Adapt

by Edward Freeland

  The officer nodded. “I thought you might come that way. I hoped the car wouldn’t deter you.”

  “I had to get out of there. It’s a long story. But hopefully that’s the worst of it over,” said Daniel.

  “You will be fine,” the officer said. “You seem a very reasonable young man.”

  Daniel turned to Dominique. “Where’s Mum, Dad and Matt?”

  “They’re out looking for you,” she said.

  “I radioed over to inform them that you’re home when I heard you come in. Your parents are on their way back.”

  Shadows of Collusion

  “Mr Con.” Dr Cribson greeted the man at the door of his office.

  “What name should I call you?”

  “You can call me Dr Cribson,” said the doctor. The man smirked and nodded.

  “Is it done?” Mr Con asked.

  “It’s done,” said the doctor.

  “Good.”

  “A high dose of iodine so far. His thyroid is fighting for its survival. The radiation will collectively target the area until the thyroid is destroyed.”

  “Is that it?” said Mr Con. “No pain?”

  “The dose will give him few side effects. He’s glowing, there’s no doubt about that.”

  “So he’s not on death’s door,” said Mr Con. He was unmoved by the revelation.

  “He will feel close to death in the coming weeks,” said Dr Cribson. The contact’s ears picked up, he could sense there was a new phase about to take place.

  “And why will that be?” asked Mr Con.

  “I gave him something a lot more powerful the night after he absconded from the ward. He will feel this I’m sure of it.”

  “And what will it do exactly?”

  “There will be an encyclopaedia of side effects,” the doctor said. “It will last a few weeks. Longer term it will have disastrous effects on any cellular structure it interacted with.”

  “Very good.” Mr Con looked out of the window with a smile. The darkness outside couldn’t rival the darkness of his smirk.

  “He will feel sick, light headed, as well as have migraines, feel fatigued,” said Dr Cribson. “There’s no way of telling exactly how his body will react but it won’t be positive. Given the mind frame he is confronting already he will feel destroyed, hopefully suicidal.”

  “We will make him aware of what he has taken. What did you give him?” asked Mr Con.

  Dr Cribson stroked his beard. “I will keep this new phase to myself.”

  “I won’t forward the information,” assured Mr Con.

  “Indeed you won’t, because I won’t be telling.”

  “Very well. We will continue the subliminal, and overwhelm the man who cannot be named,” he said with a smile. “He has the seed planted, he knows he’s the centre of our shots. I am most fond of the way in which attacks have been subtly worded in our papers. The visual medium must be just as soul destroying for him.”

  “He was most disturbed when he explained seeing it on your channel. He knew he was being targeted but he didn’t know why,” said Dr Cribson. “He was perplexed, I think he was hoping for some official help. Maybe he thought we would open an investigation with authorities.”

  “Ha.”

  “Indeed. Once I saw him sign over to my care I was rather excitable. It was written in the fabric of time that he would end up in my hands. I couldn’t have planned it better.”

  “Neither could we,” said Mr Con. “We were hacking his phone at the time. We’ve been hacking him since the site was taken down by Life’s Journal. Using his phone speaker we heard his parents call yourself in the background. We heard the sheer concern they had for their son, the fact he thought that the media were targeting him. You could hear how worried they were. That’s when we began arranging with yourself.”

  “They waited for hours, enough time for us to share information. They persuaded him to talk it through with someone. They came with him, I used their concern against them. It was easy to convince them their son’s mind had fractured, the second he mentioned the media. Manipulate their worry to gain control over The Man Who Cannot Be Named, as you have called him.”

  “As soon as anyone working within Robert McLeod’s media circle uses that title everyone knows exactly who is being referred to. It’s even our cue.”

  “Cue?” the doctor queried.

  “Yes we have his connection to our channels trigger an alert system. We know when he is watching one of our news channels,” said Mr Con.

  Dr Cribson stroked his beard and smiled, “Marvellous,” he said, “devastating.”

  “Our entertainment channels are pre-recorded so we can’t capitalise on his viewing, but if he does tune in they are cleverly done,” said Mr Con. “It would be impossible for him to prove it in court, but he knows who we are insulting. The cue to our news presenters is The Man Who Cannot Be Named. They know who is watching and then use notes supplied to them to target him. It’s subtle, a simple look as they say something. It’s subliminal. He will pick up on everything now. Other viewers will not even register with their conciseness that anything is out of the ordinary. It’s genius. The brilliance of our media empire. Robert McLeod’s empire.”

  “Indeed. Little wonder he was looking for help,” said Dr Cribson.

  “You have no phone on your person I hope?” asked Mr Con.

  “No.” Dr Cribson pointed to a phone on his desk, the battery and SIM card lying beside. Next to the phone was a laptop with the battery taken out. “I am aware now of how walls have ears, I have definitely learned a little about the spies we carry on our person. No one enters this office without me so you can rest assured there is no secret audience.”

  “Good. I cannot be too open with this, things could become complicated shall we say,” Mr Con said.

  “I would face a more thorough questioning than yourself if I am not cautious,” the doctor said. “I have created a human cancer time bomb. When this bomb is detonated I wish to take no responsibility. Unless of course the intelligent use of subliminal language can drive him to take his own life. Keep pushing him, Mr Con. Keep pushing.”

  “We won’t relent. We have received no fines thus far, not even a warning. The only people who know the situation are our news presenters, editors and a select group of journalists. Yourself and your care team. And let’s not forget the few at the pinnacle of our industry. And our target, Daniel O’Neal.”

  “Be careful, you said that name,” Dr Cribson said with a smirk.

  “So long as he has no support from anyone we can do as we please. If he convinces one person to corroborate his outlandish story the pendulum may change direction. He is our toy, and we will abuse our toy until it breaks,” said Mr Con.

  “He has support from his family, I might add, but I can divide them,” the doctor said.

  “His family are oblivious to reality,” said Mr Con. “They must think what Daniel is suggesting is ludicrous, impossible and outright sadistic. So long as we maintain our high level pinpoint sniping through language, his family, and the law for that matter, will have no inclination as to the very real world our toy faces.”

  “Splendid,” said Dr Cribson as he caressed his goatee. “I trust my team. My care co-ordinator and a group of nurses are all in this together. One nurse had a night of fun with my patient when he so kindly agreed to stay on my ward for his own safety.”

  “Yes, that didn’t work out to plan, did it?”

  “An unexpected turn. He caught us off guard,” said Dr Cribson.

  “He made you look amateur.”

  “It won’t happen again. When he is back within my domain, measures have been put in place to assure it can’t happen twice. Better security and better sedatives.”

  “It would have been the perfect habitat to brainwash him, especially if you had a TV on the ward. He would believe he really was crazy,” said Mr Con.

  “To make the clinically ill believe they are psychotic is impossible. He may be in shock and co
nfused but he has the mental agility of any of us. To make him believe he has psychosis would be a tall order.”

  “Then we will develop our mental acrobatics to rival his agility,” said Mr Con. “Your understanding of mental health is better than mine, but is the idea not to convince the target he is psychotic, but rather convince others that he is mentally less well? Isolate his own reality from those around him.”

  “That’s the idea,” said Dr Cribson. “He can know everything we are doing. I doubt that he does, but if he did, who would believe him? An irrational man spouting nonsense of media conspiracies, medical cover ups, abuse on a ward, a blood-thirsty psychiatrist. Police would lock him up for the public’s safety, solicitors would avoid him. He would be as amusing to them as he is to us.”

  “With enough people willing to collude anyone can be portrayed as entirely, insanely, psycho,” said Mr Con.

  “You bring up a valid concern of mine, willing being the operative word. The organisation you work for is gargantuan. How can you be sure that you have no whistle-blowers in your midst?” asked Dr Cribson.

  “There’s no way to be sure,” said Mr Con. “The original hacker who sent us the software and a wealth of hacked material may have a loose tongue. I believe everyone on board wants to see Daniel O’Neal suffer. You know he was looking at rape footage for his personal pleasure. Trial or no trial he’s guilty in our eyes. No one will shed a tear for this man or his family. The secrecy here is secure in that we are all united against him.”

  “Indeed. We all want him to suffer. But I worry that information may be passed to the wrong people.”

  “We are all taking a risk, we are all suspects,” said Mr Con. “Anyone who has partaken at any level is liable. Harassment law suits, libel claims, even subliminal messaging is illegal. We all know what you are doing to the man’s body, that’s conspiracy to murder in front of any judge. You won’t find too many people coming clean on these types of allegations. It’s not our level of secrecy that’s to worry about, it’s if Mr O’Neal gains support from somewhere. It’s paramount that it doesn’t happen.”

  “You understand my concern, I am giving out medical records so the media can target my patient,” said Dr Cribson.

  “Given the fact you have abused the man and exposed him to radiation, I’m surprised you’re most worried about patient privacy violations,” said Mr Con, laughing as he spoke. Dr Cribson ground his teeth. “How long until the damage shows?” Mr Con asked.

  “There’s no answer to that, the radiation will begin a chain reaction in his body. When cells mutate, I’m afraid is anyone’s guess. It’s not exactly polonium we’ve used. We have increased his chances of developing cancerous cells within the next few years.”

  “Good,” said Mr Con. “To ease your fears of medical notes escaping our umbrella I would say no journalist will hurt their own profession. We bring people down, that’s why we own three bestselling daily newspapers. Other papers can only dream of the amount we sell. They can busy themselves with global affairs, politics and investigative journalism, or focus on articles about men who pose a real threat to human life around the world. It’s good, it’s needed. But it’s not what we are about. We destroy people. We were planning on destroying him in print.” Mr Con scratched at his temple. “Life’s Journal for whatever reason removed the profile of Daniel O’Neal, went straight to the courts and got an injunction. Why? I don’t know. They have gagged us. We can’t destroy him in print.”

  “Indeed.”

  “The law can’t stop us, we will get him with a new method. The government want to regulate the press. We can’t give them reason to do so. Anyone who blows the lid off of this can of worms will eat away into our freedom. No one working for us would do that because it would be used to impose regulation on us that we don’t want.”

  “I see, it’s most interesting,” said Dr Cribson.

  “If we want to hack someone, we do it. If we want to attack someone, we do it. We are bigger than the courts or the law. We own three newspapers, two news channels and four entertainment channels. We are an empire more powerful than ministers.”

  “The ship’s tight then,” said Dr Cribson. “With no leaks this ship can sail right over him, drowning him in the process.”

  “We have done the hard part. We have set the trap. If you wish to catch something, disturb a medium that your target will detect. A fly will sense disturbances in the air. Apply pressure through this medium from all sides and your fly changes course and heads for the trap. Our fly was Mr O’Neal. Our medium was media, our trap was you.”

  Dr Cribson smiled. “With that apt metaphor I think we should call an end to this meeting, Mr Con.” Dr Cribson passed Mr Con an envelope.

  “Always in paper form, I would never want to receive medical notes via email,” said Mr Con.

  “I would never want to send one,” said Dr Cribson. “You apply the pressure through your programing and papers. The very second he says that the media are referring to him I will have him sectioned. He won’t get away again.” The pair stood up and walked to the office exit. Dr Cribson opened the door and shook the hand of Mr Con. “Take care until our next meeting.”

  “May the hunt continue,” said Mr Con as he walked out.

  Dr Cribson turned off the light and stood by his office window, staring out into the dead of night. “I hope you are ready, Daniel O’Neal,” he said to himself. The moonlight beaming into the room, creating a shadowy scene. “We are coming for you.”

  Therapy

  The living room of the family home was warm. The fire raged through the logs until a handful remained. Daniel could see through the net curtains that yet another dark day loomed, the drizzle tapping at the window and the wintery breeze whistled through a loose seal in the frame.

  The six days that had passed since he left the ward were no different – windy, wet and grim. He was in shock for a few days. He couldn’t fathom how people in the medical profession could be working against him. A doctor and a group of nurses more disturbed than the patients. An apparent sadistic streak to rival any villain. The shock stayed with him, as did his villain. Doctor Cribson had the power to keep Daniel in his care. If Daniel informed authorities, the police would take Daniels statement. The next step for the police would be to speak with the psychiatrist and the nurses of the profession. Daniel’s statement wouldn’t stand up to theirs. The psychiatrist’s word against the patient’s. In telling anyone Daniel would be handing over power to Dr Cribson in a heartbeat. At the moment my family will fight to keep me out of that place. That fight might be in vain if I don’t play cautious, and stay quiet for now.

  The enemy stroked his beard. Sitting on the family sofa he stared back at the patient clearly still angry that Daniel had escaped the trap he’d been in. Dr Cribson looked as though he were plotting a new trap.“I need you on the ward if I am to help you quickly,” said Dr Cribson. “Will you sign yourself back in for your own sake?”

  Daniel rubbed his face, massaging his forehead hoping the persistent migraine may ease. “No,” he replied. “Last time was voluntary, and I was not allowed to leave.” Dr Cribson leaned forward. The fact he was shorter than Daniel didn’t foil his attempt to look down on the patient.

  “Sign yourself in. I suggest that you do. It looks better for you than to be forced.”

  “I’m not going back,” said Daniel.

  “We will see about that,” the doctor said. “You interfered with your treatment plan, a plan that will commence. You can stall for time but we will cure you.”

  Daniel continued to massage his head. His new symptoms helped the injuries sustained on the ward fade into the background. They had been progressively intensifying for the last four days. Pressure on his brain, difficulty breathing, cold sweats, shakes, numbness of the extremities and violent bouts of throwing up. Each day his body continued to weaken. Daniel tried to disguise his symptoms in front Dr Cribson, but the pain inside his skull was hard to ignore.

  He had
been taking the medication. The fact he was in shock meant that his reluctance wavered. His mind, determination and resistance were weakening with his body. Daniel wanted to stay entrenched within his home but he suspected the doctor would bring the fight into his living room, and that Dr Cribson may be the reason behind the collection of symptoms he was developing.

  “Did you take the medication I delivered five days ago?” asked the doctor.

  “Yes.”

  Clarissa opened the living room door to see if the doctor was okay. “Mrs O’Neal,” said Dr Cribson, “could you show me what medication you have left for Daniel.”

  “Okay,” she replied. Clarissa left the room and retrieved the medication from the kitchen. On her return she handed the strip of pills to the doctor. Dr Cribson’s chin dropped as he threw them to the floor. He raised his finger as well as his voice. He pointed at Clarissa.

  “Why are these still here?” he said as his fists clenched. “I told you to make sure he took these the night I gave them to you.”

  “He did take them,” explained Clarissa. “He had them that night. Those on the floor were delivered by Kerry Burger yesterday.” Clarissa was worried she had done something wrong; her priority was to help Daniel in any way she could. Dr Cribson picked up the pills he had not a moment ago discarded. He looked at Daniel. The relief on the doctor’s face morphed into a smug grin.

  “Good,” said Dr Cribson. “Of course, look at your cheeks. I should have noticed they are so red.” The doctor leaned back, his elation was evident from his uncontrolled short burst of laughter. He contained himself when he saw Clarissa’s face. “We are going in the right direction. We will continue to work on your son. He should be sectioned and that may be unavoidable but we will finish the treatment plan to the end.”

  “Getting Daniel better is our main priority,” said Clarissa.

  “Indeed. With our help you won’t have a sick son.” The doctor smiled at Clarissa as she left the room.

  What the hell have you given to me? Daniel felt weak and was no doubt getting weaker. The man’s smirk, his laughter, it turned Daniel’s stomach. His hands began to shake. What have you done, you sick fuck? Anyone that uses poison is a coward. A pathetic coward.