"You feel as though you are stuck in an alternate universe. You seem to be unable to differentiate between reality and fiction but you still managed to slowly survive. That's how you feel, isn't it, Mr. Morgan?"
These were the first words I ever said to this man and definitely not my last, I shall assure you. He became a regular face in my waiting room, but his only problem was his perception of reality. You could never tell whether or not he was in our world or his own. To him, you could've been a figment of his dreams whereas we saw him clear as day.
"Clear as day..." He used to ponder. "How do we ever know what is as clear as day? We always say it yet I can't seem to understand why..."
He'd go silent then, as if he'd expect me to judge him. But I never could and I never would. I vowed never to compare a patients life to my own and I would continue to validate that process. No matter how good or bad things were for me, someone had it better or worse. But back to the point, he always seemed to fear rejection, like that of Victor Frankensteins creature from Mary Shelley's novel. He had a surreal fear of people turning him away and abandoning him when he needed them most. I don't know whether this was part of the initial diagnosis of psychosis but I knew that I would grow to gain his trust and he'd open up to me.
Within the first 10 minute session he had booked, we realised that maybe he wasn't the problem in all of this but rather the solution. He looked puzzled the first time that I suggested this, but by the final time I saw him, he finally understood. What he did with that information would make the front page of every paper, and be littered throughout the news headlines.
You never know how much is left to be said but we always knew. Always knew about the way he acted...
A knock resonated from behind my door as I turned in my chair. My secretary had peered around the edge of the door itself, before addressing me.
"Sir, you have a Mr. Morgan here to see you."
"Thank you, Delilah. But what did I say about calling me sir? I feel like an old man. Call me..."
"I know sir, but I feel more comfortable calling you by such address term."
I sighed for what seemed like the billionth time today and ran my hand down my face before dragging it through my hair.
"Send him in Delilah. I shall gladly see him at such short notice."
A smile worked its way onto my face and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding before turning around to face the clean shaven man who slunk into my office.
"Mr. Morgan, take a seat. Shall we begin the session where we left off two days ago or shall we attempt something new?"
A grin replaced the solemn look on his face. I knew exactly where this was going. He liked playing games, Mr. Morgan. He revelled in the adrenaline created by the thought of winning, the idea of a race to win. This had been clear from the beginning. As a man in his early forties, Mr. Morgan was a rare type in this day and age. He kept himself at the height of fitness and continued to work his body against all extremes. A twice daily run, a strict diet plan and a good nights rest. The man was built like a barn but as intimidating as a lamb. His now badger hair, had begun as a solid black but sooner after we met, it had dissolved into turrets of grey. His hands could never just rest in one place, it was as if a nervous tick had overcome each nerve of his body which made him more responsive than other patients I was used to. His jaw was set at all times, locking away any detail about himself that I hadn't managed to coax to the surface.
At the point of this final return, on this date, he seemed a lot more on edge than usual. His whole body radiated with something sort of exhilaration whereas his face reflected fear combined with determination. This was probably the last time I'd physically see his face in front of me. For weeks subsequent to this, he erased himself from everyones lives and disappeared until three months later. But we'll get to that later. Back to the man in front of me.
His eyes darted about my office spaced, hesitating to look at me straight on. Mr. Morgan seemed to have developed similar tendencies of an animal trapped in a corner, one that was looking for an escape. That's what initially worried me. It wasn't the shaking, or the foot tapping. Not even the hand running through the slowly greying hair. No. It was the fearful aura that was resonating off of him. It hit my face like a tonne of bricks. Like an animalistic representation of fight or flight, programmed perfectly into a human. His option had been flight. We continued to sit in silence, each one of us waiting for the other to speak first. I had been about to give up when he spoke.
"I'm sorry for what I may choose to do after I leave this office. Each move I've made has been like playing a board game. I make one wrong move and I'm perfectly set up to lose everything. It's similar to that idea of The Butterfly Effect, that a small unnoticeable change can result in a big one later on. It makes you realise that everything you do, has a consequence. Maybe not for you but for someone else. And that is why I am sorry. I am apologising for any actions I may make from here on out that may backfire on you, my friend. Thank you for being there through this journey with me. Now it's time to find myself a new adventure."
After his speech, he stood. I sat dumbfounded. This was the most Mr. Morgan had ever spoken with no prompting or subtle hints. He smiled and turned towards the door. That smile would forever remain etched onto my brain. As Peter Pan once said "to die will be an awfully great adventure" and that it seemed was the plot for Mr. Morgans next adventure. The one that transcended from life into death.
When his body was eventually found, immediate contacts were made to those he'd last made contact with. Myself, my secretary and a few friends of his. We all were equally shocked. He was a happy man, one that refused to believe his own reality but he was happy. Or as happy as anyone could be with the threat of bills, jobs and a family looming over him. But you see, that's the thing. No-one knew who Mr. Morgans immediate family was. Well, no-one but his family, obviously. But over the years, they'd lost contact and he'd drifted into a life of mystery and disorientated realities.
Let me tell you about the day I received that phonecall. An unknown number had been patched through to my work phone as I finished filing. Expecting nothing serious, I answered, my mood barely chipping the surface of the call. The official requested my presence in the station and I had to cut out early for the first time in 6 years. I'd made my way towards the desk, giving my name and the name of the man who'd demanded I make my way there. The woman had directed me to a chair before calling upon the man that I assumed was the one who contacted me.
His moustache looked like a dead squirrel across his face and he really needed that shaved. His greying hair reminded me of Mr. Morgans. He'd still not contacted me but I knew at some point he would. Whether it be now, or in a few months. But back to the matter at hand. This officer had requested my presence yet had me standing out by a tall dark door. The look on his face had told me then.
"He's dead, isn't he?"
The officers face dropped and he nodded before showing me into the room.
"If it's not too much trouble, sir, we'd like you to identify the man you're about to see as Mr. J Morgan."
I took a small breath. Yes. I remember now. His name was James. Mr. James P Morgan. He'd never told me what the 'P' stood for and now I'd never know. My eyes scanned the body in front of me. From his badger-like hair, to the built-like-a-barn structure. This was definitely him.
"Yes, its him."
You son of a gun. You weren't meant to die on me.
I'd locked myself away from three days after the incident before resurfacing back into the world. My grieving had ended when others had only just began to remember him. I started work again, started would be a mild term. I threw myself into my work with renewed enthusiasm as so to drown out the reality that I no longer wanted to be a part of.
A knock resonated throughout my office as Delilah entered.
"Sir, your next client is here."
"Send them in Delilah. Remember what I always say? Can you please, for once, address me properly?"
I sighed in frustration, the busy day had been taking its toll on my mind but I wouldn't let it get to me. Or not yet. I looked up. Delilah stood there, still, before smiling and exiting my office. The last thing I heard before my door was shut off to the world was her addressing me properly.
"Dr. Morgan will see you now."
