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somebody’s been beating up on me, and then kicking me while I was down.’
    â€˜That doesn’t surprise me at all,’ said Doctor Hamid, smoothly. ‘One of the common symptoms of a serious neck injury such as yours is chronic pain in many different locations all over your body. But we have been giving you intravenous analgesics to ease your discomfort, and we will continue to do so for as long as you need them.’
    Michael frowned, and said, ‘
Where
did you say this was?’
    â€˜Trinity-Shasta Clinic, near Mount Shasta.’
    â€˜Mount Shasta? What the hell am I doing way up here?’
    The red-haired woman drew up a chair close to his bed and sat down. ‘This is the nearest trauma clinic to the location where you had your accident,’ she said. ‘You were lucky. Well – you weren’t lucky to have your accident, I’m not saying that. But Trinity-Shasta has one of the most advanced spinal units in the country. If you’d been taken in to some small-town emergency room, you could well have died, or been paralysed from the neck down for the rest of your life.’
    â€˜I’m still trying to think what I’m doing near Mount Shasta. The last thing I remember I was …’
    He stopped. What
was
the last thing that he could remember? Talking to somebody about something in some bar. He could remember the stained-glass window over the door, and the raucous sound of people laughing, but he couldn’t think where it was, or who he had been talking to, or what they had been talking about.
    The red-haired woman said, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not important. It will all come back to you. Are you thirsty? Maybe you’d like some water or some cranberry juice.’
    Michael said, ‘We were talking about … something to do with light. That was it. The speed of light. Why were we talking about that?’
    â€˜Who were you talking to?’ the red-haired woman asked him.
    Michael squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried to visualize the stained-glass window and the face of the man who was sitting underneath it, talking to him. But all he could see was a featureless blur, and all he could hear was a muffled blurting sound.
    â€˜No,’ he said. ‘It’s no good. I just can’t remember.’
    â€˜My name’s Catherine, by the way,’ the red-haired woman told him. ‘Catherine Connor.
Doctor
Catherine Connor.’
    â€˜Oh, right,’ said Michael. He was beginning to think that she was quite attractive, in a gingery way, even though she must be four or five years older than him. ‘Doctor of what, exactly?’
    â€˜Post-traumatic therapy, both physical and psychological. I help people to get over traumatic events in their lives, like severe shocks or brain damage or spinal injuries, which is why I’m here talking to you.’
    â€˜Nothing personal, Doctor, but you sound expensive. How am I going to pay for all of this?’
    Dr Connor smiled and shook her head. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t be charged. The Trinity-Shasta Clinic is a non-profit research foundation, privately funded. You may not believe it, but we’ll be getting a whole lot more out of
you
than you’ll be getting out of us.’
    â€˜How long do I have to stay strapped down like this? I feel like Frankenstein’s monster.’
    â€˜That depends on Doctor Hamid. When your vertebrae were dislocated, that injury also tore your neck muscles, your blood vessels, your ligaments, your nerves and your esophagus. But of course we’ll be taking regular CT scans, and as soon as we’re confident that you can move without causing yourself any further injury, we’ll get you up on your feet. I personally believe that patients should start movement therapy as soon as possible.’
    â€˜OK. Thanks,’ he coughed. ‘Maybe I could have that drink now. What do I call you – Doctor Connor? Or