Chapter Thirteen
One month later
I knock on the door, at the same time glaring at the smart silver name plaque affixed to it. Doctor Alex Jones, followed by a bunch of tiny letters. Such an ordinary name for what must, at times, be an extraordinary job. It would be today, at least. There was nothing ordinary about his next patient—me.
“Come in,” calls a voice.
I comply, opening the door and stepping into the room, before closing the door behind me. I hesitate.
“Mr Gifford, I presume?” the man says. He sits behind a cheap-looking desk—no budget wasted here, that’s for sure—but still manages to exude an air of importance. He’s got a couple of decades on me, at least. He’s also got steel-grey hair, and the piercing nature of his eyes is not diminished in the least by his wire-rimmed spec
