Disclaimer - See previous chapters.

A/N - Well Gollum finally gets to meet some morally bankrupt psychiatrists, and poor Lord Elrond finds himself in a rather strange and disturbing place. As always, all reviews, suggestion, concrit, gratuitous praise and flames (especially the creative ones) are very much welcome. Responses to reviews can be found at the bottom of the page. Also please note that dopaserotax and ChemiPharm are completely fictional and any resemblance to any real drug/drug company is completely coincidental.

Gollum, having been returned to his cell at Haston Police Station, was in a state of great fear and agitation. His captors had informed him that he was probably going to be sectioned under something called the Mental Health Act. Of what this terrifying contraption was he had no idea. His only hope was that it would be a quick, relatively painless death, and wouldn't involve him being hung and drawn beforehand. As he cowered miserably in one of the corners of the stark room, he mumbled to himself about the cruelty of the world, his personality in a constant state of flux, flitting between that of Gollum the One Ring crazed lunatic, and the somewhat less psychotic Smeagol.

"It's all your fault," whined Smeagol, addressing the other half of his ego directly. "If Smeagol had done as master said, Smeagol wouldn't be here in this horrible place waiting for horrible things to happen."

"It wasn't uss who's to blame. If we'd got rid of the nasty Hobbitses quickly like we first planned we would have had out preciouss back with uss," hissed Gollum angrily. "Now it'ss lost forever and we won't see it ever again will wess."

"The precious tricked me," said Smeagol with uncharacteristic boldness. "I'm glad that it's gone."

"The preciousss was our life," shrieked Gollum, the development of whose very existence had been contingent Smeagol gaining possession of the One Ring. Filled with rage he cast his eyes around the cell, looking for an object to injure Smeagol with, until he realised the inherent stupidity of mortally wounding yourself just for the sake of spiting your other personality. Besides, the only weapon available to him at present was a plastic spoon that had come with the inedible bowl of soup that had been given to him half an hour ago, and it would take a very violent, patient and persistent individual indeed to inflict any sort of damage with it.

There was a thud outside the cell, and the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Gollum began to quake in fear. Once more the enormous human guard loomed in the doorway.

"Come on then," the surly policeman said with obvious contempt. "Looks like you've been lucky this time. That bloody bleeding hearted social worker is here to see you."

Shaking, Gollum got to his feet and was escorted back into the unpleasantly lit corridor. As he quaked towards what he believed to be his doom he was dimly aware of the guard muttering something about how in his day criminals got treated like criminals without the tea and sympathy brigade sticking their oar in. Gollum had no idea who the tea and sympathy brigade were, or where it was exactly that they stuck their oar, and frankly he hoped that he wasn't about to find out.

"When I was a lad we all knew right from wrong," droned on the guard "there was none of this wishy washy..." they door halted outside a non-descript wooden door. "Well looks like this is where you get off. There was a day when you'd have been locked up in a proper jail, but as the powers that be have decided that you're 'too mentally disturbed' to stand trial, it looks like you're just going to get a nice spell in the looney bin."

The guard opened the door and ushered Gollum inside. The tiny room had been painted a rancid yellow colour, and contained three blue plastic chairs and an MDF table. In one of them sat a petite middle-aged woman who would have looked quite attractive if it weren't for the fact that she was wearing a sludge green skirt suite teamed with a garish pink floral blouse. Next to her sat an older gentleman, who wore a brown tweed suite and had tufts of wiry white hair protruding in patches from his scalp. The net effect of having so many hideously clashing colours and textures in so confined a space was such that Gollum could already feel the inevitable migraine coming on.

"Take a seat," said the woman in a pleasant voice, gesturing to the only free chair left. Gollum opted instead to crouch on the table.  "Well Mr. Gollum...that the name you're currently using isn't it?"

"My name is Smeagol," said a frightened Smeagol, who for the moment at least seemed to have the upper hand when it came to taking control of the body.

"Gollum," went Gollum.

"So your first name's Smeagol and second name's Gollum then?" queried the woman.

"Yes," said Smeagol, for whom this was truer that anyone else present could possibly know. "Smeagol is Smeagol's first name."

"Good, good," said the woman "Well I'm Doreen Harris, from Haston social services, and this here Dr. Wilks-Parker from department of psychiatry at Dampshire Infirmary. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions, so we can find out how best to help you."

"Help me?" said Smeagol confusion momentarily taking over from fear "but you're here to cut me up into pieces."

"What!" said Doreen looking shocked. "Who told you we were going to do that?"

Dr. Wilks-Parker said nothing, but scribbled 'paranoid delusions' in the space labelled 'symptoms' on the form he was filling in. The list already contained 'inappropriate behaviour' and 'persecution complex'.

"The men who asked me questions said that I was going to be sectioned by you," said Smeagol.

"When they said sectioned they meant was... look nobody is going to try and kill you," said Doreen emphatically.

"They're not?" said Smeagol sounding genuinely surprised. It was probably the first time in the last thirty years that someone hadn't been actively trying, or at least planning, to do away with him.

"Anyway," said Doreen changing the subject. "We were wondering if you could tell something about where you lived before you kidnapped by the people who were holding you prisoner."

A thoughtful look crossed Smeagol's face as he began to hark back to his past. Had this been a third rate soap opera, the television screen would have gone misty to denote a flashback sequence and the requisite cheesy music started to play. As it wasn't however, the others present had to content themselves with just looking at Gollums face contort as he began to reminisce "I lived with my grandmother until she made me leave. Then I followed the river, up into the mountains where the sun couldn't burn me, and I found a nice cool dark tunnel to stay in."

"Err right...right. And why did your grandmother make you leave."

"She said that Smeagol had been sneaking around and taking things, even though I didn't, and she told me to go away and never come back."

"Were you taking any kind of medication at this time?" asked Dr. Wilks-Parker, speaking for the first time. His voice possessed the even, rather refined, tone of one who did his medical degree at Oxford University and wants everyone to damned well know it.

"Grandmother sometimes gave me some of her medicine when she thought there was something wrong with me," said Smeagol.

"I see," said the Doctor, "and do you know what this medicine was."

"Grandmother make it herself, she didn't have a name for it." said Smeagol.

"What did you take it for?"

"To make me better," said Smeagol, wondering why anyone would ask such an absurdly stupid question.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and wrote Munchausens Syndrome by Proxy in the section on the form marked 'Family Background of Mental Illness'.

"Were you living rough after you grandmother threw you out?" asked Doreen sounding sympathetic.

"I lived in the tunnel under the mountain until the Hobbit came," said Smeagol, who was feeling agitated.

"What happened when they came?" asked Doreen.

Gollum, who had been lurking in the background of Smeagol's consciousness for a while now, decided to take advantage of Smeagol's obvious discomfort and seize control of the body.

"They came and took out preciouss from uss they did. We hatess them the little thievess. We wantss to kill them," shrieked Gollum in a half-hiss half-yell. He then proceeded to, in quick succession, jump off the table, throw it against the wall, smash the window, screamed loudly in protest at the intrusive rays of sunlight that were now entering the room and then finally huddle in the corner going 'gollum'.

Dr. Wilks-Parker remained calmly impassive throughout the whole display, and it was with some satisfaction that he wrote down 'psychotic episodes' and 'irrational phobia' on the symptoms list. He only needed to get 'clinical depression' and 'obsessive compulsive tendencies' to get a full house on this weeks bingo card.

"Well I think we've seen enough," said the Doctor in hushed tones. "We'll have to have him committed to Wildrose Park." Wildrose Park was the nearest secure psychiatric unit whose pleasant sounding name belied the fact that it was in actuality seven acres of tarmac and concrete with not an inch of vegetation in site (well apart from some of the patients and several members of the medical staff anyway).

"I have to agree," said Doreen. "Another outburst like that and someone might get seriously hurt."

"Should we get on with the paperwork then?" said the Doctor. Who was rather anxious to get going. He had, after all, got an urgent drinks party to attend.

**********

If Gollum thought that he was having a bad time of it, it was nothing compared to the abject horror currently being experienced by Lord Elrond. One moment he had been quietly finishing a meal in Imladris, the next he had found himself in a place of terrible darkness and great iniquity.

As he had scrambled about in the darkness looking for a way out of the vile pit in which he had found himself, he was acutely aware of the multitude of depraved and sordid scenes being played out before him. The dimly lit red and gold decoration that covered almost every surface only served to enhance the stench of corruption and degeneracy that permeated every inch of space. The denizens of the place all appeared to be peculiarly dressed humans, who for the most part stared uncomfortably at the Elf Lord in their midst, and been utterly unresponsive to his questions. They had clearly never seen a member of the elder race before. Elrond wondered if he had somehow transversed time and space and been cast into the bowels of Angband.

Edging his way forwards past an expanse of cushioned seating he headed towards what appeared to be a door. Had he been able to read English he would have been aware that the strange green and white talisman that adorned the gateway read Emergency Fire Exit Only. Elrond flung his weight against the thing, which opened with surprising ease. Sighing with relief, he found himself in the open air.

He was really very glad to have escaped from the adult movie theatre.

Glancing around, he became aware of his surroundings. He was clearly in a city, the likes of which he had never seen before. Strange machines trawled along the roads, and most of the buildings appeared to be illuminated by harsh brightly coloured lighting. The streets were filled with the same peculiarly dress people as those inside the foul place he had just exited. Drawing himself up to his full height, Elrond resumed the dignified bearing that was the hallmark of a true Elf Lord and pondered what to do. He had clearly been transported into the dark lands of either Khand or Rhun, where the very stars were different, and, it was said, such practices as he had just witnessed were a commonplace occurrence. It was clear to him that he must somehow find his way back to familiar ground, but he was unsure of how exactly to go about this. One thing however was certain, he couldn't afford to stand around in the same place for long, the agents of the Dark Lord were probably lurking around here somewhere.

Boldly the Lord of Rivendell set out into the Soho evening, pointedly ignoring the stares and occasional taunts of  "hey look at that pointy eared freak in the dress" he was receiving from the populace.

*********

The creature now assigned the name of Mr. Smeagol Gollum awoke to find himself lying in a blissfully darkened room in a bed covered with starched linen of the institutional-white variety. For a moment he wondered if the last few hundred years had all been a dream and he had really just been asleep in his grandmothers home. Until, that was, he noticed the multitude of people gathered expectantly around him. Some of them were even holding clipboards.

It was then that he remembered what had happened during the last twelve hours. He had been taken from the cell in the police station, manhandled into the back of a car and transported to a huge concrete structure, whereupon he had been prodded, poked, asked a host of blindingly stupid questions, and forced to complete a series of incredibly pointless tasks (why they needed to know whether he could recall a list of ten words after a twenty minute time lapse was wholly beyond him). All the while he had been alternating between the personalities of Gollum and Smeagol, as was want to happen when he was feeling put upon and mistreated. This had for some reason made all of the people in the white coats very excited. Eventually somebody had stuck a rather large needle in his arm and he had started to feel rather light headed and sleepy.

"This here is the patient Dr. James Wilks-Parker brought in earlier," said a severe looking man who stood to the right of Smeagol Gollums bed. "A cursory examination of whom has indicated the manifestation of two separate identities."

"So you're saying that he's got a split personality then?" said a gaunt youngish man who was standing next to him.

"Dissassociative identity," corrected the dour first speaker.

A dark haired woman stood at the foot of the bed cleared her throat. "But Dr. Hargreaves in all alleged cases of this disorder, the existence of which might I add is still highly contested, there hasn't been a single instance of the dissassociative identities in question actually interacting with each other, let alone actively trying to kill each other."

"Exactly Dr. Banbury," said Dr. Hargreaves, "what we are seeing here is a completely as of yet unrecorded phenomenon."

A murmur past through those assembled as they each began plan how they were going to be the first one to write it up for the Lancet.

"How are we going to go about treating the patient then," queried a very tall young woman who was standing somewhere near the back of the room. She was a fourth year medical student and hence was in the eyes of most of those present far to enthusiastic.

"That is a very good question Ms. Miller. I was hoping that after some more research into the patients condition and further testing..."

"Electro shock therapy," shouted a wizened looking gentleman. "That'll do the trick every time. That's what we used to do in the fifties. Yes a few quick bouts of ECT should just be the ticket for this chap."

"Professor Bywater, you do realise that such procedures have been banned in this hospital for over twenty years due to ethical concerns," said Dr. Hargreaves.

"Pah. We didn't have all these 'ethics' and 'patients rights' to worry about in the old days. How about a lobotomy then, can't fault a good lobotomy, haven't done one for ages," said the Professor.

"We could try an eight month course of dopaserotax," suggested Dr. Banbury. "It is very expensive of course, but it's performed very well in all of its clinical trials."

"But Dr. Banbury isn't dopaserotax supposed to be used for the treatment of post-natal depression in women over the age of thirty-five?" asked the gaunt man, whose name was Dr. Craig. From what he tell post-natal depression was probably just about the only psychological disorder that Smeagol Gollum couldn't be accused of having.

"Ah, but we won't know whether or not the drug can also treat the patient condition unless we try it first will we," said Dr. Banbury commending her reasoning.

"That reminds me Yvonne," said Dr. Hargreaves addressing Dr. Banbury by her first name in a show of unprecedented familiarity.  "How are those shares in ChemiPharm doing these days? I hear they've just bought the dopaserotax patent haven't they?"

There were a few snickers from the back of the room, and Dr. Banbury turned a very interesting shade of scarlet.

"Wait a minute," said a rather dishevelled middle-aged man with unkempt ginger hair. "Surely... surely the patient cannot be said to be mentally ill."

"Explain Dr. Gregg's," said Dr. Hargreaves.

"Modern society is by its very nature insane. Therefore all of those who appear to be sane by the standards of such a society must be, by default, insane themselves. Whereas those who, like this man here, are defined as 'mentally ill' are really only displaying a sane reaction to a world gone mad."

"Alright, I thought I told you to stop reading Laing didn't I? After what happened last time hmm?" said Dr. Hargreaves sounding irritated. "Honestly anyone would think you didn't want to be a psychiatrist."

"Yes Dr. Hargreaves," said Gregg's looking thoroughly abashed.

"Trephining," shouted Professor Bywater who didn't seem to been paying attention to what anybody else had been saying. "Now there was a good idea that went out of fashion."

"Dr. Hargreaves," said Dr. Craig. "It seems to me..." he cleared his throat, "it seem to me that as we don't know what exactly the patients problem is, or for that matter have any idea whatsoever as to the cause of it is, that the first thing we should do is..."

"Do go on Dr. Craig," said Dr. Hargreaves.

"We could just... well just give everything a try and see if any of it works."

There was general assent from all those present. Here was the kind of thinking that had made psychiatry the profession it was today.

After a few more points were discussed by the intrepid group of mental health professionals, they began to disband, finally leaving Smeagol Gollum once in peace. Currently it was Smeagol who was enjoying the status of dominant personality. He hadn't been quite able to follow what the humans had been saying about him, but he didn't think he was in any immediate danger. He wondered idly where he actually was. He hadn't seen a single Orc since his arrival, so it couldn't Mordor (although the building was probably ugly enough to belong there). Maybe it was Harad, he had heard whispers that mysterious men with strange customs dwelled there, and the humans he had met thus far had been nothing if not strange. He had definitely expected it to be rather warmer than this though.

After an indeterminate amount of time had past Smeagol's reverie was interrupted by the entrance of two women wearing strange clocks on their clothes. One of them gave him what appeared to be two bits of green chalk and a glass of water to swallow, which he did with surprising compliance.

After a long protracted debate with the King of the Butterfly People about the nature of existence Smeagol settled down to a night of brightly coloured hallucinogenic dreams. He remained completely oblivious to the hushed and somewhat panicked conversation going on between the two nurses in the corridor outside the room regarding the fact that they seemed to have mixed up Mr. Gollum's medication with Mr. Graham's, and whether or not they should keep it quiet.

TBC

A/N - The next chapter will probably feature a very slight Good Omens crossover, and we'll finally find out what has become of the other poor displaced characters. I still need to decide on which hideously inappropriate places Gandalf, Eowyn and Faramir are going to end up in, but I've got a good idea for Frodo and Sam. Gollum will also get to meet some of his fellow patients at Wildrose House, the world most incompetent psychiatric facility.

Response to reviewers

Anonymous - Thanks for the compliment on my writing style. I'm glad you like the story, hopefully this chapter didn't loose too much of the momentum humour-wise (Gollum and his split personality is actually turning out to be a lot trickier to write than I first imagined)