The Lab, Parts 1-15 free porn video

Hi This is only the third story I've ever written. It's still incomplete, like the second story I wrote. There's not a lot of graphic sex in it, and it takes a while to get going. I hope you like it. I really have no idea whether I can write, which is probably why I do it so slowly, but I hope there's someone out there who gets something out of it. Feel free to archive or otherwise distribute, provided it (and this preamble) is unedited and no fee is charged for access. This story may not be distributed from any site that charges money, is members-only, or uses that ridiculous "adult check" thing (or any similar system). All rights reserved by the author, who can be contacted at [email protected] Becky *** The Lab by Rebecca A. Chapter One. September, 1993. I met her at a party up above Sunset. She was standing out on the terrace with some lunatic who was ranting to her and another woman about global conspiracies and black helicopters and how the government was helping the United Nations control all of us. She was small, petite, but poised in an Audrey Hepburn kind of way. Late 20's, early 30's like me. As I stood at the edge of the conversation she gave me the smallest flick of an eyebrow, as though indicating that she found this guy wryly amusing. I stood at the edge of the conversation and listened to him as I watched her while trying not to appear as though I was mentally undressing her, which I was. Eventually, as the rant continued, her look changed to one of mild boredom. She was gorgeous. More beautiful than Audrey Hepburn. There was something in her eyes that seemed to say 'I'm not as fragile as you think I am', and while she was slim she was not too thin. Short dark hair, a gorgeous neck, creamy white shoulders that were interrupted only by the shoestring straps on the dark green dress she was wearing. She was way out of my league and I knew it. This was someone who was used to these shiny kind of people, who had probably grown up all her life among movie stars and fat lawyers and sleek women with hollow cheeks. I was a guy from Detroit. All I'd seen for most of my time in LA the last few years was other environmental-rights activists, and they are not often called sleek. I could see her glass was empty and stepped up to take it from her. Without taking her attention from the boor she handed me the glass, as though she was used to having servants take care of such things. I smiled and nodded like I understood how this game worked, and she smiled back in a half- apology as she saw my response. I went inside the house to find some white wine. It was full of gorgeous women and men in expensive casual clothes and tasteful jewelry. Lawyers, most of them, I guessed. She was probably a lawyer, too - though the fact that she hadn't argued with the loon made me less sure. Todd, who owned the house, had just been made partner at a prominent firm downtown, and I guessed most of his friends were in law too. I knew him from football at college. It took me a while to locate the kitchen inside the house, and then somewhat longer to realize that the wine was in the bar, not in the kitchen. When I came back out to the terrace the loon was still boring another woman to death but She had gone. I wandered the party but couldn't see her anywhere. Eventually I figured I'd had enough of hobnobbing with the rich and famous. As I left the Conspiracy Theorist was still trying to convince people that the black helicopters were everywhere. *** A few days later it was getting on toward dusk as I drove into the parking lot of the company where Tom worked. He and I got together every Thursday evening after work for a quick game of tennis and a bite to eat afterwards -- at least we had done most Thursdays since we'd both graduated some years earlier. Tom had continued working for the drug company he'd been doing research for when he was a grad student. I took the moral high road and went to work for an environmental action group as a researcher and activist on biochemical hazards. I gritted my teeth as I pulled into the lot -- Tom's new black Corvette was shining in the sun's last rays as I hefted the wheel on my own sorry wreck, a 1970 blue-and-primer Bonneville with intermittent power steering. One of us was making a lot of money these days, and it wasn't me. I grabbed my sports bag from amongst the trash in the back seat and headed for the security desk in the lobby. One of the perks of Tom's job was that we got to use the courts at the facility where he worked. Usually after playing we'd wander across the road to the fairly sleazy bar opposite, and sink a few beers and have dinner while we moaned about our poor track record with women. I was the one who did most of the moaning. I hadn't had a girlfriend since Shelley had left me two years ago, though that wasn't for want of looking. Tom, on the other hand, had no trouble picking up women. He just didn't seem able to keep a relationship going for more than a month or so. The Dawe compound was a collection of bland 1980's buildings in reflecting glass and cheap cement block, the kind you find spread all over southern Los Angeles. Only the name of the company picked out in blue letters on the cement wall next to the front door gave you any clue that the place was the principal research facility for one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world, and that behind the two-story facade of this building there were another seven large buildings further down the lot. I said hello to Tyrone, the guard at the desk. He buzzed Tom, and then let me sign myself in and gave me a visitor's pass and told me to head on through. I had idly wondered once or twice at the lax security standards here at Dawe, since after my second visit there they always let me through unaccompanied and never searched my sports bag, but I guess Tyrone saw me often enough and Tom had vouched for me the first few times. I wandered along the bleak white corridors. Tom's office and lab were deep inside the complex, small windowless rooms that reminded me of scenes from that old George Lucas movie I could never remember the name of, THX-something. I was looking forward to beating Tom tonight. Last week I'd been slightly off the pace, distracted by some bad stuff at work I think, and Tom had beaten me for the first time in months. We were usually pretty evenly matched. Both of us were pretty big guys. I was a fraction over Tom's 6'2", and we both weighed around 220 lbs. Not Goliaths, but we could both punch a mean serve, and match one another on the deep court strokes. I always thought I had a bit more control than Tom. He was inclined to recklessness sometimes and I knew how to goad him into mistakes. We both enjoyed the games, and it kept us in touch with one another. I had been afraid when we took such disparate jobs that we might have started to grow apart. I found Tom in his office, just finishing some notes. I hung around for a few minutes while he secured his stuff, and then the two of us went out to the sports center. He was in a good mood. He told me he was working on some really cool stuff, but wasn't allowed to talk about it. I told him about all things I was up to at work anyway. Part of me enjoyed needling him by talking about all the evil corporations who were screwing up the world. He still had some traces of the rebellious student spirit we'd shared a few years earlier, and was ever so slightly guilty about having sold out to the forces of global capitalism. But only slightly guilty. The goading helped distract him from his game, though. The game went well. We played three sets -- I won the last two, distracted in the first by my hair, which I'd let grow a little and which kept getting in my eyes when I was serving. I resolved to get it cut soon. Tom took the loss well, I suppose because it had almost gone the other way. After I ribbed him a bit about losing his touch we hit the showers. The water felt good. I've always kept myself in pretty good shape, at least as good as someone who works all day at a desk can ever get. I dried myself off, and went to the lockers to dress. As I opened the locker a small bottle fell out, and smashed on the floor. I didn't know where it had come from. It sure wasn't mine. Whoever else had used the locker that day must have left it. From the smell I figured it was after shave. I bent to pick up the shards of the bottle, which had spread out in long, evil-looking splinters only a fraction of an inch wide. Tom came out of the showers and held his nose. "Pheeee-euw!" he said. "Are you trying to impress the girls, or what?". I hadn't heard his footsteps, and as he spoke he startled me. I cut myself deeply on the thumb with one of the shards, and cursed. Tom helped me clean up the rest of the glass, and then the blood that was still flowing from my thumb. I ran it under cold water for a few minutes but it still bled slightly. I'd really scored it heavily with the glass, and it was a very deep cut. The attendant had left the sports center by the time we went to leave, and there was no first-aid kit in sight, so Tom suggested we go back to his office to bandage me up before we went to dinner. My thumb was still oozing blood as we walked back up the corridors. I was trying to staunch the flow with some paper towel, but the blood was still flowing pretty freely. "I hope you don't need stitches", Tom said hopefully, and I glared at him. As we rounded a corner an alarm went off nearby, and in front of us a door swung open and a woman slumped out into the corridor, gasping. Some sort of gas or steam billowed from the doorway. Tom swooped and deftly caught the woman as she was falling. He and I both looked into the room she'd come from. Inside I could see a man's legs sticking out from behind a table. As the alarm sounded and lights in the corridor flashed, Tom tried to get the woman to tell him what had happened. After a few moments the gas began to stop, and I gingerly entered the room. There was shattered glass on the desk, more on the floor, and a bluish gel spread over part of the desk. Tubes and hoses were also scattered around, along with more glass beakers, unbroken. Behind the desk was a heavy door, of the airlock kind we used when I was studying and we were dealing with dangerous organisms. My heart told me this was a situation I should be worried about, but my head told me I was on the right side of the door, the outside, so whatever this stuff was it couldn't be too dangerous. I tried to pick my way through the debris without disturbing anything. On the other side of the table, I saw that the figure on the floor was a man, perhaps in his mid-fifties. He was lying on his front, with his face turned to one side. His skin was mottled, red and white, I guessed from the explosion, whatever it had been. He didn't look good. I bent down to feel for a pulse. His neck, and some of his hair and clothing, was covered in a clear slime. It stung the wound in my thumb as I touched him, and I recoiled. I used my other hand to feel for the pulse. Nothing. He was gone. I stood up, wiping my hands unthinkingly on my clothes. Tom was in the doorway, still holding the woman, who was conscious but in some sort of shock, staring at the guy on the floor. I shook my head. I was picking my way back across the debris when a voice in the corridor called out "Stop right there". In the corridor I could see four figures in biohazard suits, carrying guns. One of them took the arm of the woman Tom had been supporting and led her away. Another motioned for Tom to follow. He glanced at me, to gauge how I was I guess. I stared back at him blankly as he shrugged, turned and followed the guard. The other two came for me. I raised my hands over my head and they escorted me up the corridor. As we were walking I looked back and saw another half dozen people in biohazard suits entering the room we'd just left. *** They kept me waiting in a small, white room for what must have been several hours. I stupidly hadn't put on my watch after tennis, distracted by the cut to my hand, I guess. It was in my sports bag, which I had dropped in the corridor outside the room where the accident had taken place. There were two simple black folding chairs in the room, and a stainless steel sink in one corner with a small white cupboard above it. I was sitting on one of the chairs. Apart from that the whole place was white. White walls, white ceiling, white synthetic rubbery floor covering. My blue jeans, dark blue shirt and a red blood-soaked cloth on my hand were the only real color in the room, including my skin color which was probably paler through apprehension. I'd looked through the small cupboard, which had a couple of small beakers and some surgical gloves in it and that was all. I'd looked outside, too, but there was a security guard at the door and he'd asked me -- no, told me -- to wait inside. Eventually a guy in his late thirties with graying hair came in. He pulled the other chair about five feet from mine and sat down in it, a clipboard on one knee. "James Ealey". "Yes", I said. "How are you feeling?", he asked, seeming genuinely concerned. He had a face that disconcerted me.. Not because of any very distinctive feature -- perhaps because there were hardly any distinguishing features. His eyes were neither blue nor brown, more a grayish color. He was about 5'10" tall, not notably solid but not thin, either. I noticed he didn't volunteer his name, and that he wasn't wearing an identification badge the way Dawe employees usually did. "I'm fine", I said. "How's Tom? How's ... that woman who was there?" "Barbara Andreesen", he said, looking at his clipboard. "Oh, they're both fine", he said. "Well, that's a relief, Mr. ..." There was a pause, and I realized he wasn't going to tell me his name. "It's difficult for a lot of people when this sort of thing happens in the workplace" he said instead. I reflected that he was probably right, Tom had seemed a bit shocked. "Yes", I said. "I suppose so". "But we just need to take some precautions", he said after a moment. He indicated my thumb. "You cut that in the room after the accident?" I looked down at my thumb, still wrapped in the handkerchief. "Uh, no, actually. I cut it in the locker room after Tom and I had finished playing tennis". I looked him in the eyes. "You know, those guys in the suits scared the shit out of me. Especially with the guns and everything". "Yes, I'm sorry about that, they do tend to overreact when things go wrong here. You must understand there are a lot of things that are developed here that could be dangerous if they were exposed to the world prematurely, and things we keep for research into exotic diseases. So we tend to be perhaps a trifle anxious when things go wrong. Fortunately this accident wasn't in a secure area. I understand you are familiar with biohazard safety procedures yourself". I wondered how he knew that. Perhaps Tom had told him. "Yes", I said. "Which is why it scared me". "Well, we just want to be careful". He paused and took a closer look at my thumb. "I'll have a doctor look at that and make sure the wound is cleaned up", he said. He stood up, and I stood as well. "Anything else we can do for you?" he asked. "Well, you can let me get out of here. And get my stuff. Where's Tom?" "Mr. Masterson is in the next room. You can see him after you've seen the doctor". He began to turn away, then thought of something else. "Mr. Ealey, you signed yourself in tonight, did you not?" "Uh, yes, I always do when Tom and I play". I doubt that you've paid too much attention to it, but when you did that you agreed to a non-disclosure agreement as part of the terms of your entry. So -- " "-- So I can't tell anyone about tonight, right?" "That's right, Mr. Ealey. I knew you'd understand". I did understand. I remembered Tom had joked about it the first time he'd signed me in. It didn't worry me. If there had been anything illegal about the events tonight the non-disclosure wouldn't be valid anyway. That made me think once again about the old man on the floor. "What happened to the other guy?" He looked at me blankly for a moment. "Oh, you mean Mr. Winters, the man who died? He had a heart attack, I'm afraid. Nothing to do with any experiment or anything like that, the poor old man's heart just picked a bad time to give out I guess. Pity, he was a nice man". He seemed genuinely sad that Mr. Winters had passed on. I wanted to ask him more, but he turned and left. I tried to follow him out of the room, but he closed the door after him and I discovered it was locked from the outside. I sat back down, and a few moments later She came in carrying an enormous black bag. The woman from the terrace at the party, I mean. She introduced herself as Doctor Adams. "We've met before", I said, hoping she'd remember. She looked at me blankly for a few seconds. She was gorgeous, even in the white coat she was wearing over her dress. "You were at Todd's last Saturday night. Seen any more black helicopters lately?" I asked. She smiled, and my heart skipped a few beats. "Yes", she said, "I was, and I think I owe you an apology for skipping off like that. I was called away suddenly." I was getting tongue tied here. I was always hesitant with women, especially beautiful women, and she was one of the most beautiful I'd seen. "One of the hazards of being a Doctor, I expect", I said, trying to say anything that might seem vaguely intelligent, but thinking I sounded like an idiot. "Yes", she said, and proceeded to unwrap the bloodied handkerchief carefully. I noticed she was wearing surgical gloves as she held my hand. "I wasn't on call, exactly, but a colleague knew where I was and something important came up. Made a mess of this, didn't you?", she said, indicating my hand. I wasn't paying attention. I was distracted by the back of her neck when she bent down. She had short black hair, trimmed at the back, and the most delicate neck as she bent over my hand. I towered over her, she can't have been much over 5' tall. She was cute, though. Not in a particularly girlish way, she was more sophisticated than that. Just petite and sexy. With beautiful dark eyes. I had been entranced by her eyes as soon as I saw her by the pool, and now I was spellbound again. She straightened up. "We'll need to rinse this thoroughly". Businesslike, she led me over to the sink, rinsed my hand, then poured some antiseptic over it from a bottle she had in her bag. It hurt like hell, and I yelped. She looked surprised, then smiled and wiped the wound clean. "No need for stitches", she said, and smiled again. I liked her smile. I could have watched her do that all day. She bandaged up my thumb tightly. It looked ridiculous when she'd finished, about twice as thick as normal. I wasn't going to be able to do a lot of things until it healed properly and I could take the bandage off. "Now I just need a blood test", she said, assembling a hypodermic. "What for", I asked suspiciously. "Mr. Ealey --" "-- Jim --" "-- Jim, I'm sure you're aware that you've just been in an industrial accident, in a facility loaded with all sorts of things people here would really rather not talk about. Now, if you decide to sue the company further down the track, how are we to know what your state of health was when the accident happened?" "You want me to give you a defense against me suing?" I asked, incredulously. The idea hadn't occurred to me until now, but maybe I could sue. There'd be some kind of settlement at least, just to shut me up. I shook my head, ashamed of myself. That would almost certainly be the end of Tom's career, since the company knew we were friends and I was only on the premises courtesy of Tom.. "No, I don't want you to give me any kind of defense", said Dr Adams. "I don't work on staff for the company, I just got called in tonight. So it doesn't matter to me either way whether you give me a sample or not. The company asked me to get one. And if it makes you feel better, it's probably safer to give me one now, so I can spot anything that might be wrong and we can treat it faster". "What could be wrong? That other guy said it wasn't a secure area so there wasn't any danger". "And I very much doubt there is", she said soothingly. "You don't have to if you don't want to". She started to pack up her bag. "No, it's okay", I said, thinking that this was probably something else that would reflect badly on Tom. Plus I was prepared to give her anything just to buy time so I could figure out a way to ask her out. She took the sample, marked the tube, then disposed of the needle in a sharps container and resumed packing her bag. "So, have you finished here now?" I asked her, eyeing off what I could see of her under the white lab coat she was wearing. She was slight, but with a good figure all the same. She looked up at me. "I've finished here, if that's what you mean" "I, uh, just wondered if you'd like to get a drink with my buddy Tom and me, across the road. I could use one after all this". She smiled again. I sure did like that. "No, Jim, but thank you. I've finished here, but I'm still on call, and I don't drink when I'm on call". "Oh. Well, in that case..." "But you could call me another night, when you're not my patient any more", she said, her eyes sparkling. She scribbled a number on the back of a card and handed it to me. Dr. Catherine Adams. I smiled back. "I'd like that a lot. Which days are you not on call?" She left after we'd agreed to get together the following Tuesday night. I wandered out of the room, finally, to see Tom sitting on a low bench across the corridor, waiting for me. He had both our sports bags with him, and he tossed me mine as I approached. "Wild night, huh?" he said, slapping me on the back. "And you thought my job was boring!". On the way out past security Tyrone made a joke about the size of my thumb, and I gave him a weak riposte about using it to plug the holes in the company's security. Tom and I threw our bags in our cars, and we went across the road and had a few drinks. It was way too late to eat, and both of us got quite drunk on our empty stomachs. Despite the trauma of the evening I was a little high because Catherine Adams, the good doctor, had agreed to see me again, and Tom and I cut loose on whiskey instead of our customary beers. Tom went home with one of the waitresses. I ended up sleeping in my car in the carpark rather than drive home. The next morning I woke at dawn, and immediately wished I hadn't. I was scrunched up in the back seat of the Bonneville, with an enormous headache. My whole body ached. I hadn't had a hangover like that for years. I gritted my teeth, got into the front seat of the car, drove home, had a quick shower and got to work only half an hour late, still feeling awful. Tom rang me about Midday, sounding bright and alert, at least much more so than I felt. Debbie, the receptionist, had been diverting calls from me all morning in deference to the way she knew my head felt. Debbie was inclined to that kind of lifestyle herself from time to time, so she sympathized. But she put Tom's call through, probably on account of Tom sweet talked her or something. Tom was great at that kind of stuff, and shameless about it. Tom wasn't hungover much at all, and he kidded me about being old and not being able to take it. This was a longstanding routine with him rather than anything serious. I was a whole month older than Tom. "Hey, big time stuff happening here", Tom said quietly after we'd kidded for a minute or two more. "Whoever that Winters guy was last night, he was important. There have been all sorts of weirdoes in suits looking over his lab all day, and they've emptied out the rest of that section while his lab materials are being analyzed. I don't know what it was he was working on, but the company sure is making a fuss about salvaging his stuff." I wondered idly whether Tom should be telling me this stuff on the phone, given the general paranoia that we'd seen exhibited last night by the Dawe security teams. "I guess you're right", said Tom, and I realized I'd been thinking out loud. "Anyway, I'm only telling you because you were there". He changed the subject, and we agreed before he hung up that we'd meet on Sunday and I'd help him with some work on the house he'd bought earlier in the year, a run-down old place 'with character' over in the bad part of Venice. By Sunday, though, I still felt bad. I'd kept a low profile on Saturday, taking a few aspirin and having a quiet day mostly spent on the couch watching the football. I had planned to go out to dinner with a couple of other friends, Marty and Denise, but I cancelled in the afternoon. By Sunday morning I was convinced I probably had some kind of flu. My headache raged, and my joints ached. I gingerly unwrapped my bandaged thumb, because I was worried the cut might have some kind of infection that was giving me a fever, but it looked fine. Dr Adams had cleaned it thoroughly. I re-wrapped it as best I could, took more aspirin and called Tom to cancel. He came around that evening with Carol, a girl he'd been dating on and off for the past few weeks. Carol was gorgeous, if a bit vacuous, but she kindly brought along some chicken soup, which I gratefully ate. They didn't stay long as they were headed for the movies, but Tom made me promise to go see a doctor again the next day. I was skeptical. I was never a fan of antibiotics unless I was desperate. The next morning I was feeling a lot better. Still not one hundred percent, but much, much better than I had been over the weekend. I was relieved. No need to go see the doctor. Tuesday I was pretty much back to normal. One or two minor aches in my joints, but I figured that was just because I was stiff from laying around the house so much. I jogged a little in the morning and felt even better. So Tuesday night I went to meet the cute doctor. I cleaned out the Bonneville first, getting rid of several months worth of accumulated rubbish. I even had it washed while I was at work. She looked great when she opened the door. There was that smile of hers again. I was a sucker for it. She was wearing a full white skirt and a coffee- colored silk blouse that draped across her breasts beautifully. It was unbuttoned enough to give a hint of cleavage. I tried not to stare. I didn't usually leer at women, but she was gorgeous. Plus I was a foot taller than her, so it was hard not to look down her blouse. We headed off for a quick bite to eat, and then a movie. She told me over dinner that she liked to be called Catherine instead of Cathy. "Only my family calls me Cathy, and that's just because my Dad doesn't realize I'm not fifteen any more". Catherine seemed genuinely interested in me, and I sure was interested in her. There was something about her that kept all my senses attuned. It was almost like the first few dates I'd been on when I was a teenager. The movie was pretty terrible, but I didn't much care. It was good just being beside her. We went for coffee afterwards and we did the 'getting to know you' conversation. I told her about my childhood as the son of a machinist in Detroit, and she told me about being the daughter of a rich gynecologist in Beverly Hills. We came from completely different worlds, yet we seemed to have something in common, even if I couldn't quite figure out what it was. As I drove her home to her apartment up on Doheny I was trying to psych myself up to do the right thing, play it cool, don't rush it. I usually rushed things, it was kind of hard not to. But I felt like I was onto a good thing with Catherine. So I walked her to the door, like a gentleman would, without crowding her. When we got to her apartment she turned, and raised her head slightly, and I bent down to kiss her goodnight. It was only a brief kiss, but there was definitely electricity there. Her body was humming. Mmmm. Strangely I got kind of embarrassed after the kiss, and she smiled again. I said goodnight, and drove home, flying. As I went to bed that night I could do little but think about her. She had me entranced, that was for sure. I hadn't felt that way about a woman, that unconscious connection, since Shelley, and even then it hadn't been this strong. I knew there was still a lot I had to learn about Catherine, but I was looking forward to learning it. We saw each other again, on the Saturday. I asked her to come to a party at Tom's. She was a big hit with everyone there, and I felt pretty pleased with myself, being able to show off this sexy and smart woman who was with me. There are few feelings quite as good for a man as that. The week after Tom's party I started to feel tired a lot. Really tired. I went to bed around nine most nights during the week. Tom and I had taken to playing tennis away from Dawe at a club over on the west side since our little experience a few weeks earlier. On this Thursday night I just felt so weary I had a hard time playing. My control was all over the place, and my concentration was worse. Even Tom noticed it -- that was rare for him considering he had won our match, so he was puffed up about beating me again. He ribbed me about going soft, but then reflected that I really hadn't played at my best. I only had a single beer afterwards at the bar. That was okay with Tom, I think he was embarrassed to see the waitress he'd taken home a few weeks earlier. She looked at him like he was a greasy spot in the booth we were in, and he tried to pretend he didn't know who she was. After the beer I had a difficult time driving home. It was tough just keeping my eyes focused on the road, I was so tired. I wound the windows down, even though it was raining, and still found it hard to keep the Bonneville in one lane of the 10. I must have weaved across the road once or twice, because eventually a cop waved me over. That woke me up. He didn't believe I'd only had one beer, but I tested clean enough so he gave me a stern lecture about being careful and let me go. I eventually made it home okay, but I slept in my clothes on top of the bed. I was too tired to take them off. My tiredness persisted through Friday, and Saturday morning it was all I could do to drag myself from bed at 11.00 am. Saturday night Catherine and I went out again. This time I took her to a nice restaurant, an upscale place over in Santa Monica. The food was fantastic, and she was her usual charming self. She wore a short black dress which showed off her body beautifully without being too revealing -- in fact she was the classiest looking woman in the restaurant. Two small emeralds in her ears and a thin gold bracelet on her arm, no other jewelry -- she almost looked as though she'd never grown up in LA at all. I was entranced, watching the delicacy of her throat as she talked, her hands making small graceful movements from time to time as she illustrated her conversation with them, and the way her eyes sparkled when I managed the odd witty comment. At about the time dessert was on the way I started to feel myself getting weary again. After dessert I even found myself missing one or two things she said. Eventually I must have given her an inappropriate response to something she'd said, because she said sharply "stop me if I'm boring you or anything". I was mortified, and I guess the shock on my face must have been apparent to her, because her look of impatience with me changed to one of concern. "Oh, god, Catherine, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've just been so incredibly worn out lately. Really. I mean I just don't have any energy lately, and the more sleep I get the more I seem to need. I'm really sorry". Her expression softened. I paid the bill, and we left. Catherine offered to drive, but I wasn't sure about that. Part of me told myself to be careful -- although I had only had two glasses of wine with dinner I was very tired again. But I had some doubts Catherine would be able to manage driving the Bonneville, especially since she was so petite and the power steering pump had given up the ghost earlier that day. Still, a few miles along I knew I had to pull over. Catherine took the wheel and started driving. She almost had to stand to turn the wheel a few times. "What's wrong with me? I'm not usually like this" I mumbled as I was drifting off. I woke late next morning in my own bed, clad only in my underwear. Catherine had obviously used my keys to let us both in, but there was no sign of her. I grabbed a robe and tousled my hair to try to wake myself up. When I staggered to the kitchen I found her sitting at the kitchen table, wearing an old football jersey of mine which hung on her like a tent. She had made herself some coffee, and when I came in she got up from the table to pour me a cup, too. She set it down in front of me. "I don't usually sleep at a guy's house this soon in a relationship", she smiled. "But I didn't want to drive that car again, and I figured you were pretty safe last night". I noticed, looking through the doorway into the living room, that she'd made the couch up as a bed, and had obviously slept in it last night. We talked for a while, and I told her that my tiredness had started the week before, and was definitely not typical. I had always had a lot of energy, and these symptoms were very distressing to me. She told me I should have some tests done, and get another full blood workup and see if there was any kind of viral infection or anything like that. I kept apologizing for the night before. What I had planned to be a nice romantic evening had turned into a bit of a disaster. Inside I was also mentally kicking myself -- I'd had this gorgeous woman in my apartment all night and hadn't even tried anything! I wasn't tired that morning, though. I walked over to Catherine and put my hands on her shoulders, then bent down to kiss her. She stiffened a little at first, then relaxed. I stood up again, and she got up from her chair. I put my arm around her and bent once again to kiss her. It was intense. She felt warm, and soft, and her skin had a faint muskiness that drove me on. After we'd kissed a few more times I looked deep into her eyes. She met my gaze, then looked down, as though a little shy. Then she tilted her head back to me, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. I raised my hand to her breast, feeling the nipple respond quickly to my touch as I caressed it. She was breathing more heavily, and brought her hands from around the back of my neck to my shoulders. As I caressed her breasts with both hands she let out a soft moan, and I quickly scooped her up and took her to my bed. I pulled the football jersey over her head and laid her down on the bed, then slowly dragged her panties down her legs, teasing her with my fingers as I did so. She was gorgeous, soft skin, milky white, not tanned and going-to- be-leathery like all the other Westside women I'd met. The curve of her thighs up over her hips was breathtaking. I peeled off my robe and could see her taking in my body, too. I took off my jockey shorts and lay on the bed beside her, stroking my hand over her delicious curves, teasing her nipples gently. As I kissed her I reached into the beside drawer and retrieved a condom, and as I fumbled to put it on while still touching her with my other hand I felt her take it from me and gently stretch it over my shaft for me. From kissing her mouth I moved down to her neck, that beautiful neck, and behind her ears. She let out a deep sigh when I did this, and I noticed her adjust her hips. I kept kissing her, moving my mouth slowly down her body, over her chest to her breast, to her nipples, which were quite large and a dusky pink, working at them with my tongue while I stroked the inside of her creamy thighs with my hand. I moved my mouth further down, over her belly, her perfectly-formed navel, to the dark, curiously soft down between her legs. She parted her legs and I gently put my tongue into the sweet musk of her, licking gently until I found her clitoris amid the moist delicate folds. After a few moments she moaned a few more times, quietly, distantly. I intensified my efforts and she began to move her hips. As my tongue was beginning to get weary she bucked a few times, and grasped my shoulders firmly as she came. I kept licking at her, and she kept coming, again and again. The time seemed right, and I felt like I would burst anyway, so I moved back up the bed, kissing her taut nipples again as I did so, licking the fine sweat that had gathered on her breasts, and came into her, gently at first until I could feel her muscles grasp me, then more firmly. She brought her legs up around my back as I moved inside her, feeling the rhythm of her hips as I plunged deeper, hearing small soft animal sounds from her mouth, thinking I had never felt a woman who seemed so alive, so passionate. I pulled back for a moment, so as not to come too soon, but she tightened her legs around me and pulled me back toward her. I couldn't hold it much longer, and as she tightened her pelvic muscles by moving her legs further toward my shoulders I came, staggeringly, in an enormous spasm that I thought would take everything from me, that would end everything. She clasped me tightly, and shuddered herself, and we collapsed on the bed beside one another. We lay there for a long time, both cloaked in sweat and one another's scents. I traced gentle patterns on her breasts and throat and drew my fingertips up over her face. After I touched her nipples a few more times she came once more, and begged me to stop. I took her in my arms and held her while the winter sun streamed through the timber venetians, making fabulous patterns on her gorgeous body. "So much for being tired", she said softly, and smiled. We didn't leave my apartment till much later that day, having made love several times more and explored one another's bodies in that greedy, hungry way new lovers do, both giddy with the newness of each other and the sweetness of the sex. She surprised me the second time we did it, sitting astride me and bucking like a wild thing when she came, as though she thought the world might end and she needed all of me at once. I hadn't seen that kind of intensity before, and it got me more excited than I'd ever been. I took her again after she came, and thrust myself hard and fast into her, deeper than I'd ever been, until we both came again almost in unison. Neither of us had eaten all day, so at around 6.00 p.m. Catherine suggested we should head out for a very late lunch or early dinner. We each showered separately -- having had so much of her already, I thought the least I could do now was offer her a little privacy as she freshened up. She was dressing as I came out of the shower. "I'm afraid I'll be a little overdressed for anything casual", she said, as she began pulling on the black dress she had worn the night before. I suggested we swing by her place on the way out to eat and she could change. Catherine's apartment was much nicer than mine, the result I guess of a superior income. She mentioned casually as we walked in that she had been sharing it until recently with another woman doctor who had recently moved out to work in Wisconsin, and since she had been too choosy about prospective house mates she'd decided to pay the extra rent and live by herself. I was aware that my apartment was kind of grungy by comparison, and hoped Catherine hadn't been put off by the housekeeping standards. I followed her into her room, and kissed her again. I gently undid the clasp at the back of her dress, and then unzipped it. It fell to the floor, I started to run my hands over her body and she softened again, then gently pushed me away. "Uh uh", she said, smiling mischievously. "Take it easy, mister. I'm gonna be too sore to walk, soon. Plus", she added more seriously, "I don't have any more protection here. This isn't something that happens too often". I couldn't believe that a woman as gorgeous as Catherine couldn't get any and every man she wanted, but I shrugged her comment off. She pulled herself free of my arms, and crossed to her closet. She retrieved a clean bra and panties from some drawers, then selected a dark red dress with a low-cut neck that buttoned up the front. She put it on, teasing me all the while with her eyes and her smile, then put on some moisturizer and some mascara and lipstick. She grabbed a little cropped denim jacket, and pronounced herself ready. I guided the Bonneville over to a little Mexican place on Olympic that Catherine suggested, and we stuffed our bodies full of food and a few beers. All through dinner it was all I could do to keep myself from leaping across the table and putting my head up her dress to taste her again. Her movements and her voice and her eyes all conspired to keep me focused on sex. On the way back from dinner I asked her if she'd rather be alone that night. I thought perhaps she'd want some more time to herself. But she told me it would be okay for me to stay over, but that she really would be too sore to do much more. She commented with a smile that she'd noticed all my tiredness seemed to have disappeared. "If that was a routine to get me to stay the night it was a pretty good one", she joked. Before we went to sleep I brought her off once more, just through kissing and licking her, and she we went to sleep promptly after that, her small frame wrapped in my arm. *** Chapter Two. At about 4.00 am I woke, in agony. It felt like my joints were on fire. My mouth was dry, and my head was pounding. At first I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to wake Catherine. But a spasm of pain swept through me and I groaned, and she was instantly awake. "What's wrong?" she asked. I tried to explain as best I could, and she was immediately in professional mode, taking my pulse and my temperature and inspecting me clinically. "You have a high fever," she said. "I'm going to take you over to the clinic." We dressed, although she had to help me, I was shaking as well as having muscle spasms. I was terrified. "What's happening to me?" I cried. I tried to explain to Catherine that apart from the events of the past month or so I'd barely had a sick day in my life. Ever since that accident at Dawe ... "I know," she said. "I couldn't find any problems then, but I think I must have missed something. I'm going to get my friend Bob Esterhaus to look at you." I was in enormous pain, through fiery stabbing pains in my joints and a burning feeling around my face, but Catherine said she'd rather not give me anything if I could stand the pain until she'd run a couple of tests. We went out to her car, as I was sure I couldn't drive and she didn't want to wrestle with mine again. She had a small red BMW, which she drove quickly and efficiently while I moaned in the seat beside her, convinced my body was dissolving or something. While she drove she was on the cellphone to someone. We arrived at the clinic she worked at, and were greeted by several orderlies and a nurse who placed me on a gurney and wheeled me into a small consulting room. I was still moaning, and tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. Catherine came into the room with a guy I took to be a doctor. After a few moments he organized a shot which took away all my pain. I reached for Catherine's hand and she held mine as I slipped away into unconsciousness. I drifted in and out of awareness several times, each time seeing figures beside the bed but only vaguely, before I awoke completely in the light of day. The sun was trying to poke through the drawn blinds, and I could see it was a sunny day outside. As I twisted in bed I noticed that, although I thought I still had a buzz from the drugs, the pain was mostly gone. I had an IV drip in my arm, and a hospital gown on. There was no sign of Catherine. After I'd been awake about ten minutes a nurse came in, and gave a small start when she saw I was awake. She gave me a shot in the hip, scuttled out again, then returned about five minutes later with a tall, imposing man who introduced himself as Dr Esterhaus. He flicked the fluorescent lights in the room on. "How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Ealey?" I had to clear my throat to speak. My voice came out a little hoarse and raspy. I told him I felt a lot better, though perhaps that was the drugs. "Yes, you've been very feverish for a while now. We were quite concerned. Mr. Ealey --" "-- Call me Jim" "-- Jim, Can you understand me clearly?" I nodded, and he continued. "Jim, Dr Adams -- Catherine -- was only able to give us a few details about you. Your friend Tom Masterson gave us some others, but I need to ask you some questions if that's alright." He'd spoken to Tom, too? That was fast. He pulled a chair from the side of the room and sat down next to the bed. The nurse handed him the charts from the foot of the bed, and went to open the blinds. He ran through some basic questions. Any allergies to medication that I knew about? He asked me to describe the symptoms I'd had recently. "That was all after the incident at Dawe Chemical?" he asked. I nodded. "Well," he went on, "I've looked at your blood work from that accident and you seemed fine then. Jim, does your family have any history of medical problems we should know about?" I thought of my Mom and Dad, still healthy as ever back in Detroit. And my grandparents, who were still, all four of them, active and healthy. I told him we weren't a family that was prone to get sick at all. He then asked me whether I'd been overseas recently, perhaps to Africa? I shook my head. "No. I went to Europe for a while just after I graduated, but that's the only travel I've done unless you count Canada a few times." He settled into his chair and looked at me earnestly. Jim, we'd like to keep you for observation for a while. You're certainly not well enough to be discharged yet anyway. But we'd like to run some tests to see if we can pin down what this is. The last few days have had us a little puzzled. We --" I interrupted. "The last few days? What do you mean?" Dr Esterhaus seemed momentarily surprised. "Jim, you've been here for several days now. Today is Thursday" "I came in on Monday morning." "Yes," he said gently. "You've been somewhat delirious for most of that time. This is the first opportunity we've had to ask you these questions." I lay back in bed and tried to think. The last thing I remembered properly was being in the passenger seat of Catherine's car, in agony. "Jim, we'd like to run some more tests if that's okay with you." "What kind?" "Blood tests, mostly, though there are a few others. We need to take some x- rays and some urine samples." He hesitated, as though searching for words. He looked grave. His expression bothered me. "What?" I said impatiently. "It's not HIV, we know that." I snorted. "I could have told you that, Doc. I take my responsibilities seriously, and I'm always careful. Besides, I haven't exactly been very active over the last few years." "Yes. Well, we know it isn't that. Jim, I'll be blunt. We're unsure at the moment really, because a lot of things don't fit, but we think perhaps -- and this is only a perhaps so you should not be too concerned -- you might have some new form of leukemia we haven't seen before. Your leukocyte count -- white blood cells -- is way up, well over normal, and we can't find a viral infection so we don't quite know yet what's causing it. But if it is a form of leukemia it's not one we've seen before. Your fever is abnormal, and points to a viral cause, and the pains you are describing don't quite fit either. But we'd like to rule out that possibility before we go any further." I looked at the ceiling and wished I could lapse back into unconsciousness. Over the next few days I was subjected to several tests. Dr Esterhaus came and asked me some more questions about the accident at Dawe. Tom called by on the Friday night, and we talked for a while. I was pretty light headed from the painkillers and found it hard to keep my concentration. Most of the time I slept. partly I think because of the drugs and also because I seemed to be very tired again. On the Saturday I woke up to find Catherine sitting beside the bed, reading a book. I watched her for a few moments, before she looked up to see me looking at her. She smiled. I'd forgotten how good that was. "How are you?" she asked. "My voice was still raspy. "Pretty good, I guess. Whatever these painkillers are, they're great." "Careful," she said jokingly, "We Doctors are good pushers when we want to be." "Catherine ... I'm very, very sorry about putting you through all this." She stood up, and came and stood close to the bed. She ran her hand through my hair. "It's okay," she said gently. "You gave me a bit of a fright the other night, though. I thought I was thorough when I checked you out at Dawe." "Dr Esterhaus says you were. He looked at the blood tests you did -- "-- Yes, I passed them on to him when you were unconscious. That's kind of a breach of ethics, but I was worried." Did he tell you what he thought it might be?" "No," Catherine said. It was the first time I had the feeling she might not have been telling me the truth. I changed the subject, and we talked for a while about some of the bad daytime television I'd been trying to watch. Catherine stayed until about nine, sitting on the bed next to me. We kissed -- I was embarrassed because I hadn't had the opportunity to brush my teeth for a while. Eventually she left. I lay back and thought of the last time we'd been together. I feel asleep eventually and had some vivid and disturbing dreams, the first dreams I'd had since being in hospital. She was in the dream, too. But there was someone else, someone who wanted to take something away from me, and I didn't know what it was they wanted. I forgot most of it when I woke in the middle of the night, but it disturbed me all the same. By the middle of the next week the pain didn't seem so bad, and they began to wean me off the drugs. Dr. Esterhaus came to see me each day, and on the Monday he was able to tell me that he'd been able to positively rule out Leukemia and most of the known blood diseases. He was sure it wasn't contagious, whatever it was. So if the pain subsided I would be able to go home soon. Catherine came to see me every second day or so. As the pain wore off I became better company. She'd come by on the nights she wasn't on call, and we'd watch TV together, or just talk about whatever came into our heads. She heard a lot about my childhood, I learned a lot more about her life before she met me. She'd done a lot for someone who was only in her mid twenties, and had traveled throughout Europe and most of Asia, even as far as India. She brought me in some photographs of her in India, looking like a hippie when she was 19 and had long hair. She looked cute then, but she'd improved as she'd gotten older. Three weeks after I had been admitted I was allowed to go home. Catherine came to pick me up. She took me to Tom's place, at his suggestion, since I was still pretty weak and Dr Esterhaus wasn't thrilled about me being on my own a lot. Tom was at work during the days, and I knew he had a pretty full social life with the ladies, but he told me I not to argue, and that he wouldn't have me stay anywhere else. I had the phone diverted from my place to his. Catherine promised me she'd come by regularly. I took over Tom's spare bedroom. I was able to walk around, though I was still very weak. My body felt drained. I had been in good physical condition before I was admitted -- except for the tiredness and the pains. But I had lost a lot of weight while in the hospital, burning it all off while I had the fever. I knew I was a lot thinner. And weaker. My voice still hadn't recovered properly, either -- it stayed at a dull rasp. I sounded like a gangster from a bad forties B-movie. By the second week at Tom's I was going stir crazy. I knew if I watched any more daytime television I was going to go nuts, and I didn't feel like reading any more. I decided that instead of moping around in my pajamas and robe I should get dressed and sit out in the sun for a while, so I grabbed a t-shirt and pair of jeans Catherine had brought over from my place and put them on. They both felt too big, but the jeans were worst of all. I had to use a belt to keep them up, and they seemed too low on my waist or something, because I had to roll up the bottoms a bit. I went out into Tom's yard and soaked up some of the sun. It was nice to sit outside and listen to the noises of the world. After an hour or so, though, I got bored, so I came back inside. I decided to try to straighten the place up for Tom. Not that I was ordinarily any more domestic than him, but like I said, I was really bored. I decided to start with the bathroom, as the shower recess looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a while. Tom's cleaning lady had quit a few months earlier, and I guess he'd been too busy to get another yet. As I was cleaning up I found a set of bathroom scales in the cupboard under the sink. Weighing myself, I decided the scales were broken or something. I weighed 150, down from 220 before I went into hospital. No-one could lose that much weight. I looked at my face in the mirror, and saw that I was awfully gaunt. No wonder I felt so weak. I wondered what Catherine thought. While I was thinking about Catherine, I began to think about where our relationship was headed. I felt a connection with her that I had never felt with any other woman. There was no holding back for me. But I felt, deep down, that she was holding something back from me, something very private. Maybe it was a reaction to what was happening to me. That was understandable. Or perhaps, I reflected, it was just paranoia on my part. I had never felt this way about a woman before, and I suppose it was in my nature to be fearful it would all slip away. After all, I had loved Shelley, too, or thought I did. It just turned out Shelley didn't love me. That evening I noticed that the brief time I had spent in the sun had left me quite badly sunburned on my face, neck and hands. Sunburn! In winter! I mean, I like the weather in LA and all, but no-one gets sunburned in winter. One of the worst things I had noticed since the accident was that I felt like my memory was going. Things I should have known, people's names and events from recent years, all started to seem fuzzy. I found myself frequently searching for words, or for memories of things that Tom and I had done together when we were talking. I confided in Catherine that I thought I was losing my marbles. She said it was probably just the stress. Over the next few days something else began to trouble me. I felt like I was going nuts, like I said, but it also seemed as though the world had changed in some way. At least, my perspective on it had. I mentioned these feelings to Catherine as well, and she told me I was crazy, it was just that I was still feeling weak from the illness. But the following morning I was in the kitchen, getting some orange juice from the refrigerator while Tom was making coffee, when I was hit with a terrifying revelation. Tom was now at least two inches taller than I was. I had to hold myself up. Tom must have noticed me slump, because he immediately grasped my arm. "What's wrong, bud? You okay? You look really pale." He walked me over to a chair and sat me down, then crouched down beside me. I checked his shoes -- no higher than they normally were. I was about to say something, then I caught myself -- it didn't make any sense. Nobody shrinks, at least not until they're really old. "Uh, Tom, I need to stand up." "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, with a worried expression on his face. We stood up again, and he grasped my arm to steady me. I was shaking. I looked into his eyes -- they were slightly above mine! "Tom ..." I croaked. "Tom, what's wrong with me?" "I don't know, Jim. You want me to call the hospital?" "No, Tom. I mean, look at me! I'm *shorter* than you!" He looked at me with shock. And slowly it dawned on him that I was right. "Jeee-sus," he said softly. He looked me up and down, as though to reassure himself that I was standing up straight. "How the fuck did *that* happen?." "I don't know, Tom, but it's scaring the shit out of me." I was shaking uncontrollably, and I sat down again. I had always been slightly taller than Tom. Always. It seemed like it scared Tom, too. He went to the living room and returned with a shot of whiskey. It was only eight in the morning, but I downed it in a gulp. "What's Catherine's number?" Tom asked. I gave it to him, and he called her. She said she'd be right over. Then Tom called his office to tell them he'd be late in. When Catherine arrived I confronted her with the evidence. It was all completely unreal. I felt like I'd walked out of real life and into a movie. They had made a movie in the fifties about a guy who shrunk until he was tiny. But that was science fiction. Catherine admitted she was baffled, and advised me to phone Dr Esterhaus. She squeezed my hand to reassure me, but I wasn't much in the mood for reassurance. Dr Esterhaus told me he'd be able to see me just before lunch, at 12.30. Tom told me he'd drive me over to see him, but Catherine told him to go to work. She was on night call, and could stay with me most of the day. She got some tablets from her bag. I was reluctant to take them but she was insistent. "Jim, being this agitated isn't good for you." I consented and swallowed them and after five minutes or so they stopped me shaking and calmed me down. In the few hours until we were due at the clinic Catherine stayed with me and tried to make me feel better. She tried joking, that at least I wouldn't have to bend down as far to kiss her. It reminded me that we hadn't had sex since that night I had first been admitted to hospital. I wondered if she was still interested in me, now that I was so thin. I put my hand on her thigh, and she smiled and squeezed it again. The thing was, I wasn't much in the mood for sex, anyway. I still thought Catherine was gorgeous, but I guess my body just wasn't up to it. Down at the clinic Dr Esterhaus examined me. He measured my height, and agreed that I had shrunk from my height at admission, which had been 6'2." I explained that I had always been slightly taller than that anyway, so I had shrunk a little *before* admission, but that seemed like a meaningless comment in the circumstances. What was certain was that I was now only 6' tall. Dr Esterhaus weighed me, and confirmed I had lost a lot. That was only to be expected, he said, given the fever and everything else that had happened. His measurement of me was 146 lbs., four lighter than yesterday. But perhaps that was just the difference between his scales and Tom's. I sat back down, and Dr Esterhaus looked at me seriously. "Jim, I'm sorry, I can't explain any of this. I'm going to refer you to some other doctors, with more experience in some of the areas we'll need to study. At this stage there's not much I can do but run some more tests -- I wouldn't want to prescribe anything like growth hormones or anything like that until we know exactly what we're dealing with. Besides, at your age those things don't usually work." Dr Esterhaus concluded the consultation by telling me he wanted me to come down to the clinic every day to be weighed and measured. Any days he was away he wanted me to come in anyway, and a nurse would take the measurements. In the meantime he made some appointments for me in a month or so with some other doctors. He looked at me closely before I left, and put his hand on my shoulder. "Jim -- one more thing. I can't tell you that this was caused by that accident at Dawe, because we don't know fully what happened there. But I'd get a lawyer if I were you." Great. A Lawyer. That was just what I needed. I walked back down the corridor to the waiting room to see Catherine, with my head fuzzy and my heart heavy. On the way back from the clinic Catherine suggested that if I was up to it we could stop off at the Galleria and do some Christmas shopping. It was only mid-November but I think she was trying to cheer me up. I didn't have much money -- I'd been off work for more than a month now -- but I agreed. I brought a small gift for Tom, some things for my Mom and Dad, and a small pair of gold and amethyst earrings for Catherine while she was off shopping in Nordstroms. It wasn't much but it was all I could manage. By the end of the shopping I was feeling pretty weak. Catherine drove me back to Tom's. We lay together on my bed, clothed, for a few hours until she had to get ready for work. I enjoyed touching her, but I didn't feel much like sex. We kissed, and I ran my hands over her gently. She seemed to sense that I was not quite feeling right, and didn't put any pressure on me. But after she left I was pretty upset with myself. I was sick of being sick. I phoned my mother early in the evening, before it got too late in Detroit. She and Dad had wanted to come out to LA when they'd heard I was sick, but I had asked Tom to dissuade them, as I knew they didn't have much money and Dad's position at the plant was shaky enough in the current economy without him taking time off. I arranged to visit them just after Thanksgiving instead. I made arrangements to cash in some Advantage miles after the blackout period since I couldn't afford to buy an air ticket. Tom came home early, with Chinese Food. That was his idea of taking care of his share of the cooking, but I didn't quibble. I was anxious to try to put on as much weight as I could, and Tom always over-ordered, which was good. But after only a small amount I found I was full. Tom said he thought perhaps my stomach had shrunk from not eating enough while I was in hospital, but that didn't improve my mood any. We watched a terrible Sly Stallone video, and I turned in early. Next day I was hit with the pain again after Tom went off to work. It was about three weeks after it had stopped last time. I gritted my teeth and tried to bear it, but it got worse and worse, as it had the time before. I figured I needed to call an ambulance. I had only just hung up the phone before a new wave of pain hit me and I blacked out. This time I didn't come to for about five days. When I did it seemed everyone was in the room. Catherine was there, with Tom, and so were my parents. When they saw me open my eyes they all broke into smiles, and Tom let out a "whoop!." My Mom came over to the bed and leant over and kissed me, and Catherine took my hand. Her eyes were moist. I found out later that everyone was concerned that I was going to die, because all my vital signs had dropped to very low levels while I was unconscious and the doctors had been baffled. But I was confused by all the attention, as at that stage I didn't know I'd been out for so long. Catherine went and fetched Dr Esterhaus, who had cut short a brief holiday to tend to me. I was impressed, I had been kind of cynical about him before but he really did seem interested in my welfare. Of course, I was also impressed with Catherine's dedication at