BOX SET of THREE TOP 10 MEDICAL THRILLERS

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  Yet, for some reason that Peter could not explain or understand, none of that seemed to matter anymore.

  Hallelujah! Peter had been cured. Somehow, -and he did not have the slightest idea how-, his acrophobia seemed to have miraculously vanished. Spontaneous remission? Can a fear like that just 'disappear?'

  Well, it had. And that was that.

  Was it permanent?

  Peter had no idea. But it had given him a new lease of life that made him feel ‘joyous’. High. Over the moon. Incredible.

  Excited.

  The sense of freedom that he had been enjoying for the past few days was just amazing, and he felt highly charged, young, free.

  "Please God, please, let this be permanent!", he had prayed. "Don't let the old me come back...this is too brilliant!"

  Only three days ago, Peter had stood at the summit of Arthur's Seat. It was the 'high point' of his life. Literally. 250.5m above sea-level, and an experience that never in his wildest dreams, had he believed he would ever experience.

  He had sat at the top of hill for over two hours, just looking. Watching. Feeling the sky all around him.

  It had been the most natural high he had ever experienced in his life.

  While sitting on a volcanic boulder, sipping his water, it had dawned on him how strange life is. A few months ago he was on the way out of this world. And now, he was at the top of it. Fitter, stronger, and more adventurous than he had ever been.

  "Now," he had said to himself."The world is my oyster to explore. There are so many places I want to see..."

  The 'high' that he had experienced had not left him all that day. He was still so excited when he went to bed that night, that he could not sleep. For most of the night he simply lay there, looking at the black hulk of the hill through his window. He had thought long and hard about what this could possibly mean to his life. He could not be sure that this was a permanent thing, so he had to enjoy it as much as he possibly could while he still had time.

  The next morning, as soon as he woke up, he borrowed a ladder from a neighbour, put it against the wall, and climbed it.

  He experienced no fear.

  He took the ladder downstairs, went into the communal garden that the flats shared, put the ladder against a tree, and climbed up into its branches.

  Once in the tree, he climbed higher.

  He looked down.

  No fear.

  There was nothing.

  What's more, he actually felt quite comfortable being so high up. He 'enjoyed' it. Was that possible?

  Just after lunch, Peter was sitting at the desk of his local travel agent. On the wall there were pictures of far away, exotic places, and airplanes. All places that he would now be able to visit. Beautiful beaches, palm trees, mountains...Now his fear of heights was gone, and he had been granted a second chance at life, Peter was going to go and see them all!

  "So," the attractive young lady said, from behind her desk, "How can I help you?"

  "I was thinking of going somewhere where I could see, and maybe even walk up around some very tall mountains. It may sound strange, but up till now, Holland has been my perfect holiday destination. Completely flat."

  "Okay...," she smiled. "I think I have the perfect selection for you..." She reached behind her, pulling a brochure off a shelf displaying package holidays from all the major companies.

  "Let's look and see if we can find anything interesting in here..."

  She put a brochure down on the desk in front of Peter, flicking through some pages, and pointing to a few different holiday ideas. The brochure was called "Mountains and Lakes: Europe", and offered a selection of holidays and hotels in different places all within three hours flying time from the UK.

  As she was flicking through the pages, one of the pictures reached out and grabbed Peter.

  "Stop..." he said, "Where's that one?"

  He leant closer, the picture of the mountain triggering something deep down in his brain, a memory, or a recollection. Something which he couldn't necessarily put his finger on, but which was lurking in his subconscious, trying to grab his attention.

  "That is the Matterhorn. In Switzerland. It's one of the most beautiful places in Europe. One of our customers has just come back from a skiing trip there..."

  It was a gut reaction. An instant decision. One which would change his life.

  "There... that's it. That's where I want to go!"

  The next day had been very busy. He had spent the day visiting the passport office in Glasgow, where he produced all the relevant paperwork and walked out the door with a British passport, minus a small fortune for the premium 'Same-Day' service. Afterwards, he had had just enough time to walk into a hiking shop and buy himself all the gear that he would need to walk in the mountains in winter.

  Then he had gone home, packed, and spent the evening drinking tea and looking at Arthur's Seat from his bedroom window.

  Next day he had flown for the first time in his life in an airplane. He had asked for an aisle seat, so that he couldn't see out of the window, but halfway through the flight, the person sitting beside the window was so fed up with him peaking over his shoulder, that they had swapped seats.

  Peter had spent the rest of the flight completely enthralled by the experience. From now on he was going to fly absolutely everywhere. He felt like a god, flying effortlessly above the clouds, surveying the planet so far below... The experience was totally surreal.

  Addictive.

  He had flown early in the morning to Bern, and arrived in the mountain village of Zermatt, several hours later. The journey to Zermatt was one of the most beautiful trips of his life, spending an hour and a half on the Matterhorn Gotthard narrow-gauge railway, which took him through the rugged, yet stunning Nicolaital Valley.

  Peter had not known what to expect. This was like a childhood adventure to him, and he could hardly contain his excitement.

  As the train climbed high up the mountain valley and came closer and closer to Zermatt, Peter had this incredible feeling of déjà vu, of having made this trip before. Pinned to the window, he could almost anticipate what the scenery was going to look like as the train took him around each new corner.

  Whether or not it was due to the increasingly high altitude, or the excitement, Peter's pulse was racing.

  He hadn't felt like this since he was a teenager.

  Peter was travelling light, just the one rucksack, which he quickly slung across his back as the train pulled into the station. Impatiently he waited for the doors to open and the tourists in front of him to get off, and a moment later, he was hurrying along the platform and outside into the village.

  The first thing that struck him was the freshness of the air. Perfectly clean. Crisp. Beautiful.

  The next thing was the cold. Snow still covered the ground, and he realised that he would need to buy some thermal underwear. He had been so impatient to get here that he hadn't thought it through properly.

  The sun was still shining, and the sky was clear. Blue. Everywhere.

  Peter hurried through the village, almost as if on autopilot.

  He had a strange feeling as he walked through the brightly coloured, almost perfect 'picture-postcard/Swiss chocolate-box' village. It was hard to describe. It was a mixture of 'coming home' and 'I've been here before'. He felt very comfortable just walking through the incredibly scenic village, and he knew he had instantly fallen in love with the town and would hopefully return here many times in the future.

  As he walked further through the village, his steps gathered pace, his eyes looking up between the gaps in the streets and buildings ahead, searching for his first glance of the Matterhorn.

  Strangely, he knew that he should soon get a view of the mountain rising majestically skyward to touch the heavens. He could sense it.

  Suddenly he came to a point where a small side street led left, away from the main street, at right-angles to the direction he was heading. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the street na
me on the wall of the building at the corner of the street. 'Berg Gasse'.

  As he looked at the street name he felt a most peculiar sensation, an intense feeling of familiarity, as if he had seen this street sign before. As if he knew the street. The hairs on his arms and neck stood up, and he shivered.

  He looked up the side street, seeing that further ahead it started to slope uphill, ending in a flight of steps which climbed sharply upwards.

  Without thinking about it further, he turned and hurried up the alleyway, taking the steps two at a time, climbing quickly up and above the town behind him.

  At the top of the stairs, he came to a scenic square, with some seats and ornamental shrubs, which were just poking through the snow.

  He turned and looked back towards the town, taking a sharp intake of breath.

  The view before him was like nothing he had ever seen before. From where he stood, he now had a clear view above all the roofs and tops of the buildings in the village beneath. Ahead of him, stunning in its regal majesty, king of all the mountains, the Matterhorn rose clear above the hills around the village.

  It was magnificent. Incredible. Truly, truly breathtaking.

  Nothing could have prepared Peter for this.

  As the huge bulk of the mountain rose above the valley, it twisted and turned, and dwindled to a sharp point that pierced the blue sky all around it.

  It was as if the mountain was standing side-on, the face of the mountain turning to look over its shoulder and smile at Peter.

  Peter had never seen anything like it before.

  And yet, strangely, he felt as if he had.

  It felt so familiar.

  He smiled.

  For over fifteen minutes, Peter stood there in silence, staring.

  And then, once more, he shivered.

  .

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  .

  The sun was still shining, and although snow was everywhere, it was quite warm. Peter didn't know why he had shivered, and he hoped that he hadn't picked up a chill on the airplane: the air-conditioning had made the cabin quite cold.

  Perhaps he should check into his hotel, and have a shower and something warm to drink.

  It was only as Peter walked back down to the town to find his hotel, that he noticed something very peculiar about Zermatt.

  There were no cars. Anywhere.

  The town was one great pedestrian precinct.

  Which meant there were no taxis.

  He was meant to be staying at a Hotel called 'The Omnia Grande', a large mountain Lodge. It took him an hour to find it, trying to follow the instructions from various people, and twice taking a wrong route, or not fully understanding the instructions which were given to him in thick Swiss-German-English accents.

  However, when he did find the hotel, it was well worth it. It was elevated high above the town, with the most spectacular panoramic view of the village of Zermatt directly below: and once again, for the second time that afternoon, another stunning view of the Matterhorn.

  Before he walked into the hotel, he stood in front of the entrance, breathing in the incredibly fresh, crisp, cool air, and staring in awe at the mountain, so tantalizingly close but yet so far away.

  For the first time in his life he understood how some people can be fascinated by mountains, and how their lives can revolve around them.

  Acrophobia had been a shackle around his neck that had restricted and constrained him his whole life. Somehow, incredulously, he had broken those chains that had bound him, and now he was free. Free to live life to its fullest. Free to travel, to explore the world around him. And to walk, even climb, higher, and higher, to the foothills and very gates of heaven itself.

  He loved this place!

  .

  --------------------

  .

  He checked in, an efficient and jovial middle-aged Swiss woman directing him to his room, all smiles, and very helpful.

  His room was neat and tidy, with a window that he could open and let in the fantastic mountain air.

  Peter could tell that the air was much thinner up here. For a man who until last week had never been more than a metre off the ground, to suddenly be in a village 1620m up in the sky, it was a bit of a shock to the system.

  After a quick shower, Peter wandered down to the bar for a hot drink before heading off into the town. He was looking forward to some good traditional Swiss food, whatever that would be.

  In the bar, he found a comfortable chair and returned to his page of the travel guide, which he had bought at Edinburgh Airport that morning.

  Peter was a spontaneous person, true, but the decision to come out to see the Matterhorn had been one of the most rash...but best...decisions he had ever made. With practically no time to plan anything he realised that he was actually quite unprepared for the trip.

  He had arrived in the middle of the skiing season.

  Peter couldn't ski.

  How can someone with acrophobia ever contemplate getting on a ski-lift or travelling to the top of the world? Skiing fast downhill had always seemed to him to be like 'controlled falling', and he knew several people who had broken arms or legs when that fall had not been controlled enough.

  An interesting thought occurred to him.

  Should he get a skiing lesson while he was here?

  He thought about it for a second and then laughed aloud. Excitedly.

  A feeling of happiness spread throughout his body.

  He realised that now he was 'free' a million new doors had been opened to him, and he promised himself again that he was now going to enjoy life to the full. He was not stupid...he had not forgotten that he had just had a double transplant. At the back of his mind he was only too aware that although everything was going better than he could possibly have hoped for, that at any time, his body could start to reject his new organs. Which made it even more important, that he enjoy his life now, while it was still possible.

  Every day was a gift, that he had to unwrap each morning and enjoy as much as he possibly could.

  He took a sip of his fruit tea, and returned to the pages of the travel guide.

  According to the book, the village he had so randomly chosen to come to was nestled amongst some of the best skiing areas in the world. Zermatt was an all-year-round resort. Believed to be unique by many, who returned year-after-year, it was surrounded by many of the tallest mountains in the world: over twenty-nine mountains over 4000m tall.

  Wow. Of all the places in the world, Peter had chosen the best place to come for an ex-acrophobic.

  All day long, Peter had been feeling euphoric, but as he sat in the chair in the warmth of the hotel beside the open log fire, he suddenly started to feel tired. He had been running on excitement and adrenaline for the past fifteen hours, and now he was relaxing, the excitement of the day was beginning to take its toll.

  That, coupled with the thin, fresh, mountain air.

  As he finished his tea, he decided that it was probably more sensible to go to his room, call room service for dinner, take his medication, and get an early night.

  He was asleep by eight o'clock.

  ..

  Chapter Twenty Five

  .

  .

  Zermatt

  Switzerland

  February

  .

  .

  The dreams returned that night. It started off with visions of Big Wee Rab. Of killing Big Wee Rab. The same visions as before, but now in 'Technicolor': bright red blood gushing everywhere. For three days he had had no dreams. He had been gloriously 'dream free'. But now they were back, with a vengeance.

  He awoke in a cold sweat, felt violently sick, and rushed to the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet bowl. He switched on the light, ran the shower and climbed in while it was still cold.

  The images that had filled his brain slowly faded, and his mind became clear. He turned the temperature up and sat in the bath, the shower running over him, calming and soothing
him.

  After a while, he felt much better and the tiredness returned. He towelled himself down, slipped on his T-shirt and boxer-shorts, and climbed back into bed.

  Sleep came quickly, and soon his head was once again filled with vivid pictures that flashed quickly through his mind, some incomprehensible, but most just not around long enough for any sense to be made of them before other new images swept them away.

  As he journeyed further down into the world of sleep, the images slowed and lasted longer, becoming less vivid and more recognizable. He began to dream of Zermatt, a girl, the mountain, and of flying.

  Except he wasn't flying. He was climbing up a sheer cliff-face. Scrambling steadily upwards to the top of the world, a vast open space filled with blue above, below and all around him. He was in the middle of the sky.

  He looked down, and the wall he was climbing fell vertically beneath him. Hundreds of metres, straight down.

  There was no fear. No revulsion. No terror.

  Instead, in his dream, he smiled.

  He was in paradise.

  .

  --------------------

  .

  He awoke at 5 a.m., went to the bathroom, then returned to sleep. Images again appeared before him as he fell deeper and deeper into a regular pattern of breathing and rest. As his mind began to relax, Beta and then Alpha waves coursed across his brain. It was during the initial phase of Alpha wave production that Peter's mind produced the strange and extremely vivid sensations which he remembered the next day. Weeks later, a doctor would explain them to Peter and identify them as 'hypnagogic hallucinations', but to Peter they seemed so real. Incredibly real.

  Most of what he saw and dreamt was quickly forgotten. Except for three things.

  When he awoke at 7 a.m. the next day, light streaming through the windows and waking him gently, his mind had three images in it that would not leave.

  A face - a beautiful girl, dark brown long hair, and eyes that sparkled-...he could remember that.

  Secondly, the view, sensation and feeling that he had experienced in his dream of standing on top of the Matterhorn.