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doctor approached Jonny’s bed and viewed Jonny doubtfully.
    Doubtfully?
    Jonny viewed the doctor. ‘Help me, please,’ he said.
    ‘We’re doing everything that we can to help you,’ said the doctor. And he tapped at his chart in a professional manner. ‘Everything that we can.’
    ‘I’m all tied up here,’ said Jonny. ‘Could you release me, please?’
    ‘There will be time enough for that later, I’m sure.’
    ‘The time is now,’ said Jonny.
    ‘No,’ said the doctor, ‘regrettably not.’
    ‘
Not?
’ asked Jonny. ‘
Why
not?’
    ‘Attempted suicide,’ said the doctor. ‘Throwing yourself in the ornamental pond like that and assaulting the park rangers who tried to rescue you.’
    ‘I did no such thing. There was a child drowning.’
    ‘There was no child. There was no one but you in the pond.’
    ‘There
was
a child.’
    ‘
No
child.’
    ‘Let me free,’ said Jonny. ‘Please let me free.’
    ‘You do have a bit of a history of this sort of thing, don’t you?’ said the doctor. ‘I haven’t brought your notes – there are so many of them. Phew, really heavy.’ And the doctor mimed carrying some really heavy notes. ‘We did call your mother, though. Apparently the police had to break into your house. You’d left her upturned on the bathroom floor. But she isn’t pressing charges.’
    ‘Charges?’ Jonny said.
    And there was fear in his voice.
    ‘No charges,’ said the doctor. ‘But she did agree that you have become a danger to yourself, and to others. And so she has had you sectioned.’
    ‘Sectioned?’ Jonny Hooker said.
    ‘Sectioned,’ said the doctor.

6
     
    Jonny awoke the following day to find that things were quiet in his head.
    Very quiet indeed.
    Jonny lay, without restraints, upon a nice, neat hospital bed. It was in the ‘Special Wing’ of Brentford Cottage Hospital. The wing that housed the ‘special cases’. Jonny had been in such wings before. He had been in
this
wing before.
    Jonny rolled over and blinked towards the window. Sunlight peeped in through it. There were no bars at the window.
    ‘Up and away, then,’ said Jonny, rising from the bed and making for the window.
    ‘Or perhaps I’ll stay,’ he continued, as he viewed the steely fixings and the ‘High Security’ etchings on the glass. The plaster around this secure window looked quite fresh and new. It had recently needed replacing when a patient, a large Red Indian, had thrown the water cooler out through the previous window.
    But that was another story.
    Jonny tried the door and found it locked. He returned to the bed and sat down upon it.
    And then he became fully aware of just how very quiet things were inside his head.
    ‘Mister Giggles,’ said Jonny, ‘are you there?’
    But answer came there none.
    ‘Mister Giggles?’
    Silence. In his head. Light traffic sounds from without the window. Within the room and within his head, silence.
    ‘Oh,’ said Jonny. And then he said, ‘Damn!’
    ‘Damn, damn, damn,’ went Jonny. ‘Damn.’
    He’d been drugged. Done up once more with the old anti-psychotics.
    Jonny glanced all down at himself. Now fully
fully
aware, he was fully aware of his attire. The foolish do-up-the-back hospital smock. The identity wristlet. The – Jonny checked his left arm – the Elastoplast, beneath which he would find the puncture marks.
    ‘I have to get out of here,’ said Jonny. Taking very deep breaths. ‘I’m still up for winning that prize, me,’ he continued, rather startling himself as he did so, for having a sense of purpose in his life was something new to him. ‘Yes, I
do
want to win that prize,’ he furtherly continued. ‘In fact, I am determined to do so. And in order to do so, I must certainly get out of here.’
    There was a kind of simultaneous knocking, unlocking and opening of the door and a face peeped in and a voice said, ‘Were you talking to somebody in here?’
    ‘Ah,’ said Jonny. ‘No,’ said Jonny. ‘Not me, never at