The Dark Frontier by A. Decker (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📕

a sense of accelerating despair. Close to tears. But too distraught and confused to cry. And all the while she felt the professor watching her with his psychiatrist’s eyes.

“But…” Ellen struggled to find the words she needed. “I don’t understand. What’s this all about?”

“Would you like me to translate the German for you?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. The English is just as incomprehensible to me as the German. Look, I just want to know what’s happening. I’m completely lost.”

Professor Abegg sat impassively on the other side of the desk, his expression somewhere between concern and fascination.

“Doctor, I need to see the man you say is my husband,” Ellen insisted. And at last he had the hint of a smile for her. Only a hint. But this at least restored a little of the sympathy and understanding she detected in him when she first entered his office.

“Under the circumstances, Mrs Goss, I think that is a very good idea.” He rose from his desk and went over to the door, turning to Ellen as he opened it:

“Please wait here for a moment. I will ask Maria to bring you a cup of coffee.” He hesitated. “Or would you prefer tea?” he asked.

“Yes, tea please,” said Ellen.

Professor Abegg nodded and closed the door behind him.

***

It was the soreness in the ribs that woke him. A soreness that escalated to a stabbing pain with every breath he took. Frank eased open his eyes. And the brightness of the room instantly closed them down again.

He heard the door open and what sounded like the short, soft steps of a woman approach his bed.

“Mr Goss,” the voice whispered.

He felt the gentle touch of her fingers on his cheek. A balm for the soreness of his wounds. And when he opened his eyes again, he now found the brightness of the room replaced by a vision of such sweet angelic beauty he believed himself to be in heaven. A soft, fair face perfectly proportioned with deep blue eyes that sang of the sea. A crown of golden blonde curls arranged around her face like a halo. And a smile that would have melted even the coldest of hearts. He thought for a moment it was Ellen come to see him. And was momentarily confused because she called him Mr Goss and not Frank. Then she spoke again:

“I’m Nurse Esther,” she said.

The name flashed up in Frank’s mind. Stabbed at him like a dysfunctional neon display on some deserted seafront – just for an instant – as he struggled to recall the events of last night.

“I have some lunch for you, Mr Goss,” the nurse added. She pointed to a table on the other side of the room. “Would you like to sit at the table? Or shall I bring it to your bed?”

Frank pushed himself up on his elbows, winced at the pain in his ribs, and slowly eased his legs out of the bed.

“The table?” she asked, taking his right arm to steady him.

“When you have finished your lunch, you take one of these,” the nurse said after guiding him to his seat at the table. She placed a small plastic beaker containing a tablet down on the table. Frank took the beaker and tipped the tablet into the palm of his hand. A small blue pill with the number 10 and the name Roche imprinted on it.

“You can take that after you have eaten,” the nurse repeated.

“What is it?” Frank wanted to know.

“Valium. To relax you. Later you can sit in the lounge if you wish. You have a nice view of the garden there. And Dr Zellweger will be back to see you later this afternoon.”

Frank had no idea where he was or what this woman was talking about. But her manner and the soft cadence of her voice had the effect of water rippling over the pebbles of a stream on a warm spring day. It gave him all the relaxation he needed.

“Would you like me to bring you to the lounge after lunch?” The question came with that same heart-warming smile that greeted him when he woke.

“That would be nice.”

Frank watched as she made her exit – enthralled by the divine warmth of her figure, her every movement as she turned, glided towards the door and closed it quietly behind her.

The lounge was a light, expansive place. It was populated by a handful of people, standing or sitting in discrete isolation. Almost like grey shadows in the mist. No one spoke.

One side of the room consisted almost entirely of large windows that extended practically from floor to ceiling. They gave onto a dense garden of birch trees and shrubs around a pond that seemed to cry out for attention. But the benches on the path around the pond remained vacant. Deaf to its cries. It was a garden that gave a depressingly desolate impression in its state of winter undress. An effect underscored by the forbidding white palisade of birch trees. Yet it managed to hold the silent grey shadows around the room in its thrall as they contemplated the scene in a solemn kind of communion. It was not the kind of view that would give Frank any comfort. But submissively he settled into the armchair to which the nurse had guided him.

“This was found in the pocket of your jacket when you had your accident,” Nurse Esther said, placing his notebook and pen on the table beside his chair. “We thought you might want to have it while you sit here.”

Frank stared blankly at the objects on the table, struggling to recall their significance. He opened the notebook. Save for some incoherent scribbles and a few unfamiliar names on the first page, it was empty.

As the nurse faded out of sight, Frank picked up the pen. In two minds about the puzzling scribble, he let the pen hover over the page for some minutes. Then tore the page out altogether.

“I know that feeling,” said a brittle voice.

Immersed in