Here I was again, conscious of my existence, but without control of my own muscles. In fact, it felt more like I didn’t have muscles to speak of. Knowing what was going to happen, I relaxed my conscious thought, and listened, if it could be called listening.

However, minds are fickle things, and mine wouldn’t allow conscious thought to escape it for long, so it inadvertently distracted itself by thinking of music. Just as back when I was in my first surgery with the new drug, music was my escape, and my favourite pastime. Only, this time, I didn’t want to think about music.

I wanted Aaron to invade my thoughts again. I wanted him to distract him. I wanted him to be here, and mesh with me. And yet, my brain didn’t seem to want to concentrate on picking up even the slightest of trails, instead really wanting to focus on music.

Strangely, the music that birthed itself in my mind was different to what I was normally thinking of. Whereas before all of this happened, my mind was happiest thinking about complex orchestrations and full-chamber music which would fill concert halls, this time, there was only one instrument, and one string of music.

The sounds my mind thought of were the simple sounds of someone plucking a guitar, slowly and without much of a pattern, almost as a way to pass the time rather than create lots of music. It was so uncharacteristic of me that I thought it might not have even been my own mind plucking strings. Was it someone else?

“Hello?” I released a thought into the void. No response came.

“Hello?” I tried again, but there was nothing. Aaron wasn’t here. All the way down in this space, one would think it would become crowded once the new drug was rolled out for further experiments, but there was nothing. I was completely alone.

The minutes kept ticking by, and the sound of a guitar never stopped. Whereas before it was just lazy plucking, moment by moment it became more structured, as if whoever was doing that was having their first lesson. The simple sounds turned into melodies, and from melodies grew chords and progressions, which led to a simple tune that I could hum along to.

I’d never played the guitar in my life, but the sounds I was thinking about were so pleasant, so soothing, and so warm that I completely lost focus on any outside thoughts coming in and just listened. It was beautiful to hear, and I wanted more. Time kept passing, and I thought that it must’ve been more than an hour.

An internal clock was always my forte, and a lot more than an hour must’ve passed, and I started thinking I might’ve died up there, and that my brain was using its last drops of oxygen to sing me a lullaby to death, but before I felt any hint of dizziness, the sound of a guitar faded, and I woke up, shivering from the cold inside their house, but alive and well.

“Anything?” Alexander asked.

“She’s just been under for an hour, Colin,” Laura said. “Let her wake up properly first.”

Parsing the simple question from Colin was no problem for me, though. We both knew what I was looking for. “No.”

“Shame,” he said. “Still, that increases the chances that he is real. I’d be even more suspicious if you did feel him again – I doubt two doctors have stolen the drug, so if he was under the drug at this point, I’d be very surprised.”

I was still groggy, but that sounded like good news. “Uh, great? I suppose? What next?” I said.

“First you need to rest,” he said. “Come back here tomorrow, same time and place.”

“Same time and place? Why don’t you put me under at a time he might actually be under?” I said.

“Because I’ll be at work,” he said. “Can’t get around that.”

“Alright, alright,” I said. “I just don’t see the point.”

“Extra data never hurt anyone,” he said.

“Can’t argue with that,” I said, and at that point, I realised I was still on their kitchen table, wearing nothing but my underwear. “Can I have my clothes back, please?”

“Yes, of course,” Laura said, and helped me sit up.

The next 22 hours passed in a total blur. I hadn’t got nearly enough sleep, so working was a difficult task, and thinking about the implications of not feeling Aaron the previous night was completely impossible, especially since I was hearing emotions again, and stronger than before.

It was as if the drug had something to do with my access to some immeasurable field of thought. While directly under the influence, I would be able to communicate through it directly, and the effects would linger even after a procedure. The people at work were easy enough to deal with, but the Tube ride home was hell.

Everyone relaxed after a long day at work, some going home to face more of their problems, some happy that the day is gone and heading for a drink with their friends, and some exhibiting nothing but contentness with what was happening. Whatever they felt, they were all incredibly chatty, and their thoughts were invasive, even if they weren’t using words to talk to anyone.

My stop couldn’t arrive fast enough, and when it finally did, walking up the escalator to breathe the quiet air again was such a refreshing experience that, when I got to my place, all I could really do was collapse into bed and have a long nap.

The nap turned out to be even longer than what I’d anticipated, since the alarm had to wake me up, and it left me with a quick rush to make myself presentable and get to Alexander’s place. Perhaps owing to it being a Thursday, the Tube was louder than the previous day, and it wasn’t exactly helping me. Hearing their drunk emotions was not easy, especially as some of the men on the train turned to look at me, and I made a mental note to wear an oversized hoodie next time.