The man arrived at the Lincoln Memorial Psychiatric hospital in an ambulance. He had been given a sedative and was still handcuffed. He was wearing the orange overalls and flip flops from the Sheriff’s office. He was then placed in a wheelchair and transported to his room. The cuffs were removed and he was changed out of the orange overalls and put into a hospital gown. He was laid down on the bed and restraints were attached to his arms and legs. He was left alone in the room and he dozed and dreamed through the haze of the sedative.

He dreamed of his mother. She was laying on a bed wearing skimpy lingerie. She was calling him - and telling him to join her. He crawled onto the bed, and was giggling and laughing. His mother kissed him on the lips, and then turned and said for him to undo her bra. He put his hand on her skin, and started unclipping her bra. As he unclipped it, he saw her skin on her back coming apart, like it was stitched together. He put his hands on the stitches and pulled the stitches apart. His mother's skin pulled apart, and he could see the blue and green scales beneath the human skin. He screamed - and his mother’s skin fell from her back. She turned and he was trying to climb off the bed, and his mother looked at him. The skin on his mother’s face split apart and her face was there - with her golden reptilian eyes staring at him.

He awoke screaming and dripping with sweat.

He was fed in his room in the morning by the orderlies - and then wheeled to another room. He was restrained to the wheelchair and parked at a table. His head was cloudy and he wasn’t sure where he was. The orderly waited in the corner of the room.

A man came into the room. He had white hair and a bushy salt and pepper beard. He was wearing a bow tie and looked tired. He glanced through some notes as he sat down opposite him. He yawned and continued reading the notes.

He stared at the man with the bow tie.

‘So, how are you feeling today?’ - The man in the bow tie asked, still reading the notes.

He didn’t say anything.

‘My name is Dr. Ambrose - and you are in a psychiatric hospital. You are under my care’ - Dr. Ambrose put down the notes, and yawned again - ‘Sorry - long night!’

He continued to stare.

‘Do you know why you are here?’

He didn’t say anything.

Dr. Ambrose picked up the notes and read them - ‘It would appear that you entered a Sheriff’s office naked, except for a pair of green rain boots. You then confessed to a series of murders. You then took the local Sheriff and some detectives to a farm you own, where you claimed that a number of bodies were buried. According to the Sheriff’s report, when no bodies could be located at the property, you claimed that an alien had moved the bodies and was hunting you - amongst other things - and that this alien was trying to capture you and place you in a museum. Does this sound familiar?’

‘Annabelle - the alien is called Annabelle, and she is real.’

Dr. Ambrose put down the notes - ‘I’m sure that this alien, Annabelle, seems very real to you.’

‘She is fucking real - she’s trying to capture me and put me in a museum as an exhibit. She says that she’s hunting a serial killer - and she found me.’

Dr. Ambrose picked up the notes again - ‘It says here that you said that your dead mother told you to kill - Annabelle, is it? - So that she could be brought back to life. Is that also real?’

He stared at Dr. Ambrose with tears running down his face.

‘These things may seem very real to you - your dead mother visiting you and giving you missions to kill aliens in order to resurrect her, but they are not real. I have seen your medical records - and it appears that a number of years ago you were prescribed medication to treat manic bi-polar disorder. Have you recently stopped taking your medication?’

He nodded.

‘It would appear that you have suffered a psychotic episode, most likely resulting from the sudden halting of your medication. These fantastical claims of being a serial killer and visions of your dead mother and aliens hunting you to put you in a museum are all part of this episode.’

There was a moment of silence.

‘She is fucking real - and I am a fucking serial killer. I killed five women and buried them at my farm. She can only catch me if I’m free - and not locked up. She said they have rules. She has moved the bodies and cleaned up any trace of my crimes so that I won’t be sent to jail and locked up. She is doing all of this to so that she can catch me - she knows who I am now.’

Dr. Ambrose stared at him - ‘A forensic team has scoured your farm, and your car, and your apartment, and they have found no evidence of any crimes. They found a large amount of pornographic magazines, however, but that is another discussion. And that is why you are here with me.’

‘You have to believe me - she is fucking real. She’s waiting for me. She will be out there waiting for me, and if you let me go she will capture me and take me as a specimen to the fucking museum.’

Dr. Ambrose stood and picked up the notes - ‘Okay, we’ll start the patient on 200mg a day of thorazine and we’ll see how he gets along with this.’

‘Yes doctor’ - said the orderly.

‘I will see the patient again in a week’ - said Dr. Ambrose as he started to leave the room.

‘SHE IS WAITING FOR ME - SHE WILL GET ME AND FUCKING KILL ME!’

‘And let’s get him something to calm him down for the rest of the day’ - said Dr. Ambrose as he left the room.

‘Okay buddy - let’s get you back to your room and get you nice and comfortable’ - said the orderly, wheeling him out of the room and back along the corridor.

####

A week passed in the Lincoln Memorial Psychiatric Hospital, and the man was kept in his room. He was given thorazine and had to be force fed. He was kept restrained to his bed and the drugs slowly crept through his body and into his mind. By the end of the first week he was more manageable - and was allowed to visit the dining room for his meals. He seemed to be calmer.

The orderly wheeled him into the dining room, parking the wheelchair at a table.

‘So what do you fancy buddy - some eggs and bacon and some juice?’

He nodded - ‘And a cigarette.’

The orderly laughed - ‘You’re going to have to wait for the smoke my friend - but you stay here and I will get you something to eat.’

He sat in the wheelchair in a daze. People were moving around the dining room, but he wasn’t able to focus on their faces. They seemed to be moving at a sped up rate. A man with a wild, long beard and a mop of scruffy black hair sat down opposite him.

‘What you in for?’ - The man asked as he spooned porridge into his mouth, and glanced around the room nervously.

He stared at the man.

‘Is it aliens?’

He slowly processed what the man had said - ‘What did you say?’

‘Aliens - was it aliens?’

‘What about aliens?’

The man continued to spoon the porridge into his mouth, lumps of it building up in his bushy beard.

‘Aliens man - they control everything - Ambrose is controlled by them. If you have an alien experience, it’s Ambrose’s job to convince you it wasn’t real. They control the banks and the media and the government.’

‘How do you know this?’

The man glanced around the dining room - and leaned closer - ‘They fucking captured me - but I fucking escaped. I saw their plans, man. Their whole fucking plans for us, man. They are going to process us all for food - but they cannot expose themselves until they’re ready. It’s Ambrose’s job to silence us - to keep the plans under wraps!’

He stared at the man.

‘That’s what the drugs are for - to control your mind and erase the memories of the aliens!’

‘Did you meet Annabelle?’

The man stopped eating for a moment - ‘Who the fuck is Annabelle?’

The orderly came walking over with a tray that he put down in front of him. The man with the bushy beard immediately stood up, and before he left he whispered - ‘Don’t trust anyone, they all work for Ambrose, and Ambrose works for the aliens!’

The orderly sat down next to him - ‘I see you’ve met Brian.’

He slowly turned his head and looked at the orderly.

‘Brian has been here a loooong while - nearly as long as me’ - the orderly tucked a napkin in his gown - ‘Now eat your breakfast - you’re seeing Dr. Ambrose in a little while.’

He turned his head back to the tray and stared at the food - it was powdered scrambled eggs and two slices of crispy bacon with a slice of white bread and an orange juice. He ate a little bit of the food, and was then wheeled to see Dr. Ambrose.

The orderly stood in the corner of the room, and he sat in the wheelchair. He wasn’t restrained anymore. Dr. Ambrose came into the room and was yawning. He was wearing a different bow tie and was carrying notes and a paper cup with coffee.

He sat down and read through the notes while sipping his coffee - ‘So - how are you feeling this week?’

He sat and stared at Dr. Ambrose.

Dr. Ambrose continued to read through the notes - ‘It seems the screaming and shouting had ended - which I am sure everyone is pleased about.’

‘The patient had breakfast this morning in the dining hall, doctor’ - said the orderly.

Dr. Ambrose looked up from the notes and smiled at him - ‘Well, that is progress!’

‘Do you work for the aliens?’ - The man said in a monotone.

Dr. Ambrose smiled at him - ‘So, I see you have met Brian.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘Now I don’t expect you to believe this - given your current state of mind - but I can assure you that I do not work for aliens. I work for the department of mental health and services. Now let’s talk about you, how do you feel?’

‘I feel scared.’

Dr. Ambrose sipped his coffee - ‘And what’s making you feel scared?’

‘She is - she is waiting for me.’

Dr. Ambrose picked up his notes - ‘And you are referring to Annabelle, the alien?’

‘Yes - she’s waiting for me. She’s out there waiting for me.’

‘Can we change the subject of the female we talk about - can we talk about your mother?’

There was silence.

‘What about my mother?’

‘You had told the police that your mother told you to kill - and that she would come back to life if you killed this woman - or alien - Annabelle. Can we talk about that?’

‘Yes - she told me that, and Jesse Ryder told me that as well.’

Dr. Ambrose was taking notes - ‘Jesse Ryder - and who is Jesse Ryder?’

‘She’s a model.’

‘And this Jesse Ryder is a friend of yours?’

‘No - she spoke to me from a magazine.’

Dr. Ambrose continued to take notes - ‘And this magazine that Jesse Ryder spoke to you from, was this one of the pornographic magazines that the police discovered in your apartment?’

He nodded.

Dr. Ambrose looked up at him. ‘Interesting. And what is the relationship between Jesse Ryder and your mother?’

‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

Dr. Ambrose made some more notes - ‘How is the patient’s demeanor?’

‘He has calmed down - you’re right about everyone being pleased about the screaming stopping. He’s doing okay for his first week.’

Dr. Ambrose made a couple more notes - ‘Okay - let’s keep the patient at 200mg of thorazine and I’ll see him again in another week.’

####

A month had passed at the Lincoln Memorial Psychiatric Hospital. It was the monthly staff meeting - where the hospital’s doctors met to discuss patient progress. Dr. Ambrose was there, along with the other staff psychiatrists and clinical team leads.

They were reviewing Dr. Ambrose’s cases - and one of the other psychiatrists asked how the “fake serial killer” was doing.

‘Fake serial killer indeed!’ - Dr. Ambrose chuckled - ‘This patient is indeed interesting. For those of you who haven’t heard, the patient arrived at a rural Sheriff’s office wearing nothing but a pair of green rain boots. He then confessed to killing five sex workers. When he took the police to the farm where he claimed to have buried the sex workers, no bodies - of course - could be found. He then went on the claim that his dead mother instructed him to kill a sex worker named Annabelle, so that she could be resurrected. However, the sex worker Annabelle was in-fact an alien, who of course, looks just like a human, and this alien is hunting the patient to put him in a museum as an exhibit.’

Everyone in the room laughed - and Dr. Ambrose chuckled to himself.

Dr. Ambrose left the meeting and stopped at the vending machine and got a cup of coffee. He stopped at his office to pick up his notes and headed to his next consultation.

He opened the door and the man was sitting at the desk. He was no longer in a wheelchair. The orderly was no longer standing in the corner - but was waiting outside the room. Dr. Ambrose sat down at the table and sipped his coffee, reading through the notes - ‘We were just talking about you.’

‘Really?’ - The man said.

‘Yes - we were just talking about the progress you’re making.’

‘Who are “we”?’

Dr. Ambrose looked up from his notes - ‘My colleagues and I’ - He returned to his notes - ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Sleepy. Tired.’

Dr. Ambrose made some notes - ‘That is one of the side effects of the medication we’re giving you. Apart from being tired and sleepy - how else do you feel?’

‘I don’t feel anything.’

‘You had told me before that you felt scared - do you still feel scared?’

‘Yes….no….I don’t know.’

‘Well, that has to be a bit better than a definite yes’ - said Dr. Ambrose, and he made a few notes - ‘Now if you don’t mind, I would like to return to your mother and the pornographic model, Jesse Ryder. I had asked you before, what the relationship was between your mother and Jesse Ryder. Do you think you can talk about this now?’

There was a long silence. Dr. Ambrose stared at his notes - waiting for him to say something.

He then spoke about it, and told Dr. Ambrose about being caught by his mother masturbating to the photos of Jesse Ryder in the pornographic magazine. Dr. Ambrose continued to take notes.

‘And what was your mother’s reaction when she caught you?’

There was another moment of silence.

‘She called me a filthy, disgusting pervert.’

Dr. Ambrose took more notes - ‘And how did this make you feel?’

There was a pause - ‘It made me feel….excited.’

Dr. Ambrose wrote in his notes - ‘Excited. In what way?’

‘Sexually.’

Dr. Ambrose looked up from his notes - ‘And this is the connection between your mother and Jesse Ryder. Sexual excitement at being discovered masturbating by your mother, and then denigrated by her for being a deviant?’

He nodded.

Dr. Ambrose made a couple more notes - ‘I think you’ve done very well today, and I look forward to seeing you next week.’

He was taken by the orderly to the day room - and Dr. Ambrose finished off his consultations for the day.

In the day room the orderly sat him by the TV. A game show was playing and the host was excitedly describing a vacation to Mexico that a contestant could win. Two beautiful models were posing next to a screen that showed white beaches lined with palm trees with couples frolicking in an azure swimming pool, drinking frozen cocktails with little umbrellas stuck in wedges of pineapple.

There were several other patients staring at the TV. Some of them were sleeping, while others were staring into space, with drool hanging from their chins.

‘Okay’ - said the host of the game show - ‘The first question is this; What is the name of the famous tower in Paris, France?’

One of the contestants buzzed in - and the host asked them for their answer.

‘Big Ben?’ - Said a contestant.

‘No - unfortunately that is wrong’ - the studio audience groaned - ‘Anyone else?’

Another contestant buzzed in - ‘Is it the Sears Tower?’

He stared at the screen - but his mind was almost stunned. The thorazine worked by slowing down his mind, and switching a bit of it off. His dopamine receptors had been blocked, which was supposed to stabilize him, taking away his more extreme and erratic behavior.

‘Sorry, that is wrong as well’ - said the game show host and the audience groaned again - ‘The actual answer is - perhaps you didn’t kill all of those hookers, and you imagined it.’

He snapped out of his stupor and stared at the TV host, who was smiling - ‘And the next question is - if an alien is hunting you, what’s the best method to escape from her?’

The contestants all waited a moment - and then one of them buzzed in. The camera zoomed in on her face - it was his mother. She smiled at the camera, winking - ‘Is the answer “you cannot escape, and it is better to kill yourself”?’

The host grimaced - ‘Sorry, that is not correct. Anyone else?’

Another guest buzzed in, it was Jesse Ryder - ‘Is the answer “aliens are not real”?’

The host smiled - ‘Correct! You get 10 points Jesse’ - the studio audience applauded.

He looked around the day room at the other patients. No one was paying the TV any attention. He turned back to the TV.

‘And the next question - If aliens are not real, and there are no bodies buried on your farm, do you really have anything to worry about?’

A contestant buzzed in. It was Cindy McDonald, the last sex worker he had killed - ‘No!’

The host smiled and said the answer was correct - and the audience applauded.

‘15 points Cindy! And the final question of this round - if you take your meds and behave yourself, how long will it take you to be released from this shit hole?’

Jesse Ryder buzzed in - ‘A couple of years - max!’

The host said it was correct and the audience cheered - ‘Jesse, you just won two tickets for a luxury stay in beautiful Playa del Carmen in Mexico!’

Jesse jumped up and down clapping, and the camera cut to the screen with the two models. The models were now his mother and Cindy McDonald - and they looked stunning in nightgowns. He looked at the screen, and the couple in the pool were him and Jesse. They were smiling and sipping frozen cocktails and kissing.

Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder - he snapped out of his trance and looked up. It was Brian.

He glanced back at the TV and the credits were rolling.

‘Hey man’ - said Brian - ‘So has Ambrose got you brainwashed yet?’

Brian crouched down, leaning in close to him.

‘There are signals in the TV - from the aliens. It's how they keep the population docile. They’re broadcasting these signals 24/7 man. And the people you see on TV - they’re fucking aliens as well. Before the aliens abducted me - I worked for the fucking CIA man. We were getting ready to blow the fucking doors off this whole fucking alien deal and then they got me. I spent five fucking years man, up in one of those fucking flying saucers - anal probes all fucking day and night baby! The motherfuckers didn’t think I would get away, so they taunted me with their fucking plans for this planet…’

Brian glanced around the day room to make sure he wasn’t being watched.

‘....Stage one - infiltrate the human population. Stage two - control the governments and banks and media. Stage three - global warming, these alien motherfuckers like it hot. Stage four - enslavement and harvesting. Stage six - cross breeding and genetic mutations. To create an alien-human hybrid….’

‘Why do they want to do that - stage six?’

‘I don’t fucking know man - because they’re sick motherfucking weirdo aliens!’

‘What do they look like - the aliens?’

Brian put his face close to his - ‘They look like giant fucking rats. They even have the long fucking tails. Beady black eyes and sharp pointy teeth, but their arms are longer, and they wear suits and bowler hats….’

He let out a sigh of relief.

‘How did you escape?’

Brian laughed - ‘Through the trash compactor. I overpowered one of the guards and managed to get out of my cell and jumped down a chute to the trash compactor. Once the fuckers realized I was gone, they turned the machine on and started crushing me. There was this giant fucking alien water snake living in with the garbage - and the thing nearly strangled me to death. When they thought I was dead, they jettisoned the garbage and I managed to hold my breath and fall back to earth.’

He stared at Brian.

‘I splashed down in the Indian Ocean and I was picked up by a group of fishermen from Mozambique. They brought me back to land and I lived off the grid - just blending in with the population and avoiding law enforcement. I was writing a book about my time with the motherfucking aliens when a guy I was paying for protection ratted me out to the secret police - ergo the fucking aliens! That’s when they shipped me back here to undergo the good Dr. Ambrose’s fucking brainwashing regime.’

‘Wow’ - he said.

‘That was nearly ten years ago’ - Brian pointed at the TV - ‘Watch the news my friend. Global warming is everywhere. We’re already in stage three! Like I said, these fucking aliens like it hot - the hotter the fucking better. Once it gets hot enough then the harvesting will begin, and we’ll all be on fucking meat hooks and then sautéed in garlic fucking butter!’

‘Do the aliens like garlic?’

Brian stared at him - ‘I don’t fucking know, maybe - it was a fucking figure of speech!’

Brian glanced around the day room again - ‘Trust no one my friend, they’re watching everything all the time!’

Brian stood and marched away. The man turned back to the TV. A Mexican soap opera that had been dubbed into English was playing. A glamorous woman was crying about a brain tumor in her champion race horse.