Tony Bradshaw shook his head for a moment, not sure of where he was. All he could hear was some horrid country and western song playing in the background. All he could feel was an incessant throbbing in his skull like his brain was ripping apart. What in the hell was happening to him? Lately, he had suffered one blackout after the next, losing large chunks of his memory and suffering blinding migraines.

"Mr. Bradshaw?" a woman's voice asked. "Are you OK?"

With confusion, Tony looked up from the tiled table, peering at a pert brunette sitting across from him, holding a Diet Coke. The girl seemed attractive enough. Was she one of his fans? She seemed like the type. When the woman reached out to touch his arm, he backed away from her nervously. Who was this woman? What was going on?

"Perhaps we should discuss this at another time?" she continued uncertainly. "You seem kind of sick."

"What were we talking about?" he asked feebly, hoping for a clue to help him out.

"Erik's Story. Writing our play and making our masterpiece!"

The woman giggled a little as she continued, her eyes lighting up as she took a large hardback copy of a novel out and plopped it upon the table.

"Your enthusiasm is winning me over, Mr. Bradshaw. I have to admit that I am getting more and more into the idea of playing Christine. It would be quite a challenge, considering that I think the woman was a bit of a scaredy-cat fool, but my acting teacher always said not to make judgments about the character that you are playing..."

As the girl prattled on about whatever she had learned in Acting 101, Tony's mind wandered as he began to skim through the book she placed before him. Erik's Story by Veronica Lindell. Oh, yes, he recalled the popularity of this book recently, but he had not read it. Particularly since the author had written a raunchy companion piece called Bride of the Phantom. The concept of turning the Phantom into an erotic character had disgusted Tony. Perhaps he had grown too close to his character over the last few years, but he considered that part of the character's appeal was his innocence and respect for Christine. If you made him lewd, he was just a dirty old ugly man. Returning his mind to the present, he still was befuddled with questions. What sort of promises had he made to this woman? Had he slept with her? Certainly, he would have remembered such a thing.

"...and I've always considered myself a bit of a modern type, but everyone tells me that with my complexion and hair, I would be quite well suited for Victorian roles..."

Tony could not take anymore.

"Look, perhaps we're jumping the gun a little bit..." he interrupted. "I mean, perhaps we should look a little more into the practicalities of the situation before we worry about casting. In fact, maybe we should put the project on hold..."

The woman looked confused.

"But this was all your idea! I thought it was settled..."

"Well," he stammered, grasping in the dark. "I mean, we would need financial backing and such. It's not so easy, you know, just to put on a play, even in regional theater and..."

"And I thought I was going to play Christine?"

"Well, maybe, although you don't seem the right type really for..."

"Oh, so I suppose I'm too fat or ugly for the part, is that what you're saying?" she yelled, standing up and nearly spilling her Coke on him in the process.

"No!" he protested, although he wasn't quite sure why. "Of course not. It's just that..."

"Oh, don't explain," she sneered. "It's quite obvious to me. You were all Mr. Sexy a few moments ago, trying to flirt with me, holding my hand and all that. I guess once you got a clue that I wasn't going to go to bed with you in the first five minutes of our meeting, you've decided to move on to more fertile pastures, so to speak. And then became insulting about it, to boot!"

"No, you've got me all wrong," he argued. "You don't understand at all!"

"Well, why are you acting so weird then?"

"I..." How on earth could he possibly explain?

"I may be just a girl fresh out of the college dormitories, Mr. Bradshaw, but I'm not an idiot! In fact, I'll bet you don't know the first thing about making a movie, do you?"

"Well, actually...I guess that I don't have that much..."

"No, I didn't think so," she interrupted, off on a tangent. "All of this big talk about masterpieces and screenplays! You're just an actor doing a one-man show in downtown Dallas. And you act like you can make me into some sort of big star! You'll say anything to get laid, won't you?."

She grabbed at the novel, whisking it from the table and nearly spilling ice on him in the process.

"This book means a lot to me, Mr. Bradshaw." Her eyes welled up with tears as she hugged it to her chest. "It is probably the most important thing I will ever do in my life. And if you think I am going to do business or sell the rights to an insufferable shallow pig like you, you are sadly mistaken!"

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the restaurant.

Tony felt sorry to see her go. But for the life of him, he had no idea what they had just been arguing about. Obviously, he had been coming on to her. Odd since blondes were usually more his type. But that was a fairly petty concern among all of the mysterious things that were happening to him.

It was the heroin. It had to be. He had always thought that the warning about narcotics was just so much political maneuvering, but he was finding out firsthand that the drug was causing his mind to rot. How else to explain all of his strange symptoms? Momentarily, he inspected his arm, taking off his blazer jacket as he did so. Just as he suspected, there were fresh track marks. One of them left a rather nasty looking bruise. It smarted so much that it must have been quite recent. That's it, he had to get himself to a rehabilitation clinic and get straightened out. This was just too scary.

As he glanced in the mirror, he saw that his hair was combed a bit differently. Was he even wearing a sort of hair gel? He reeked of cologne that he couldn't stand. And why was he dressed up so much anyway? It was like he was changing into an entirely different person! As if he were becoming schizophrenic or...

He shook his head, feeling very unnerved

Maybe I should have done a show about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he thought to himself as he stumbled out of the restaurant and began to walk the mile's distance back to his home.


When Tony finally made it home in the early evening, he felt even more disoriented. He couldn't even seem to remember when he had last been lucid before the incident at Chili's with the strange girl. Time seemed to lose its meaning all together.

Nervously, he checked the date on his watch. It was a Monday evening when the theater was dark. Thank God because he was not up for a show tonight! Not right now.

As he wandered about the comfortable one-bedroom bachelor pad, he noticed that the place was in a bit of a disarray. Books had been pulled out of his bookshelf and lying on the floor, primarily books regarding screenwriting and movie production. There were pictures ripped out from magazines of "Dancing With the Stars" celebrities on the floor. He had never even seen one episode of that show! On his computer screen, there was a listing written down in Microsoft Word for HOYT LIMOUSINE. Why on earth would he want a limousine?

With confusion, he reached for the phone and called his agent.

"Rosenberg Agency," the gravely voice answered.

"Sid?" he asked, reaching desperately for any sane person who might be able to help him out. "It's Tony Bradshaw."

"Tony, baby, how's it goin'?" the older man laughed, probably reaching to take a cigar out of his mouth. "Got enough babes tryin' to rip your mask off these days? They just can't get enough of that Phantom stuff..."

"Yes, yes..." Tony answered anxiously. "Listen, have there been any complaints from the management?"

"Complaints? What do you mean?"

"I mean, about my performances...they're OK? They're regular and normal and...all that?"

"Sure. What's to complain about? The box office is doing better than ever. In fact, they think that your performances have become more lifelike than ever. You ARE the Phantom, Tony Bradshaw!"

Tony swallowed nervously with a strange sense of dread.

"Well, good. I'm glad that everything is still going well."

"Why wouldn't it? There's nowhere to go but up, know what I mean?"

"Right."

"You actors!" the agent sneered on the other end of the line. "Only two kinds of insecure actors: those who are workin' and those who ain't. Listen, I got another client on the other line..."

"Sure, talk to you later, Sid."

Tony hung up the phone, frustrated. There were no answers, just more and more questions.

Well, at least he had been well enough to do his show, he reasoned. Even if he couldn't remember doing the shows.

God, he couldn't take this headache any longer. It was driving him even crazier than he already was! Reaching desperately in his medicine cabinet for some Tylenol PM, he washed down two pills with some Gatorade before collapsing in bed. Jeez, even his bed reeked of cologne! The sheets were all in disarray as if whoever had slept in the bed violently turned and tossed all night. Not whoever, he reminded himself. He had slept in the bed, of course! Just because his memory was going did not mean that he should lose all reason.

As he turned on his side, he noticed a small picture on the side of the bed. It was the publicity photo of Veronica Lindell that had been used for the jacket of Erik's Story. He no longer tried to make sense of why it was there, knowing he would only get more frustrated by trying. She was a beautiful woman with her long radiant dark curls and intelligent lively eyes. In the picture, she was wearing a black slinky dress that seemed to show off her shapely shoulders and arms.

As he stared at the photo, he felt the muscles in his forehead relax a bit. Thank God the pills were working for the pain had been on the edge of unbearable! He should go to a doctor in the morning and get the name of a good clinic. Sid would be mad if he had to take a leave of absence from the play, but his health came first. Perhaps he just needed some rest, that was all. Just a little rest...

The vision of Veronica Lindell's face haunted his mind as he felt himself slip deeper and deeper into oblivion.

YOU DAMNED FOOL!

The violently angry voice shouted in his mind caused Tony to sit up sharply. Eyes wide and heart pounding, he fell into a cold sweat.

Nothing but silence.

It was a nightmare. That's all that voice was. A Tylenol PM-induced nightmare!

By the time I'm done with you, you'll be praying for nightmares, you clod! YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!

"Who are you!" Tony demanded, glaring out into space, feeling like Joan of Arc talking to the voice in his head.

You dare to demand explanations from me after ruining my plans! Oh, you shall pay and pay dearly for your insolence, you horrid wretch!

Tony's muscles moved on their own volition as if his mind and body were disconnected somehow. Suddenly, he was hurled from the bed and against the hard plaster of the bedroom wall.

Your mind and body are mine, Bradshaw! And you are not to interfere any longer unless you want to know pain beyond your wildest imagination!

Repeatedly, Tony was slammed into the wall until he could stand no more.

When oblivion came, it was a sweet release.