Supermarket(48)

“Let’s sit, Flynn,” Dr. Cross said. We took a seat on an old bench.

“You have made incredible progress with your treatment. Your conditions are some of the most complex mental conditions there are. Psychotherapy seems to have helped you the best. You have bravely examined your own mind, untangling a complex web of thoughts, emotions, experience, and behavior. You put a huge amount of pressure on yourself. And while you maybe thought that pressure was coming from other sources, it was nearly all self-imposed. You have worked to find self-love despite your challenging circumstances. Schizophrenia typically begins to show up in men during their early twenties. The emotional trauma of your breakup, the extreme creative pressure you put on yourself, the change in your environment—all these factors exasperated your latent schizophrenia. What you saw during your breakdowns—the panic attacks and out-of-body moments—were early warning signs. It’s a condition that changes your perception of reality and reroutes your memory. It creates delusions, hallucinations, and paranoia.

“You pushed through the early warning signs, and buried yourself in your novel. Your novel became its own altered state. In it you created a character, and that character became ‘real’ to you. So real that Frank became a distinct personality inside your head. Your multiple personalities were antagonizing one another. Frank is a powerful entity in you. He still lingers, as you saw in your nightmare. But you seemed to have broken through in a major way lately.

“You must do everything in your power to stay in the real world. You must do everything in your power to not allow Frank to undo your progress. Because he will try. His existence depends on it,” she said.

“But, Doc, I mean . . . I’ve been here before. If I go back I can make it out again, right?”

“I’m not so sure, Flynn,” she said. “The last time you retreated it was for so long. I thought perhaps we’d lost you for good.”

“How do I end this, Olivia?” I asked. “How the fuck can I just be normal again?!” I yelled to the sky. Birds scattered from the trees into the cold air.

“By getting rid of him, Flynn, once and for all.”

“How the fuck do I get rid of a man who doesn’t exist?”

“I can only give you encouragement and tools, Flynn.”

“What tools, Olivia?” I asked in anger.

“Do you like chess, Flynn?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with a guy living in my head? A guy who wants to trap me in a world he’s created?”

“Knowledge is half the battle. The answer is inside of you. You know where you’ve been, and deep down, you know where you are.” She gave me a small smile. “This story is your own. And only you, Flynn, can write the ending.”

“Nice writing pun . . . ’cuz I’m a writer . . . you get it?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Flynn,” she said, and I could tell she was holding back a smile.

“I’m sorry, Doc,” I said.

We finished our walk through the garden in silence. And then I told her something I hadn’t thought of since the morning after the robbery.

“You know, when me and Frank first had our argument in the middle of the store . . . in front of everyone . . . I demanded he tell me his last name. But he couldn’t do it. He went to reply, paused, and stared into the floor. Then he looked back up at me, puzzled. I told him if he was real he should tell me his last name! And again he went to reply, paused, looked at the ground for a moment . . . then back at me, totally puzzled. That’s when I explained in front of everyone that he couldn’t tell me his last name for one reason: I hadn’t written it down yet.”

Olivia sat down on the bench we were passing, and I joined her.

“Go on.”

“The truth is, the day Lola left me at the diner, there was a man waiting on us. His name was Frank. ‘The’ Frank, I suppose. The young guy who I completely based my character’s physique on . . . the physical projection that fuels my delusion. So you see, Doc, I never gave Frank a last name, because . . . I never knew it.”

Olivia paused a moment, then she took my hand. “Well,” she said, “I suppose you will just have to go back to that very diner and find out what it is. That’s what you’ll do when you beat this thing, now, isn’t it?”





CHAPTER 14


CHECKMATE


The next day, I woke up refreshed. I was excited because it was Monday, and you know what that meant? It meant Mia was visiting the next day. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, so many things I had kept inside and couldn’t wait to let out.

On my way to breakfast, like clockwork, I walked past Joe.

“Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee . . . hi, Flynn!”

“Oh, shit,” I said, turning toward him. “Did you just . . . talk?”

“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” he replied.

“Joe, did you say something?”

“Cofffeeeeeeeeeeeee . . .”

“Okay, Joe,” I said with a little wave. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Hey there, Flynn,” said Ann, approaching with a smile. “Here are your happy pills!”

We did our usual morning medication mambo—she was my dealer: she supplied the pills, I pretended to take them, and then I spit ’em out and slipped them into my jacket pocket.