Mark (the final chapters)

“Don’t forget about your appointment this evening,” Andrea said.
“I won’t hun, thanks,” I replied before entering the garage to go to work, as assistant manager in a medical supply company. Most of the day is spent sitting in my office, on my black leather chair on wheels, dealing with paper work and looking over proposals. The office was actually larger than it needed to be. Two walls of shelves full of books I had never opened took up space, I guess having a large wall of books made the office look prestigious. The third wall was comprised of windows; a man in coveralls was currently washing the outsides. The fourth wall that I was currently looking at was tinted glass and of course the door It was the typical contemporary office building where the higher ups could sit at their desk and gaze out to hall of cubicles, employees running around, accomplishing their various tasks to keep the company going and answering the constantly ringing phones. My desk was modest with a nameplate on the front, facing anyone that visited me. I had a couple pictures of Andrea and the children angled so that both a guest and I could see them. A simple white mug for my pens sat to the right again, in reach of both a visitor and myself. A large day calendar, with plenty of room for me to write out plans close to me on the surface of solid oak At the other side of the desk there were two large gray-blue chairs that looked reasonably new, since I rarely had people in my office for longer than a couple minutes.
After work, I drove to the doctors in my sleek yet modest black car.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Fine,” I replied simply.
“The condition hasn’t changed?”
“Nope, been as normal as I can be since last time”
“Tell me about your week”
I sat on the brown leather chair and began to recall the details of work and home.
“Sounds like you’re getting better actually. If you concur, we could start reducing your medication, see how that affects you. Maybe eventually you’ll be able to live happily without them,” the doctor said after I finished.
“I have been feeling better, sometimes as if I don’t need the meds”
So I started taking less medication, with no ill affects. I had to make more visits, so she could monitor my behavior. With every visit the quantity was reduced, and after a few months I was able to live well without the help of pills.
However, after a week or two after I completely stopped taking the meds, I felt a change. As if Hunter had broken out of the cage I kept him in with the help of the meds. I knew I had to tell the doctor.
I told her as best I could how I was feeling. I had a cat scan and other exams. I wasn’t told the results exactly, but the doctor said it was mostly inconclusive.
“I’d like to see if hypnotherapy would give us some answers” she said.
So I laid on the couch and closed my eyes.

Chapter Twelve: Confusion

I slowly opened my eyes. Severely confused, I looked around, completely unable to understand where I was.
Though I only just woke up, I began to panic. The last thing I remember was being hypnotized, now I had no sense of identity, and I had no idea why I was wherever I was.
I took a deep breath and continued to look around. It was a moderately small room. A card table with a single chair stood against the perpendicular wall and there was the couch I was presently sitting on. Landscape paintings on a couple walls, and two mysterious white boards, one with some letter magnets, the other was blank. Between them was a calendar, it appeared to be April 25th, 2006. But was it really? Why were there no reflective surfaces, and why didn’t I notice this glass door before?
A small wooden patio with a bench, and beyond it? Nothing, simply nothing, just white, almost like a thick fog.
I controlled my instinct to panic, realizing it wouldn’t help me. I sat on the bench to think. I concluded that I wasn’t crazy; somebody must’ve put me here. I also realized I needed to know who I was before I could find out who did this to me.
I turned to the white boards. There were ten letters, enough for names. I began to work with them, placing the ‘m’ first.
For an hour I worked, trying different combinations, using logic to rule out some possibilities. In the end, I had ‘ma’. I wanted to work more but my mind needed to rest.
I sat at the table and looked down. On the surface I saw a plate of dinner food, or at least what my head told me was dinner. It must’ve been placed there while I was working.
Naturally I was skeptical about the safety of the food. But I was hungry and detected no contaminant through smell or taste, so I continued to eat.
It was surprisingly flavorful. Most prisoners would have to settle for bland simple meals that only satisfied nutritious needs and not the pallet.
As much as I wanted to continue to work on the letters, I knew sleep would be best; a rested mind usually works more proficiently. I laid on the couch and closed my eyes.
What I assume was hours later, I opened them again and stared at the ceiling. Breathing though my nose, I smelled bacon. Looking at the table, I saw my senses didn’t deceive me.
Rolling off my resting place and taking a few steps to the table, I enjoyed another fresh meal. Stomach full, I was ready to work again.
Hours later, I still was not finished. It seemed so simple, but something wouldn’t allow me to grasp the solution. What was keeping me from my identity? I’ve been here for two days and only have more questions.
Though I wasn’t tired, I could recognize defeat. Having made no progress I threw in the towel for the day and closed my eyes once again.

Chapter Thirteen: The Solution

I woke up with a migraine, as if I had drank too much. I gazed at the table and saw a bottle of aspirin. Groggily getting up, I went to take some. Swallowing the pills, I looked at the calendar. Days were crossed off that I didn’t do myself. Was I really asleep for three days?
I glanced at the letters I had been working on a few days ago. I decided I needed to let the pills take affect before continuing the puzzle. Lying back down, I closed my eyes and waited for the pain to fade.
And hour later the throb was evanescent, and I could think clearly. The fog having lifted, I had an epiphany. I quickly left my resting place and walked to the white board and letters. I placed the ‘r’ after the ‘a’ and ‘k’ at the end.
Mark, my name was Mark. Though I couldn’t really prove this, my gut confirmed its accuracy. I took a step back and looked at the name with satisfaction. A voice in my head said “Bravo”.
Strange, it wasn’t the same I hear when talking, or thinking. I shrugged it off and began to look at the remaining letters. I assumed it was also the name of a person. I placed the ‘h’ under the ‘m’ to start.
An hour later, I had Hunter. My middle name? No, said my better judgment, then possibly the one responsible for putting me here.
In a way said my internal voice. In a way? What does that mean? Indirectly involved with my capture somehow? It doesn’t matter right now, I just need to get out of here before I experience real dolor. Maybe once I’m out of here I can get my questions answered.
As Mark slept, his captor walked into the room, and to the white boards.
So he figured it out. What other puzzles can I give him? He still doesn’t know about my origin or me.
Opening the bag he brought, he took out a clean white board. Give him something to write on if he wants I guess. He placed it next to the one with the names, though it was somewhat out of character for him to provide Mark with something nice, or at least not mean in anyway, Hunter usually made it his goal to cause harm.
With a glace at mark, he left.

I woke up the next morning rested and strangely tranquil for the situation. I got up and went through the door to sit on the bench for fresh air, though something told me the atmosphere was no different than inside, but my mind sort of allowed it to be since it had been programmed to believe it.
After a while, I felt famished, so I entered the room again and sat at the table where breakfast was waiting for me, as I expected.
As I ate I turned to look at my finished work, and the fork fell with a clatter. Where had the new board come from? My captor must’ve come while I slept. What do I need this board for though? A journal of sorts? Wish I had a better way to tell time though, other than my sleep cycle, or something to do besides sleep and think.
After I ate, I laid back down to think. Having a name, I tried to imagine who Hunter was. I concluded I didn’t know anyone by that name, so I wondered what significance he had, and why his name came up.
Of course you don’t know him, you’ve never actually met said the stranger’s voice. For a ransom? No. Then maybe an experiment of sorts, but why me? It’s not an experiment. Maybe I need to know myself, my history, before I know why I’m here.
With nothing else to do, I closed my eyes and dreamt.

Chapter Fourteen: Dreams

I was standing in front of a full length-mirror, fixing my necktie, a briefcase sitting next to me on the floor. I was a businessman getting ready for work.
I continued to do what was natural. Picking up the case, I went through a door and down a staircase I had never saw before.
“See you tonight hun,” I said involuntarily as a beautiful woman came around the corner.
As a couple kids walked to a school bus waiting on the road, I went to a garage. Sitting in a car, I turned the key and the engine roared.
I woke up, lying on the couch, in the strange room again.
Such a vivid dream, a past life perhaps? A present life before I was put here? There’s no way to tell, until I get out of here.
I looked at the opposite wall. The other boards were slid down to make room for a new one. I got up and took the marker.
The first dream I remember since I’ve been here. Apparently I had a wife. Wonder how she’s doing. Scared? Looking for me? Unless my captor put in an imposter and he seems like the type that would.
I had to get out as soon as possible, to get to my wife.

* * *

I crossed another day off the calendar. A month, I’ve been here a month and still no closer to getting out, my wife must be hysterical. It’s strange that I’m not hysterical.
A month of social isolation, a whole month with nothing but my own thoughts to keep my busy, and I still don’t know why I’m here. Hardly my fault though, there are no clues.
Sure there are, just subtle. Difficult for your over analytical mind to see, commented the strange voice. Again, I shrugged it off.
Having little to do, I once again closed my eyes.

* * *

What was that about, such a realistic dream.
I was sitting on what my mind said was my favorite recliner, in a study, a book open in front of me. Looking at the cover, I saw it was about mental disorders. Maybe I was writing a thesis. But there was no notepad or laptop. Maybe I was just scanning it.
My wife walks in with a cup of tea.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Fines, should there be anything wrong?”
“No of course not,” she replied, and left the room.
Then I woke up.
How are you feeling, that’s a more specific form of how are you. She asked as if I was getting over an illness or something. But I wasn’t sick, was I? Could this place be quarantine? Did a doctor put me here to keep the family safe? But why couldn’t I know what was wrong? Why couldn’t my wife come see me? Maybe the illness is disfiguring somehow, and the sight of me would be painful for her. But there’s no way to find out how I look either, there isn’t a reflective surface in this entire room, yet I find I never have to shave. Whenever I go to bed scruffy, I wake up bare again, I must be a deep sleeper or something, I don’t see how its possible to shave someone without waking them up.
I went to the white board so I could write on it as usual. A dream I just had gave me an idea that maybe I’m here because I’m ill and contagious. So I have to stay here until I’m better. Maybe not, but it’s a possible reason, and that’s better than no theory at all.

Chapter Fifteen: More Letters

So I’m still sticking with the theory that I’m in quarantine. I haven’t found anything to disprove the idea. Nor has there been any confirmation though.
I’ve ran the dream over and over in my head, and it seem to make sense that I’m sick, but with what. Why can’t I know? Did my family put me here, on their accord or the suggestion of a doctor? Always more things to think about, none of my questions get answered.
I’ve been here so long. I’ve been crossing off the days, mostly out of habit now. Doesn’t matter what day it is since they are all the same here. No sun or moon, just the open and close of my eyes, and that is no way to track days.
But something tells me it’s been three months now and I still haven’t made much progress. What disease lasts this long?
Maybe I was kidnapped instead, though I doubt a kidnapper would care about what I ate, and I do get something different everyday, which leads me to believe I’m not a hostage.
I need to start working on getting out of here, before my mind deteriorates from the aphonic solitude. I don’t even want to think about what will happen if I don’t see anyone for another three months.
You’re not as alone as you think.
I took the newest board off the wall so I could sit “outside” and chronicle relevant thoughts.
What if my wife found someone else? That makes it more important to get out of here, show her I’m still alive.
I glanced at the white nothingness. I took a chance, stuck my hand in it, and found that it was exactly that, nothing. Not cold or hot, no pain or anything, just like the air around me.
How can that be, there must be something there, something creating the white.
I continued to contemplate and write, filling the board before I placed it back on the wall that was now covered in previous boards.
Again, I laid down and closed my eyes.
I woke up and rolled over to look at the parallel wall.
Instead of a blank board, there were more letters. A multitude of them, some duplicates even.
I began to work immediately, placing the ‘A’ first. I worked through lunch, and by late dinner, I had ‘Andrea’
My wife said my gut. I placed my name next to it and drew a line to connect them, a nice start to a family tree. I smiled softly at it, a nice thought. I wiped a tear away as I began to realize I might never see her again.
But why cry over someone I don’t really know. However, the thought of what I had and how it was brutally taken away was upsetting.
Why are there no clues for escape?

* * *

I’ve been working on these names for a week now. With so many combinations, I’ve only been able to managed ‘Kate’ so far.
I wonder how old she is, how she’s doing in school. A daughter I may never know

Chapter Sixteen: The Usual
Suddenly these walls don’t seem so plain; maybe I’m starting to feel apathetic. They are starting to grow on me. Being here so long, they seem normal and average, just an ordinary room.
However, the room does seem to be getting smaller. I don’t seem to take as many steps from the couch to the white boards.
I’ve somehow managed to create the names for my daughters that feel to be right.
Has Andrea moved on, and given them half siblings? How could she support all of them without a second income? Or did she have a job too? There is so much I don’t know, but wish I could. What good do names do if I can’t see them?

* * *
With no new letters or clues, what’s there to do to pass the time. Tic Tac Toe is boring with one and I don’t feel artistic to doodle. Maybe I’ll free write.
I took the newest blank board off the wall and sat on the couch.
Sleep, REM, dream, image, imagine, imagination, unreal, fake, made up, fabricated, head, mind, nonsensical, nonexistent, surreal, reality…
I continued until there was no more room on the board.
Something told me some of the words meant something. But I was drowsy, so I went to sleep, I could analyze them in the morning.
I woke up and crossed another day off the calendar. I flipped though, counting. Eight months, and I missed thanksgiving. That would explain the larger dinner last week. I have to get out of here before Christmas.
After I ate, I stared at what I wrote the day before. Most are synonymous with imagination and an altered reality. I doubt it’s a coincidence.
So you’re finally figuring it out.
What is with this strange voice?
I spent the rest of the day analyzing, before sleeping again.
That night I dreamt of an office. I was lying on a leather couch, talking to a psychologist. Then I sat in a lounge, watching the doctor talk to Andrea.
With a flash, I was in another office, hooked up to a machine and being interviewed. Then again, I saw the doctor talking to my wife.
A second flash and I was sitting at a table and Andrea walking in.
“That was Dr. Murry on the phone. The tests results came in”

Chapter Seventeen: Escape

I woke up before I could know the results.
The ceiling I was looking at was the same as always, so when I turned over and saw a different room, I gasped.
The white boards were gone; the writing was just on the walls. There was no glass door, only a wooden bench against the wall, which was wooden panel stained white.
And a door that took me a double take to realize was there.
I dashed to it and turned the handle. Locked.
Who’s keeping me here like this? Why give me a door I can’t open?
I thought for a moment and decided there had to be a key somewhere. I flipped the cushions and even the couch itself frantically. I looked under the bench, table and chair. Even tapped along the wall, thinking there could be a fake panel. No luck.
Behind the paintings, I checked all but one and almost gave up.
No, check the last said the strange voice. A safe was imbedded in the wall. I held back a scream of frustration, how could I know the combination? I filtered through my memories of this place, and the numbers I had come across. The date I woke up for the first time. It was worth a shot. So I turned the dial, first to four, then to twenty-six, and finally to six. To my immense relief, it opened, and the key was there.
I attempted to unlock the door; I almost didn’t believe it would work. It’s just the thing my captor would do.
Unlocking the door I opened it, half expecting it to lead into a brick wall. Instead, it opened into a small, dark, hallway.
To the immediate left was a wall with a mirror, to the right was what seemed to be a kitchen. I could see counters and a couple chairs.
I cautiously left my prison, gently stepping onto the carpet. I could hear muffled sitcom sounds. I wanted to shout for Andrea but I didn’t want to alarm anyone, I wasn’t even sure this was my house. If my captor was around and discovered I escaped when I shouldn’t have, I could be maimed. However, as I approached the kitchen, it seemed familiar.
Suddenly someone came around the corner, dirty dishes in hand. Andrea. I of course alarmed her and she dropped the dishes, tears welling in her eyes.
“Mark?” she asked with a gentle voice as beautiful as she was, with a strange mix of worry and happiness.
“Andrea?” I replied.
She stepped over the shards of her ruined dishes and embraced me tenderly, a hug filled with love, accompanied by tears.
“You have no idea how much we missed you”
“Were you looking for me?” I asked. Did they really miss me that much?
She let go and took a step back. “Well, we knew where you were. We just couldn’t do anything”
“So I was quarantined?”
“Um, sort of”
“What do you mean?” I asked slightly impatient.
“Mark, you’re schizophrenic”

Chapter Eighteen: The Truth

So I was schizophrenic. Had been since high school. For a while, there was only the occasional vision, but minor enough for me to live normally with the help of medication.
Somehow, overtime I developed Hunter, who is the dangerous side of me. Like my personality was split completely in half. There was me, Mark who lived by the rules, then there is Hunter who craved adventure and danger, and sometimes law breaking came with that adventure. Andrea had to tell me everything, for some reason I wasn’t able to recall any of it, the bad things Hunter did, the warning sings my control was slipping, everything. I basically put myself in that room, so I could safely struggle with myself, and not cause harm to my family. But my mind was so mixed up from the battle, even the memory of deciding to lock myself in there had disappeared, Hunter complicated things. I wanted to get rid of him, but he wanted to stay and have life too, that’s why hypnotherapy had been attempted, but after several sessions, it seemed to be something only I could do. After eight long months, my mind seemed to fix itself, I had subconsciously made the decision to want to live normally, so I was able to leave that room and come back to my loving wife and beautiful daughters.
My daughters, I can’t imagine how they felt. Only shortly before I locked myself away were they informed my schizophrenia. Andrea said they were a bit scared and worried, worried if I was going to be okay, scared that the situation would become worse somehow, that I would hurt myself, or someone else. They were all scared that I would loose the battle, that they would never see me again, that even if my body left that room, it wouldn’t really be me.
So it was discovered that when I stopped taking the pills, Hunter was able to take control, and noticing he was gaining power over me, I had to do something about it and knew that therapy alone wouldn’t be enough. So I did what I could to isolate myself, and stay the whole duration of the inner battle, I had to stay there as long as it took for me to be my normal self, or else something unimaginable could’ve happened. It probably took so long because he had gotten enough control to affect my feelings. He wanted me to feel anguish, possibly because I had suppressed him so long, didn’t allow him to live and be free, he was trapped in the back of my head. I wouldn’t allow him to be real, I had to live my life peacefully, and as normal as possible. He was essentially his own person, so after being locked away for years, he had enough.
I learned that my family couldn’t help me when I was in the room for fear Hunter was still prominent and that he would hurt them. But now I’m back to myself, with that horrible experience behind me. I would even go back to work within a couple weeks. When they had hired me, they were aware of the illness, so they created a benefits package to allow more paid sick days, more paid vacation, the sort of things I would need if something like that ever happened, so I apparently made the right career choice by working for them. Over all, work and life in general wouldn’t be affected as long as I took the pills. So I’d take the pills, I would have to in order to live a normal, happy life with my beautiful wife and daughters.
“So you’re telling me that you are Mark Wilde, a schizophrenic, with a second personality called Hunter whom is the criminal?” said the judge.
“Yes sir.” I have to pull this off just right; I’ve gotten away with everything else before. Think Mark, think Mark…
“That this other personality of yours is what caused all the trouble that you’ve gotten into?”
“Yes sir”
“All the vandalism, stealing and murders are Hunters fault?”
“Yes sir”
“Well that’s a fine story, but I’ve done some research of my own. There is no record of a Mark Wilde ever attending any school institution and no medical records. There isn’t even a birth certificate with that name where you claim you were born or marriage license for a Mark Wilde and Andrea Witman. In fact, your so-called wife doesn’t exist, and thus neither do the children you claim you had with her.”
Ah shit, I knew I should’ve made fake records, the one thing that I overlooked the hole in my seemingly flawless story of being a schizoid.
“You have lied before the court which deserves a penalty of its own. It was a fine alibi but records and hard evidence do not support the story. Hunter Jackson, I have heard your defense and seen the evidence. It is clear that you are a pathological liar and a danger to society. Your wicked ways have gone unnoticed until today, and you will have to pay for them. I would be neglecting my responsibility as a judge, and my power to put away those that cannot function in the normal social order. Hunter K. Jackson, I have found you guilty, and hereby sentence you to life in prison with no chance of parole,” said the judge, and slammed his mallet.

Chapter Nineteen: Conclusion

I glared at him as I was being taken away His double chin and bulbous nose simply annoyed me, regardless of his sentence for me. Creating the personality of Mark and a whole life for him seemed like the perfect way to stay out of the slammer, why didn’t I think of the documents, they would’ve kept me safe for sure.
So now, I have to sit her in this cell with a white giant, black goatee and arms covered in tattoos. The bunk beds were narrow and very uncomfortable, bars on the windows and gray stonewalls. I was given a job in the kitchen, we had to work to keep us busy, who knew what we would do if we could just sit around, plotting. Even with the job, I would think of everything that I had invented. Mark and his family, his education and how he was stuck in that room during the time of the murders. It was all for nothing, and I almost felt guilty, as if he was a close friend that I killed. And Andrea, she had died by my hands too, I wondered if there was a Mark out there somewhere, with a lovely wife and a handful of kids. I wondered if anything I had created was happening somewhere in another far off part of the world. I guess I would never get to find out, I was trapped here and travel was completely out of the question. As far as I knew, Mark and his elaborate life would only exist in my mind. Then again, the judge only said Mark Wilde didn’t exist where I claim, implying there might be one somewhere else. I guess I’ll never know.

* * *

“Mark, honey, what are you watching?” Jenna said as she entered with a plate of food.
“Oh, just the news. A rather interesting case about someone named Hunter. Claiming he was someone else who was schizophrenic, with another side that was dark and caused all the problem”
“Oh, did they say who he claimed to be?”
“Mark actually, he said his name was Mark Wilde. He created this whole story, every little detail of going to school and a psychologist and getting married and everything.”
“What was the verdict?”
“Guilty, no chance of parole since he was a threat to the general good or something. But it’s so weird seeing someone claiming to have the same name as me. He just didn’t have the records to back his story.”
“Probably kicking himself now, sitting in that jail cell, having forgotten about the hard evidence.” Jenna said, kissing Marks forehead.
Mark sat there lost in his thoughts, gazing at the TV screen but not really seeing it. He instinctively took his pill that sat in the corner of the tray and ate the dinner Jenna had brought him.