Assignment 1 – A Prescription for Paranoia (working title)

John Thorton reached over to turn off the alarm clock. It was 6:00 AM. He had always been an early riser, a habit acquired when he started his first business. In his younger days he would usually become fully awake within moments of hearing the alarm clock's chime, throwing off the lingering veils of fatigue as easily as he threw back the the sheet.

But for months now it hadn't been so easy. He always felt tired when he woke after a long night of tossing and turning.

Thirty minutes later and ready to leave for work, John was already feeling unsettled. As he walked down the front steps of his townhouse, he paused to take a look around. Everything seemed normal, but one couldn't be too careful. He wouldn't be so suspicious if he hadn't started noticing things.

A few weeks ago he got a phone call at home. It had been some guy trying to sell him magazine subscriptions. But while they were talking, John heard clicking on the line, the kind of noise a phone tap makes. He normally would not have remembered that, but he had heard the same noise with other phone calls taken at home.

During one of his evening walks he had seen movement from the corner of his eye. He looked. There was nothing there. But he had been sure, hadn't he? Since that time he had experienced the same phenomenon on more than one occasion. It was just weird.

But the worst was two nights ago. John was in the library at home. He heard footsteps. Someone was in his house. How did they get in? Did he forget to lock the door? John grabbed the ornate letter opener off the desk and crept as silently as he could to the door of his library. He peered out, quickly scanning the room. There was nobody there. Had they gone back to the bedroom?

“Who's there?” he called. There was no answer.

His heart racing, John worked his way towards the hall that leads to the bedroom, pausing every few steps to listen. He thought he could hear the sound of drawers being opened. Was the intruder searching for something?

When he reached the bedroom, he found it empty. But John was sure, absolutely sure, he had heard someone. A thorough search reassured him that whoever had been there was gone. John checked the front door. It was locked, but the deadbolt wasn't secured. He turned the knob on the deadbolt.

Shaking his head to rid himself of that memory, John looked all around and under his car before unlocking it and getting inside. He turned on the radio and tuned it to the local public radio station. If he drove straight to work from home, he could get there in less than ten minutes. But in light of everything that has happened lately, John had started taking different routes to work every day. If he varied his routine from day to day, it would be much harder for someone to track his movements. He wasn't going to make it easy for them.

A half a mile or so into his drive, John noticed a dark Nissan a few hundred yards behind him. Hadn't it been behind him before the last turn? On impulse, John took a right at the next intersection. He accelerated rapidly and turned right again. Was the Nissan still behind him?

John kept checking his rear-view mirror. So far, so good–no one there. John wasn't going to panic. He turned left at the next intersection. He decided to drive a little further before continuing on a route that would take him to the office.

As John crossed the next intersection, he glanced right and left to make sure it was safe. Pulling up to the intersection on the left he saw that Nissan. He was sure it was the same car. Without the slightest hesitation, John accelerated hard. How had the Nissan's driver found him? Was there more than one person involved? Had they planted some sort of tracking mechanism in his car?

If that was the case, he was in serious trouble. There was nowhere he could drive where they couldn't find him. He briefly contemplated finding the first police station he could and running inside. He dismissed that thought just as quickly. They would ask too many questions. They would want to know why he thought he was being followed. Their investigations would certainly by his office. There was no telling what they may uncover there. No, he was on his own.

At the upcoming intersection the light turned yellow. Would he have time to make it through before it turned red? Still accelerating, John decided he would make it through that intersection. The light turned red. John was still half a block away. That's OK. He would make it. As he shot through the intersection he heard the blaring of a horn. A large panel truck approach from the right. John swerved to get away from the truck but it wasn't good enough. The panel truck clipped the back of John's car. The car spun out of control. John barely remembered striking the light pole.

He heard noises in the distance. He had a terrible headache. With difficulty, John opened his eyes. Where was he? With a rush of clarity he realized he was in a hospital room. John tried to sit up, but felt nauseous and lowered his head. He pressed the button on the nurse's call control. A few minutes later, he wasn't sure how long, a nurse walked in. She looked to be somewhere in her late twenties to early thirties. She looked friendly, and smiled as she exclaimed “John, your awake! How are you feeling? We have been worried about you.”

“How do you know my name?” he croaked. He realized his throat was parched.

Nurse Belin poured John a glass of ice water. Handing it to him she replied “Your name is on your chart. You've been here two days now. This is the first time I've seen you awake, although I have heard you say a few things in your sleep. Our shift leader told me some folks from your office have been by to check on you. That's where these flowers came from.” She pointed to the bouquet at the foot of John's hospital bed.

The ice water tasted better than anything could remember. “Thanks!” John said. “It's been pretty crazy lately. Do you know how long I'll have to stay here?”

“I couldn't say. But now that your awake, I can't imagine we'll have to keep you too long. Dr. Emerson will be by to see you a little later and I'm sure he can tell you.”

John dozed off. He woke some time later to find an older man, dressed in the traditional white doctor's coat, glancing at his chart. “Are you Doctor Emerson?” John asked.

“Hi John. Yes that's me. How are you feeling?”

“Well, except for some pain in my head, I feel pretty good. Better in some ways than I have in a long time.”

“John, I'm not surprised,” said Dr. Emerson. “We ran a series of blood tests on you when the E.M.S. folks brought you to the hospital. When they told us you had been in an accident while running a red light, we did the usual blood tests for alcohol and narcotics. When they all came up negative, I ordered a complete workup on you.”

“If I was awake, I could have spared you the trouble. I don't use drugs and I never drink and drive. Heck, doc, I was on my way to work. And I've always been healthy.”

“Hmmm, that's interesting,” murmured the doctor. “Are you sure you have been feeling OK lately?”

“Why sure I'm sure,” replied John. “Why do you ask?”

“Well quite frankly, you had severely depressed levels of certain brain chemicals, especially serotonin. I would have thought you would be experiencing some kind of symptoms!”

“Doc, what kind of symptoms are we talking about?” asked John.

“There are all types of possibilities,” answered the doctor, “Anxiety, fatigue, and depression are all common. And I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you were having trouble sleeping or didn't have much appetite. More rarely, but not totally uncommon ,we even see cases of paranoia, sometimes pretty severe, too!”

“Doc,” John began slowly, “This paranoia thing­–could it cause me to hear things or maybe even see things?”

“Surely!” replied the doctor, in a tone that left no room for doubt. “But if you had been experiencing any of that, you should be feeling better already. In addition to the anti-inflammatory medication we have had you on for your relatively minor concussion, I've been giving you a type of drug known as a selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor. Have you heard of Prozac?”

“Sure thing, doc,” said John, “but hey, I'm not crazy. I don't think I need anything like Prozac!”

“John, it's got nothing to do with being crazy,” Dr. Emerson reassured him. “It's all about normalizing and stabilizing your brain chemistry. Believe me, when that gets out of whack, you'll think you are going crazy!”

“Well I'll be damned!” thought John. Everything that's happened

to him lately, had that all been in his mind? “Doc, when do I get to go home?”

“I'd like you to spend one more night with us. Barring any complications, I'll release you in the morning. I'll want you to check back with me in a couple of weeks and let me know how you're doing. It takes a little while to fine-tune your medication. We want you to be taking the smallest dose that gives us good results.”

A big smile breaking out on his face, John thanked the doctor and relaxed. It had been all in his mind. He was sure of it now. Sleep came again to him soon. It was a relaxing, restorative sleep.

It was a beautiful day. It wasn't too hot. That was unusual for this time of year in Houston. John had decided to walk for a while before hailing a cab to take him home. John walked a bit stiffly, but easily. He certainly did feel better than he had in a long time.

He heard a shout behind him. He heard running footsteps. John glanced back over his shoulder. There was someone there, plainly there, running towards him. John felt that familiar panic gripping him. He turned and started to run.

“Wait Mister!” John heard someone yell. John ran on. His head was throbbing. He felt a stitch in his side. Several days of confinement to bed had taken a lot out of him, but there was no way he was going to let anyone take him easily.

“Mister, wait up! You dropped something!”

John glanced back over his shoulder. His pursuer was closer now. He was clearly in better shape than John, at least in his current condition. John could see him waving something in his right hand. It looked like a piece of paper.

John stopped running and turned to face the young man who had now slowed to an easy jog and who grinned as he approached.

“Hey, I'm sorry if I startled you!” the young man said. “You dropped this. I thought you were just littering and I picked it up. When I saw it was a prescription, I thought it might be important.”

John took the proffered scrap of paper and glanced down at it. As he read the paper, he felt a flush rising. It was his prescription all right. Prozac.

The End