chapter Thirty-one : December, 2011
Chapter Thirty-two :
Chapter Thirty-three : December, 2011
Chapter Thirty-four : December, 2011
Chapter Thirty-five :
Chapter Thirty-six : December, 2011
Chapter Thirty-seven : December, 2011
Chapter Thirty-eight : January, 2012
Chapter Thirty-nine :
Chapter Forty :
Chapter Forty-one :
Chapter Forty-two :
Chapter Forty-three :
Chapter Forty-four :
Chapter Forty-five :
Chapter Forty-six :
Chapter Forty-seven :
Chapter Forty-eight :
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
Captain Alex McCloud looked up when he heard the all-too familiar sound of sniper-fire. It seemed uncomfortably close to the base camp at Kandahar. “Jack! Quick! Come with me!” The two men ran towards the camp entrance and soon saw the crumpled bodies of two Afghan soldiers who had been guarding the camp’s main entrance gates. A third soldier was calling out for assistance and trying to revive the two unfortunate men who were, obviously, beyond any earthly assistance.
Alex and Jack were soon by the man’s side. The young captain was familiar with all three Afghans who had been willing to assist American and British forces in an attempt to rid the country of the Taliban insurgents. To make it worse, all three men were related.
“Did you see the attackers?”
“Yes, Sir.” He looked devastated at the loss of his cousins. “There were four Taliban.” He turned and pointed. Alex looked and saw a vehicle racing away from the camp. Four figures were in the battered vehicle as they made their escape.
Alex wasted no time and ran with Jack towards a lightarmoured vehicle. “Watkins! Adamson! Come with us, quickly!”
Within seconds, the four were in their vehicle and racing in pursuit of the killers.
Alex had been assigned to take charge of flushing out groups of Taliban fighters entrenched near to the villages where they could intimidate and keep pressure on frightened residents. Now he had a job to do. “Just get this right!”, he said to himself.
While Jack drove the vehicle, his foot pressed hard on the accelerator, alex was on his radio, instructing a helicopter pilot to take off and assist in this dangerous task.
After a few minutes driving at speed, on poorly-maintained roads, through village streets, the car entered open countryside with just the occasional small group of dwellings. The car with the Taliban fighters came to a halt near to a mainly open area. They jumped out of their vehicle and ran away in the direction of a simple building. It was one of several similar buildings in this area.
Jack pulled up, without getting too close to the other vehicle, in case it had been booby-trapped. All four ran after the escaping insurgents.
The first three Taliban fighters were easy to dispatch as they, seemingly, made easy targets. When another fighter retreated into the small, ordinary-looking building, Alex’s unit followed, unaware that this was a deadly trap.
As the man ran inside, he quickly hid behind a stack of boxes, waiting for the British soldiers to enter. When he was satisfied that several soldiers were inside the building, he shouted “Praise be to Allah!” and detonated a huge bomb, ensuring not only his own death, but that of several of the infidel fighters.
In the explosion that followed, Alex’s Sergeant and best friend, Jack Prentice, was literally torn to pieces, while Corporal Doug Adamson was decapitated and a third soldier, Private Bill Watkins lost both legs.
Alex felt the full force of the blast, his clothes immediately catching fire, while he received a great deal of shrapnel wounds to his face and one side of his body.
Luckily for him, the force of the explosion hurled him away from the structure and out of further danger from the now, fiercely-burning building. a second huge explosion ripped through the air, making it impossible to retrieve what was left of the bodies of his three unfortunate comrades.
Alex was uncertain what happened next, but, somehow, he stumbled away from the blazing inferno that had trapped them and, after collapsing, was quickly dragged away by his fellow soldiers who had disembarked from the helicopter and had come to his aid. While enemy snipers were firing at Alex, he was quickly rolled on the ground to extinguish the flames from his burning clothes. Alex was not only dazed, but also completely blinded from the frags which had, painfully, torn into his face, making it impossible for him to help himself. Blood streamed down his shattered face, giving the young soldier a ghoulish appearance, somewhat reminiscent of a horror movie.
As the men in his troop realised Alex’s difficulties, they literally picked him up and carried him to the helicopter which, thankfully, had returned for them. It was pretty undignified, yet life-saving, as they bundled their inert Captain inside. They all scrambled in quickly after him, allowing the heavy machine to lift off, while still being targeted by small-arms fire.
Alex remained unconscious for about three hours, coming round in the military hospital at Camp Bastion.
He would always remember that day vividly. The antiseptic smell, the air of quiet efficiency, but most of all, the strange feeling of isolation. Not just the fact that he was lying in a hospital bed, but, for all he knew, the ongoing battles could be a million miles away, or even ended, though he knew this was impossible.
He turned slightly in his bed in a vain attempt to get a little more comfortable and winced from the sharp pain.
Out of the darkness, a familiar voice gave him a start. “Hello, Alex. You’re back with us, then?”
Alex recognised the deep, now calming tones of Derek, his commanding officer.
He wasted no time and asked the all-important question, “What happened to my men?”
There was an uncomfortable, meaningful pause before the reply came. “A secondary explosion prevented us from getting the others out. Prentice, Adamson and Watkins didn’t make it, I’m sorry to say.”
Alex had dreaded the bad news, but had feared the worst. “Oh, shit! What a mess! I should have guessed that it was a trap.”
Major Derek Connolly could not agree with the young officer. “Don’t blame yourself, Alex. If we did not react in case everything was a trap, we would get nowhere. The important thing, now, Alex is to get you better and out of that bed.”
Dreading the answers that may be given, he asked the next-important question. “What happened to me? Why can’t I see anything?”
Again, another short, yet meaningful pause. “You received about twenty per cent burns, mainly to the left side of your body. The frags caused extensive scarring, particularly to your face and upper body.”
“What about my eyes?”
“I’m sorry, Alex. The front portion of both eyes was damaged and the probability is that loss of sight to both eyes could be permanent.”
Alex felt as though he had been hit by an express train, metaphorically speaking. Burnt skin and frag wounds could heal, but the news that he would never see again, hit Alex badly. He took a deep, involuntary breath in before asking, “Are you certain about my eyes?” He feared that he knew what the answer would be, even before Derek replied.
His commanding officer sounded apologetic. “The front portion of both eyes was damaged so severely that corneal implants could not even be considered. I am terribly sorry, Alex, but that is the situation as explained to me by the medics.”
Right then, Alex wished that he had died in the battle, along with his men. He could not understand why his own life had been spared, while his future had been so finally and brutally destroyed. “There’s no future in the army for a blind soldier”, he thought, somewhat bitterly. He could not imagine life without sight, unable to see the magic in a woman’s smile or the wonderment in a child’s innocent face. Even to see the creases and fine lines in his own face as he aged, would be denied to him. His silence said everything.
Alex’s feelings of hostility and despair were not aimed at Major Connolly. He knew that it was his superior’s job to be honest, sometimes to the point of brutality, with the men in his command. One of the disadvantages of climbing up the ranks was the inevitable task of breaking bad news when a death or serious injury occurred.
“Listen, Alex. Tomorrow you will be flown back to the U.K. where you will receive the very best medical treatment. If there is any way that your sight can be restored, then it will be done. I’m just telling you the situation as it is at this moment. Okay?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s alright, Alex. I do understand your frustration. We now have to put our trust in the specialists back home.”
The flight back to England was a very sobering experience. Alex was one of three who were on stretchers along with one female and five male soldiers whose injuries were less severe, allowing them to sit in normal seats.
It was heart-wrenching to realise that, as well as the injured, there were two soldiers in coffins. Soldiers whose lives had been cut far too short. “What a fucking mess!” he thought. For the men in his own unit who had died in the huge explosion, their bodies would remain in that Godforsaken country, the dignity of being buried on British soil being denied to them. All that was left was the memories of these three brave individuals.
Within a couple of hours after landing, Alex and the other seriously injured soldiers were flown, by helicopter, to Queen Elisabeth Hospital at Edgbaston in Birmingham.
This famous hospital was only opened the previous year and had a world-renowned reputation for the care and rehabilitation of military personnel injured in conflict zones.
The care Alex received was superb. He was fortunate to have burns which were not quite deep enough to need skin grafts. There were many blisters from his shoulders down to his abdomen, causing him extreme discomfort, but, with a great deal of patience and expertise by the medical staff, they would, eventually, be replaced with new skin.
Debbie and Susan handled him with the same care as they would for a premature baby. They gently bathed him, applied liberal quantities of lotions and dressings, where appropriate. The bed in which he lay had an electric ripple-effect mattress, designed to prevent contact sores normally associated with lying in one position for protracted periods of time.
The injuries to his face were, however, a major cause for concern. The metal fragments had torn deep into the flesh and it took surgeons four hours to remove any remaining pieces of metal and repair the facial tissue as much as possible.
20th. APRIL, 2011
“Shit!” The bandages were unbearably tight around Alex’s head and he wished somebody, anybody, would loosen them enough to ease the throbbing pain in his damaged skull. There was little of his head not tightly bandaged apart from his nose and mouth. He tried, with fingers that did not feel like his own, to fumble with the bandage, but, try as he might, he was still unable to find a loose end. “Shit! Shit!” He was not, under normal circumstances, the kind of guy who casually uttered even this mildest of profanities, but, now, in his present situation, it actually felt quite excusable.
The effort exhausted him and he gave up, sinking back onto the bed, defeated and deflated. Naively, he hoped that nobody had observed him pulling at his bandages, but a nurse had and rushed over to his bedside. “Alex! Please leave your bandages alone. They are tight for a reason.”
Alex grunted. He knew Debbie, the nurse, was correct, but this did not lessen his feelings of frustration. He lay exhausted from his futile efforts.
Sensing his frustration and sadness, Debbie softened a little. “Is there anything I can get you, Alex?”
There was not a hint of humour in his voice as he replied, “How about a new body?”
She gave a wan smile. “Listen, Alex. You do have a good body, believe me.” She was not just saying this to please him. Debbie had seen him naked many times and wished she had a guy with such a muscular frame in her own life. With Alex, “everything”, and she really meant “everything”, was in the right proportion.
Debbie was single and, at twenty-eight, after a few forgettable relationships, wondered if there would ever be someone special in her own life. Her past sexual partners had, to put it simply, not come up to expectations. Why a man should think that a two or three minute fumble should be enough to satisfy a woman, she could never comprehend. Why is it that men find it impossible to understand what a woman really needs? Her blushes, at these most intimate thoughts, went unseen. “You’re healing well and, with a little patience, you will make a full recovery.”
If anyone knew what his body was like, it was Debbie and her colleague, Susan, who worked alongside her. Ever since Alex had been flown from Afghanistan and brought into the Intensive Care Unit, three weeks earlier, these two women had bathed, cleaned and assisted him to use the bedpan and probably knew every inch of his body in far greater detail than anyone else, even including himself. They had fed him intra-venusly when he was incapable of looking after himself as a result of the heavy cocktail of drugs necessary for pain relief.
He struggled to speak clearly, his voice not following his thoughts, coughed a little and then tried again. “I could do with a drink, please, Debbie. My mouth is so dry.”
“Of course.” Debbie pressed the controls to raise the head of the bed, making it easier for her difficult patient to drink. She placed the cup into Alex’s hand and, using a straw, he gulped down a few, welcoming mouthfuls of fruit juice.
“Thanks, Debbie. That’s much better. I’m sorry for being such a pain in the butt.” He laid back, irritated that even the slightest effort, such as sitting up, exhausted him. He had never felt so incapable and useless as he did now. He felt that his abilities had been reduced to that of a baby and not a very intelligent one, at that.
“Don’t worry, you are getting better and I am not joking when I tell you that we have had much worse patients than you.” She hesitated, uncertain if she should tell Alex of one of her more memorable experiences which had left her in tears, but, then, after only a moment’s hesitation, continued, with some bitterness in her voice. “About ten months ago, a Colonel Peter Bower was admitted into this unit. He had lost his leg, after being caught in a Taliban suicide bombing. He received the same amount of attention as everybody else in Intensive Care, but this had never been quite enough for him. One day, I had been late with his medication, as a consequence of one of the more critically ill patients dying. I was upset as the unfortunate young soldier had been a war hero and, to my mind, the string of obscenities and insults from the Colonel was completely unjustified and unnecessary.” Brushing away a tear at these painful memories, she added, “I could never imagine you emulating the officious Colonel.”
After hearing her story, Alex realized how truly dedicated all the nursing staff were and, in that moment, he was determined not to make their jobs any more difficult. “I am so sorry, Debbie.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s all part of the job and I really do love my work.” The diligent nurse adjusted Alex’s bed again, using the remote control, made certain he was as comfortable as possible and, quietly, returned to her nurses’ station.
He could smell her perfume as she had leaned over him and the sweet, distinctive scent had lingered even after she had moved away. “Nothing wrong with my sense of smell”, he thought. This was not the only sense which had survived, but had, like most young men, always been lurking, just beneath the surface. “Wonder if she is good-looking?” He imagined that she had slim, attractive features. Bright, seductive eyes, small, angular nose and full, soft, delightfully-tempting lips.
Alex did know that she had long, silky hair as it had touched his arm when she had leaned over him a few days earlier. He felt certain that, had Debbie strictly followed hospital regulations, she should have had it tied back, but there had been occasions, perhaps on her late shift where she had, temporarily, let her hair down.
“Wonder what colour her hair is?” He could ask her, but, for some inexplicable reason, felt a little reticent. In his mind, her hair would be black, long and silky, contrasting against her soft, milk-white skin. He imagined her naked, displaying her small, firm breasts, slim waist and slender hips. He knew that he may be disappointed if the reality did not meet up to his erotically vivid imagination, but, well, it helped to pass the time. “Bet she’s great in bed”, he thought, remembering stories in his youth of the many sexual antics indulged in by members of the nursing profession when off or even on duty, but, of course, that did not mean that these rumours were true. Still, imagination worked wonders when the body was incapable of much, if any action.
Apart from this interest in the females looking after him, Alex’s feelings were a mixture of anger, boredom and regret that he was unable to see or do anything useful for himself, just as if he was an infant, once again.
Before all this, he was a picture of physical fitness. His six foot two inch, fourteen stone muscular frame enjoyed the admiration of both men and women alike, when he was a twenty-four year old captain in the British Paratroop regiment.
He not only had strength of body, but was extremely confident, self-disciplined and perfect material for the strict requirements of the British army.
At twenty, he had undergone the rigorous training at Sandhurst Military Academy, leaving as a commissioned officer. He had wanted active service and, when he was posted to Afghanistan in two thousand and nine as a second lieutenant, he knew that this was exactly what he wanted. Alex certainly did not relish the idea of a regular occupation, which meant a mindlessly, boring, nine to five desk job, five days a week for the next forty-odd years. For many, this would have been perfectly acceptable and infinitely preferable to having no job at all. For Alex, it would be like living in a permanent state of limbo, with no challenges and no excitement.
He had wanted action, adventure and, of course, a certain degree of danger. His parents, however, were not so convinced and, fearing for his safety, tried to persuade him to take a less leading role in military activities.
Even at the age of six, the energetic youngster had declared that, when he was grown-up, he was definitely going to be a soldier. All through school, as well as achieving good results in academic subjects, he had excelled at swimming, rugby, football, gymnastics and long distance running. He not only had great strength of body, but was also determined enough to excel in anything which would assist his military future.
It was not as if there had even been anyone in the close family with a military background. His father, James, was a barrister and his grandfather, Richard, an accountant, both, in Alex’s opinion, quite sedentary, extremely boring occupations.
The one exception to this was his Mother’s brother, Uncle Robert. After ten years in the Royal Air Force, he was now a senior pilot with Singapore Airlines. He was the only one who could understand the hunger for military action, so apparent in the youngster. When he had the opportunity to talk to Alex in private, he would tell of his own military experiences, particularly his missions in defence of the Falkland Islands and, generally, encouraged the attentive Alex, even creating a degree of tension with his sister and brother-in-law, when they realized how his words were influencing their son. Yet nothing would dissuade the determined youngster from his goal.
Both Louise, his mother, and James, knew that their son had ambitions to have a combat role and were disappointed, though not surprised when he left the U.K. for a six month tour of duty. During this time, he had shown great courage and strength of character and a worthy example of a commissioned officer.
Alex had been involved in many risky maneuvers, coming close to death on numerous occasions. In one of these he managed to rescue a teenage girl and her family after they were threatened and attacked by the Taliban. This was all because the girl was determined to be well educated, something which the Taliban seemed to fear and do their best to prevent. The girl had been injured, but, thanks to the intervention of Alex and his combat group, not seriously. Alex could not understand the mentality of Taliban thinking. Do they really fear domination by women? Is this why females seem to be so dominated by men and repressed within the Islamic faith? He had heard of young, unmarried women who had been brutally, stoned to death after being discovered in an intimate relationship, while the man, apparently would, escape without fear of any punishment. Why should women accept anything less than full equality?
It was a great relief for his proud parents when he safely completed his six month tour of duty and returned to the U.K., as a newly-promoted Captain Alex McCloud.
He had everything going for him. A career he loved and Helen, his fiancé, who had been an important part of his life for the past three years.
The problems started when he returned to Kandahar Province in Afghanistan in December, two thousand and ten. The troubles were escalating and the Taliban were proving to be ever more resourceful in their efforts both to evade and attack foreign troops.
22nd. APRIL, 2011
When Helen, Alex’s fiancé, visited him just three days after his return to the U.K., he felt apprehensive about her possible reaction. There was a slight hesitation when she entered the ward and then, without saying a word, she walked up to his bed and planted a tender kiss on Alex’s lips. It had been five long months since they had last kissed, but the taste of her lipstick and the smell of her perfume reminded him of much happier times. Also, on that day, five months ago shortly before he went out to Afghanistan, they had done much more than just kiss, but, how long would it be before he could make love, again? How long before he could be a real man?
She gripped his hand tightly. Although Helen considered herself lucky that Alex had survived the conflict, it was heart-breaking to see him in his present condition. “How are you feeling, darling?”
“Better now that you’re here, sweetheart.” It seems like ages since we were together.” He relaxed a little, yet, within a few seconds, a virtual black cloud appeared at the back of his mind and, somehow, something seemed different and troubling.
All his life, Alex had been self-confident and assured, but now, nothing seemed certain any more. Did he have anything to look forward to? Would Helen still want to marry him, now that he was blind? He wished he could see into the future, if only to know what to expect.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
“The medication helps. The pain-killers make me feel so drowsy that I do sleep quite a lot. Then, there are the head-aches, far worse than I’ve ever experienced. At least I’m alive, unlike poor Jack.”
Helen knew of Alex’s long friendship with Jack and would have liked to give him a big hug, but she dare not, in case it caused him even more pain. “Oh, Darling, I’m so sorry.”
Helen sat on the chair at the side of the bed and, tenderly, held his hand. It was as if it was made of delicate china and may break if she held it any tighter. “When are the bandages going to come off?”
“I don’t know. The staff change the bandages regularly to clean and check how the flesh wounds are healing, but I really don’t know how long it will take.”
Helen sympathised. “Oh, it must be awful. I suppose it will take a while for your eyes to heal before you can see again?”
Alex was stunned by this question. “Did my parents not tell you about my eyes?”
Her blushes went unseen. “Well, yes. They said both your eyes were damaged, but I thought that surgery would be possible to recover some sight.” She was already regretting the fact that she had asked what now seemed like a really stupid question.
The hopelessness in Alex’s voice was evident as he replied, “You have no idea how much I wish that was true, but the ophthalmic surgeon told me that there was too much damage to both eyes to ever have the possibility of seeing again.”
An awkward silence fell on the young couple, broken only by Alex’s parents and younger sisters, Lucy and Amelia, entering the single ward. His mother sensed the tension between her son and potential daughter-in-law, but knew better than to make the situation worse by enquiring about the noticeable chilly atmosphere.
Messages from relatives and friends, some quite humourous, were passed on to Alex by his parents and the conversation soon took on a lighter tone.
Lucy found the sight of her brother in such a bad way, deeply upsetting and shed many tears while squeezing his hand tightly. Thirteen-year old Amelia was equally upset, but, somehow, was managing to stem the flow of tears, having shed so many when she first heard the news about her big brother’s suffering extensive injuries.
Later, when all visitors had left, Alex thought again about Helen’s question. He had a sickening feeling that everything that had happened over the past three years between him and Helen was soon to fall apart. She had not said anything more about his lack of sight, but the disappointment in her voice said it all. Why should anything spoil his chances of a happy marriage? His depression deepened, noticed by the vigilant medical staff.
Alex realised that, over the next few weeks, Helen’s visits became less frequent. He had feared that this may happen, but hoped that her feelings were too strong to be affected by his hopeless medical condition.
On top of this, he suffered from many chilling nightmares, where he re-lived the experience which had so effectively changed his entire life. Re-living the agonizing death of his friends and comrades terrified him beyond belief, each nightmare scribing deeper and deeper into his already tormented soul.
On several occasions, the nursing staff had to waken him as he screamed and threshed around in his bed, with the potential to damage his slowly-healing wounds.
When Helen did visit, he could sense an emotional barrier between them. She did try to say all the right things to lift his spirits, but there was now an emotional chasm where once their hearts had been deeply entwined. It now, almost, seemed a relief when visiting time came to an end, as he found it difficult to hide the hurt he was feeling inside.
He surprised himself when he admitted his concern about Helen to Jane, the psychiatric counsellor, a middle-aged woman with a soft, caring voice, who listened attentively to the young man’s worries.
“It’s not uncommon for relationships to suffer after such a trauma. You may find that she resumes the relationship when you are more mobile. Would you want that?”
Alex had to think about his own feelings for Helen. “I think so, but I do feel that I am now a huge disappointment to her.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Alex. Many blind people can still lead a full, active life.”
Even the word “BLIND” made Alex aware of a deep-rooted fear. Why was this five-letter word so short yet so powerful with his emotions? Why should it happen to him?
“I know, but I never wanted to depend on somebody else. I’m the one who should be looking after my partner.”
Jane could understand his feelings of inadequacy. In her job, she had come across similar situations many times and saying the right words to injured servicemen was never easy. “Give yourself time and I feel certain that your situation will improve.”
He knew she was probably right and tried, with great difficulty, not to worry about his own situation and difficulties.
To Add to Alex’s anxiety, the painful headaches persisted. For this reason, the specialists responsible for his care decided to carry out a brain scan.
The anticipation of this worried the young soldier even more, as the thought of having not only lost his sight, but also having impaired mental abilities would be just too much for him to accept.
Peter Jacques, the Neuro-surgeon who analysed Alex’s brain scan, tried to be re-assuring. “In most respects, your brain scan appears to be absolutely normal, Captain McCloud.”
The “in most respects” part of the surgeon’s statement caused immediate concern to Alex. “Just what does that mean?”
“Let me explain. As far as we can establish, there are no adverse reactions. This means that there is no impairment to your mental abilities.”
“Good.” Alex felt a little easier, but still knew that there must be something more to explain. “So how is my brain different?”
The surgeon sounded reassuring. “There are signs of increased activity in the right hemisphere, which usually means a heightened cognitive reasoning. This could have been caused by the impact on your skull when you were injured in Afghanistan.”
Still puzzled, Alex asked, “Is that a good thing?”
“Oh, yes. Individuals with higher activity than normal in this area tend to be more aware, more perceptive and, in some cases, have an unusual gift or talent, such as increased memory retention or the ability to mentally calculate complex mathematical calculations.”
This took the young man by surprise. “You mean that I may now be a genius?”
The specialist, who was quite a big guy, laughed with surprising volume. It was almost a “Brian Blessed” laugh. “Genius is a bit of an emotive term, but certainly mental capabilities higher than the average and, don’t forget, the down side is the problem of continuing headaches.”
“Those bloody headaches!” Alex would happily exchange any improvement in his mental abilities for the absence of mind-numbing pain.
The surgeon smiled, apologetically, though this went unseen. “I can prescribe medication, but, as you probably know, their effectiveness diminishes and can lead to higher, undesirable doses. I would be grateful if you could keep me informed of any unusual side-effects you may notice. I’ll put my card on your bedside cabinet.
Alex thanked him for the information, but doubted if he was ever likely to phone the surgeon with any amazing revelations.
For now, his future did not seem to lie much beyond this bed and in this hospital.
Gradually, over the course of the next few weeks, he was allowed out of bed more often as his body slowly began to heal from the burns. It did come as a relief to be able to stand up after such a long time when he was unable to leave his bed. His legs felt weak and he was shocked to find that he had lost over two stones in weight.
With regular physiotherapy, exercise and a good supply of food, he would be able to regain his body mass, again, yet this would do nothing to bring back his sight.
It came as a fantastic relief when the dressings were finally removed from around his head. The scarring from the shrapnel wounds was annoying and the nurses had to keep reminding Alex to leave them alone without picking at them.
Before the bandages had been removed, Alex wondered if there would be any vision left at all. A faint light, perhaps? Moving shadows as people crossed his line of vision? Anything at all would give him some sign of hope, but the inky blackness which surrounded him told him that his dreams were just that. Pointless, stupid, hopeless dreams!
It was the worst feeling he had ever experienced to be immersed in a pitch black, inky sea of nothing. How deep was this seemingly bottomless, empty pit? Would it ever come to an end?
As he thought about his hopeless, current situation, Alex suddenly remembered an earlier part of his life which, in some ways, was reminiscent. When he was about fifteen, he had a phase when he was crazy about pot-holing. He knew that it could be dangerous, but enjoyed the excitement of finding, as yet, undiscovered underground caverns.
It was on one of these expeditions that he nearly lost his life. His group was making its way back to the surface and, without warning, a sudden rock fall blocked his path. What made it worse was the fact that he was isolated from his friends, the rock fall separating them. His torch had been damaged by the fall, leaving him on his own and in complete darkness. He had many anxious thoughts during his imprisonment and wondered if this was how his life was going to end.
It took several hours of delicate rock removal before the emergency services could release him from this cramped, unlit space. It was an experience he hoped never to repeat and, yet, his current situation had so many similarities.
After this brief exposure to unseen natural light in his present world, small, individual protective dressings were placed over each eye, these being concealed by dark glasses.
In the middle of Alex’s feelings of desperation and hopelessness, he thought of his best friend, who had lost his life in the explosion. For Jack Prentice, the blackness would be everything and permanent. For him, he would not feel the soft touch of the nurse’s skin or any other woman’s, come to that. No earthly exercise would strengthen his muscles. Poor Jack. There was now a huge gap in his life with the death of this best friend.
Alex had first met him at Secondary school. A tall and, at that time, quite skinny boy with a cheeky, infectious grin. He had always had the nickname of “Jack Sprat”, from his build, but it never bothered him. The two eleven year olds made friends immediately. Intellectually similar, the two had remained in the same teaching group throughout all their school years. They had joined the cadets together and it was obvious that both were destined to lead a military career.
Both had achieved ten, high-grade GCSE passes and were able to continue studying for their “A” levels. The divergence came during this time.
Jack had fallen for Suzanne, a good-looking, nicely proportioned girl from their form.
Their somewhat stormy relationship had cost Jack any decent grades in his exams, spoiling his chances of going to Sandhurst, much to the disappointment of his parents.
Jack had admitted to Alex that, when he should have been studying Maths and English for exams, he was, instead, enjoying studying the birthmarks on Suzanne’s nicely-rounded backside.
Meanwhile, Alex had resisted the attention of several girls to concentrate on his studies. He did, however, remember how envious he was of Jack who lost his virginity at least two years before himself. “What is it like to come inside a woman?” he asked enviously.
“Fantastic! Mind-blowing! There’s just no comparison, especially when you both come at the same time. To feel her body give that final shiver of excitement and then just collapsing into each other’s arms. Amazing!”
Alex could see the longing, lusting look in Jack’s eyes, desperate for the next time when he and Suzanne could make love, again, adding to Alex’s own frustration at never having come anywhere close to screwing around. Jack did realize how envious Alex was and tried not to say anything more to frustrate his friend.
It did make Alex wonder if holding back his sexual desires was worth it. There were several girls in his year who he felt attracted towards and had a feeling, no, a certainty that they probably would have gone to bed with him if he had had the courage to approach them. He had put his studies above everything else and had been rewarded for his efforts, but was it worth it?
The two friends still kept in touch even though their paths were leading in slightly different directions. Jack had many girl-friends after Suzanne, none lasting more than a few months. He then joined the army at nineteen, while Alex was at Sandhurst.
Alex had found the fitness and leadership tests harder than he could ever have imagined, but, thankfully, he was accepted by the world-famous military academy. After twelve months of even more rigourous training at Sandhurst, it was gratifying to be able to enlist in the same battalion as Jack and the two companions continued their friendship as though nothing had happened.
Of course, there now was a difference. Jack had more military experience, but his rank as sergeant was less than Alex’s position as second lieutenant and, in the British army, keeping within one’s rank level was important.
Alex had ignored this so-called protocol and had treated Jack as his equal.
On that fateful day, it was Jack who led the charge into that cursed building, only to be blown apart by the Taliban’s bomb. Alex felt so deeply affected by the loss of his good friend and the memories of thirteen years growing up together was precious to him.
Alex was also saddened by his departure from Intensive Care as he had grown fond of the two nurses who had looked after him, particularly Debbie. He liked her sense of humour and had a good feeling whenever she was near. It was the contrast between Debbie and Helen which played on Alex’s mind. Debbie accepted him as a man and treated him normally, while Helen… Well, Helen must have had her own reasons, but, when she had visited him only a few days earlier, she had broken off their engagement.
“I’m so sorry, Alex, but I don’t think I can handle what has happened to you. I do feel terrible.”
“Well, fuck you, Helen Dennison! So you bloody-well should!” thought Alex, but he said nothing
“Tears filled her eyes as she continued, I think it better we leave things alone for now and see how we feel after a while. But, I’m not certain I could manage to be a good military wife.”
Alex’s anger was bubbling under the surface, yet he restrained himself. She must have realized the possibilities of him suffering injury or death as his ambitions for a military career had always been known to her. “If that is what you want, Helen.” He remained cool, distant and impassive.
Again, she repeated, “I’m so sorry.”
He remembered how they had met. His parents had organized a big celebration for his twenty-first birthday, which, fortunately, coincided with his military leave. Helen Dennison had been the Occasions manager at the Hilton hotel selected for his celebration. There had been a mix-up in the catering arrangements for the seventy-five guests expected at Alex’s party. Helen had managed to resolve the problem with quiet efficiency, but still felt it necessary to apologise to him in person.
As the two met, the chemistry between them was instant. Within days, they had their first romantic date and, within six months, they were engaged. Alex’s career made it difficult to arrange the wedding, especially since both parents wanted to organize huge celebrations and, ironically, they were to be married two months after his current tour of duty. Now, that had all disappeared with Alex’s hospitalization and Helen’s change of heart.
That was the last he had seen of her after three beautiful, enjoyable years together. Three years of laughter, love and passion. Many times, he had imagined having at least three, possibly four children with Helen. A life full of happiness and companionship. He felt deflated and cheated and was more scared of the future than at any time in his life.
How he hated the Taliban for what they had done. The death of three of his comrades, the loss of his eyesight resulting in the ending of his military career and, to cap it all, the woman he loved had now finished their relationship.
A memorial service had been held for Jack and his comrades, together with other soldiers whose lives had been cut far too short through the actions in Afghanistan, but, sadly, Alex’s condition prevented him from attending. He did, however, ‘watch’ the news on television, where the memorial service was covered in detail, with a very moving, descriptive commentary.
He felt a mixture of anger and sadness at such unnecessary loss of life and Alex realized that, even though his eyes were useless, his tear ducts were still functioning.
Since Alex was now more mobile, he was able to use the bathroom, giving him back some of his dignity. He had been given so many bed-baths and had suffered psychologically by having to use bed-pans, that he actually felt liberated when he could use the toilet in private. Debbie had shown him where everything was located in the bathroom and he soon mastered the controls on all the appliances. Alex had always preferred to shave using the traditional wet razor, feeling that they gave a much closer shave than their electric equivalent. He had thought that it would be impossible to shave without being able to see his image in a mirror, but, in fact, it was an unnecessary luxury. In reality, one just had to feel round the face, instinctively knowing which areas to avoid.
One morning, Alex was feeling particularly depressed by his hopeless situation and, while shaving, he suddenly realized that he could end all his problems. The solution lay in the small, plastic-handled Gillette razor which he was now holding. All he had to do was to slice into either his neck or wrist. He stood motionless for what seemed an eternity, thinking of his situation. “Would anybody really care if he was dead? He still longed for a military career, but without sight, how could this ever be possible? “The wrist is probably easier. All I have to do is find the main artery, slice into it and the heart would do the rest pumping the life-blood out of my body.” He felt for the pulse, knowing that one quick slice of the razor would be enough. “What happens, though, if Debbie finds me before I am dead? She would do everything to try and stem the blood flow and, after that, I would not be allowed to use a razor again.
In addition, I would be put on a suicide watch and everybody would think I was a coward.” Then another thought hit him. “How would it affect my parents and younger sisters? Could I really put them through so much heartache?”
Alex mulled over all these thoughts and, after what seemed hours rather than minutes, pulled himself together when he heard Debbie’s voice through the door. “Are you alright, Alex? Do you need any assistance?” The vigilant nurse had noticed how quiet Alex was and decided to check.
“Fine, thanks, Debbie. Almost finished shaving.”
“Good. I have your medication here, when you are ready.” Alex would have been surprised to learn that the nursing staff was already keeping a close eye on their patient. The depth of his depression had been noticed and all staff had been advised to be alert to the possibility of suicide.
Alex finished shaving, washed his face, patted it dry and applied after-shave. In those few seconds, he had decided that it would be incredibly stupid to end his life and was determined to face the future, whatever it may bring.
15th. JULY, 2011
The move from the I.C.U. was not to another ward in the same hospital. Instead, Alex was driven over ninety miles to Moorfields Eye Hospital in London. He felt useless at having to be guided to enter and exit the car, almost hitting his head on the car roof, yet he could not complain about any of his treatment or the attention given to him.
The nurses were sad when it came to the time for Alex to leave the ward which had been his home for the past four months. Debbie, in particular, surprised Alex by giving him what could only be described as a passionate hug and a tender, meaningful kiss on the lips. He had always liked her but was surprised by the emotion expressed by her. He had to admit that he enjoyed and responded to it warmly, re-living the experience many times during his long drive.
At Moorfields, he was escorted to the consulting room of a Professor Goldman. “Please take a seat, Captain McCloud.” His voice was confident, warm, yet professional. It seemed odd that, after many years of assessing individuals by their looks and actions, this luxury was no longer afforded to him. Everything had to be ascertained by voice alone. As to Professor Goldman’s age, a voice was not the easiest way to assess. Alex guessed that he was, probably, in his late forties, plus or minus ten years. The young soldier’s hand was placed on the arm of the offered chair. Clumsily, he took a seat.
“As you are no doubt aware, your eyes suffered a great deal from the explosion. Both corneas were damaged beyond repair or possible transplant.” He paused, but, without any response from the young soldier, continued. “Normally, in such circumstances, both eyes would be completely removed and inactive prosthetic replacements inserted.”
“Why do you say, ‘normally’? Why am I different?” Alex was puzzled. His eyes were useless, so why not take the bloody things away?
The Professor spoke in a relaxed manner, un-phased by Alex’s almost hostile reaction. “This standard procedure can still be carried out, but I wanted to put an alternative suggestion to you.”
“Is there any alternative?” Alex could not imagine why they were dragging out this painful, psychological torment.
“When the medical team dealing with your injuries contacted me, they described the trauma in detail. There had been considerable scarring of tissue, particularly around the eyes, with a possible loss of aqueous Humor, which is ninety-nine percent water, indicating probable permanent loss of sight. As a result, I asked them to keep the remaining receptive areas of your eyes protected with a special dressing which would assist in preserving what remains of the retina. You were probably not even aware of this but, by taking these precautions, we now have an alternative to permanent blindness.”
Was this the reason why he had seen nothing when the bandages were removed? Had there really been another layer he was not aware of? Alex’s curiosity was now getting the better of him. “Tell me more.”
“Well, if the eyes are removed completely, then there can never be any chance of seeing anything again as the optic nerve would be severed.”
“Stating the bloody obvious”, thought Alex.
“In your case, the retinas and the optic nerve connections are still intact, while the front portion of the eyes is severely damaged.”
Alex’s attention and hopes were raised by the professor’s words. “Does it mean that I may be able to see again?”
“I don’t want to raise false hopes, but, at Moorfields, in conjunction with the University College of London’s Institute of Ophthalmology, we have been carrying out a great deal of research into synthetic lenses and pupils. We are at the point of looking for somebody to test the very promising results of our research.”
Alex was stunned by the professor’s words. “You want me to be a guinea pig?”