Chapter 1

August?? 2004

"Tell me a little about yourself, Doctor."

"Why?" I asked the Voice.

It came, I supposed, from a face ... but it was a face I couldn't see. The bandages wrapped over my eyes and around the crown of my head kept me blind and in the dark. Was it a male or female voice? I couldn't be sure, but from the speech patterns and word choices I thought it was most likely male. Where the ideas about speech patterns and word choices came from were as much a mystery to me as the identity of the Voice. There was far too much I didn't know about my current circumstances, but of all the questions I had the one that nagged at me most was the identity of the Voice.

"Think of it, Doctor, as a way to break the ice; a way for us to get to know one another a little better; a way to keep from having large quantities of electricity sent coursing thru the more tender and sensitive parts of your body."

"Jeezus, you really are a fun date, aren't you?" I snorted sarcastically. "Just how many times do we have to go thru this amusing little song and dance? I've been wheeled in here four times so far and you always start off with the same damn dumb line. So for the fourth time, I'm not talking to someone I can't see. If you want answers, I suggest that you come out from behind your microphone, remove these damn bandages and look me in the eye. Then we'll talk."

"Come now, Doctor ... I'm not asking for a blood sample; just a little polite conversation. Where were you born? Are you married? Do you have children? What are their names?"

I felt a sudden aching pain in the chest when he/she/it asked those last three questions.

"What colleges did you attend? What was your major? Who were some of your instructors? What professional organizations do you belong to? Doctor, I'm not asking for classified information, just a little polite chit-chat between old friends."

"I think I'd remember any old friend of mine who sounded like their vocal chords were being synthesized on the cheap."

"How very droll. You are a stubborn man, Doctor. I, on the other hand, am an extremely patient individual. Eventually, you will tell me what I want to know."

How fuckin' melodramatic could you get? I sighed slightly and tried to get comfortable on the unpadded wooden chair. I took a deep breath and my nose was filled once more with the pungent scent of industrial strength antiseptic. The smell triggered a brief mental image of rows of hospital beds. Curious.

"You might try asking me about what it is you really want to know, rather than boring me to death with idle chit-chat... hoping that I'll let something slip. But until that glorious day arrives I suggest that you bite me!"

Cold laughter filled my ears. There was nothing human about the Voice. Metallic and clipped, sharp edged, unemotional and absolutely artificial.

"Very well ... just this once we'll skip the chit-chat and get right to the point. Tell me about Lucifer."

"You're kidding, right? That's what you want to know?"

"Yes Doctor, that's what I want to know. Where is Lucifer?"

"In Hell, I would imagine."

There was a long, drawn out, very prolonged silence. An angry, sullen, irritated absence of sound.

"That is, of course, completely dependent on the existence of either Hell or a devil ... and I suppose God too, since God is supposed to be the one who chucked his ass there in the first place."

The electronic silence continued for several more seconds.

"Take him back to his room. And Doctor, do NOT, under any circumstances, remove those bandages. We want to give your eyes every chance to heal. We'll continue this discussion when you're feeling more cooperative."

Unseen hands, five pairs I think, hauled me to my feet, lifted me up and placed me on what I supposed was a hospital type gurney. I was strapped down and rolled out of the room. The sound of a heavy metal door banging shut rang loudly in my ears, blending with the dull squeak from one of the gurney's wheels.

I had no idea where I was or how long I'd been there.

I hadn't had the bandages off since I'd been where ever it was I was, was handcuffed whenever my keepers planned on moving me from my room to some other location and no one talked to me or replied to my questions ... with the exception of the electronically artificial Voice. I was effectively isolated and alone.

My handlers were silent as shadows while the gurney rolled along. I counted silently to myself and tried to tell if we turned or looped, trying to plot out a map of the place in my mind. I had no intention of remaining a prisoner. Although how I was going to effect an escape was anyone's guess.

I didn't mind the daily, or at least I assumed they were daily, exchanges with the disembodied Voice. It was one way to keep track of time. As far as the questioning went, he/she/it could ask till hell froze over; I wasn't going to tell them a fuckin' thing.

I couldn't.

The Voice insisted on referring to me as Doctor, so I took it for granted that I was a doctor, but doctor of what I couldn't even begin to guess. I couldn't remember much of anything that happened before the visits with the Voice began.

There'd been an accident of some kind ... that much I was fairly sure of. It explained the rather large lump on the right side of my head, hidden beneath the long thick mop of hair on my head, the ends of which hung down nearly to my elbows.

I had no idea how old I was or what I looked like, apart from the long hair. I didn't feel old, but that didn't really mean much. With the exception of the lump, and a constant blinding pain behind my eyes, I felt pretty good. It took a major exercise of will-power not to be constantly pacing the length of the little room I was kept in. I felt a tremendous need for movement of some kind ... any kind. Running, pacing ... anything, as long as it was movement; but I limited myself to sitting or lying on the cot.

The Voice asked me questions about myself, my life, my family. Four times we'd gone thru the same routine and every single time I'd responded in pretty much the same way, by refusing. I'd have been delighted to tell the Voice to fuck off--that there was no way I was ever going to answer its questions. If only I had some kind of idea which answers I needed to protect.

I had nothing. Not a hint, not a clue. Apart from being called Doctor and having long hair, I didn't know a damn thing about myself. Oh, sure ... I knew I was a man and I knew I had a baritone voice. But no name, no address, not even a vague memory of what my own face looked like. Absolutely nothing.

But for some perverse reason I was unwilling to admit this to the Voice. Pure gut instinct probably ... some innate sense of self-preservation. Obviously it wanted something in particular from me, but if it even suspected that I didn't have access to that information, there'd be no reason to keep me alive. So, instead, I maintained a façade of stubborn resistance, stalling for all I was worth, in the faint hope that it would let something useful slip out. We were both playing a game of wait and see ... but it had the advantage of knowing what it was what it wanted to discover. All I could do was guess. At least that had been the case ... until this last visit. Something had finally slipped... Lucifer ... but what did it mean? It was most likely some kind of code word or designation for something or someone that was important, but why was it important? And why did the Voice think I knew what it was?

I'd memorized the route from my room/cell to the room where the Voice and I engaged in our daily duel. At least I thought it was daily. Could just as easily have been nightly, or twice daily or who knows how often. There was no reliable way for me to estimate the passage of time, short of counting my own heartbeats. I couldn't even judge by how often I was fed, because I'd only been fed twice since regaining consciousness and I had an odd feeling that I'd been awake for more than 36 hours, but how much more... ?

My transport crew came to a stop and I waited while the door to my room/cell was unlocked, then the gurney was rolled inside, my restraints were released and I was assisted off the rolling table onto my feet. I heard the gurney being rolled out as I was assisted to the narrow cot, where I sat down. My handcuffs were not, for the first time I could recall, removed after I was ensconced within my cell. I heard the sounds of at least four sets of feet scurry out and a heavy door slammed shut with a dull thumping finality.

I wondered briefly about the handcuffs but eventually gave up trying to figure out why this time should be different from the others. I listened intently for several seconds. Nothing. I was alone.

Alone again. Just me and my thoughts ... me and my imagination ... me and the voices in my head.

At the conclusion of the very first futile interview, after I'd been returned to my little cell and left alone (though I was probably being monitored), I'd stretched out on the cot and tried to sleep. That's when I first started hearing voices in my head.

They were faint and garbled to begin with. My first thought was that they were somehow related to the skull splittingly painful ache on, and in, the side of my head. But gradually they got louder and clearer, and once I could make out their words it became apparent that they were talking to me. My second thought was that it was all part and parcel of the Voice's plan to get me to talk.

I scrapped that notion when I realized that these voices didn't seem to want me to converse with them ... they wanted me to listen.

My third thought was that I was either out of my mind or quickly getting there.

After my third visit with the Voice I simply decided to ignore the voices in my head and hope for the best.

I lay down on the cot for the fourth time, got as comfortable as I could, and tried to sleep.

'Why do you put up with this shit?' he asked me.

"What? Who's there? Who are you?"

I couldn't see anyone. All around me was absolute darkness. I was standing on something (I could feel solidity beneath my feet) but I couldn't tell what it was or how big. I remained very still and tried not to move my feet too much.

'Being held captive like an animal in a zoo. There's no way they can hold us, if we don't want to be held.'

"What the hell are you talking about? Who's we and how can we stop them from holding us?"

'Who's we? We are we. What's with you? You act like... '

'Like he has no idea what you're talking about? Like he has no idea who he is, or who you are?' the second voice chimed in, confusing me even more than I already was. The second voice was very much like the first one, but lighter, brighter, less strident and imperious. They both sounded hauntingly familiar.

There was a prolonged pause, which was followed by a crackling, static discharge kind of sound, but louder and much more powerful.

'We are in deep shit.' the first voice said.

'Yeah, about chin high and rising.' the second replied.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on here?" I asked, a little tersely.

There was a moment of deep, mind numbing silence, broken abruptly by more and louder static discharges that were then followed quickly by brilliant flashes of blue-white lightning bolts that lit up the boundless dark surrounding me. For a brief instant I saw the outline of two shapes.

'We shouldn't be separated like this." the first voice said.

'No.' replied the second.

'So, why are we?'

'Traumatic Disassociation I would imagine.'

'Well, that explains everything ... clear as mud, thanks very fuckin' much! Now how 'bout trying again in English.'

The second voice sighed heavily. 'It's not that simple ... I wish it were. I think it's a combination of things. First there's all the stress and emotional trauma at home. Second would be work related stress and third would be the cracks on the head from the collision. He doesn't want to remember ... not them, not us, not himself.'

'He's gonna get us all killed!'

'You think I don't know that? You think I'm happy about it?'

There was a second heavy, martyred sigh. 'So how do we get him to remember? Before we end up pulling a Hoffa?'

'Show him what he doesn't want to see.'

'You're kidding, right?'

'No, I'm not. We force him to confront what he's suppressing ... which at this point is pretty much his entire life.'

'If he's been working overtime to put it out of his mind, he sure as hell ain't gonna like having us shove it back in.'

'Probably not ... hell, who are we kidding? He's gonna hate it and be madder 'n hell once he does remember. But considering our present situation, being that pissed off could actually be a good thing. In any event, I think it's our only practical option.'

I was getting more and more irritated the longer their conversation went on. Mostly from being ignored, I suppose, but listening to the two of them talking back and forth had started a pool of sour bile forming in the pit of my stomach, and the burning sensation it caused was increasing with every word.

"Who are you people?" I demanded, sounding to my own ears like a petulant child.

There was another prolonged sigh followed by the static sound and flashing branches of electricity.

'Why can't he see us? He never had any trouble seeing me before.'

'He doesn't want to see us. We're going to have to do all the work; make him see us as well as everything else.'

My headache increased in size and intensity, becoming even more painful.

"Get the fuck out of my HEAD goddamnit!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs.

Silence followed for a count of ten. Then...

... laughter. Low, devoid of all mirth, hollow, coarse and cold ... but it sounded human. All too human.

'That might have worked thirteen years ago, but those days are long gone. You know what, how 'bout I just take over? I'm pretty damn sure I could do a better job of running things anyway ... and I know I can get us out of this mess.'

"Nobody's taking over anything!" I snarled and lashed out in the direction of the first voice with all the burning pain that was brewing in my belly and my head.

Light flared up all around me, bright, brilliant, blinding greenish light that illuminated, just barely, the figures that stood no more than an arms length in front of me.

'Can I motivate, or what?' the first voice said with a chilling chuckle. It came from the mouth of the figure on my left, a tall, blacker-than-black shape with flickering flames for eyes, lips and tongue. He looked me in the eye and grinned.