Chapter 8
London, England, February 1997
When Jack Ropell first regained a glimmer of consciousness he immediately regretted it, as his body was just one sea of pain. He didn't know where he was or why. He struggled to open his eyelids, which were gummed together from the six days he had spent in an unconscious state, but he couldn't do it. It was only the movement monitor attached to the first finger of his left hand that brought the nurse to his side. She listened to his moans of agony for a few seconds and then injected a painkiller directly into the tube attached to his right forearm and in seconds the moaning subsided. She bathed his struggling eyelids with a sterile fluid until he could open his eyes. It was eight o'clock in the evening and in the subdued lighting of the room it was some time before he could make sense of anything. Then he could make out the outline of the staff nurse and enough of the room to know he was in hospital.
He was puzzled for a few seconds until the pain in his leg brought back the memory of the explosion. It was as well he could not see himself. His face was still bright red from the blast that had removed his eyebrows and much of his hair as well as the more serious damage. The memory made his pulse rate accelerate rapidly and sweat formed on his brow. He tried to move, but couldn't. The staff nurse eyed the various monitors that told of his panic attack and emptied a second syringe into his vein. In seconds he was sleeping again, but not before he had seen a second woman in the room. A beautiful woman who's hair shone like fire. He went to sleep with her in his minds eye. When he was quiet the beautiful redheaded woman rose from her seat in the corner of the room and went to telephone her father in law, to tell him his prodigy was probably going to live.
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