by Alan Zendell
“Ilene, for one thing. She’s pretty concerned about you.”
“You think enjoying this affects my willingness to consider the possibility that it’s not real, and that’s not fair to her.” I looked at Ilene then back at him. “Okay, I get it. This isn’t a game and I won’t treat it like one.”
“I’m going to hold you to that. Is there anything you’d like to say, Ilene?”
“What happens when I wake up Wednesday morning?” she asked. “How will I know whether you lived Thursday while I was sleeping?”
“Just ask me.”
Jerry said, “I think Ilene’s asking if she ought to act as though she believes you’re living days out of order or continue to challenge your perceptions. What if this is a delusion? Is it better for her to play along or not?”
Ilene nodded and Jerry waited for me to reply. When I didn’t, he said, “Okay, let’s defer that. Can you tell me why a superior entity would select you for this special mission?”
“Look, Jerry, I know how this sounds, and I realize I may have just invented that idea as a coping mechanism. I’m still learning to live with this. It’s like I’ve found myself in a place that looks and feels like the one I’ve always lived in, but the rules have changed. The only thing I’m confident of is that it’s really happening.”
“Ilene said you mentioned alternate universes.”
I probably shouldn’t have. “A lot of stories have been written about causality paradoxes. What would happen if I went back in time and killed my grandmother before she gave birth to my mother? But modern quantum theory says I can’t change my own present; instead my action is the catalyst for creating an alternate universe in which I never come into existence.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Frankly, the idea gives me vertigo, but people like Stephen Hawking do.”
Jerry smiled. “You seem angry about having to live with a new set of rules. Have you experienced that before?”
Good question. I had to think.
“I was raised by religious parents and grandparents. By the time I was twelve, I knew I didn’t believe in their God, but that meant all the rules I’d learned were wrong. I felt lost until one of my teachers told me trying to figure out whether God existed was a waste of time and energy. What mattered was being true to what I felt. So I learned a new set of rules and went on with my life. That’s pretty much how I feel now.”
“You’d rather adapt to your new reality than fight it. How’s that going?”
“It’s tiring, but I have no choice now that there’s evidence to back me up.”
“I’d like to defer that too, okay? It’s getting late. I’ll tell you what I think,” he said, ticking things off on his fingers. “You’re clearly not suffering from amnesia, unless it’s accompanied by complex delusions. An unlikely combination.
“It’s also unlikely that you suffered a stroke, but I’ll order a neurological workup – blood tests, a CT head scan, an MRI. Frankly, I don’t think we’ll find anything. A TIA or stroke wouldn’t explain your symptoms, and the tests aren’t conclusive, but they’ll give us a baseline.”
“Does that mean you’re confident that there’s nothing wrong with him?” Ilene’s eagerness warmed me, but Jerry wasn’t finished.
“In the sense of a catastrophic neurological event, yes, but there’s another possibility. Is there any history of dissociative disorder or schizophrenia in your family, Dylan?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I said, but an uneasy feeling was growing inside me.
“Have you ever had a dissociative episode?”
Jerry had been phrasing everything in common lay terms. I wondered if he’d been trying to avoid putting specific ideas in my head…until now.
“You mean like hearing voices, imaginary companions, a secret life no one else knows about?” I retorted in a challenging tone that took him aback. He knew he’d touched a nerve, but he maintained his professional poker face, looking me in the eye with determined concern.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
Hesitating would raise a red flag, but I had to think. I couldn’t tell him about William. I certainly couldn’t discuss nuclear terrorism with him and Ilene. I was beginning to feel like someone being framed for a crime he didn’t commit. Even my internal reaction seemed damning, but that was nonsense. My Intelligence activities and my relationship with William had spanned more than twenty years. I’d left a trail in dozens of countries.
Jerry could say that can all be explained by my job.
Of course it could. My job was a front for my other activities. I felt my heart rate increase and I drew shorter, faster breaths. Jerry was a neuropsychiatrist. He couldn’t have missed my distress. He glanced quickly at Ilene, who didn’t seem to have picked up on the tension between us, then back to me, waiting for my answer.
“No,” I said, trying to sound calm and collected. “It’s not as if I see CIA agents lurking in every shadow.” I’d been joking, but I didn’t think Jerry heard it that way. Shit, what a stupid thing to say.
Instead of challenging me, Jerry turned clinical. “I told you I wouldn’t pull punches, Dylan. Everything you’ve told me fits with a dissociative illness, sometimes referred to as a multiple personality disorder. I’d like to give you some case studies to read. If they strike a chord in you, we can talk about it. In the meantime, I’ll schedule the neurological work-up. We can do it in town or in Hackensack, whatever’s more convenient for you.”
I felt like I’d been let off the hook, but I knew Jerry was just trying to avoid making me feel like I was being backed into a corner. He wanted me to be a willing conspirator in my own treatment and he trusted me to do my work honestly. He also knew Ilene would make sure I did.
Jerry shook my hand again. “Don’t worry, Dylan. We’ll sort this out. You’ll see, everything will fall into place.”
If that was intended to be encouraging, why did it sound so ominous?
12.
We were quiet on the drive home. I worried that Ilene might have reacted negatively to the last part of the session, but when I reached for her hand she smiled, showing me only the love and concern that had been there earlier. She’d been fooled by Jerry’s deadpan expression and didn’t realize anything unusual had occurred. Aside from my momentary lapse in judgment, I didn’t think anything had.
My juvenile need to resolve things myself and my fear of not being taken seriously had kept me from telling Ilene what was happening. I couldn’t have stood having her think I was losing my mind, but strangely, I’d left Jerry’s office feeling fortified and unburdened.
On the other hand, if I expected him to be able to help, I had to stop saying stupid things like my inane quip about CIA agents, or telling him I was involved in covert, top secret work I wasn’t allowed to discuss. Wouldn’t that make a lovely impression? Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t discuss details without permission from the Agency, who’d want to put Jerry through a thorough security review, first, and might decide that talking to him at all made me a liability.
The issue was moot, anyway. I didn’t see how missing Wednesday could be related to William. I’d barely thought about him in years, and he hadn’t called until after it happened.
The case studies were a fast read. I started them when we got home, and Ilene, wanting to be sure she didn’t distract me, made the ultimate sacrifice: an afternoon at the Paramus Mall. I was done by the time she returned with carryout for dinner.
“How’d you do?” she asked, handing me some chopsticks.
“For one thing, I realized that Dissociative Identity Disorder is quite different from delusions, voices, and imaginary companions.”
“I could have told you that.”
“I think Jerry wanted me to work it out for myself. When he mentioned them in almost the same breath, he made me stop and think.” I thought that last was inspired, just in case she’d noticed.
“And?”
“I understand why he thi
nks DID fits what I told him and why he put off talking about my evidence.”
“If you mean your CyTech chart, I assumed he wanted to get home, and he expected that to be a long conversation.”
“I think we’re both right. From what I found on the Internet, there’s no consistent theory on dissociative disorders. It’s hard to separate science from fiction because of the lay public’s fascination with multiple personalities.”
“What does that have to do with not talking about your chart?”
So far, our mood had been light. We’d been savoring our food, blurting out sentences between mouths full. I put down my chopsticks and pushed my plate aside.
“Look, I get Jerry’s concern that an alternative personality might be messing with my perceptions. The stuff he gave me to read said that the primary personality is usually unaware of the alternate’s existence, and that he usually experiences periods when the alternate takes over as lost time or unexplained blackouts.”
“That might explain skipping Wednesday, but not living Wednesday after Thursday.”
“Ahh, well, alternate personalities are sneaky, especially when the subject is very smart and well-educated.” I mimicked a slight bow. “Since their natural habitat is the primary’s unconscious mind, a clever alternate can create mayhem in there. A lot of doctors think that’s what’s behind many possession myths. Remember the old line, ‘The Devil made me do it?’”
“You’ve obviously figured something out.” Ilene stopped eating, too, and sat back to listen.
“I tried to see it the way Jerry would. Suppose there was an alternate personality lurking in here,” I said, tapping my temple, “and it wanted to take control. Alternates are sometimes so intent on taking over, they consider the primary an adversary, as though he were an enemy, a different person. They often behave in complete disregard of the primary’s welfare, even though it hurts them, too.”
Ilene nodded, and I went on.
“I’m not saying I actually believe that, but that’s what the case studies said. Let’s say I’m a strong primary and my alternate is getting desperate. He knows he can’t win unless he weakens me. He can’t injure me physically without injuring himself, so he tries to unbalance me or force me to deal with a reality so disturbing I’ll cede control.”
“How can you give up control to the alternate if you don’t know he’s there?”
“If he scares me enough I might just withdraw from reality and he’d fill the gap…”
“…and convincing you you were living your days out of order might be an effective way of accomplishing that. Very neat.”
“Jerry didn’t want to discuss my CyTech chart until I understood that. The chart would have been easy for an alternate to fake. He could have emerged Thursday afternoon and printed it – I told you I drifted off for a while in my office. Everything, the conflicting memories, my belief that in my linear time frame I actually remembered living Thursday first, could be a result of tricks the alternate played in my subconscious.
“I read several cases in which a therapist believed an alternate personality was able to distort a primary’s memories to make him think he was going crazy. In extreme cases, the primary personality disappeared; sometimes they both expired to be replaced by a third.”
“And you think Jerry suspects that could be happening to you? Do you think so?”
My zeal had caused me to get carried away. I took Ilene’s hands and made eye contact with her. “Absolutely not.”
“What makes you so sure? You didn’t sound this way on Friday.”
“I’ve had some time to live with this – I’m not even frightened any more. I can’t explain why logically, but I feel certain, deep inside. I know there’s nothing wrong with me, but that’s the kind of scenario Jerry’s looking at, if only to rule it out.”
“Just so you understand – there’s no way he can rule it out conclusively. You can’t test for DID chemically, only observationally and cognitively.”
“That sounded awfully clinical. I forgot that you studied this stuff for your dissertation.”
An unpleasant thought popped into my head. “Were you testing me, just now? Did you discuss this with Jerry ahead of time?”
“There’s no need to get hot with me over this. I didn’t have to talk to Jerry about it. We both knew it would be a mistake to feed you ideas. I wanted to let you form your own opinions. Believe me, it wasn’t easy to be quiet. That’s why I left you alone this afternoon.”
Rod wasn’t the only one who could be a jerk sometimes. “I know, I’m sorry.”
At least she didn’t ask me if I had any imaginary friends, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t wondering.
13.
There was nothing to be gained by rehashing everything with Ilene, and it was restorative to let things be normal for a couple of days. Wednesday would arrive soon enough regardless of anything we said, and then we’d see.
Gayle’s pain was manageable, and her doctor said her ankle was knitting nicely. She had a quality telework setup at home, but regardless of what anyone says, it’s not quite like being at the office, so I was busy filling in for her. Jerry managed to pull some strings and schedule my work-up for Tuesday morning.
I was wired, Tuesday afternoon. Not fearful, but agitated, like waiting for the plane to take off the first time I flew. Jerry called me just before I left my office, confirming both his clout and his concern over how I must feel approaching Wednesday. He asked how I was and whether I’d read the case studies yet.
“I have,” I told him. “You asked me to tell you if they resonated with me. They were fascinating, and I understand why you gave them to me, but they didn’t cause a light to go on in my head.”
“I didn’t really expect them to, but now you have a context from which we can talk more. More importantly, I went over to radiology to talk about your tests. They’re absolutely clean. You have nothing to worry about on that score.”
I should have felt relief, but he hadn’t told me anything I wasn’t already convinced of on my own. “Thanks, Jerry. Where do we go from here?”
“I have an opening Friday at five. Let’s see how tomorrow and Thursday go and discuss it then. And Dylan, Ilene has my cell number. If you need to, call me day or night, okay?”
I thanked him and said goodbye. After all my pronouncements, I was surprised that it felt so good to know Jerry was there if I needed him.
***
I didn’t hear from William on Monday or Tuesday, but our work was like that, brief episodes of adrenaline-pumping urgency sandwiched between extended periods of bureaucratic bullshit and waiting. It was nothing like what they put in spy movies and novels. Operatives had limited freedom of action and everything we did was budget-driven, burdened with layers of audit trails and administration. So what if Manhattan’s financial district was about to be irradiated with isotopes capable of rendering it uninhabitable for decades? William’s hands were tied until every “t” was crossed.
Jim had been briefed, years earlier, about my special reserve status by some higher-up in the Agency. I let him know I’d received an alert and that I could be called in for a day or a week without warning. He never asked why.
***
Tuesday evening, Ilene relaxed on the deck while I barbecued some steaks. Neither of us was as calm as we pretended to be, but we were together. The clearest indication that things weren’t entirely routine was that I never even checked the baseball schedule.
After dinner we sat watching the sun set behind the unimpressive New Jersey hills. Ilene put her arm on my shoulder and began playing with the too-long hair curling on my neck. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Dylan.”
I took her hand and kissed it, and we continued to sit quietly a while longer. She sat up, suddenly animated, facing me. “You know what I’d do? As long as I was forced to do the bidding of some Übermensch, I’d make it profitable. There have to be more CyTechs out there.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too
.”
“Maybe,” there was a playful lilt in her voice, “you’re being manipulated by an alien who wants to invade Earth and set you up as his Planetary Governor. It only follows that to be a successful ruler, you’d have to be obscenely wealthy.”
“I’m glad you can joke about this.”
“It’s more like whistling in the dark. I hate feeling helpless as much as you do.”
Ilene might have been kidding, but she had a point. The key to not feeling like a victim was being proactive. Profiting from this strangeness wouldn’t make it any harder to deal with.
“I’ve thought quite a bit about how we could profit from knowing everything about Wednesdays in advance, but it’s not that easy. A few well-timed investments are one thing, but I can’t see suddenly becoming a big-time gambler. Gambling sites are monitored just like casinos. Big, consistent winners don’t get that way without attracting a lot of attention.”
“What about the lottery? All you’d need is one big score.”
“Yeah, but that would only work if the winners were announced on Wednesdays. It’s only the smaller payoffs that come out mid-week. And multiple winners invariably wind up being followed by tabloid reporters.”
“Okay, so we’ll only become moderately wealthy. I’m not greedy.” She noticed that I wasn’t smiling. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“It’s weird, Ilene. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I feel like there are lines I shouldn’t cross. Maybe I’m being tested and avarice isn’t the quality the Übermensch is looking for. For now, I think I’ll stick to buying a stock or two, all right?”
“Whatever you want. You feeling sleepy?”
“I’m tempted to stay up all night and see what happens. What if we both did? Would there come a moment in the middle of the night, like when daylight savings time starts, when the calendar suddenly changed for me but not you?”
“The only thing I’m sure of is that I’d be in no shape to work tomorrow.” When I didn’t say anything, she said, “You’re serious about this?”
