“So we can agree at least that you aren’t real.” Joe took a pull off his cigarette. “God, I can’t believe I’m having an argument with a figment of my own imagination!”

“Not imagination,” said the disembodied voice. “It’s your subconscious, Joe.”

Joe was slumped against the wall, though he had recovered from the interrogation. For the time being his captors were more interested in discussion than torture. Still, the ever-present vodka bottle glinted at him from under the lamplight.

“You’ve drugged me. That much is certain. I must be hallucinating.”

“That is partly true, darling. For when we found you, you were raving mad. Now, why not have a drink and relax? Steady your nerves.”

“I swore off drinking. It’s what got me into this mess.”

“Then let it get you out of it.”

“No.”

“Why not? It’s the only way to make things better.”

Joe shrugged it off with another drag on his cigarette. “If you “found” me then why can’t I see you? If I am truly ill, then where are the doctors?”

“You have been committed, darling. Just like your brother!” Joe shuddered, remembering the day his brother finally lost it--how he had fallen to the ground raving and taken a bite out of his ankle. The men in white coats, the papers he had to sign. “You are in an observation room, dearest. Being tested.”

“The woman in leather?”

“Mademoiselle Omega. She is your caretaker.”

It was possible, he thought. Everything from the past couple of days seemed a blur. A highly implausible blur.

“Where’s Lawrence?”

“Who’s Lawrence?”

“Simon Lawrence. The janitor who clued me in to what’s really going on. With…” he scratched the stubble on his chin, “the copies. All of those copies…of me.”

“Oh, darling,” the voice zoomed in, warm and soothing around his head like a thermal blanket. “You aren’t well, don’t you see? There never was any Simon Lawrence. I’m afraid he must be one of your hallucinations, beloved.”

Joe sighed heavily and looked around, futilely searching for a body to put with the voice. Maybe he was crazy. “If you’re part of my brain, then why can’t I see you?”

Silence.

“If I could see Lawrence, why can’t we talk face to face?” He slid up the wall on his back and got to his feet, glancing around. “Hello?”

Suddenly a hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed his arm. He screamed and pulled away, tripping over his feet, crashed to the ground. When he looked up, there was his dream girl, basking in the glow of the lamp. Her auburn hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Her inviting green eyes gazed gently down at him. In that instant he melted.

“I know this is hard for you, beloved. But if you drink the medicine, all of this,” she waved her hand to the darkness, “this hopelessness can go away. You will be whole again. That’s why I am here.” She knelt down beside him and brushed his cheek tenderly with her fingers. He closed his eyes and almost wept. “I am the part of you that needs to be whole.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her intense eyes watched his. He looked away at the bottle, still sparkling beneath the light, then back to her. “What should I do?”

“Follow your heart.”

Joe reached for the bottle. As if called, it slid across the floor into his hand. He blinked and looked at her. “What’s going on?”

“You’re still hallucinating.” She slid behind him, cradling his head in her hands. “Drink, baby.” She waved her finger over the cap and it unscrewed, falling to the floor.

Joe nodded and drew the bottle to his lips. He paused and looked up at her. “You’re sure about this?”

She nodded and ran her fingers through his hair. He acquiesced.

“Alright. Here goes.” He tilted back the bottle and took a long drink. The fluid burned his throat, but after years of taking the abuse he had grown used to it. He gulped down a third of the bottle before he picked up the aftertaste. It tasted of metallic death. He heaved the bottle into the darkness as he struggled out of the woman’s arms to his feet. He staggered as the world spun around him, the light and the girl skewing into wicked distortion.

“What…what’s happening to me?”

“What’s wrong, lover?” Her face contorted inside out and back again. “Cat got your duodenum?”

Joe clutched his stomach in agony and swooned to his knees. He tried to induce vomiting but nothing would come. The aftertaste became a numbness that spread down his digestive tract. He tried to speak, but his voice came out like a vacuum cleaner stuck on a penny. “Help me,” he rattled.

“I already have, Joe.” She sidled over to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Just relax and let the program run its course.”

“What…” he crumpled prostrate to the floor, “program?” His vision filmed over and fizzled like television static.

“The Cycle for Complete Corporate Culture Evangelistic Obedience, mon amour! Welcome to a brand new day.”