FRIDAY STREET

He’d got it all worked out – he’d got it so sussed. Life, for Michael Mortimer, was all about making it through the day with the minimal of surprises. He liked predictability. Excitement was off limits. Just ask his long-suffering wife, Susie, she’ll tell you.

The trouble began when he started to talk in his sleep. It was a moment of amusement for her, but the novelty soon wore off. After two sleepless months, of all-night, one-way conversations he’d progressed from unintelligible gibberish to animated shouting matches with a person, or persons unknown. That was the final straw. She gave him an ultimatum; “get it sorted or else!” It was the ‘or else’ he didn’t like the sound of.

In desperation, Mike sought help from a therapist, but it only made things worse. It became an ill omen – a wake-up call – a radical departure from his comfortable, safe world. For no matter how much he tried to resist his past would catch up with him – overtake him and finally threaten to consume him!

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