Comfort Room - Or The Seven Dreams of Frank Diggory

The Third Dream

Neither Doctor Bedi nor Ethan Peteros were fans of these calls. They took place at midnight – midnight! – on a Friday night.

What could be more inhumane!

But they were calling America and the UK. Of course the call had to take place at their convenience. The earth obviously revolved around them.

Not Paraiso Subdivision.

Of course, Ethan could say nothing. He could easily game into the small hours without even thinking about it.

But tonight would be a little different. Tonight he had a late night visitor. And he was really looking forward to it.

So at 9pm, he had a shower, had a long swim in his personal swimming pool behind his house, got out, showered again, sprayed enough deodorant on him and his clothes to burn a hole in the ozone layer, and then boiled some coffee.

It wasn’t to keep him awake. He’d heard that coffee helped people feel more at home. Or maybe it was realtors.

Whoever it was, that coffee was on.

He was ready by 11pm and already seated on his sofa in front of his screens. Twiddling his already twitchy fingers.

Doctor Zoya Bedi, on the other hand, was much more relaxed. She watched some Indian TV on her laptop for a few hours, had a cold shower and then prepared herself to go to bed after the call.

Tomorrow was Saturday. Who knew when Frank – or any of her other patients (she did have some, although it often didn’t feel like it) – would have some form of emergency and need her help?

This was a small Subdivision. She was permanently on call.

Ethan’s visitor was not given to subtlety. In fact, if he was honest, she intimidated him a little.

Actually, a lot.

At 11.45pm, he could hear the throaty rasp of an approaching motorcycle. That was unusual. This Subdivision didn’t get much, if any, passing traffic, and definitely not at this time of night.

So when he heard the engine slow to a growl and then to silence, he knew it was her.

And his sense of nervous anticipation jumped. As did his pulse rate, according to his smartwatch.

In a few minutes, she would be here: Captain Reyna Bautista. PNP Ormoc City. Build like a strong supermodel. Looks to kill – or, as he preferred to put it, given her occupation – looks that were very arresting. Leather jacket. Tight leather trousers. Stunning black shoulder-length hair.

His pulse rate jumped again.

It took him ten minutes to carefully descend the stairs to the Subdivision below in daytime. It took her three to ascend. At night. In the dark. By mobile phone torchlight.

She was magnificent.

Sure enough, ten seconds before she was expected, there was a sharp knock on his front French door. ‘Peteros! Let me in! It’s the police. Bautista.’ she rapped.

‘Enter!’ Ethan wafted his majestic words to the wind.

Captain Bautista slid the door open. ‘You’re not up to date with chivalry yet, are you, Peteros?’ she snapped as she entered and slid the door behind her.

‘You are a strong woman. You need no man. I am a modern man.’ Ethan explained/excused himself.

‘Yeah, yeah. Next time, open the door for me.’ Captain Bautista barked.

‘I have your permission?’

‘You have my command.’ She scanned around the room. ‘Nice place you have here. I don’t need to investigate you for unexplained wealth, do I?’ she asked him as she unceremoniously plonked her bottom on the couch in front of his bank of screens.