The Fifth Room

by A J Rushby

  I head out into the corridor where all is silent and no one’s in sight. With nothing else to do, I take a right, walk the length of the corridor and then take a left, making for the meals room and recreation area. I’m checking out the fridge when Lauren walks in.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, stopping short. She has a cannula, like me, but nothing else yet. ‘I have to wait until theatre two is free.’ She goes to leave.

  ‘That’s the one Steen’s in, right?’ I say before she can go. I feel a pang. I hadn’t got to see Steen before he’d gone into surgery. Not that I could have said anything meaningful, it’s just … Oh, I don’t know. I wanted to see him, that was all.

  ‘Yes.’ She gives a curt nod.

  Right, I need to keep this conversation going. If we’re going to be stuck together in this place for two weeks, we have to at least try to get along. ‘Feels like it’s taking forever, huh?’

  Her eyes slide to the right and I can see she wants to pretend this conversation isn’t happening. Still, she nods again. That’s something.

  ‘Well, I’d offer you a sandwich, but I wouldn’t want you to aspirate it later.’

  Some kind of noise exits her throat, though you couldn’t really call it a laugh. I’m pretty sure she’d like me to aspirate something and take myself out of the running here.

  Just then Marcus walks past. ‘Ah, there you both are. I was coming to find you. If you’ve got time, I thought you might like to come and see what’s going on in theatre one.’

  Lauren and I glance at one another. ‘Um, sure,’ I say, answering for both of us. I sound far more certain than I feel.

  Marcus leads the way down the corridor and pauses when he gets to a door beside theatre one. He swipes his card and it opens to reveal a viewing room. I’d noticed the mirrored wall in the theatre when we’d seen it before and had wondered. And now here it is.

  The door closes behind us and we’re all silent as we move inside. On one side of the room is the long window so we can see into the theatre itself. On the end are several screens that have a live feed from the cameras inside the theatre.

  It’s the theatre we turn to first. It’s full of people—the surgeon with her head light and camera and her assistant, the anaesthetist and his assistant, someone I’m guessing might be a neurophysiologist and a scrub nurse and scout nurse as well. But the real star of the show is Andrew. He’s sitting upright, completely awake, his head pinned tightly into a frame by wires drilled into his skull. A sterile field is behind him, the visual cortex being situated at the base of the head. The back of his body and head are shielded by large sheets of plastic. In front, his head has been placed on a chin rest and he stares into a visual field perimetry—a hemisphere for mapping his visual field. Marcus steps forward and presses a button and suddenly we can hear what’s going on inside the theatre.

  ‘Yes,’ Andrew says. ‘I can see it now. Top left. Eleven o’clock.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. Nine o’clock.’

  I turn then to one of the screens—the one that’s showing the surgeon’s view. It’s a close up of the surgical field, and I watch as she continues to place electrodes directly onto the right side of Andrew’s brain, testing them as she goes.

  I watch for some time, slack-jawed, as the voices drone on.

  ‘Yes. Ten o’clock.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘No.’

  The thing is, I’ve seen plenty of surgery before, but this is way more confronting for the sheer reason that I know Andrew doesn’t need it. His brain is perfectly healthy. There’s no tumour, there’s been no bleeding, no epilepsy, no trauma. He’s doing this of his own free will. As I look on, it makes me wonder if I’m as invested in this experience as I thought. Would I do what he’s doing? I’d like to think I’d have it in me if I believed that it would further the current research in my area of interest, but I can’t say for sure. It’s pretty full on. I can’t stop thinking about Steen either. And, as I watch, there are several times I have to push what’s happening next door in theatre two from my mind.

  ‘I really hope his experiment works out,’ I finally say, and both Marcus and Lauren turn to look at me. Maybe to see if I’m being genuine. But I am.

  We watch for a while longer until Lauren speaks up. ‘Can we see the other theatre as well?’

  I tense when she says this, but force myself to look slowly over at Marcus as if I don’t mind either way.

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you there now.’

  THIRTY MINUTES AWAKE

  Marcus leads us into the viewing room for theatre two and by the time the door snaps shut behind us, my palms are already sweating like crazy. I try to take some surreptitious deep breaths in the hope of slowing my heart rate, because I’m sure it’s suddenly reading strangely high.

  And all of that is before I even glance at Steen.

  ‘Looks like everything’s going well,’ Marcus says.

  I force myself to look inside the theatre, already bracing myself for what I’m going to see.

  And there he is. Steen lies silent and still upon the table, intubated.

  All the people I imagined would be in attendance are there. It’s not as elaborate a procedure as Andrew’s by any means, so there’s only the surgeon, his assistant, the anaesthetist and her assistant, a scrub nurse and scout nurse. Within seconds I see that I was wrong about his bowel. It’s his appendix they’re targeting. Now I wonder why I didn’t think of that. Probably because subconsciously I didn’t want to—Steen and I have a history when it comes to the appendix. Though last time it involved mine, not his.

  ‘Ah, we’ve arrived in time for the highlight,’ Marcus says, looking at one of the screens.

  My brow creases at his choice of words. There’s something almost predatory in his tone. Something I don’t like. I don’t say anything, of course. Instead I turn and watch as the laparoscopic camera shows us the ‘highlight’ of Steen’s appendix being tied off.

  I keep my eyes on the screen for as long as I can, knowing I’m safer this way. It’s just an appendix. Any old appendix. It’s not Steen’s body I’m viewing at all. I try to tell myself this over and over again and fail. It’s not something I’ve seen before, but I’ve heard doctors talk about it—it’s a different experience entirely to see someone you care about being operated on. To see them lifeless and still, their eyes taped shut. Anaesthetised.

  I can see that Steen is fine, that there is nothing wrong and that everything is, as Marcus has just put it, going well. However, I still find that I have to will my eyes not to tear up as I look on, desperately waiting for someone else to make the first move so we can leave. So I can stop remembering how Steen looked after me when I had my own appendix out.

  Naturally, it all happened at the worst possible time. We were right in the middle of midterms and I’d ignored the niggling pains in my lower abdomen for as long as I could. That is, until it spread and I could ignore it no longer because I was pretty much doubled over in pain.

  ‘What the hell are you thinking?’ Steen had cornered me, pale and sweaty, as we left our second exam of the day. ‘I’m taking you straight to the hospital.’

  I hadn’t had it in me to argue. Which meant I really was sick.

  In the ER, I stayed doubled over in pain until the morphine kicked in. Which is when I found the strength to start that arguing. A theatre, surgeon and anaesthetist were rustled up. Except they weren’t good enough. Not for me. ‘No way.’ I shook my head hard. ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘For what, exactly?’ Steen had asked me. ‘Death?’

  ‘Death or Professor McNabb,’ I’d said through gritted teeth.

  ‘You can’t be serious.’ Steen had looked at me as if I was crazy.

  ‘Oh, I’m serious. He was friends with my mother. He’s the best. I’ll wait for the best.’

  ‘Miss.’ The ER attending had leaned down very close to my face. ‘You need that appendix
out right now.’

  ‘Well, you’d better find Professor McNabb then, hadn’t you?’ I’d snapped.

  Steen tracked him down in seven and a half minutes.

  That’s how I knew he really loved me.

  Marcus’s phone makes a noise, waking me from my daydream.

  ‘I need to go check on something,’ he says. ‘I don’t expect they’ll take much longer and then the theatre is all yours.’ He looks at Lauren as he speaks.

  ‘Good,’ Lauren replies, turning and making her way to the door.

  As for me, I jump at the chance to leave, following right behind her.

  Back out in the corridor, Marcus makes his way towards the door that leads to the support staff area, swipes his card and exits from our view.

  Lauren and I stand awkwardly in the T-junction of the two corridors. ‘Well, I might grab a book,’ I say. I don’t really feel like going back to the recreation area and putting on a movie.

  Lauren hovers indecisively, which doesn’t seem like her. ‘Are you worried?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course not,’ she blurts out.

  ‘Okay, well I guess I’ll …’ I start, but a crash from behind the door of the lab next to me stops me in my tracks. It sounded like something metallic falling onto the floor.

  The floor of the fifth room.

  Lauren and I both turn to stare at the door for some time.

  ‘Renovations,’ she finally says, not looking away from the door. Her tone gives nothing away.

  I don’t reply but keep right on staring at the door as well. If there was a shadow of doubt in my mind before about Ryan experimenting in the fifth room, it’s now gone. But why he’s being hidden away and we’re being lied to, I don’t know. I know better than to ask Marcus about it, that’s for sure. I guess the only thing I can do is keep my eyes open and my ear to the ground and find out what I can that way. I’ll certainly be awake to notice if anything’s going on.

  With a shrug, I turn away from the door, as if I don’t think much of it. ‘I’ve still got some time to kill,’ I tell Lauren. ‘Want to put a movie on? Distraction might be a good idea.’

  She looks at me for some time, her expression surprised. Like she can’t believe she’s still standing here talking to me. Finally she shrugs. ‘All right.’

  It’s almost as if she’d be doing me a favour.

  Lauren puts an action movie on and takes a seat on the other sofa. Despite the fact that the movie fills the room with noise, there’s a strained silence hovering between us.

  ‘So …’ I say after a while, as I tuck my legs up beside me on the sofa. ‘Did you have to wait long for your experiment to be accepted?’

  ‘No,’ she replies quickly. ‘Did you?’

  Competitive, much? ‘Um, not that long.’ I try to think of something else to discuss. ‘Got any other medical people in your family?’ I try. It’s not unusual for people I meet at school to have come from a long line of doctors and nurses.

  ‘Why?’

  Wrong question, I guess. ‘I don’t know. I was just wondering …’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, both my parents. They were both doctors. Well, my father still is. My mother was until she died.’

  Lauren’s expression changes with this, not in the sort of way that she feels sorry for me, but in a surprised way.

  ‘You don’t have your mother any more either?’ I guess.

  She hesitates for a moment before she answers. ‘No. That is how I became interested in medicine. Because of my mother’s illness and the care she received. Or the lack of it due to the expense.’ She doesn’t look at me, her eyes turning back to the TV screen. I can see she’s not going to say much more.

  It’s only a small piece of information, but it tells me a lot about her. Her family couldn’t afford the medical care her mother needed before she died. I suddenly understand why she’s so driven.

  Lauren and I get about half an hour into the movie before we’re called away to do the fire safety talk. We’re shown around the fire exits. It seems the bunker is a large rectangle and there are stairs on each corner of the rectangle. We’ve just finished when Lauren is sought out as it’s time to prep her for surgery.

  As she passes me by, she lays a friendly hand on my arm. For a moment I think she’s come around. That’s she’s going to wish me luck, or to say thanks for hanging out. But what she ends up saying is something else entirely. ‘You know I’m going to win this, right?’ she says, her voice low.

  And then she’s gone.

  I stand there dumbly for a moment or two as my brain registers her words. Did she really just say …

  Yes. Yes, she did. She totally just research trash talked me.

  I turn and watch her departing back.

  Glad we cleared that up.

  Shaking my head, I walk back to the recreation area slowly, knowing what Lauren being called away means—that Steen is out of surgery. He’s okay. Now he’ll be playing a waiting game. Waiting to get sick. Waiting for his appendix to start rotting away. I try not to think about it.

  After the movie finishes, I sit around for a bit hoping that he might appear. But he doesn’t. I stay for as long as I can, then go back to my own lab with around ten minutes to spare before I need to start my first proper round of drugs and testing.

  The tests take just on two and a half hours to complete. They’re a mix of fine and gross motor tests and a lot of tests that look at my cognitive higher functions. My attention and concentration are tested, there’s a memory test, reaction test, perception, sequencing, planning, list-making tests, and so on. Then there are balance exercises and a run on the treadmill; more blood is taken and the psychiatrist finally tracks me down and speaks to me. I can easily tell which test will truly drive me crazy over time—there’s just something inherently confusing about the word ‘green’ flashing up in a yellow font on a computer screen and having to speak the name of the colour rather than the written word.

  ‘Feel like you’ve been poked and prodded enough?’ Thing Two asks me from behind his mask when we’re finally done.

  ‘Ask me again in thirteen days,’ I tell him. ‘If I’m still awake.’

  ‘I’ll write it down in my notes so I don’t forget,’ he replies. ‘But for now you’re free for another three hours.’

  I head on back to the meals room and recreation area to see if anyone’s there.

  As it happens, Steen is—lying on one of the sofas in front of the TV, which is turned off.

  I go over to him. His eyes flicker open as I approach. ‘Wow,’ I say. He doesn’t look so hot. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’ve had better days.’

  I grimace, circling the sofa so I’m on the other side of it—between Steen and the TV. I get a better look at him then. He’s quite pale. It can’t be infection that’s making him sick—it’s way too early for that. It’s just the after effects of the surgery. ‘Had some painkillers?’

  ‘You bet. As many as they’d give me.’

  ‘I saw some of your surgery. Andrew’s too.’

  ‘You saw Andrew’s?’

  ‘So did Lauren. It was pretty … out there. Head pinned, fully awake, electrodes everywhere. He’s braver than I am.’

  ‘Me too,’ Steen says, with a groan. ‘I can barely handle this. I can’t imagine what’s coming for me next.’

  ‘How long do you have to wait? Before you inject the artificial lymph cells?’

  ‘At least twelve hours. Maybe more depending on how my appendix holds out.’

  I watch him for a moment or two. ‘Hopefully you won’t be sick again. You know, like in the car.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ he says as he raises one hand, resting it above his head, and I remember how it hovered above my back in Vienna. Touching, but not touching.

  I’m sorry, I think to myself. I’m sorry it had to be this way. That I couldn’t tell you. That I had to leave.

  Standing in front of Steen, I desperately want to tell him about Ryan. That
I saw him on the plane. That I think he’s experimenting in lab five. What’s happened between us is bad enough. I don’t want any more lies. I’m tired of lies and running and hiding.

  But I know I can’t tell him about Ryan. For a start, there’s a camera in the room recording our every move. People are listening in. Watching us. Recording us.

  So, instead of telling him anything, I sit down on the coffee table before him in silence.

  Eventually he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. And then I sit there some more and calm myself by taking in every contour of his face, every movement of his body, as if I’ve never seen him before.

  EIGHT HOURS AWAKE

  I go and grab my book and a plate of little triangular sandwiches and lie on the other sofa while Steen sleeps. But as hard as I try to concentrate, I find my eyes keep flicking over to look at him. I feel happier than I have in a long time simply for being in his presence. How creepy is that? Watching your ex-boyfriend sleep while chowing down on finger food. When I find I haven’t read a page of my book in around twenty minutes, I decide it’s time to go back to my lab.

  I read on my bed until it’s time to start my next round of testing. I’m about an hour and three-quarters in when there’s a knock on the door.

  ‘Want me to get it?’ Thing One asks.

  ‘Sure,’ I say from the treadmill, where I’m running. I try to look a bit more graceful, not knowing who is at the door. Running doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m a plodder rather than a lithe gazelle.

  ‘Hi,’ Steen says, his eyes seeking me out when the door opens. ‘How much longer have you got to go?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes,’ I tell him.

  ‘Well, hurry up, because you’ve got to come see this. Andrew is up and about. We’re all in the meals area having a late dinner.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  We finish up as quickly as possible and I immediately make for the lab door.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ Thing Two tells me, ‘there’ll be a change of shift after this. You won’t see us again until tomorrow. You might be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but we have to sleep.’