Okay, here's the first draft of a new story. It's very raw, but anyone is welcome to critique it even in this state.




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1.

"Where's Sophie?" I demanded. "What have you done with her?"

My wife gave me a pleading look, feigning distress and concern. She should have been in films. "There is no Sophie. Sweetheart, please listen to me. Your mind made her up. She isn't real."

"What kind of a moron do you take me for?"

"Dan, please try to listen to what I'm saying. You're ill. You need to see a doctor. Let me call Dr. Barclay."

"You're not calling anyone," I said. "You're going to tell me where Sophie is, or I'm going to hurt you. I don't want to do it, but you're not leaving me any choice."

"Dan..."

"What have you done with her, Lorrie? How... how could you hurt anyone so young and innocent? I thought I knew you."

Lorrie, my wife, was now crying. I scrutinised her beautiful green eyes. Within them, I could see what appeared to be genuine emotion. However, I knew that even this was a brilliant deception. The depth and realism of her deceit only disgusted me more.

"P-please, Dan," she said now.

"What?"

"Search... search your heart. You must know deep down what's real..."

I smacked her with the back of my hand. She let out a yelp and sank to the floor.

"I don't want to hurt you," I warned. "But... I'm willing to do so if it means I can save Sophie from whatever monsters you've sold her to. Just tell me where she is and you need never even see me again. I'll go somewhere far away and take her with me. But you've got to start talking otherwise this is going to get ugly."

Lorrie trembled in front of the kitchen table that we'd only chosen together a couple of weeks before. More illusory emotion crackled out of her, a master-class of acting. Part of me wondered what kind of a genius I was actually dealing with here, and how deep her connections went. This woman whom I had loved, the woman I thought I had known, was in fact some kind of creature I couldn't even begin to understand.

I slapped her again, harder this time. "Start talking."

She was silent until I took a knife from my pocket and pointed it at her.

"Okay!" She almost shrieked the word, guarding her face now with her narrow hands. "Sophie is... she's with Thomas."

"Thomas is involved in this too?" I was taken aback. Part of me was instantly destroyed by this revelation. Thomas had been my oldest and best friend, or so I had thought. Now it seemed he was just another part of whatever network had taken Sophie from me.

"Where is he? Over at his flat?"

"Yes! Please... just go! Leave me alone!"

"Not yet. I have more questions. For instance. Just how far does this conspiracy go, Lorrie? How many people are involved?"

"I... please, Dan! I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Another slap. "Tell me."

She seemed to think for a moment, simultaneous to the acting. "Okay, okay. Only... maybe about ten people."

"Does this go all the way up to the government?"

"No, Dan. Please. I don't know. I don't think so."

"Okay." I realised that it would be impossible to determine how true or false any of her words were. Even if I tortured her I would have no guarantee of honesty. And I had no stomach for anything like that. Although I no longer loved her as I had done, the thought of seriously hurting her was more than I could bear.

Instead I tied her up securely, well out of reach of any telephones, gagged her, and left the house.

I stepped down into the frozen heart of early January. Under streetlights, the pavement twinkled with a thin layer of ice. A thing of beauty. I began to walk.

Thomas.

It was time for my fake friend to come clean about what he'd done.



2.

The flat Thomas lived in consisted of a single small bedroom-cum-living-and-dining-area, and a bathroom the size of a wardrobe.

Thomas was lying on top of his bed, snoring. The mattress and quilt he lay on were stained, bits of food and other possible substances stuck to their surfaces. I crossed an old green carpet littered with fine debris and shook Thomas awake.

A pair of bleary hazel eyes tried to focus on me.

"Been smoking, Thom?"

"Dan... shit, man, how did you get in?"

"Same way as always. Entered the digits. The door opened."

"Oh yeah. Shit, man, I haven't seen you in a whale's age. How're things?"

"How much have you smoked this evening?"

"Haven't smoked anything tonight. I don't even do that anymore, Dan. I was starting to stagnate doing that every day, so I stopped."

"Thom... I may not be a blood hound, but I can smell the aftermath of a recent session. You look stoned, sound stoned, and... well, you're just stoned."

He shone me a vacant look and said nothing for a moment. Then he said, "I'm just tired and groggy, that's all. And now very hungry... Shit, okay, you got me."

"Look," I said. "I'm not here to filch dope. I've got some serious questions to ask you. I need some serious answers to them. Okay?"

"Sure, Dan. Anything. But first I need Pot Noodle."

"Fuck Pot Noodle. Questions first. Munchies second."

"No, I'm starving..." Thomas tried to get up off the bed but I threw him back down easily.

"Shit, man!" he exclaimed. "What's your problem?"

"Questions first." I showed him the knife I was carrying. "Munchies second, if you survive the questions."

That seemed to cut through Thom's cannabis haze, at least to some degree. His eyes appeared to focus properly. "What? Shit... you're joking, right?"

"No. This is very important. And it's extremely important that you take this seriously and answer my questions honestly. If you lie, I'll know it, and you won't survive long enough for Pot Noodle. Just tell the truth, and everything will be cool between us again. I still want to be your friend. Are we clear?"

"Danny, you're scaring me. I don't like this game." He sounded about eight years old again.

"No game. So are we clear?"

A pause, and then he nodded, eyes still fixed on the large kitchen knife. "Okay, Danny. We're clear."

"Alright. First question. Where's Sophie?"

Thom feigned instant puzzlement as adeptly as Lorrie had woven a mask of anguish and concern. My heart sank when he said, "Who?"

"Sophie. Where is she?"

"Dan, I don't know any Sophie."

My heart sank a bit more. "Wrong answer, Thomas. I thought you wanted to live through this."

"I really don't know anyone called Sophie. I'm not lying, Danny."

"I already killed Lorrie for playing these games with me," I lied - a possible way to motivate him. "It was hard for me, but I did it. I slit her throat and watched her bleed to death. Killing you will be a stroll in the park by comparison."

Thom looked genuinely shocked, and I wasn't sure if this particular display was an act or not. Maybe he was beginning to wonder if his network had underestimated me, and thus he was starting to fear. I hoped so.

"So..." I continued. "I'd advise that you cut the bullshit and tell me where Sophie is. You got her tied up in the bathroom or something? What did you do with her, you vile pig?"

"Dan, you're out of your mind. I haven't got the foggiest clue who or what you're talking about."

"Lorrie tried to convince me that I'd imagined my own adopted daughter, too. Now Lorrie is floating face-down in a bathtub of bloody water. So I suggest you try a different approach than the 'you're going mad' routine."

"Adopted daughter? What?"

"Stop it." I placed the tip of the knife against his neck. One firm push and I could plunge half the blade into his jugular vein or carotid artery.

"Okay! Danny, don't do anything stupid! Let's just keep talking!"

"Yes. Talk. Tell me where Sophie is."

Thomas looked baffled and terrified at the same time. He had the look of a snared animal slowly realising the parameters of its situation.

"Sophie... She's, eh... The adoption service took her back. Yeah, Lorrie was telling me. Somebody on your street claimed he'd seen you beating her with your fists in public. Outrageous, they said. So they arranged to take her back while you were out working. And now they're investigating about this beating business."

"Thom, I've known you since we were kids. I can tell when you're lying out of your arse. I'm going to kill you if you don't stop bullshitting me. Who did you sell her to? Give me the name of the bastard who bought her, and I might spare you. Even now I might. Think very carefully before speaking."

Thomas appeared to think very carefully before speaking. After a long time he said, "Do you remember Trent King?"

"That lowlife crack dealer? Yeah, I remember."

"He's got her."

"You sold Sophie to a psychotic lump of animated dog shit like him? What kind of a heartless bastard are you?"

He didn't respond, but closed his eyes in apparent terror.

"What, you each use her and then pass her between you like a rag doll? How much did he pay you?"

Still no reply.

"How MUCH, you gutless coward?"

"Five thousand and some good dope."

"Well, I hope it was worth it. I thought I knew you."

I pushed the knife into my fake friend's neck, throwing all my weight behind it, and pulled away just as rapidly before I could be showered with blood. I retreated across the room at a run, ran through the door into the hallway beyond. I closed the door behind me and held it in place until I was sure that Thomas had to be dead.

Knife safely back in pocket, I ran down the flight of stairs connecting each floor of the tower block, and eventually back into the night. I felt woozy but there was still much to do.



3.

My plan was simple. I needed to get my hands on a vehicle and drive over to the estate where I remembered Trent King had lived. If I found he'd moved away since I'd last seen him, I'd find his current address... or people would suffer. Every moment I wasted searching for Trent added to Sophie's suffering, and her time could be running out fast. I could not afford to compromise.

However, before I could even attempt to bring my plan to fruition, a curious (if not downright peculiar) thing happened.

As I stood at the edge of the road, looking around for a likely set of wheels, my knees suddenly buckled and I collapsed in the gutter. I heard laughing. I realised I was staring into the face of a drunken old homeless man, his greasy nose only a couple of inches away from my own.

I inhaled sharply and regretted it, as a mixture of naturally foul breath and alcohol fumes entered my lungs.

"Get away from me," I murmured, surprised that my own voice was slurred like a drunkard's after a heavy binge.

I tried to drag myself away from the tramp's blotchy face and pale eyes, but I found that I couldn't move.

"Relax, Daniel. There's no rush for you to be anywhere. Everything'll work out okay. You'll see."

"How do you know my name?" I demanded. "Are you with the people who took my Sophie away?"

"No I'm not, son. But I know about you and what you're trying to do. I admire you, son." He grinned, displaying two rows of rotten teeth.

"I'm not your son. I just want my Sophie back. And you still didn't answer about how you knew my name."

"It doesn't matter about all that. All that matters is you and what you're trying to do."

"What do you want? What's happened to me?"

"I don't want anything from you, son. And all that happened is you came and lay down next to me. You should know why. How should I know?"

"I collapsed. I can't move. And you were laughing. Something is wrong."

"Yes, son. Now all you need to do is close your eyes."

"What? Why? What are you trying to pull here?"

"Nothing, Daniel. But if you want to see Sophie again, you need to close your eyes and just go with the flow. That's just the way the world works, for better or worse."

As it happened, my eyes seemed to shut mostly by their own volition.

And the old man was right.

Immediately I found myself in my old bed, comforted by an overwhelming feeling of familiarity and security. Bright daylight filled my old bedroom. The side of my face was against my pillow. Sophie was with me, and we were cuddling. I put my head down to hers, to kiss her soft brown hair, and I could smell the coconut shampoo she always liked to use. Her head was against the top of my chest and I wondered if she could feel the steady beat of my heart beneath my skin. I remembered anew how I loved her more than I'd ever loved anyone else I'd known in my life. It was such a pure form of love that merely lying with her was the truest definition of heaven or nirvana I could imagine.

And then she was falling away from me into empty space. The world darkened, the room fell away, and Sophie diminished into a point of light before disappearing altogether.

I fell and dropped into a corridor within a strange hospital.

It was night-time again. All the lights were dimmed and flickering at the rate of mosquito wings. Childish murals adorned the walls on either side of me. There were no doors in either of the walls. My nostrils were assailed with the scent of strong bleach and disinfectant. Acting on instinct, I ran forward. At least I tried to. It seemed that the air had the consistency (if not the heat) of something like melted plastic. It was freezing.

Ahead of me, Sophie called out: "Dan! Dad! Hurry, I need you!"

I fought my way through the thick syrupy air, growing ever-more desperate with every heartbeat. The corridor seemed to twist and turn for mile after mile. Mocking tramp-laughter tinkled always somewhere behind me, following me, while Sophie called out in distress a long way up ahead. I knew that I wouldn't be able to reach her before something terrible happened.

And then... the nightmare ended as abruptly as it had begun, without climax. I awoke in a bed bathed with sweat, gasping into consciousness.



4.

It was still night, but an orange glow bathed me. My eyes flicked to the left and I saw a bedside lamp. Squinting, I looked away.

A hand was on my forehead.

It was attached to an arm, which was in turn attached to a person.

A woman.

Helen. She was one of the nurses at the hospital where I worked.

She looked down at me, her face kind and beautiful.

"Where am I?" I think I shouted.

"Shhhhhhh. It's okay. You're okay now. You're in my house."

I could hear a music-box tinkling out a tune, a strange rendition of Mozart's Piano Concerto number 21.

"I had the most terrible dream!"

"Shhhhh. It's okay, hon. You've been feverish, that all. Just rest. You can tell me about dreams later."

I did feel myself calming a little. Her touch and voice had that effect.

"No, I'm okay. Really. I can tell you without stressing myself too bad. I dreamed that Sophie had been stolen. My wife Lorrie was involved. And Thomas, my best friend. They had a conspiracy that I think even involved the government. They were all using her, Sophie that is, and then just trading her like a slave. It was horrible. And then..."

I looked around at the room, dazed.

"What is it?" Helen said.

"How... how did I end up in your house?"

"It was just good luck that I found you. I was driving home from work and found you lying in the gutter, shivering and mumbling to yourself. I thought you'd had a stroke at first, but you were just feverish."

"So... it was real? It wasn't a dream?" Dread washed over me. My heart pounded.

"Was what real?"

"Sophie. I was looking for her. She's... really been taken."

"Who is Sophie?"

Another wave of dread. "Sophie! My adopted daughter! First my wife, then my best friend. Is everyone I know involved in this?"

"Wife? Dan, you're not married. You have no daughter."

"How can you say that? We've known each other for years!"

"Shhhhhh, honey. You're stressing yourself, like I knew you would. Just lie and relax."

"Relax? I need to find Sophie!"

"Daniel, sweet baby. There is no Sophie. There is no wife. You make things up in your head. They're so real to you that you begin to believe in them. You're just very confused, honey."

"But..." I stared up at the ceiling.

"Quiet now, Danny. Would you like me to sing to you, like I sometimes did in the old days?"

"Sing? I..." I trailed off for a moment, then resumed. "I always liked you, Helen. If we hadn't been colleagues and you hadn't been married... ah, but it wasn't meant to be."

"We weren't colleagues, Danny. You're confused again. You were my patient in the hospital. I was your doctor when you were ill before, remember? You were special to me. I always felt more for you more than was appropriate in a doctor-patient relationship, but I couldn't help it. I wished I could free you from your demons, but I never could. Another specialist took over your case, I lost touch with you, as appropriate, and I eventually heard that you'd been pronounced well enough to leave the hospital. But it seems like you've had another psychotic break from reality."

"No! This is bullshit! Sophie is more real than anyone else... Why can't I move? Helen, I need to get out of here and find my daughter!"

"You've been drugged to stop you moving around and hurting yourself. Don't worry, Daniel, I'm going to make you better. You don't have to go back to the hospital. I'll keep you here until you're well again. Okay?"

"I'm not crazy," I told her. "I know what I know."

Helen shushed me again. Mozart continued to tinkle from a music-box I couldn't see.

Soon, darkness overtook me again. My sleep was deep and dreamless.



5.

My next awakening was as brief as the previous one. It was still night-time. Perhaps it was the same night, or maybe weeks had passed. Whatever the case, the music-box was still playing the same tune, and the bedside lamp still washed me with an orange glow.

Helen was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, watching a TV positioned at the end of the room. A local news program was on, and a reporter was talking about the brutal stabbing of Thomas Rainer in his flat. My name, Dan Banks, was also mentioned. Police wanted to speak to me, apparently, about this stabbing and also the death of a local woman called Lorrie Banks who had been found tied up in her home. She had suffocated after an asthma attack, due to the gag I'd used on her and her inability to get help.

"Don't worry, Danny," Helen said, turning to look at me. "I'll look after you. Nobody will find you here. You're very ill - you don't deserve to be hunted down like a dog."

My eyes opened wider when I saw the little girl sitting in the chair next to Helen's.

"Sophie!" I shouted.

The girl looked around and smiled at me with recognition, then returned her attention to the TV.

"Her name isn't Sophie - it's Sarah," Helen said. "She's my daughter from a previous marriage. You and this Lorrie woman never adopted her. Oh, and it looks like you WERE married to Lorrie Banks, after all. The news said so. I thought you'd made that part up, along with the other fantasies, but it was true. It looks like you were sane enough to hold down a job and get married for a while there."

"Lorrie. She's dead because of me. And Thom, my best friend."

"Sadly, it looks that way," Helen agreed.

"But, why would I think your daughter was mine?" I asked.

"You saw Sarah when I showed you photographs in the hospital. Yeah I know I shouldn't have done this, but I always felt a deep empathic connection with you. I wanted to reach out and share with you, so I broke the rules a little. So sue me. I thought it would help you, and help us to relate on more human terms. But it seems that after you saw the pictures, your mind filled in the rest, constructing a whole lifetime of idealised memories, all false. In the end, I just made you worse..."

"Sophie. Sarah. Helen, I don't know what's real anymore."

"I know, sweetie. But I'm going to look after you now."

I tried to sit up but couldn't.

Seeing this, Helen held up a hypodermic syringe and tapped it with her finger. "Sorry Danny. I've got to keep you subdued. For one thing, the cops are scouring the earth for you. For another... until we're able to work on your mind a bit and get you better, I can't trust you to act rationally."

She stood, walked over to me and planted a soft kiss on my lips.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

Instead of answering me, Helen said, "Sarah, can you leave the room for a while? I need to talk to Dan in private."

"Why should I?" the girl answered.

"Sarah, I'm your mother. Do as you're told."

I'm no longer sure whether the following is just another of my delusions, but it was girl's reply that I think caused me to pass out again.

"My name isn't Sarah - it's Sophie - and you're not my real mom anyway. Why can't you people just leave me and my dad alone and stop trying to brainwash people?"

"Helen!" I managed to blurt. "You're one of them!"

And then another peaceful darkness consumed me.