The Mariner by Ade Grant Page B

had the only spirits he’d encountered been vodka and whiskey? Had it all been a dream?
    A stabbing pain in his gut sent the Mariner crashing to the ground. He skidded forward, knees gouging muddy tracks into the grass. Such was the reality of the alcoholic; more must be found, only then would the pain subside.
    And then the face of Doctor Tetrazzini swam into the Mariner’s mind. Didn’t he say something about a cure? Something about salvation? Something about a theory?
    All about him, Sighisoara dwellers were watching and muttering. Perhaps they were discussing the fire? Perhaps the grave robbery? Either way, both roads led to the Mariner. All accusations ended with him.
    The Mariner got back to his feet. He could see the hill rising up in the centre of town. At the top sat a large shiny building nestled amongst the trees. The sunlight reflected off it; what the Mariner had first thought a lighthouse were in fact enormous glass panels cleaned to perfection.
    He could go there, if just to hide from prying eyes full of anger and suspicion. Too much attention had been ensnared in too short a time. He needed a place to hide.
    The Mariner made his way up the hill, step by step closer to Doctor Tetrazzini’s clinic.
    “Welcome to rehab.” The woman standing before him looked tired, but happy, as if she’d just stepped in from a lengthy afternoon pruning the roses. “Please come in, my name’s Rebecca.”
    The Mariner stepped inside the building. The architecture was an odd mix, some parts stone and others shiny metal and glass. He marvelled at the variety.
    “It used to be a church, but someone must have wanted it to be larger. Only the core is stone, the structure around it modern.”
    “Modern.” The Mariner rolled the word around his mouth, marvelling at how redundant it felt.
    “Frank said you might be joining us. He’ll be pleased, this place was going to get a lot quieter in a few days, so you’ll stop us getting bored.”
    “Quieter? Why?”
    “Beth’s finished her treatment. Cured. She’s leaving in a few days.”
    “Really? Alcoholism gone?”
    “No, that wasn’t her addiction. The doctor treats all sorts. It’s not my place to talk about other cases, but if you ask, Beth will tell. She’s very open about her illness. That’s all part of the treatment, learning to come to terms with the addiction and be open.”
    “Are you open about yours?”
    “Sure.” Rebecca flashed the Mariner a smile. “But not to people who haven’t even introduced themselves.”
    “Oh,” the Mariner stammered. He was always stumped when it came to this part of interaction. “I don’t really have a name.”
    Rebecca nodded, finding understanding where there was none. “When I first checked in, there was a heroin addict who’d abused himself so much he’d forgotten everything other than the needle. But it turns out that’s not a block in the road to recovery; the doctor helped him build a new life. He became the man he wanted to be.”
    “Is he still here?”
    “No, he checked out a while back.”
    The room they were in was bright and comfortably furnished. It was a world away from the dark interior of the Neptune. Chairs, the like of which he’d never seen, were spread out, the spaces between decorated with potted plants. He walked over to one chair and gently ran his hand over it. Leather. Remarkable.
    “I’m going to leave you alone for a minute and get the doctor. Make yourself comfortable.”
    Rebecca left the room with the Mariner’s eyes upon her, and passed through a door that swung silently on its hinges. The Mariner sat on a sofa, relishing its soft support. Filthy nails and torn cuticles stared up from his lap. Bright lights and clean surfaces were an unknown influence, and they highlighted his bedraggled state. Was this really the place for him?
    Surprisingly, despite his exhaustion, he found himself unable to shift the image of Rebecca’s behind from his tired head, the way her hips swayed