I can do that.
Inhale.
Exhale.
In.
Out.
The staircase comes into sight. It’s black and grim, appearing straight out of medieval times. Mould and something grey covers the walls.
“Am I supposed to see a dark staircase?” A tremor interlaces my voice.
“It’s your subconscious,” he says. “Don’t fight it, embrace it.”
I thin my lips into a line to stop them from trembling.
“Now, take a step down.”
With a shaky foot, I take one step, but I don’t follow with the other foot. I’m scared the old staircase will disappear and I’ll end up falling into a dark hole.
“Take another,” Dr Khan urges with a calm voice.
I clutch the wall for balance as I follow his instructions.
One at a time.
One black step after the other. It’s dark as long as the vision goes. I can’t see what’s beyond me no matter how much I squint.
I can do this.
I need to do this.
“Slowing down and shutting down,” Dr Khan’s voice comes low as if from another room. It keeps getting distant with every word he says. “Slowing down and shutting down… slowing down and shutting down... Shutting down completely.”
Dr Khan’s voice disappears.
Or that’s what I think? I believe he’s speaking to me and asking me things, and I could be answering him, but I don’t register that.
I find myself in front of a wooden door that appears straight out of those World War documentaries. I push it with shaky hands.
Strong, white light blinds my eyes.
No. It’s not white. It’s… red.
I squint, trying to see past it. The atmosphere is like a thick sheen of blood red. Like those red rooms used in photography.
Only it isn’t a red room. No.
It
’s… my home.
My Birmingham home.
I stand in the middle of a vast lounge area with elegant floral wallpaper.
It’s so large that I seem like an ant in comparison. The chesterfield sofas and the tall paintings hint at a refined taste.