In The Zone

Bang!

He was in the Zone again, sleepwalking; what his psychiatrist, Dr. Hoeffler called an "Altered state of consciousness".

"It’s that place in the subconscious", he’d explained, "That actors and musicians, poets, athletes, madmen and mystics go to. In ancient times, pagan warriors used to take soma so that they could go into that trance like state, enter the Zone, beyond fear and pain; become possessed by the Gods".

It’s Doctor Hoeffler who had encouraged him not to be afraid of entering the Zone, who had put him in touch with the Redfern Institute laboratories.

"They’re doing research into just this type of thing", he’d said, excitedly, "Tapping into the subconscious and they asked me if I had any patients who might be suitable experimental subjects.

I think you’re exactly the sort of young man they’re looking for".

Michael had looked at the small laminated business card with the Redfern logo on it doubtfully.

"I…I don’t know if I could", he’d said.

Bang!

He’d tried to explain to the Doctor that the Zone frightened him; that it felt like losing control of himself; that he just wanted him to give him something to make it go away but Dr Hoeffler had kept insisting that there was nothing wrong with it.

"Don’t be afraid of it, Michael", he’d said, "Embrace it. Let it guide you. It’s something that only special people are naturally given and that other people struggle to obtain".

He should have listened to his mum and dad. They’d though he was a loony but at least they’d been afraid for him; cared about him; not like the people at Redfern. He knew now that they’d just been using him; Dr Rothko and the others.

He’d thought the first time he’d met Rothko in his office that he didn’t look like a real Doctor; more like a sales representative or a business executive and Rothko had told him all the same stuff that Dr Hoeffler had said, that he was lucky; that the Zone was a good place and reeled off lots of names of famous actors and artists and musicians who entered the zone.

"It’s the golden road to power", he’d said, "If you know how to use it".

He realized now that it had all been lies and flattery to manipulate him; telling him what he’d wanted to hear, that he was special and talented; the sort of thing that all young people want to be told.

But he had gone along with it; allowed them to hypnotize him and probe his mind; wire him up to their EEG machine and give him all kind of drugs; allowed them to plant something there so that they could control him, an alter ego.

"I’m Patrick", it had said, laughing, "Pleased to meet you".

They’d told him it was natural for people in The Zone to create alter-ego’s; that it was he who had summoned Patrick up but he knew that they must have planted him there.

Patrick was nothing like him; he was a teenage boy like him but Patrick was not a nice person…

"I'm stronger than you, Michael", he said, "I will take control of you. You can't stop me".

Bang!

He had four appointments with Dr Rothko and then they let him go; said that they had collected all the data that they needed on him.

But Patrick didn’t let him go. He was still there, whenever Michael shut his eyes, he was there grinning in a way that made Michael frightened.

"You shouldn’t be afraid of him", Dr Hoeffler had reassured him, "He’s a part of you; what Freud called the Id, the deep repressed side of our personality".

"Oh God", a woman in a bloodspattered yellow trouser suit was screaming, backing away from him, almost tripping over, looking terrified of him, "He shot Bill. He shot Congressmen Turnbull".

"Who?", he asked, not sure if he was awake or what was happening to him.

And there was something in his hand. He looked at it, dazed. A gun. There was a gun in his hand.

He started to feel frightened; started shaking. Why was there a gun in his hand?

But then the world turned over and he was face down on a carpet, someone pinning his arms behind his back and clicking handcuffs round his wrists while someone else, he thought, was reading him his rights and another was on a crackling police radio calling for back up.

"Do you understand?", said a police officer as the person who had taken him down dragged him to his feet again and he realised he was in some big building full of people behind barriers and photographers taking pictures

"What?", he said.

"Do you understand your rights?", the officer repeated, sharply.

"Look at his eyes", he heard someone say, "He looks like he's on drugs".

"Do you take drugs?", asked the officer.

"No. Just the ones that my Doctor precribes", he said

"Dr who?", asked the officer.

"Dr Hoeffler", he said.

"I don't think he even knows what day it is", said the man who had pinned him down and still had a vice like grip upon him.

He heard the sound of wailing police sirens getting closer.

"Whats your name?", asked the policeman infront of him.

"Patrick", he said, "My names Patrick".