I spent the hour I had in my room reading and sipping coffee, when another man in a coat opened the door and went into the room. He was older than Stromberg, and the grey hairs were taking his head over, but he still appeared sharp, and as knowledgeable as he ever might have been.

“Hi, Jordan,” he said, in the most delightful of basses. “I’m Colin Alexander, your neurologist, Peter told me about your case.”

“Yeah, he told me. He told me you think I’m interesting,” I said, before extending my arm. “Jordan Tedeschi, pleased to meet you.”

He shook my hand, and got down to business. “So, this Aaron figure. Are you sure he’s real?”

“No,” I said. “But it all lines up too much for him not to be.”

“You say that, but it could equally be true that he’s a figment of your imagination, and everything’s lining up because you want everything to be lining up,” he said. “Without any data to the contrary, it’s the conclusion I must assume.”

“Data? Here’s your data,” I said. “I first felt him during the first operation they used the new anaesthetic on me, a year ago.”

“Why is that important?” he said.

“Do you have the EEG readouts from that operation anywhere? I’m sure you do, we live in a computerised world, after all. If you look at them, you’ll probably find that they’re completely normal during the operation, and probably consistent with dreamless sleep, which is what you’d expect from a person that’s under. Right?”

“I suppose. I haven’t seen the readouts, but for now, I’ll take your word for it,” he said. Really? Was the entire team of doctors so incompetent that they didn’t look at the readouts?

“However, I felt his presence during that operation. How is my brain thinking everything up and connecting it all together consistent with a flat EEG?” I said.

“It’s not, which is why we’re talking,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll do what we have to. In the meantime, why don’t you let me be the doctor and allow yourself to be the patient?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Anyway, what do you need me to do?”

“I’d like to study your sleep. The way you fall asleep, the way you dream, compare it with times of day, amounts of sleep you’ve had, amounts of caffeine, activities, and try to find out whether you could be imagining him,” he said.

“Why don’t you just look for Aarons that were operated at the same time as me, across London, or even England?” I said. “Surely it’d be quicker?”

“We’re not detectives, Jordan,” he said. “We’re doctors. I’m here to find out what your brain is doing, not help you find this Aaron figure. If you do find him, good for you. But that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Oh,” I said, stooping my head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” he said. “Anyway, to begin our work, I’ll just establish a baseline. So just occupy yourself throughout the day, and before you go to sleep, they’ll wire you up so we can track your brainwaves. Try to remember your dreams as clearly as possible, so we can cross-reference them with various types of sleep. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, I think I can,” I said. “I generally remember them pretty well. Especially if they’re about Aaron.”

“I won’t ask,” he said. He better, I thought, because I wasn’t in the mood to describe the peculiarities.

“Thank you, doctor,” I said.

“One more thing. In your… conscious state during the operation, what did your senses look like?” he said.

“There were none,” I said.

“None?” he said.

“None. No sight, no smell, no sound. Only my thoughts, and then suddenly Aaron’s,” I said. “Nothing like any dream I’ve ever had before or after. Only while under that anaesthetic.”

“I hate to say it, but I’ve had those kinds of dreams,” he said. “It’s still a possibility we can’t rule out.”

“Alright, alright,” I said. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Have fun, and I’ll talk to you once I’ve had time to look over what we know already,” he said.

“I can do that,” I said.

“See you, Jordan,” he said, and left the room without looking for a goodbye in return.

Study my sleep. As if he was ever going to get anything out of that. Good thing I never told him about the fact that I can hear others’ emotions. Oh well, it couldn’t hurt, and it was time off work and in a controlled environment. That was never a bad thing.

Still, hospital days were very uneventful, and there are only so many books to read. Some fiddling with my phone and some reading later, the day was past, and the time to sleep came. All wired up and padded with various electrodes, the nurses turned the lights off, and the soft wirring of fans sang me a lullaby, and sent me to sleep.

There he was again. I was dreaming, I knew it this time, and perhaps the knowledge of the fact would change what I would tell the doctor and what he would see tomorrow morning, but it didn’t matter, because Aaron was there, with the same lanky, athletic frame that I’d known from him in my previous dreams with him.

“Aaron!” I shouted, and he turned around, quickly running to hug me.

“Hey, Jordan,” he said and kissed me. Was the real Aaron such a good kisser? Well, who cares?

“I keep dreaming about you,” I said. “I’m doing it right now.”

“Yes,” he said, and started fading away.

Don’t do this to me, you wool, I thought. “But I’ve never met you. How can it be? Here I am, talking to you, and I know literally nothing about you. You wouldn’t even have to be real. Who are you, Aaron?”

Before he completely faded and disappeared, he said “I’m what you’re missing.”

I’m what you’re missing. Didn’t sound cryptic, and at face value it didn’t make much sense. Of course I was missing him, I wouldn’t be on this godforsaken search for him if I wasn’t. What the hell, brain?

With Aaron gone, I decided to use the fact that I knew I was dreaming and do a bit of artistic expression. Lifting myself up to float in the air, I looked around at the barren world around me, and dreamed how beautiful it could be. With music playing in my ears, I painted every corner of my vision with life, and looked down. Here it was. The wonderful complexity of our world, and all mine to play with. Who would’ve thought this much beauty was hidden in my own mind?

But then, it had to go. Once finished, there really wasn’t much to do with the world, and the real world, not this painting I’d made, was waiting on the other side of my brain. I saw the painted world disperse layer by layer, and felt my waking body again, and felt my face muscles pulled into a smile as wide as they get.

“Morning,” I said to no-one in particular, as there was no-one in the room to say good morning to. Looking at the window and the closed blinds, the Sun was poking through the cracks, bathing the world in light, making a painting much uglier than what I’d made in my dream, and I felt myself craving coffee once again.

The nurses were swiftly there to disconnect me from the machines, and while the data was forwarded to Alexander to analyse and play with, I was taken to breakfast, and allowed to literally make a significant step, as I was allowed to take a few steps on my legs alone, before collapsing back into the wheelchair, my legs complaining about the sudden load they had to take.

Alexander joined me in my room sometime between breakfast and lunch, and just as I was recovering from the morning physio session. “How was it?” he said. “Any dreams?”

“It was beautiful, doctor,” I said, and told him everything about my dream, and about how happy I’d felt, and how happy I was still feeling. I finally felt like I had a purpose.

“That’s all wonderful,” he said, not able to prevent a smile from escaping while listening to my story, “but the data shows a significant amount of REM sleep, which is far louder than what we had during the surgery. So, just from this study’s point of view, this isn’t terribly useful.”

“I see. I’ll tell you if a sense-deprived one ever comes along, don’t worry,” I said.

“Of course you will, that’s what we’re here to do. Jordan, I want you to understand that the fact that he has a full body in your dreams bolsters the hypothesis that he’s a figment of your imagination. I hope you can find the truth,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and again left me to my own devices.

As the days again started passing, it turned out that they had a full program written for me. Three weeks, with a different kind of sleep every single day. Coordinating with the physio was difficult, given that he had his own idea of how to train me, but they’d managed to agree to share my body in the name of science.

But the sense-deprived dream never came. Even when they put my body into deprivation, by masking my eyes and plugging my nose and ears, I still had either no dreams or dreams where I was in full control. Lucid or not, Aaron would sometimes be there clothed, sometimes naked, and sometimes he wouldn’t be there at all.

At least I used my vivid dreams to find a new purpose in life, and take a rest from listening to people’s emotions. When I really put effort into it, I could read the nurses, but they were so much more difficult to read than normal humans. I’d thought they would be, after all, their job is to oversee dying people and that leaves a toll on a person, but not by this much.

Every day, I was getting stronger, and taking more steps on my own. The strength was there, but endurance was a long way off just yet. Still, the day I would rejoin the world was nearing, and hospital life had got a lot more boring than initially.

Thankfully, three weeks is a long time to train a muscle that was only out of service for three weeks, at least to the point of basic usability. I wasn’t going to play football, but I could walk enough steps to get most places, and the day they moved me to crutches was especially satisfying. The road to recovery was well under my feet, and I just hoped my brain would tag along.

Three weeks to the day since they started the study, Alexander came into my room, and said something I wasn’t hoping to hear. “All my findings are negative, Jordan. I know you have the inherent defect, but I’m not finding anything beyond that. I’m releasing you home.”