In a Stranger’s Shoes, part 5

Read the previous part here.

I must meet these people who are waiting for me in the car. I stuff the loose cash I found, a decent amount of twelve hundred Euros, in my pant pockets. I also collect the four Credit Cards and the Passport from the attaché case, all of which bear the name of Jean Felix; I keep these in the inner pocket of my jacket. Dr. Ackerman’s visiting card finds its way in the same pocket moments later. Now I must go and see my companions in the car. With this intention I exit the room. Once outside, I find a man, dressed in the Hotel Staff Uniform, wearing the Crescent Hotel Badge over his breast pocket. He greets me in a thick French accent,
“Bonjour, Dear Sir. I will escort you to the parking place where your car is waiting. This way please.” I follow him to the Elevator Entrance, outside which a Gold Sign reads: 12th Floor.

Minutes later, I see the sedan in which three men are seated. One of them starts walking towards me. He is a heavily built huge guy; his presence is certainly intended to intimidate me. As he approaches me, he greets me in a friendly manner, much to my surprise. I had a feeling I was about to be muscled into the car, but the man’s not looking threatening. He asks me to step into the car politely. With some hesitation I get in. He gets in after me and sits beside me. The other one starts the car and we set on a journey to our next destination, whatever that might be. Once the wheels are set in motion and we hit the road, I ask them where we are going. My companion tells me that we are going for my treatment.
“What treatment?” I ask.
“Mr. Felix Sir. You must not speak.” He says.
“What treatment?” I repeat.
“Give him the injection” says the driver.
And suddenly I feel a needle piercing through my arm and I feel my bodily sensations weakening.

When I open my eyes, I am tied to a chair. I have electrodes connected to my temples and there’s a monitor showing some graphs on my right. I still can’t move my limbs; it seems like I am in a trance. I can discern the things around me but I sit there paralyzed. I can feel the peculiar warmth in my temples and some kind of a gel is dripping down my sideburns. I know this is a medical facility. I am undergoing a brain scan, but why? Who’s administering this? My eyes travel to a sign on the wall which reads:
Ashford Institute of Brain Research.

That sounds familiar. I have a visiting card one in my pockets which bears the same few words on it.

And then I hear someone’s voice telling me, “Stay collected. Do not think. You might hurt yourself.” The voice is coming from the vibrations of the vocal chords of a man, aged between 60 and 65, and presently I see him looking into my eyes. I can barely read the name on his badge as he turns a few knobs on the monitor which let strong sensations through my brain and I fall unconscious again.

The name I read is Dr. Patrick Ackerman.

Read the next part Here.