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[Merged] Ideas of Reference


StarMountainKid

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I tried to see my psychiatrist today, Dr. Schneedelmeyer, but when I showed up he wasn’t in. He was probably seeing his psychiatrist. It makes me nervous when I can’t see him when I want to. Not nervous enough to do anything stupid, but nervous enough to have the jitters and pace the floor.

I see a psychiatrist because people keep following me and watching me. I never feel completely alone. There’s always someone outside in the street observing my house. Everywhere I go I’m tailed. I’m sure of this. I suspect my phone is tapped, and I believe my internet provider has sold out to someone who knows every page I go to. I even think my garbage is gone through. I wouldn’t be surprise if the sanitation department checks up on my waste products.

I’ve cancelled my bank account and my credit cards, destroyed and threw away my cell phone. I think the mileage on my car is checked from time to time. I change the locks on my doors frequently, even the locks on my car, but when I’m not at home I suspect my house is entered and inspected.

I have quit my job. Lately a new employee has been hired and always seems to be lingering about where he can observe me. Too often he is at the door when I leave, and watches as I walk to the parking lot. Twice I have seen his car some distance behind mine as I drive home. I have even seen his car parked in my neighborhood, though I’ve learned he doesn’t live anywhere near my home.

I’ve cut down several trees around my house to prevent cameras being placed in them, but still there are the streetlights and telephone poles. I’m suspicious of my neighbors.  I’m pretty sure the empty house across the street is full of eavesdropping and surveillance equipment. I’m convinced my every move is cataloged. But by whom and for what reason?

My psychiatrist says I have paranoid personality disorder. I don’t think so. I know I’m not imagining all of this. He says this is a one of the symptoms of my mental illness, denial. I try to convince him. I show him photographs I’ve taken, but all he sees are random people in them. I tell him these people are clever, they never assign the same person two days in a row and that’s why my photos are always of different people.

He says this would have to be a massive surveillance project by someone or some organization, and to what purpose? My reply is, there is something unique about me that someone desperately wants to know about. He asks me what that would be. I say I don’t know.

This is the real problem I have. The surveillance part is secondary. The primary riddle is what are all these people after? What is it about me that is so interesting to them? Who are they and what do they want?

Just now I’m looking out of my living room window, and there’s a man standing on the other side of the street looking back at me. He’s wearing a long overcoat with his hands in his pockets, even though it’s the middle of summer. What does this mean? Who is he, who is he working for? What does he want?

I stare at him and he stares back. He must know I know he’s watching me, but he doesn’t move or look away. He doesn’t care that I know about his presence. Through the window I can even discern a slight smile on his face. What does he know about me that I don’t know about myself? This is an impossible situation. I close the curtains violently and clench my fists. I can’t go on like this.

The next day the same man is still standing across the street. I have to do something. I gather my courage and stride out of the house and cross over to him. He greets me kindly using my name and asks how I am and is everything alright. I am put off momentarily by his civility, but I’m determined not to be swayed by his politeness.

“Who are you and why are you watching my house!” I demand.

“Nothing to get excited about, Mr. Greyson, I’m here for your own protection, of course,” he replies calmly.

“My own protection?!” I shout. “Why do I need protection? Protection from who?! Listen, if you don’t leave right now I’m calling the police!”

“Now, now, Mr. Greyson, that wouldn’t help you,” the man says evenly. “I assure you the police would do nothing. Let us not complicate matters shall we? You should be grateful I’m here.”

“Greateful?!” I shout. “Grateful for being watched every minute, followed everywhere I go, my house being searched?! I want all this to stop! Leave me alone! You have no right to watch my every move! You’re driving me crazy!”

“Please, Mr. Greyson,” he says soothingly, “let’s not make a scene, the neighbors will be alarmed. Why don’t you go back into your house and calm yourself. You have nothing to fear. You are well protected.”

With that the man casually turns from me and walks slowly away. When he reaches the corner he looks over his shoulder at me and smiles again.

“But protected from what?!” I shout after him. Still smiling, he turns toward me, his hands still in his pockets, and resumes gazing at my house.

That evening at home there is a knock on the door. I never answer the door anymore, so I ignore it. But whoever is doing the knocking is not giving up, so I creep over and look through the little peep-hole. Two well-dressed men are standing looking bored. One of them knocks again, turns his head to the other man and says something. The other man nods.

I wait, hoping they will leave, but they keep on knocking. Finally I say through the door, “Who are you and what do you want?”

The man who had been knocking answers. “Mr. Greyson, we’d like to talk to you. You’re in no danger, we wish you no harm. We would just like to come in for a moment. There is something important we need to discuss.”

“If it’s so important you can tell me from out there,” I say. “I’m not letting you in.”

“It’s rather inconvenient this way,” the man says, looking around. “Won’t you let us in so we can have a proper conversation? I promise nothing bad will happen, we are your protectors.”

I think about this for a moment. “And who or what are you protecting me from, if I may ask?”

“If you let us in it will all be explained to your satisfaction, I assure you,” the man says. “Please open the door.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t know who you are or what you want. If you don’t go away I’m calling the authorities.”

Through the peep hole I see the two men speak to each other for a moment. “The police will not help in this matter, Mr. Greyson,” the man closest to the door says. “You may call the police if you wish, but they will be of no assistance to you. Only we can help you. If you won’t speak to us, and continue to ignore us, we may not be able to guarantee your safety for very much longer. Please, allow us to speak to you. Your life is in danger, Mr. Greyson. You do not realize the seriousness of your situation.”

“In danger from whom?” I ask in frustration. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, this is ridiculous. Listen to me, just go away.” As I watch, the two men speak to each other again, but do not move from my door.

At this moment I have an idea. “Hey,” I say, “Meet me tomorrow at the RedRobinRestaurant at lunchtime. I’ll listen to what you have to say then, alright? I’ll have a friend with me, so no funny business. In the meantime leave me in peace!”

I watch as the two men nod at each other. This seems to satisfy them. “Alright, Mr. Greyson,” the talking man says. “Tomorrow, then. But be there alone. What we have to say is for your ears only.”

The two men turn and walk away. I can not imagine what they are so anxious to talk to me about. I have done nothing wrong, nothing illegal. Nothing in my whole life. What on earth was this all about? I go to my den and sit down. Surely I’ll be safe in a busy restaurant, I think. At any rate, maybe tomorrow all this will be cleared up. It must be a case of mistaken identity; they think I’m someone else, that’s probably it. When they discover who I really am all this craziness will be over.

These thoughts calm me somewhat, but that night I sleep badly and in the morning I wonder if all this had really happened. It had happened, though. I gather my courage for our meeting at noon. I am sure all this will be settled then and I will be free of all this nonsense.

----------------------------

In the restaurant I sit alone at a table for a few minutes. I look nervously to the entrance and see the same two men who were at my door enter, walk over to my table.

 

 

“May we sit with you?” One of the men asks.

 

 

I motion to the chairs opposite me. The two men take their seats.

 

 

The one who spoke yesterday leans toward me and says quietly, “Dr. Schneedelmeyer is interested in your case, Mr. Greyson. He has changed his diagnosis. He now considers your paranoia to be real, and this interests him. This is what we wanted to talk about yesterday.”

“It’s about time,” I say. “I’ve told him these people were real. Now he believes me, is this correct?”

“Exactly,” the man agrees. “Dr. Schneedelmeyer wants to study real paranoia as it associates with the mental disorder.”

“What made him change his mind?” Then I catch myself. “How do you know Dr. Schneedelmdyer?” I ask suspiciously.

 

 

The man now sits back comfortably. “We know many things about you, Mr. Greyson, it is our business. Not to worry, we are here to protect you.”

 

 

 

“Then Dr. Schneelelmeyer is involved!” I exclaim rather loudly. “Now I can’t even trust him1 I knew it. I won’t be seeing the good doctor again, that’s for sure!”

 

 

“Please keep your voice down, Mr. Greyson,” the man says with concern, “we don’t want to disturb the other customers.” He looks around the room, turns to his companion and nods to him, then turns back to me. “No, you must keep your appointments as usual. You don’t want to alter your behavior. That may alert the others. Just continue your life as normal. This is your best plan of action.”

”The others?” I ask anxiously. “Just who are these others?”

 

 

“They are your enemies, Mr. Greyson,” the man calmly replies. “It is better not to go into details at the moment.”

“My enemies,” I say in disgust. “But all this doesn’t explain why these people are watching me, does it? Wait; has the doctor hired these people to watch me so he can study this relationship you speak of?”

“No, Mr. Greyson, Dr. Schneedelmeyer has nothing to do with these people,” he says, shaking his head, then glances over to the other man. “Well, we really don’t know for sure, we only know what he has told us.”

“So Dr. Schneedelmeyer could have hired these people, either the ones who are after me or the ones who say they are protecting me.”

“I suppose,” the man answers casually, again looking around the room.

“Well, what about this danger I’m supposed to be in?” I ask. “What kind of danger is it?”

The man returns his gaze to me. “The danger is real for you, Mr. Greyson. That’s what your doctor says, as well.”

“Yes but, how does he know if he’s not associated with these people?”

“If your paranoia is real, then there must be danger involved, of course,” the man replies calmly.

I sit back in my chair and run my hand over my face. “All this doesn’t make sense,” I say. “I still don’t know what’s going on.”

“That’s just it,” the man says, as if relieved. “You’re not supposed to know. If you knew, you wouldn’t be paranoid, you’d just be frightened.”

“But I am frightened,” I say.

“Yes, as you should be,” the man says with concern, which quickly fades.

I pause to look around the room at various people eating at their tables. Any one of these could be watching me, but why? I return my gaze to the man sitting opposite. “So these people, whoever they are and for what ever reason, mean me harm.”

“Of course,” the man says, absently picking up a menu. “Why else would you be paranoid about them?”

I think for a moment, trying to sort all this out in my mind. “So, am I paranoid because they are watching me, or are they watching me because I’m paranoid?”

“Good question, Mr. Greyson.” The talking man turns to his associate and whispers something in his ear. The other nods.

“Alright, so what should I do now?” I ask anxiously. “I mean, besides fearing for my life?”

“What you do is no concern of ours, Mr. Greyson. I suppose, just lead your normal life, as I have said. We are only here because Dr. Schneedelmeyer hired us to speak to you.”

“Well, your speaking to me hasn’t helped, has it?” I say, raising my voice in frustration. “All it’s done is confuse me even more. What’s the point of you telling me all this?”

“Please lower your voice, Mr. Greyson,” the man asks, once more looking around the room. He leans forward. “The point is, Dr. Schneedelmeyer wants to talk with you. You have an appointment with him at two-thirty this afternoon. This is what we have come to inform you of. Good day, Mr. Greyson.” With that, the two men stand and turn to leave. They hesitate a moment, the talking man speaks something quietly to the other, then they both walk out of the restaurant, not looking back.  

 

At two-thirty sharp I enter Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s office. His secretary looks up and beckons to continue to the doctor’s office. Inside, Dr. Schneedlelmeyer is sitting calmly behind his desk. “Hello, Mr. Greyson, nice to see you again”, he greets me with a smile and indicates a chair by his desk.

“Hello,” I say blandly. I sit down in the chair to one side.

“Well, Mr. Greyson, how are you feeling?”

“Like a criminal,” I say. “What is all this, you hiring people to talk to me? What’s going on?  I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple, Mr. Greyson,” Dr. Schneedelmeyer begins calmly. “Some people are trying to kidnap you, some to kill you, and that’s why you’re paranoid, and other people are trying to protect you. The people trying to protect you seem to be adding to your paranoia, however. How is this?”

How is this should be obvious, Dr. Schneedelmeyer,” I say loudly.  “How would you feel if all this were going on in your life? Listen, you seem to know something, please tell me what this is about!  All this is driving me crazy!”

“Now, now, Mr. Greyson, that is not a term we use in psychiatry, as you well know. What is going on is, “all this”, is part of your paranoid personality disorder. You cannot tell reality from your delusions. No one is after you, no one is protecting you, and I have hired no one to speak to you.”

“Then what about the men I met in the restaurant? They seemed real enough! They said you’re studying my delusional paranoia versus my real paranoia. You seem to think I’m suffering from both. I can assure you, Doctor, I am not. These are all real people, and I want some answers!”

“Have you been taking your medication?” the Doctor asks soothingly.

I brush off this condescending comment. “Let me ask you this: Who set up this appointment today?”

“Why, the men you met in the restaurant, of course.”

“I though you said there were no men, that that was part of my delusion.”

Dr. Schneedelmeyer leans back in his chair and folds his hands in his lap.

”We all have delusions, Mr. Greyson, and who is to say some of them are not real? Perhaps you did meet two men at the restaurant, and perhaps I did send them. What difference would it make? You’re here just the same. I suggest you go home and put your faith in the people who are protecting you. They will protect you as long as you fear your enemies. You see, your paranoia itself is your protection, real or delusional. For my part, I’ll keep tabs on the whole situation. After all, as your psychiatrist it’s my job to take care of your mental wellbeing.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job!” I say angrily. I stand and briskly walk out of the office. In the waiting room I briefly look at his secretary, who looks up and smiles her generic smile.
.

Standing on the sidewalk, I look around trying to notice if anyone is watching me. Among the crowd I spot a man leisurely leaning against a lamppost reading a newspaper. Occasionally he peers over the paper in my direction.

I walk up to him and stare into his face. After a moment he puts down his newspaper and stares back. “May I help you?” He asks innocently.

“Yes,” I say. “You’re one of Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s agents, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no,” he answers, “I’m not one of those. I’m one of those who’re trying to kidnap you, Mr. Greyson. If only you would become a little less obstinate about the whole matter it would be much easier for you. Your so-called protectors keep hanging around so tightly I can’t do my job properly. It’s very frustrating.”

I am taken aback at his calm statement. “But why do you want to kidnap me?”

“To remove you from the trouble you’re in, of course. I would have though you would have understood that out by now. These damn protectors, they’re everywhere, and Schneedelmeyer and his agents are a nuisance, too. Tell you what, why don’t you just come with me now? That would be the simplest solution to all this, Mr. Greyson. Then you would be safe and we could sort all this out. It would be to your great benefit if you would do this.”

I quickly back away from the man, turn and quickly walk down the sidewalk toward my parked car. “You are making a mistake, Mr. Greyson!” The man shouts behind me. “By ignoring the danger you are in you are only making matters worse!”

I hurry to my car. As I make my way around to the drivers’ side, I notice a different man walking quickly toward me. I get in behind the wheel, start the engine and pull recklessly into the street. As I drive off, in my rear-view mirror I see the man standing at the curb reaching into his jacket pocket.

“I’ve got to sort all this out somehow,” I say to no one in particular, tears in my eyes.

---------------------------------

So I drive back home. I enter the driveway cautiously, look around, then step out of the car. As I walk to my door I notice something. My front door is slightly ajar. I always lock my doors when I leave, well, they’re always locked. Someone has been in my house, or was in my house now. Have I come home earlier than expected?

I hesitate. Should I go in and surprise whoever might be there? Or, perhaps they are inside expecting me. I look around. The man in the long coat is standing as usual on the far corner, watching. I think I might approach him and ask who has been or is in my house. I don’t know what to do.

Then I think what the hell, I want to get this over with, or at least find out what’s going on if this is possible, so I swing the door open and walk in to my living room which is opposite the door. As I enter, I see two men seated on my sofa.

They are the same two men supposedly hired by my psychiatrist who I spoke to at the restaurant. They both look up to me as I enter, no particular expression on their faces.

“Well, what do you want this time?!” I demand. “Another message from Dr. Schneedelmeyer?”

“No, Mr. Greyson,” the one who always seeks begins, “we are here to protect you from the ones who want to kidnap you to protect you from the danger you are in.”

The other man speaks for the first time. “I must add we also are protecting you from Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s agents. And, of course, from the ones who have put your life in danger originally. So you see we are the ones you should put your trust in.”

“But, but, I thought you two were Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s agents!” I say in desperation.

“We were only hired by the good doctor to alert you of your appointment that day,” says the first man.

The second man then says, “We are not Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s agents, no, Mr. Greyson, as we say. Perhaps you have not met them as yet, the doctor’s agents, I mean.” He glances at the other man. “But I assure you they exist, as Dr. Schneedelmeyer exists.”

I plunk down on a chair next to the sofa. “I’m not even sure I exist,” I say in dismay. “Look, who are the ones who have put me in danger in the first place? Let’s start there.”

“Oh, they could be anyone in particular,” the first man says. “We are not privy to their identities.” He leans toward me. “Have you done anything, let us say, slightly out of the ordinary recently?”

“Out of the ordinary!” I shout in his face. “What does that mean?!”

The man sits back comfortably. “Oh, who knows these days,” he says casually. “A slight misstep in judgment perhaps, some little event unnoticed.” 

The other man chimes in with, “Nothing blatantly illegal, you understand.” He is thoughtful for a moment. “Have you possible by accident overheard some information that could place you in a position to be in suspect by, say, some members of such and such organization?”

I say nothing.

The first man then says, “Of course, Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s diagnosis is that you suffer from clinical paranoia. That may explain some of your apprehensions. But not all, of course.”

The other man says, “Confidentially, Mr. Greyson, and I am not supposed to tell you this, but Dr. Schneedelmeyer also considers you slightly schizophrenic. Some of all this you may only be imagining. It may be difficult for you to separate your schizophrenia from reality.”

The first man glances at the other again, and then turnes back to me. “Who can say who of these men involved in your case is real and who are products of your current mental state, Mr. Greyson? Can you?”

I let out a sigh. “Can you tell me then who is real and who is not?” I ask.

“No, no, Mr. Greyson, we cannot,” the first man replies. “All we know is the information we have been given. Now, if you will excuse us, we must be going.”

As the two men rise, I ask, “Then who has given you all this information you seem to know?”

The two men walk passed me to the door, ignoring my request. “Oh, and one more thing,” the first man says, pausing at the doorway. “That man outside, the one in the long overcoat, he is not to be trusted. Of course, in this complex matter, we also perhaps are not to be trusted.” He pauses. “But put your trust where you think best. After all, you are the one who must make all the decisions. Decide carefully, Mr. Greyson. Your life is in grave danger, and your choices will determine your fate. Good day, sir.”

With that the two men walk purposely through the doorway and into the bright sunshine of the late afternoon. I stand and walk to the door. I watch as the two men reach the sidewalk, turned to the right, and casually strolled away.

I then look in the opposite direction to see the man in the overcoat standing at the far corner, still watching. I withdraw and closed the door and lock it. I walk into the living room again and sit on the chair by the sofa once more. I wonder if I am going mad, descending into some abyss from which there was no return.

Then I hear a noise. I turn to look at the far corner of the room. I am startled to see another man, a stranger, sitting in one of my other chairs in the corner. How I had not noticed him before I do not know. Probably I was so consumed with my two guests I failed to notice him.

He is an older man wearing a dark suit. His hair is grey, and by his face he appears to be in his seventies. He looks at me and smiles.

“How do you do, Mr. Grayson,” he says cordially. “Forgive me if I startled you. I mean you no harm. I have been listening to your conversation with the two gentlemen. A very interesting conversation, don’t you think?”

“Who are you,” I say in an annoyed voice. “Which of my adversaries do you belong to?”

“I am not your adversary, Mr. Grayson, only one who wishes to help you.”

“None of you have been any help so far,” I say angrily. “I suppose you are here to confuse me even further.” I sit back in my chair. By this time I really don’t care who he is or what he has to say.

The man looks at me earnestly and says, “I would like to ask you a question. Do you adapt reality to you to fulfill your own desires, or do you accept reality as it actually exists? You must choose one or the other. Which choice will make you sane, Mr. Grayson?”

“I want reality to be what I want it to be. Reality as it is is too cold and barren for me. Does that make me a coward or insane?”

“No, sir. That makes you and integrated individual in society. That is our definition of sanity.”

“Well then, what if I choose reality as it is?”

Then, sir, you must accept all that is presently going on around you. Your delusions as well as I and your protectors, your assailants, the good doctor’s agents and your potential kidnappers.”

“But then, which is the truth?” I ask.

“Everything is the truth, sir,” he replies. “This is why everyone involved in your case tells you all this is actually happening in reality, and that they are your delusions as well.”

“It’s these kinds of answers to my questions that are not helping, who ever you are,” I say. “Let’s put all this mumbo-jumbo aside, and see if you can answer this question. Why are these people so obsessed with me? What do they want, what are they after?”

“You’ll have to ask them, sir,” the old man says, sinking back in his chair. “That subject is not in my jurisdiction. I will say, though, perhaps you are causing all this yourself. Have you considered this possibility? Is this your life, or what you present as your life?”

“Do you mean I’m performing some act, some fiction for my own amusement?”

“Yes, exactly. We are all performers, Mr. Grayson, and it seems your performance is more unusual or interesting than others. This may give you a clue to your present situation.”

I am starting to get aggravated by this incessant gibberish. “But I’m just an average Joe! It’s like I’m guilty of some crime that I’m unaware of committing!”

“Then you admit your guilt?” The man asks, sitting up straight, a look of anticipation on his face.

“Guilt of what?!” I demand.

The old man breaths a sigh. “Only by turning yourself in to your pursuers and confess will that question be answered, I fear.”

”But I’m innocent!” I declair.

“Innocent of what, Mr. Grayson? You see, this is your conundrum. You profess your innocence, but you do not know what you are innocent of. No, Mr. Grayson, this is not good enough, not good enough at all. I’m afraid I can’t help you in this matter if you continue along this track.”

The man stands to leave. “I will say this, though, and it may be of some help to you. You must take some definite action for this matter to be resolved. Shutting yourself away, hiding and pretending all this is not happening is only making things worse. Do something. Now, if you will pardon me, I must leave. I have many other duties to perform. I’m a very busy man, Mr. Grayson, a very busy man.”

With that, the man walks swiftly passed me without giving me a glance. “I’m unlocking your door, Mr. Grayson, as I leave. Please lock it again after I’m gone.”

He opens the door and strolls outside into the same sunlight as the other two men had done. I walk again to the open door and watch him. He stops at the sidewalk, looks over to the man still standing on the corner, then turns to the right as the other two had done and walks calmly away.

I shut the door, lock  and bolt it. 

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  • The title was changed to [Merged] Ideas of Reference
 

The above rendering is actually Part One through Three of the story. Part Four will follow shortly.

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Ideas of Reference - Part Four

So I sit down and think about it. Take action, the old man said. Give myself up to the kidnappers; they’re the real ones who want to save me, as I recollect the old man telling me. Or did he actually say this? I’m sure that is what he implied by telling me I must take some action myself for some resolution. Or am I imagining his conversation? Was he real or a figment of my so-called schizophrenia?

But why then are my so-called protectors and Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s agents trying to keep me from my kidnappers? And who was this lone old man in my living room?

Then I think, maybe I am delusional. Maybe some or all of these people exist only in my mind. The only one I can be sure of is my psychiatrist, but all he does is confuse me even more. With these contrary thoughts mingling in my mind, I fall into a daze and soon hear a conversation in my head:

“We all are who we think we are. Who do you think you are, Mr. Greyson?”

“I always thought I was me, but now I’m not sure who I am. Maybe I’m nobody.”

“We are all somebody, Mr. Greyson. But who? You see, this is why you are having all these problems, you don’t know who you are. Only those who want to kill you know who you are. This is why you are a danger to them.

“All these who have spoken to you are real and not real. You perceive them as you think they are from your own unreal self, the self you think you are. They are delusions in this way, Mr. Greyson, including myself.

“Then, how can I find my real self?”  

“By facing those who want to kill you, of course.”

“But they’ll kill me!”

“Perhaps. They will try, in any case. But you have an advantage, Mr. Greyson. Your advantage is now you know you are not real. How can they kill you if you are not real? They want to kill others, too, you understand. You are only one among that number. It is one of your delusions that you do not realize this. You see, what you do not know is also a delusion of yours.”

“How can what I don’t know be a delusion?” I ask.

“The delusion of preventing yourself from knowing.”  

I think this over. “They want to kill me because when I loose my delusions I will know something, right? And all of you, you’ve been trying to reinforce my delusions… This is your way of protecting me from myself, from knowing something.”

“Something like that.”

“But I don’t want to face my killers, of course!”

“Then the next sensible action is to allow your kidnappers. Not as good a solution as facing your killers, but at least then you may gain time to strengthen your courage. A temporary solution. Yes, my advice now is to allow yourself to be kidnapped. There you will be safe from your protectors and your psychiatrist’s agents, as well as from others and from myself.

“The best advice is not to trust anyone, but of course at the same time trust all of us, as we are here only to help you in our various ways. After all, if we didn’t have your welfare in mind, we wouldn’t concern ourselves with you at all. It’s a great effort for all of us, and you yourself are not helping us achieve our purposes, only making matters worse for you and for us. I must admit, all of us will be very happy when this case is resolved and we can move on to other matters.”

I wake up from this dream or daydream. Still a little sleepy I consider the advice spoken by this invisible presence. Submit to my kidnappers. I stand up, walk to the door, unlock it and look out into the street. The same man is standing there watching me. I recall the incident in front of Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s office. Were they my kidnappers, I wonder, or those who wish to kill me?

I think they were most likely my kidnappers. If I return there, they may be there waiting for me again. All these seem to know of my movements. It occurs to me, if some want to end my life it could be easily done, or easily already have been done. I wonder how my so called protectors are actually protecting me? Maybe I’m not being protected at all.

Maybe all these others are keeping me from the ones who can actually help me. “Take some action,” is the only real advice I’ve been given, by the old man and in my dream, if I remember correctly. Someone of these people said in so many words if I do nothing, this will result in…in what? A continued malaise and an unfortunate conclusion to the matter.

So I resolve to be kidnapped, if this is the only way out of this, this insanity of mine, or is it the insanity of others? God help me.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited by StarMountainKid
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Ideas of Reference - Part Five

So I get in my car and drive back to Dr. Schneedelmeyer’s office. I park in the same place as before. I sit in the car waiting for something to happen. I think, the last time my “friends” knew I’d be here, having been alerted to my appointment, I suppose. So I figure someone will show up, my every move being watched. It doesn’t take very long for a car to pull over and part on the other side of the street, three men in it. They’re looking over at me, now discussing something among them selves.

The doors of the car open and the three men get out. They stand and look in my direction, then cross the street toward me. I sit as relaxed as I can as they approach.

One of the men stands by my window and says, “Mr. Greyson?”

“Yes,” I say.

“How do you do?” He says politely. “We’re the ones who wish to kidnap you. Do you mind?”

“No, I suppose not,” I say.

“Well, then,” the man says, “if you’d be so kind as to drive home we’ll follow you. Don’t want to leave your car here on the street.”

“Thank you for being considerate,” I tell him.

The three men walk back to their car and I start my car and drive away toward home. I pull into my driveway and wait. I’ve secured the house, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but everything is in order.

It seems strange now, giving myself up to the kidnappers, surreal. It almost seems that I’m not in control of myself, that some other is choosing my destiny. I suppose this is because I’ve finally made a choice in the matter. Now all this is up to others to reconcile.  I wait patiently.

Soon the other car pulls up in front of my house, the three men beckon. I get out of my car and walk stiffly to them. A door opens and I step into the back seat next to one of the men. I have no thoughts as the car begins to pull away and drive down my street.

“You have made the right choice, Mr. Grayson,” the man sitting next to me says without looking at me. “You are safe now. However, I must tell you, you will stay with us until this is affair cleared up. This may take some time. Matters such as these include many difficulties; there are so many issues involved. We will do our best to resolve your case, though of course there is no guarantee. Do you trust us, Mr. Grayson?”

“I have been advised not to trust anyone,” I reply, not looking at the man.

“Excellent advice,” the man says, still looking straight ahead. “Not trusting is the best trusting.”

We continue our journey, first through the suburban streets then out into the country. I look out of the window at the passing landscapes, ignoring the three men who say nothing further.

After a long while of driving in silence, slowly my mind, that until now has been vague and dislocated, sharpens to some comprehension of events and my present situation. “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“To a safe place, Mr. Grayson,” the man next to me replies. “You will be comfortable there.”

 

“Can you tell my why this situation has arisen? I mean, why me, what have I done to cause all this, if anything?”

“Well, naturally these things happen,” the man says, still not looking at me. “I cannot specifically answer your question, as I have no knowledge of your particular situation. I am only your kidnapper. Others may be able to explain, though there is perhaps knowledge that you will not be privy to. There is a greater good that must be protected, you understand. Ah, here we are approaching our destination.”

I look out of the window again and notice a nondescript, modest house set alone in the distance. We drive toward it on a narrow country road, no other dwellings in sight.

“We are far into the countryside here,” the man sitting beside me says, “if you have noticed. No neighbors to disturb us. We are quite isolated here. It is a larger house than you can see from this perspective, quite large, in fact.”

The man now turns to me for the first time. “You should be, let me say, almost honored to arrive here and be taken in with so much attention to your case, Mr. Grayson. Many others have not received this consideration.”

The man looks me almost with a look of admiration on his face. “Yes, your case must be quite important. Does this make you happy, Mr. Grayson?” He asks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Since my computer has exploded, it may be a few days until I can continue with the story. Sorry.

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