22:59

11:10

Almost running into the office, he flopped into a chair, turned on the computer, which had gone into sleep mode from the long wait, and began to study the report. He liked everything he saw. There were no serious incidents or accidents, traffic jams were striking in their length, and no one had violated the internal rules of Medicol Corporation. An hour later, Roger closed the report with the pleasant feeling of a job well done. And remembered how it had all begun for the untold time during the day.

Fifteen Years Ago

The psychotherapist, who agreed to see him in the "shortest and most acceptable" time frame possible, received patients in the building of the medical institute.

During the period of waiting for his first appointment, Roger entered the Black Hole several times, but he always managed to return home with little incident. If you do not count as incidents: bloodied fists after a fight with a local pimp in an attempt to stand up for the honor of a "beautiful lady", a stolen credit card or a black card from the bartender of the Black Hole. Yes a black card from the "Black Hole". Roger felt the irony. And he felt the hand of fate. If he had not been given the black card, his attempts to cancel the visit to the doctor would have been successful. But they stopped giving him access to gin with ice. Therefore, he decided to allow himself a new life, which (they had promised him) would be guaranteed by sessions of psychotherapy.

Before entering Dr. Richard Peterson's office, Roger hesitated for a long time at the door of the waiting room. He arrived 20 minutes early and was now constantly looking at his watch, waiting for the time when he should enter. As a measure to protect the personal lives of the students, only those who had appointments could enter the waiting room and then only at a specially allotted time. Those who signed up for sessions were sent a code to their phones, which they entered on a digital lock to enter. The exit was a little further along the corridor, around the bend. Above it hung a sign which read "Service Room" and the door could only be opened from the inside. Only those who had already seen Dr. Peterson knew these little secrets, so as meeting each other was not part of the plan, the rules were strictly observed.

At exactly 17:00 Roger entered the code and opened the door. The reception area was a small room with an armchair and a small table, a water cooler and a vending machine with hot drinks: tea, coffee and cocoa. The paintings on the walls were in pastel colors and of rustic motifs which encouraged a mood of calm anticipation. The light above the door marked "Dr. Richard Peterson, Professor" was red—reception was delayed. Roger stood still, not daring to go in. He was not sure, but he was afraid that the lock would open only from the outside, cutting off the escape route for those who had already stepped over the threshold and had the misfortune of slamming the doors behind them.

Then Roger heard footsteps down the corridor. He stepped forward quickly and locked the door behind him. All he needed was for someone to notice him here. Just at that moment, the green light came on beckoning him to enter and he went in.

Upon entering the doctor's office, Roger thought he had entered a parallel dimension, or rather, had travelled into the past—to the house of his grandfather. The room was dim, with heavy curtains over the windows. In the cozy light of an old-fashioned floor lamp, which stood by the chair, in which, apparently, a lost soul should have sat, only the outlines of the furniture were visible: a large massive table, two armchairs located opposite each other, set slightly diagonally so as not to intersect with direct glances, a large bookcase with books and a small table with a coffee pot and disposable cups. Dr. Peterson was standing next to the coffee pot, or rather with it in his hand. He turned around, smiled at Roger and asked with a look, "Coffee?" Just like his grandfather, the same kind look, gray sideburns and bow tie. Roger nodded and felt that he had gotten to where he had been going a long time ago, and by chance he was lost in the Bermuda triangle of the Black Hole.