Read Online Stepping Stones by Steve Gannon - Free Book Online Page A

Sarah’s expression that there was no use arguing.  Anyway, she was right.  My of fice runs just fine without me.  B esides, I hadn’t been worth a damn at work since I stopped sleeping.  Sometimes I would be sitting at my desk and realize I had no recollection of what had happened for the past thirty minutes.  It was time to get help.
    So p romptly at ten-fifteen that morning I shuffled into the office of Jenkins, Gilbert, and O’Brien.  Following a short w ait, a nurse ushered me into an examining room.  Moments later Dr. O’Brien entered, flipping through my chart on the way in.  Dr. O’Brien was short, stout, and missing most of his hair.  I had met him several times at office parties I’d attended with Sarah.
    “Hello, John,” he said.  “Your wife tells me you’re having trouble sleeping.”
    “That’s putting it mildly,” I grumbled.  “Truth is, I haven’t been sleeping at all.”
    “Oh, I seriously doubt that ,” he said with a knowing smile.  “The human body can’t go without sleep for more than a few days.”
    As near as I could tell, I hadn’t slept in a week . . . not counting those blank periods at work.
    “You’ve probably been catching catnaps here and there that you don’t remember,” he continued pleasantly.  “Had any stress lately?”
    “No.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “I’m sure,” I snapped.  Dr. O’Brien’s cheery attitude was beginning to bug me.
    “Okay, John,” he said, settling his considerable bulk on the edge of the examining table.  “Insomnia’s a fairly common occurrence.  Most people experience it at one time or another, and it’s usually temporary.”  His reassuring voice had taken on a pedantic, singsong tone, and I had to struggle to appear properly attentive.
    “Some people can get by on a few hours a night,” he droned on.  “Others need as many as ten.  There’s a big range, you see, but the main cause of insomnia is usually anxiety and stress.  I’m going to prescribe a drug that should help you relax and get you back on track.  Take two before bedtime,” he added, handing me a hastily scribbled prescription.
    “What is it?” I asked suspiciously, trying to decipher his writing.
    “ It’s a drug that relieves anxiety and promotes sleep.”
    “What if it doesn’t?”
    “Oh, I suppose we could try another drug.  At that point we would probably also consider doing a complete workup—blood, EEG, CAT scan—to rule out any organic etiology.  Maybe get a neurologic consult as well, perhaps a psychiatric evaluation.”  Smiling, Dr. O’Brien rose from the table.  “But I don’t think that will be necessary.  Make an appointment for next week.  We’ll see how you’re doing then.”
    I got the drift:   Get better, John . . . or else.
    I set up an appointment for the following Thursday, but I never kept it.  By then I didn’t care.
    By then the visions had started.
    On the way home from Dr. O’Brien’s , I made several stops—one to fill my prescription, another to pick up food at the market.  We had invited Holden over for dinner that night, and although I didn’t feel like company, it was too late to cancel.  As I shopped, I abruptly realized that people were staring at me.  Though I never caught them, I could feel their accusing eyes following me as I passed shoppers in the aisles.  I got out of there as quickly as I could.  All the way home I kept wondering the same thing:  What was happening to me?
    That night Holden knocked on our door at around seven.  “Hi, guys,” he said, strolling in and punching me lightly on the shoulder, then giving Sarah a kiss.  I’d met Holden in college; we had played football together at the University of Arizona and been friends ever since.  Holden was big, even bigger than I am , and solidly built.  He had kept himself in shape, although lately I’d detected what looked like the beginnings of a paunch.
    “I want you to meet somebody,” Holden continued,