SWITCHED: The man who lost his body but kept his mind.

by Bernard Gallivan

  As he listened, Zachary felt his anger begin to build. He was not the least bit confused. Everyone else was. He forced himself to stay calm.

  ‘He says his name is Zachary Storie, that’s with an “ie” and not a “y”, yes. He claims he lives at 4 Barnton Avenue South there in Edinburgh. Could someone go around and check his story out, please? There was a pause of a moment or two while the person at the other end of the line said something and Houndsworth repeated the address. After another delay, Houndsworth spoke again. ‘Right, I’ll let him know. Thanks anyway and I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

  Houndsworth turned to Zachary. ‘Well, whoever-you-are, it seems there’s no such place as Barnton Avenue South in Edinburgh, either. So, now, are you going to tell me your real name and address?’

  Zachary’s conviction that he was who he knew himself to be was severely shaken. What was incredible was that even considering the many strange things he was discovering, personally he did not feel at all confused; his entire past life was absolutely clear and in focus. He needed no photographs to picture his first wife, his second wife, his children, his parents or his brother. He knew the names and much of the lives of each of his employees. He also knew every brick of his beautiful house and his successful business in Edinburgh. He knew precisely how much he was worth and he had an excellent grasp of national and world affairs. There was nothing wrong with his brain. It was just that what he knew was suddenly very different from the new reality in which he found himself.

  Far too late, he began to see himself through the eyes of the manager and the receptionist at the Trusty Motel. At last, he could understand why the young police officers had seemed so stupid. Most worrying of all, he could imagine what Inspector Houndsworth must now be thinking. In Houndsworth’s eyes he was either a con man or someone who was suffering from a complete mental breakdown. Strange as was the situation in which he found himself, the very last thing Zachary wanted was to be hospitalised or worse. Something told him that, at all costs, he had to get away from the police and the sooner the better.

  Houndsworth was still waiting for his reply and Zachary’s mouth felt very dry. By this time his coffee was finished and feigning confusion, he passed a weary hand across his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but I’m feeling totally disoriented. I think that electric shock hit me harder than I imagined. Would you mind if I had another cup of coffee?’

  Houndsworth looked suspiciously at Zak but as he was a decent man, he simply nodded and went back to the machine to get the drink.

  While he was away, Zachary’s brain went into overdrive. One thing was now certain; from now on he should not rely on the police or indeed on anyone other than himself. The receptionist at the motel claimed that Zachary had booked in himself and he was now forced to consider the possibility that perhaps the man had not been lying even though he, personally, could remember nothing whatsoever of the incident. He had heard of people losing their memories but never of anyone losing his body.

  Zachary briefly toyed with the idea of making a break for it. So far he had committed no crime so the chances were, if he got away, the police would cease to be interested in him. Further reflection made him reject the idea. His present body was fat and out of condition and, in any case, Houndsworth was just outside in the corridor. They would stop him before he went ten yards and then he would need to provide an even bigger explanation. On balance, it was better to claim loss of memory, to appeal to the more charitable side of Houndsworth and ask to be allowed to return to his motel where he would try to sleep off the problem. He had just decided on his best course of action when Houndsworth returned with his drink.

  Once again, the man was all smiles. He, too, had been thinking while he'd been at the drinks' dispenser.

  ‘I think you’re right, Mr Storie. I reckon that shock must have jumbled up your brain in some weird way or other but don’t worry, we’ll soon have you home again safe and sound. Would you mind emptying your pockets, please? I’m sure you’ve got something on you that’ll help us identify who you really are.’

  The image of that strange, green, drivers licence immediately leapt to Zachary’s mind. His signature was on it but the address was wrong, he recalled. He would much prefer, quietly and discretely, to conduct his own investigation. Unfortunately, through his own impetuous action he had involved the legendary flat-footed bobby in the enquiry. Trying to disguise his reluctance, he turned out most of his pockets hoping Houndsworth would fail to notice he had ‘overlooked’ the inside pockets of his jacket. But Houndsworth was far too experienced a police officer to allow him to get away with so obvious a deception.

  ‘And the inside pockets, Mr Storie,’ Houndsworth gently encouraged.

  When the wallet and the credit cards were revealed, Houndsworth pounced on them and quickly extracted the driver’s licence, which he seemed to recognise without surprise. The fact that he made no comment about its strange shape or colour intrigued Zachary but he decided now was neither the time nor the place to discuss such minor points of detail.

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere, sir.’ Houndsworth heaved a sigh of relief as he saw an end to the problem. ‘Well, it seems you got your name right but does number 17, Disraeli Street, Croydon, mean anything to you?’

  Miserably, Zachary shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘If you’ll just give me a couple of minutes, I’m sure we’ll soon have this little matter sorted out.’ He smiled a sympathetic smile at Zachary who could only slump dejectedly in his seat. ‘Cheer up, sir. Loss of memory is usually only temporary. You’ll be as right as rain by the end of the week, you mark my words.’

  Houndsworth picked up his telephone and rang directory enquiries. ‘The name is Storie, with an “ie”, and the initials are Z, A. In no time at all the operator found Zachary’s number. ‘That’s right,’ Houndsworth confirmed. Number 17 Disraeli Street, Croydon.’ He wrote down the number the automated system quoted at him, smiled encouragingly at Zachary and rang the Croydon number.

  Zachary could only vaguely hear the female voice that answered Houndsworth’s call and was forced to reconstruct the conversation from Houndsworth’s side of the dialogue.

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you so late but is that Mrs Storie? Good. Is your husband a Mr Zachary Alan Storie, ma’am? Fine. And is he presently away on business? Splendid. My name is David Houndsworth and I’m an Inspector with the Cumbrian Police Force, but don’t let that concern you because there’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about, ma’am. Your husband is sitting in a chair next to me as we speak. The trouble is, he suffered a mild electric shock earlier this evening and seems to have lost his memory. No, I told you, he’s all right except for some temporary loss of memory.’

  After a few more minutes talking while Houndsworth explained about the motel and the T.V., he held out the telephone to Zachary. ‘Your wife would like a word with you, sir.’

  Nervously, Zachary took the handset. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Is that really you, Zak?’ Then, without giving him a moment to reply, she continued in a whisper. ‘What the hell are you doing in a police station, what with everything that’s happened? I don’t know about your memory but I reckon you’ve gone and lost your marbles as well.’ Before he could reply to her strange remark, she was off again. ‘Don’t say a word; just listen. As you’re there and there’s nothing we can do to change that, I reckon the best thing for you now is to keep acting dumb and to try to get out of there as quick as you can. Tell him you want to go back to your motel to wait for me. Then you’ve got to pay your bill and scarper as far away from Carlisle as quick as you can, ok. Give me another ring when you’re settled. What I can’t understand is why that copper hasn’t connected you with the Z Storie the Croydon police want to speak to, but mark my words, he will soon enough. Just keep your head low and don’t forget, Sinclair and his heavies can’t be far behind, either.’

  Zachary mumbled something incoherent. He didn
’t recognize the voice, which had a strong London accent and nor did he understand what she was talking about. All he knew was, she was proposing exactly what he had already decided to do. But what was all that about the Croydon police wanting to interview him? What had he done to merit such attention? And who the hell was Sinclair? That electric shock really had jumbled his brain.

  The female voice continued. ‘I’ve already sorted everything out with that copper, Zak. So, go back to your hotel now, tell him you’re going to try to sleep it off and that you’re going to wait there for me to pick you up tomorrow morning. Then, as soon as you get the chance, get out as quick as you can.’

  Zachary nodded agreement said goodbye and put the phone down. Turning to Houndsworth he smiled feebly and said, ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a bother to you, Inspector, but that shock just completely threw me. Now I’ve spoken to my wife, things are beginning to slot back into place. So, if someone could take me back to the motel, I’ll sit tight and wait until she comes to pick me up tomorrow.’

  Houndsworth hesitated a moment and Zachary’s heart was in his mouth. Would he go along with the suggestion? Finally, because no crime had been committed and also because it was by far the easiest thing to do, Houndsworth nodded agreement.

  ‘Yes, that’s probably the best thing to do, sir. And as I said before, your memory will soon come back. You’ll be as right as rain again before you know it.’

  Zachary smiled his thanks and was about to relax when Houndsworth said, ‘There’s just one other thing, though, sir.’

  What now? Zachary wondered.

  ‘You might want to claim compensation from the owners of the Trusty Motel. They shouldn’t have dangerous electrical wires dangling about in their rooms. You might easily have been killed or much more seriously damaged when you touched that live wire. If you want to take the matter further, I could recommend a reliable local solicitor.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter. It was partly my own silly fault anyway. I should never have fiddled around with the wiring. No, I’ll just go back and have a good sleep and wait for my wife to collect me tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s probably the best, sir,’ Houndsworth said, nodding sagely. ‘In any case, usually the only people to benefit from legal actions for negligence are the lawyers.’ Standing up he said, ‘If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll run you back myself.’

  A half an hour later Zachary was once more seated on the edge of the bed in his room. Dreary as it was, it was infinitely better than the police station and for the first time since regaining consciousness earlier that evening, he felt safe despite the weird lighting that took ages to reach a barely acceptable level. Zachary was used to making decisions and now he was in control of his predicament, he was finally able to relax.

  When they had arrived back at the motel, Houndsworth had gone with Zachary into the little reception office to explain that their guest was suffering a loss of memory following his accident with the television and that the management deserved to be sued for having such dangerous electrical equipment in one of their rooms. Nigel was suitably chastened and promised to bring the matter to Mr Gupta’s attention the very next day. Houndsworth eventually went off satisfied that he had done his duty.

  Now, as that strange woman had suggested, Zachary needed to get away from the motel as quickly and as quietly as possible. Automatically, his hand reached for his cigarettes and he lit up.

  Chapter 2

  Zachary

  Fascinated, Zachary looked down at the cigarette from which, absent-mindedly, he had just drawn a lungful of smoke and nicotine. A confirmed non-smoker, his brain registered shock and horror that he should have done such an awful thing while his body relaxed in the warm afterglow of the nicotine. That was when, for the first time, he properly noticed his nicotine-stained fingers. How could this be? Embarrassed to have caught himself in such a shameful act, as he saw it, Zachary hurriedly stubbed the cigarette out. Nor had that one deep draw done much to quell his body’s craving for more. What an impartial observer might have found strange was that the confirmed non-smoker did not immediately discard the remaining half-full packet of cigarettes; instead, he carefully returned it to his pocket. It was almost as if his body was trying to hide what it was doing from his brain.

  Following Houndsworth’s departure and though he knew he had to leave, Zachary was sorely tempted to ignore the advice given by the woman who claimed to be his wife. The truth was, he was now feeling the after-effects of his traumatic experience and was in desperate need of sleep. In any case, he knew no one called Sinclair and nor could he imagine what possible interest the police could have in him. He prided himself on being a model citizen and the bed beckoned most invitingly. Fortunately, good sense prevailed. He realized he was in a most peculiar situation and quite clearly, things were not at all as he understood or expected them to be. Perhaps he should not too quickly reject that advice.

  He agonized for the next half hour trying to come to terms with his predicament before he finally dismissed the idea that he was the victim of some secret conspiracy. Instead, he began to accept that his apparent change of body and his confused memories were, in some inexplicable way, linked to that electric shock of earlier. He recalled the lectures on quantum mechanics he had sat through at university and the weird effects revealed by the theory. The possibility that he was a victim of the Uncertainty Principle flashed into his mind. Had the body of a clone of himself living in a parallel dimension somehow received all his memories and knowledge? Impossibly complex problems arose when scientists attempted to move physical objects from one dimension to another but he could recall no research on the problems of moving thoughts and memories. Indeed, as far as he was aware, even the existence of parallel worlds was no more than a theory. He did recall reading somewhere that recent advances in mathematics were close to proving their existence, however. The thought did nothing to reassure him; instead, it both frightened and confused him. Weird and improbable it might be but no other theory came close to explaining what had happened to him. Somehow, a freak set of conditions had conspired to transfer the essence of who he was into a parallel dimension where another, far less successful version of himself, had given home to his thoughts and memories.

  Even had he the skill and knowledge to do so, he realized now was not the time to ruminate on the possible existence of multiple dimensions. Far more urgent and down-to-earth problems demanded his attention. The woman who claimed to be his wife had been most emphatic that he should remove himself from the clutches of the police as quickly as possible and, at the same time, get far away from Carlisle. Because he could think of no better course of action, he decided to follow her advice, while he still had the chance.

  Whoever the original owner of the body he now inhabited was, the present owner, if nothing else, was a highly organized man. His university training together with his wide business experience made him conscious of the importance of covering all the angles and now, as he contemplated his next move, he considered what his other self might have done when signing in to the Trusty Motel.

  It had not occurred to him until that moment that someone else might be affected by the transference or whatever it was that had taken place. Now, when he thought about it, he realized that if he presently occupied someone else’s body, something equally bizarre must have happened to that other person. Was this other version of him now occupying what, until a few hours ago, had been his, Zachary’s, body? There was even the possibility that this other person was in a third or even a fourth dimension and that multiple changes had taken place. Zachary firmly closed his mind to the problem. As he had earlier decided, now was neither the time nor the place to worry about such complexities.

  Like Zachary, his other self would not have known that something momentous was about to happen to him so, presumably, he would have used his correct name and address when booking in. It was at this stage that Zachary resigned himself to the probability that the wreck sitting immediately in front
of his motel room and presently masquerading as a car was probably his property. Further, because it was sitting in full view in the motel forecourt, almost certainly the real owner had used the correct car registration number when signing in. If the police wanted to interview him, as this other fellow’s wife had suggested, they’d be down on the motel like a ton of bricks just as soon as they realized who he was. Using his car registration number, they could just as quickly pick him up if he was travelling on the road. He could do nothing about his name and address; in any case, Houndsworth already had those. His car registration number was a different matter.

  The individual rooms of the motel formed a semicircle around a common car park and from his window, Zachary discovered he could see across and into the reception office where Nigel, the receptionist, appeared to be reading a magazine. Before making a clean break for it, Zachary reasoned he should first remove all traces of his stay in the motel, which meant getting his hands on that registration book. It seemed reasonable to assume that at some stage soon, Nigel would go home and that was when Zachary would act.

  Using the cheap holdall he found next to the hanging rail, where his own leather suitcase and wardrobe should have been, he packed away the rather tatty and worn belongings of the other person. Then, switching off his light, he opened the curtain an inch or so and began watching Nigel who remained engrossed in his magazine. It was already close to midnight, at which time Zachary hoped the office would close. With so many inexplicable and shocking things happening to him he was, by now, practically dead on his feet. His dearest wish was to retire to bed, the one thing he could not do. With all his heart, he hoped Nigel would close the office.

  ‘Please God, make him go home,’ he whispered.

  Eventually, it seemed his prayers were answered. At five minutes to midnight, he saw Nigel put the magazine down, stand up and look out of his door. Satisfied with what he saw, the young man went back into the office and Zachary saw him pick up the telephone and call someone. He’s probably calling for a lift home, Zachary thought. After speaking for a few moments, the lad replaced the receiver and chose a key from the rack behind his desk. Then, with a satisfied beam on his face, he left the office and opened up the cabin immediately next door. This made Zachary jump to the conclusion that Nigel intended sleeping there. Sleep, however, was furthest from the young man’s mind. Silently, Zachary cursed his luck that the fellow should choose to sleep in the room immediately next to the office. After putting on the lights in the room and giving it a quick check over, Nigel returned to his office, picked up his magazine and once more settled down to read. Zachary was disappointed and confused but all he could do was wait.