Chapter 2 : The Doors of Perception

'Crap, that's the last time I do a line." Jane muttered as his world span out of control. Angela would go ballistic, she had been nagging him to stop hanging out with the TV crew fearing he would be dragged into their ways. It wasn't the first time he had experimented with expanding his horizons, after all if it was good enough for Sherlock Holmes it was worth a try. Artistic types claimed it freed their minds from the shackles of convention, enabling their creative juices to flow. Normally Jane preferred to preserve his mental faculties in tip top condition unsullied by chemical interference. Hell, he didn't even drink to excess, but everyone had been doing it, so he reasoned one line wouldn't do any lasting harm.

Blinking his eyes as the bright lights seemed to burn into him, he tried to take in his surroundings. Everywhere was white, the walls looked padded, he tried to reach out and touch them, but he couldn't move his arms. Man this was one crazy trip. Jane tried to put his mind into a trance to try and return back to reality, slow down Paddy boy, control your breathing, now slow your heart down, keep counting until you fall asleep 1,2,3...148,149.

This wasn't working, something was wrong. He blinked a tentative eye open and realised he was still in the white room, and he became aware of muttered voices and barely distinguishable figures dressed in white. A quick visit to his memory palace to see if he could fall back on previous experience was to no avail. This was unlike anything he had experienced before, attempts to restore normality as he knew it were fruitless, as the new normal prevailed. One of the hazy figures advanced and Jane sniggered slightly. OK this was going to be one crazy trip with the frauds in white coats, what the hell, bring it on.

A soft voice was calling his name. "Patrick, it's Dr Miller here. Come back to us, you've been away a long time now." Trying to focus his eyes anew, Jane made out the form of a woman with light brown hair who reminded him vaguely of Angela. Why did he keep on coming back to Angela? Had they had another fight? Jane rationalised he was just on some psychedelic trip, and somewhere in the library in his memory palace he pulled out the Doors of Perception book and flicked through the pages recalling that when Aldous Huxley was experimenting with mescaline, he observed that every day things ceased to exist, space and dimension become irrelevant, while perceptions became increasingly heightened. Satisfied he was just on a bad trip, Jane carried on reading until he got to the section on the mind at large.

'Each person is at each moment capable of remembering all that has ever happened to him and of perceiving everything that is happening everywhere in the universe. The function of the brain and nervous system is to protect us from being overwhelmed and confused by this mass of largely useless and irrelevant knowledge, by shutting out most of what we should otherwise perceive or remember at any moment, and leaving only that very small and special selection which is likely to be practically useful. According to such a theory, each one of us is potentially Mind at Large.'

Suddenly Jane started to get unsettled, what was his central nervous system filtering out? What would happen if he regained his perception of other worlds and allowed himself to remember? Maybe this drug induced haze would help him get back to reality. He opened his eyes again, but the room was still white and the woman in the white coat was still there. "Hello again Patrick." The voice seemed distant, a gentle shake of his shoulder was accompanied by a more insistent voice "Patrick it's time to wake up now."

Jane closed his eyes again, preferring to float in the aether a while longer, the buoyancy of ignorant bliss lifting him to higher planes. Random thoughts and images came and went, it was a blissful state. First a dark haired woman packing heat appeared, only to be replaced by a more feminine dark blonde woman playing Bach on the piano. This was one weird trip, they couldn't be more different, but Jane felt a strange affinity to both. A high key image of a blond haired girl frolicking in the sun was projected into his memory; he smiled benignly feeling a rush of love and he reached out to touch her, but she suddenly recoiled and started to scream as her image was crazed with red lines. She held her hand out to him, her eyes imploring him to save her from being engulfed, but she was dragged back into the void, sucked under by some hidden force, while he watched on helplessly. His fleeting happiness was washed away as ice ran through his veins, and the cold gripped at his heart threatening to squeeze the very life out of him. Overcome by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and shame, he really didn't care one way or another whether he lived or died.

Was he really alive or just some discarded fragment of someone's sick imagination? As he stared into the void, he realised that he hadn't died, but was suspended in a state of limbo. A tiny point of light seemed to be floating toward him, offering him hope of escape from this purgatory. But first he was going to have to acknowledge his sins, and face up to his temporal punishment by answering the call of the voices calling him back to reality. He floated back down to re-inhabit his corporeal body, reluctantly accepting the need to be reborn.

Much as he wanted to pinch himself to see if he was back in the real world, the restraints on his arms stopped him moving. Jane became increasingly frantic, as his rebirth brought back the full horror of the reality he had been trying to escape. Involuntary sobs escaped him as he struggled for breath, a soothing hand rubbed his back. "Just let it out Patrick, it's good to grieve, just let it out."

Slowly Jane raised his head, his red rimmed eyes stared wildly around the room as he took in the new reality. Reality sucked.

The weeks that followed were painful as Dr Miller slowly brought Jane back to a state of equilibrium. It was the best that could be achieved, if he could reach a point where he could find something in his life to counterbalance his grief, at least it would give him something to hold onto in the dark days ahead. Initially Jane had been guided by Dr Miller trusting her implicitly, but then a sense of unease returned as Jane began to feel more like a scientific subject than a patient. Miller's obsessive record keeping, speaking into her Dictaphone whenever she thought Jane wasn't compos mentis, left him with an uneasy feeling that he was part of some study and his well being was secondary to the experiment.

Jane started to be more guarded around Miller, moreover she seemed to be developing some feelings towards him, which were definitely not reciprocated. Jane was quite happy juggling his two persona, the one he trotted out for the good doctor, and the one that was going to be his salvation, by finding out who had cruelly murdered Angela and Charlotte. Jane had found the perfect antidote to his grief, it was cold, unremitting hate.

As time progressed Dr Miller introduced him to some of the other patients in the dayroom as part of his rehabilitation. Jane put on an act of shy reticence as he endured the enforced socialising. A woman with sandy tumbling curls caught his attention, she stirred briefly on his arrival and looked vacantly in his direction, her face seemed vaguely familiar. The woman next to him squeezed his hand lightly "Oh don't you mind Kristina dear, she never says a word, just sits and stares."

Each time Jane was taken to the common room, he became increasingly aware of Kristina who seemed to be showing a flicker of interest in life after all. She had taken to mumbling incoherently, the doctors were amazed as she hadn't spoken for months now, the only thing that had excited her interest was a flickering light up to now. Jane always made a point of sitting directly opposite her, allowing each of them an unobstructed view. Without warning one day, Kristina slowly raised her head and started proclaiming in a clear voice. "I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will live, even after dying."

Her eyes met Jane's across the room. "That question you want to ask, the answer is no she never woke, she didn't know a thing." Kristina's eyes flickered back into her head before she slumped forward. Without any warning the nurses rushed in and whisked her away. It confirmed Jane's suspicions that they were under constant surveillance. Jane never saw her again at the facility, apparently she had been moved to some new establishment more suited to her condition.

Kristina's words started to play on his mind when combined with other memories that were starting to come back to him, it was a puzzle even for his mighty fortress of a brain. It seemed to him that he was trying to solve a giant jigsaw but it was as if two puzzles had been mixed together, and he didn't know which pieces belonged to which puzzle.

Jane was particularly disturbed by the recurrent image of the dark haired woman. Who was she? Had he been unfaithful to Angela or did she belong to a different puzzle? For all his differences with Angela, he was still a one woman man and he would never stray.

The strain of maintaining their high flying lifestyle had led Jane's agent to chase higher profile work. Jane had been mixing with people Angela didn't approve of, and she had implored him to stop. "I don't need all this." She looked round her Malibu home disdainfully, it meant little to her it was just a front."We can sell up and move on, we don't have to live like this."

But fame and success were addictive, and Jane was a junkie by now, always available to give an opinion on anything. He was flying too close to the sun, and it was inevitable he would get burned at some stage.

Jane's head fell to his hands. Why wasn't it him that had gotten burned? God knew he deserved it. Why did it have to be Angela and Charlie? He was not a religious man, far from it, but Kristina's words about resurrection haunted him. He knew that spiritual people believed earth was just one plane of existence and death wasn't the end, in fact some branches of religion went so far as to assert there would be a bodily resurrection of the dead in a physical not merely spiritual existence 'And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.'

If only he could believe, and have some strand of hope to cling on to. But there was a nagging suspicion that Kristina's words were not meant to be taken at face value, they were not the ranting of a lunatic. She had known exactly what she was saying, more to the point how did she know what was preying on his mind? It was as if there had been some psychic connection between them.

As time progressed the FBI approached Dr Miller about questioning him, by now he was able to discuss things rationally, his grief offset by his closely guarded quest for revenge. Of course Dr Miller chose to hang some label on it all, explaining his progression through the grieving process by some text book analysis of the stages of recovery.

Still she was reluctant to let Jane be interviewed, and they had a heated argument about it. Her proprietorial feelings and increasingly tactile responses, were in danger of going beyond normal pastoral care. The time had come to move on, he needed to cut the umbilical cord with Sophie Miller for both their sakes. Jane would always be grateful for what she had done in giving birth to this new existence. This was in danger of turning into an unhealthy relationship; surely she of all people should know that he wasn't looking for an Angela look alike to fill the void. Jane had noted the lighter roots of her hair, and in his more sceptical moments wondered if she had deliberately tried to emulate Angela, in order to establish a connection with him. Their similarity of build and colouring was striking, but where Angela was warm and generous, there was a hard edge to Sophie Miller. He had the impression that when things went her against her she could be swift and ruthless in taking her revenge. He smiled sardonically, after all who was he to criticise anyone who took revenge? Revenge was keeping him going and the only thing that made life worth living was the thought that one day he would avenge his family's death.

Miller was talking animatedly to the two agents outside the consulting room, the smart female agent had met her match with Miller. They had clearly got off on the wrong foot, with the female agent trying to assert her authority over Miller. Jane smiled, Sophie would stand her ground against anyone, it was what made her such a good therapist; she wouldn't back down whatever was thrown at her, she just kept going. The senior agent was trying to appease both women, his hands were making calming moves with his palms facing down as if trying to fan down the heat of their ire.

It was unsettling that they both seemed so familiar to Jane. Flashbacks of the woman coming to visit him at night disturbed him, that particular piece of the jigsaw just didn't fit this puzzle, he wasn't remotely attracted to her.

A tap on the door saw Dennis Abbott make his way in, leaving the two women outside. He looked seriously at Jane from behind his glasses quickly appraising the situation, before moving forward and grasping Jane's hand between his own hands in a slow deliberate handshake in the guise of a greeting. A jolt of anticipation ran through Jane, he immediately knew that he had met this man before. For as long as the contact remained, Jane felt an influx of knowledge course through his veins. Abbott smiled enigmatically, just blinking his eyelids at Jane to acknowledge the silent communication. At the sound of the women approaching Abbott broke contact. "Have faith Patrick, we cannot change reality, but we can change our perceptions of reality. Just open the doors to your mind and you will learn to piece together the facts buried in your deepest recesses, and all will become clear again."

Jane knew there had been more communication between him and Abbott, beyond the few audible words. He scanned his memory for fresh memories, but he couldn't decode this new information straight away, although he didn't understand it fully he knew that Abbott had sent him a message of hope. Yet how could there be hope in this situation, there was nothing positive to be taken out it? He ran his mind back over the interview; it added no new insights, they had just been treading over old ground. Interestingly while Jane was sure he had met Fischer before, there wasn't the faintest flicker of recognition on her part.

Still unable to piece the jigsaw together into a coherent picture, or even able to separate the puzzles into two piles, Jane at least started to put names to some of the recurrent faces that haunted him. The dark haired woman Teresa Lisbon was some sort of colleague and the enigmatic Asian man he had identified as Kimball Cho, for some reason these seemed to be the main influences on him. Bit part characters like Van Pelt and Rigsby hung around the periphery of his psyche but who were they all and where did they belong?

Finally discharged after being deemed fit for independent living, Jane took up residence in a long stay motel. He was obsessed with solving this puzzle, somehow he needed to open his mind to allow his synapses to make the connections. He had read that belladonna infusions could cause hallucinations, if he could just get the dose right maybe he would make a breakthrough. Not wanting to overdose and end back under Dr Miller's care, it took several attempts of slowly increasing the dosage until he worked his way up to a state where he would have mild hallucinogenic experiences talking to Angela, Charlotte and more latterly Teresa. How had she worked her way into his psyche so deeply that she came to him in dreamland? It was most disconcerting.

Having established the safe dosage, Jane decided he really needed to push the issue and imbibed the brew with some trepidation before laying back on his bed to wait for the drug to take effect.

Terror engulfed Jane as he saw a man enter his house and hover above Charlotte before making his way to Angela, mercifully he was spared the gruesome detail but knowing was bad enough. Jane knew the man was someone he had met before, and was somehow connected with Abbott.

Next he saw the same man sitting in an office, he was clearly the puppet master pulling everyone's strings. Jane focussed on the name on the door Dr Joe NH, he knew he had seen that door before but where? The next minute he was standing in the void in absolute darkness Teresa by his side, contemplating oblivion before being beckoned back in. The storage facility with the body pods was the next memory to be retrieved, and this time he saw Charlotte and Angela in suspended animation. His heart started to race with hope, they were still alive albeit dormant, but he still couldn't fit all the pieces of the puzzle in place.

He was slowly retrieving the memories that Abbott had implanted in him, and remembering Abbott's words he started to challenge his perceptions of reality. Maybe he needed to take a leap of faith to embrace a new reality, where things could be changed and nothing was permanent, where everything was by design and there was no religion or spirituality, just a master plan being ruthlessly implemented by Dr Joe.

The fog started to lift and he could distinguish between the two different sets of puzzles, and his mind ordered them into two parallel existences, a Schrödinger's cat of reality both simultaneously real and unreal. He took heart from the fact that he now knew that Angela and Charlotte were not gone forever, and they would indeed be resurrected in one form or another. At this stage it didn't matter that he may not be part of their lives, so long as he knew that there was some hope for them.

Jane knew one thing though, Dr Joe had to be stopped. Jane's pain had been very real these last few months, so he knew that everything Charlotte and Angela had experienced would have been very real and terrifying to them at the time. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fist imagining Dr Joe's detachment as he conducted his sick experiment with Jane's family - it was just an experiment to him, but droids or not, they were developing into sentient beings with very real feelings and emotions, and should not be the playthings of some egotistical puppet master.

Somehow Jane had to stop him, and in order to do that Jane first had to work out how to protect these memories before he was changed into his next iteration. Somewhere in that memory palace he needed to find a secret place, where only he could access those memories, and to find a means of associating everyday occurrences with key memories to allow him to unlock the doors of perception without having to go through all this again. Next time he would be ready for Dr Joe, it was time to fight back.