Between Heaven and Earth

Chapter Three

I look down. I am sat in a large wheel chair.  Someone is pushing me down a long corridor. I am wearing a hospital gown.

Have I been teleported again? I try to remember how I got here. I look around and listen for the sound of my grand parents voices - but they aren't here.

I  remember calling dad. I remember the conversation.

"Can you come and get me?"

"Why, what's wrong Kirsty?"

"I don't feel well."

I simply don't remember leaving town.

I look at my bare feet. My clothes have all been removed. A brown folder is upon my lap.

I figure this had to be a dream. It is the only logical explanation. Dreams were often like that. You suddenly found yourself stood in a room, like the opening scene of a play when the curtain went up, no recollection of how it began and great chunks missing from the story.

I  look down at my knees and lift the brown folder, which i presume had my notes in it - only the little sticker upon it isn't right. "This isn't who I am."

The hospital porter laughed. "So, who are you then?"

I frown. What did he find so funny? I turn the folder over in my hands. "Kirsty Bright. My name is Kirsty Bright."

The porter reached over my shoulder to check and looks puzzled. "And what does it say?"

"Kirsty Moore. See?" I pass the folder back over my right shoulder for him to inspect, but my hands were not mine. They are browned with age and wrinkled, tiny brown liver marks cover the backs, like those of someone much older. In fact, I  am sure, they were those of an elderly woman.

I closely inspect my hands with disbelief.  I should have felt panicked. I should be screaming, jumping up and running away - but I don't move. I don't respond. Everything about this suggests it is a dream and I would wake up to find myself in bed with Lewis sleeping in the other room.

I felt strangely calm, after all, what is the point in panicking over the happenings of a dream world. Too many strange occurrences over the last twelve hours had sent my head into a whirl and now, as I sit, being pushed to a ward, I am convinced. This whole place wasn't real.

I look in front of me and try to trust my experience. I wonder what would happen next. I wonder once again, if this is a dream. How could I figure it out?

"My age is wrong too. I'm 35, not eighty - six."

"Looks all right to me." The porter smiles, trying to reassure me.

I frown again as I read. Sure enough, the notes read Kirsty Bright, my birth date is as it should be and I turn over my hand. It is once again covered in the skin I  recognize as mine.

Seeing is believing, isn't it? This confirms my belief that in time, I  would wake up from this nightmare and be at home, in my bed and it would be as though all of this had never happened.

I shrug. The thought of it being a dream settles my mind and I sit back in the wheel chair.  If this is a dream and dreams happen without control, I may as well enjoy the ride.

Maybe I am falling asleep without meaning to. People don't teleport. That was silly notion.

It seems quite logical that this is a dream - after all, it would explain why only I  saw things that no one else did - like when you're stood naked in a room and everyone else carry's on as normal.

I place the folder back upon my lap and watch to see where the porter is taking me.

The corridors are painted different colours and there are pictures breaking up the plain décor. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into improving the appearance of hospital wards.