Dan is taken to A & E at Charing Cross hospital. He and his family have a long and stressful wait in the ‘psych room.’ To access previous chapters, visit Jane Read’s Author Page.

Chapter 9.  

DAN

 

                    ‘There is pleasure sure, in being mad which none but madmen know.’

Graham Dryden

 

Paramedics and police suddenly arrive. I am a bit surprised to see them, but I realise that I am an important part of the great mission plan and assume that they must be my escort to wherever God is taking me next. I walk willingly towards the ambulance linking arms with one of the guys. He struggles with the rear doors, creating a rattling and a banging sound which echoes through the empty London streets and prompts the young police officer to sprint quickly across the road to check everything is ok. But I am certainly not going to be any trouble, and I am more than happy to step up into my transport. Like a lamb, I show no resistance at all.

‘This is a vitally important sign for the future,’ I say to each of the people in uniform who surround me in the ambulance. I am producing my drama headshots from their envelope. I hand them out to each person in turn, taking the opportunity to chat up the female paramedic on the way.

‘So, what do you enjoy doing apart from this job?’ I enquire politely, as we set off. She replies that she loves dancing.

‘You should definitely keep up your dancing because God takes pleasure in that.’ I tell her.

We are shown into a cell-like area called the ‘psych room’. It smells strange, has a few scattered, broken chairs, no windows, some graffiti on the walls, and spilt coffee on the floor. I spot a CCTV monitor in the corner and realise that I must be being filmed so I had better focus on making my performance a good one.

After that, we wait a very long time before anything happens.  It’s my opportunity to talk a bit to my parents to try and convince them of who I really am (They still seem in some doubt) Very nice and very pretty nurses come and go from the room. They take my blood pressure and temperature and decide there is nothing much wrong with me, which is true. I pace round and around emphasising the significance of the pending revolution. I let my parents know that God is about to bless their sex life beyond their wildest dreams. Mum smiles and says, ‘that’s nice.’ Dad grunts, tips his head back, and closes his eyes.

Every so often the waiting exasperates me. Tucking my Shakespeare folder under my arm, I bid my parents farewell and stride purposefully through the main doors which magically slide open in front of me, luring me to step out into the night. Dad gets a bit frantic and starts shouting for help. I march straight across the ambulance bay and stand on the edge of the kerb watching the traffic pass by on the Charing Cross Road. I am in no danger. I feel completely confident, fully protected, totally indestructible.

I am just about to step off the kerb when a huge security guy appears and coaxes me to come back inside. I am told that he is from Nigeria, so I give him a big bear hug. He persuades me to,

‘Sit down with mammy.’  I am quite liking this game, so I exit through the doors a few more times, confident that he will chase after me, catch me, and then I can hug him all over again. Mum and Dad don’t look as though they are enjoying this game very much. I tell them to relax. Dad is distressed and starts pleading through his tears,

‘I just want my son back’

I promise him that he will have him back in time, ‘but God’s work needs to be done first.’

Whenever I see an anxious look on my dad’s face, I know it is a sign of his lack of faith. Placing my hands on top of his head, I start to pray, vigorously massaging his scalp with my fingers at the same time. Sometimes I battle away at him for long periods of time, arguing forcefully, knowing that I will never let up until I have got through with my message.

I am suddenly alerted by the shrill ringing of Mum’s mobile phone. I cannot tolerate this harsh sound so I snatch it from her hand and sling it into the corner of the room where it comes apart with a satisfyingly clatter. My parents don’t move a muscle to retrieve it, which is a satisfactory result.  Dad swiftly switches his to silent and hides it away in his coat pocket. Each time someone comes into the room, I ask their name. Then I place my left hand on top of their head, raising my right arm in the air, calling out to Almighty God, ‘Thy will be done!’ At the same time Dad is begging any visiting staff,

‘Our son has been like this for hours. Can we get some help and a doctor now please?’

I feel angry with him when he gets all negative like this, because he is effectively blocking God’s plans.

I sometimes ask my parents where I am and what we are actually waiting for. I’m told that I am in Charing Cross hospital’s A & E department. I know that everything is happening for a reason, so there must be important work for me to do in here. I raise my hands high in the air as I take it upon myself to make a much louder pronouncement to the people who are waiting,

‘I am The Way, the Truth and the Life!

I am here to bring healing and peace to this world.’

I walk right through the reception area, taking a full circuit around all the patient bays. People are lying quietly on their beds, behind closed curtains but when they hear my voice they start to peep out, ever so cautiously. They are drawn to me. I know that they sense my divine authority and they are probably wondering if they are ready for the judgement day.

A kind Irish nurse with tight brown curls and stout pink legs and a lovely soft accent, ushers me back towards the room,

‘It is of course a good thing to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. It is important to me too. But perhaps it is not a good idea to be shouting about Him to all of these poorly people, waiting to see the doctor!’