FARRELL

I can't see.

I try again. Open my eyes.

Nothing.

Or rather, when I open my eyes there's a shear of pain which might be light if I could see. But I can't see and the light goes straight into my cortex and becomes pain.

This can't be happening to me. I turn my head away from the doorway, and try to make the rest of my body follow, but it's heavy and it takes all my effort to budge. When I do manage to twist my legs and arms over, there's a rip in my right arm and a pinch and pull on my dick. I stay where I am, squeezing my eyelids closed, panting, head pressed against something hard and cold.

Someone grabs my sore arm and shoves it off my side with an impatient tut, and pulls at something embedded in the soft skin in the crook of my elbow. I try to move my fingers but my hand is bandaged. I smell sweat, bad breath, something medicinal, the reek of burned stew. Something's clamped onto my finger, then there's a liquid slosh and a rustle of cardboard or plastic. Finally the pain in my eyes recedes with a flash. Now I recognise it: somebody's turned off the light.

Where am I? I open my eyes again, but I only see darkness for a second before the acid burn returns. I close my eyes and feel around with my left hand. Sheets, narrow mattress with a metal rail. Tape in the crook of my right arm, a narrow tube leading upwards. Muffled rattling sounds and beeps from outside, loud conversation, crying, a resigned moaning.

I'm in a hospital.

Where's my iPhone? It's an effort to pat down my body to check my pockets but I realise I'm wearing a short gown, tied loosely at the back. Where did I leave my camera? Where the fuck's my stuff?

Hospital beds have call buttons, right? I feel along the cold edges of the bed – nothing – then probe my unbandaged left hand into the space beyond it. On my left, some sort of cabinet. On my right, nothing until the drip tube stretches and tugs at my vein. I try not to imagine a void, but the vertigo makes me want to vomit. I clutch my hands over my chest for a few minutes until the panic subsides. I feel behind me. Blank wall, then a plastic plate of some sort. I finger it for the call button until I realise it's an electrical socket.

Fuck. What kind of a moron built this place?

Christ, I need my phone. How did I get here? What happened to me? I don't feel like I've broken anything. I don't feel any serious pain, except for my eyes when I try to open them. But I'm weak, and moving hurts. 'Hello?' I call. 'Hello?' My voice is too feeble. I try to knock my knuckles on the bed's railing. Nobody comes.

I close my eyes. I draft a MindRead post in my head. 140 characters or less. MRers, help. Pls check my FindMe app and report back. Don't know where I am.

I'm sure if I crowdsourced this problem one of my followers would help me out in minutes. But then again, if I could get online to post the problem I wouldn't need to crowdsource the fucking solution in the first place.

I could just call Katya. She'd take my call, even after what happened. I could use the hospital's phone. But I don't even have the strength to turn over, let alone walk around looking for a phone. Oh yeah, and I can't see to look for a phone. And nobody can hear me fucking calling. Jesus Christ!

This would be funny if it wasn't happening to me.

'Hello? Hello?'

Come to think of it, what did happen with Katya? I know something happened, but, when I try to think about it directly, it's like I've got a blind spot. All I have in my head is this still of her leaving, crying. That doesn't help. She's done that a few times before.

But I didn't do anything to hurt her, not that I can remember. What the fuck happened? Did Glenn do this? Where am I? And what's wrong with me?

Maybe Glenn thought I cheated on Katya or something. That would give him the excuse he needed. Maybe Katya told him that. But she'd never do that if it wasn't true. She loves me.

Oh Jesus. Glenn's going to find me and kill me. He's going to find me lying here, wherever the fuck I am, blind and half naked, and he's going to kill me. Christ. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.

'Hello? Help!' At last I'm shouting loud enough.

'Yes? What?' A woman's voice barks at me.

'Where am I?'

The woman sighs. 'New Hope Hospital. Green Section,' she finally says, like a prisoner of war giving up his name and rank.

Oh shit. 'New Hope? Why am I here? I've got medical aid.'

'No. Medical aid had no record of you. They brought you here.'

'What do you mean no record?'

I can just imagine her smirking at me. Rich man lying helpless in a state hospital, finding out how the other half lives.

'Expired, actually.'

I'm going to fucking kill Lizzie. She's supposed to handle my medical aid and bullshit like that. Jesus. I've heard horror stories about this dump. Everyone calls it 'No Hope'. I can't believe I've landed up in here.

'You need to call Da Bomb Studios. Speak to Lizzie Gebhart, my assistant. She'll sort it out.'

'I'm not phoning for you. It's your problem.'

'Okay, then. Tell me where my phone is. I'll call myself.'

'Your personal belongings are in your cubby.'

'Do you mind? Could you —' But she's gone.

I say, 'Hello? Hello?' a bit but I know I'm wasting my breath. I try to feel around the bed for my cubby – wherever that is – but I'm really tired. I curl up and imagine what I'd say if I could get online.

MR alert: &JoshFarrell has found self. In fucking No Hope, can you believe!?

&LizzieGstring you're in deep shit. Prepare for a month's mail duty.

At least that brings a smile to my face as I fall asleep.

I struggle to wake up. Someone's talking to me. A man.

'... so apologies for the cramped conditions. I'm afraid New Hope doesn't have any private wards.' He pauses, no doubt sharing a joke at my expense with the grumpy nurse. 'But, after last year, nobody's keen on a measles epidemic again.'

'Measles?'

'That's what you've got, Mr Farrell.'

Measles?

'As you can tell, it's a serious disease. Especially in adults. It's notifiable. Any idea where you caught it?'

'No. How —'

'Could be anywhere. I keep telling the board that it's only going to end when mandatory immunisation kicks in. Eventually it's going to kill everyone who doesn't get vaccinated.'

'Can measles make me ... make me not able to see?' I can't even say the word 'blind'. I can't go blind. I'm a photographer, for God's sake. Seeing is my work. Seeing is my fucking life. 'I'll get better, right, Doctor?' I say in as deferent a tone as I...