Time and Time Again

Time and Time again - Prologue

We are all creatures suspended in time and whose purpose is not decided by the universe, but by ourselves alone.

'He sees ghosts.'

The doctor broke eye contact with Mrs Collins to look at Simon, 'How old is he?'

'Nine', Mrs Collins replied, a suggestion of fear in her voice. Simon was sitting next to his mother, staring at his clasped hands in his lap.

'Where do you see them?', the doctor asked conversationally. Simon didn't reply nor did he move. After twenty silent seconds Simon glanced up to look out of the window in the wall behind the doctor. 'Do you see them out there?', the doctor asked kindly. Simon shook his head slightly then returned his gaze to his hands which were beginning to fidget.

'He sees them at school and at home', Mrs Collins replied.

'They're not always there', Simon said softly, raising his eyes to meet those of the young doctor, 'I'm one of them.'

The doctor furrowed her brow and then quickly relaxed her face, wishing not to appear judgemental, 'What do you mean?'

'He's one of the ghosts', Mrs Collins countered, 'He sees himself in his bedroom and at school'

'Can I ask,' the doctor said coolly, 'do you have any history of mental illness in the family; I just have to build a picture of possible outcomes. Prognosis.'

'No, not that I know of. I don't think my son is mad – '

'Sorry, I don't mean to assume – it's just one of the possible explanations,' the doctor turned to Simon, 'Do you mind if I do a few tests?' Simon stared up at the doctor, pacified slightly by her kind smile. He widened his sorrowful glassy eyes and shook his head gently. The doctor took a short black cylindrical instrument out of her drawer, wheeled her chair out from behind her desk and towards Simon, 'Do you see them now?' Simon shook his head. 'I'm just going to check your eyes', she continued and used the light on the instrument to gaze into each of Simon's eyes in turn. His eyes watered at the bright white light. Something stirred in his head; a memory. He couldn't make the memory into something he recognised nor could he understand how the shadowy indistinct fizzling pictures in his mind's eye made him feel. He likened it to a friend reminiscing with him about something that he'd completely forgotten they'd done together. Although the detail was in the story, what he'd done, what he'd said, where they both were at the time, he struggled to see himself there.

After taking Simon's blood pressure, temperature and performing a few other tests, the doctor wheeled back to her desk and began writing. Simon became aware of the clock on the wall behind the doctor, ticking. It didn't seem to be ticking each second; maybe once every three. Mrs Collins' patience broke after thirty seconds of listening to a pen scribble on thin paper, 'Well?', she snapped.

'There doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong with your Son Mrs Collins. Does he have a history of behavioural problems?'

'Absolutely not'

'Fantasies? Is he into make believe? Does he write stories?'

'What are you suggesting?', Mrs Collins snapped, 'my son is not a liar.'

'I can prescribe your son with Risperdal or Haldol – '

'Which are?'

'Anti-Psychosis medication', the Doctor said softly before fixing her eyes on Simon who was now staring directly at her, almost manically.

'I was sitting at the desk in my room – the shadow', Simon said quietly

'He calls them shadows', Mrs Collins added.

'It got up and left the bedroom. It's not just people I see, it's things too. The Chair.'

'What about the chair?', the Doctor asked, fascinated.

'It moved the chair to stand up and the chair was a shadow, the door opening and closing. I followed after a bit - I found it downstairs in the kitchen.'

'Was this the first time you saw – a – shadow?' Simon nodded. 'What happened?'