An interview with Michael Dallas (1)

Part I

I slowly opened my eyes but it seemed to be a herculean task. My head was pounding and I was unsure of how long I had passed out. I scrambled for my wrist watch at the bedside and flicked the fluorescence on.

‘Friday, 13.11.2009 09:12 am’, said my watch.

The last thing I remembered was having had endless number of drinks at the Carpenter’s late night bar. When or how I had reached home, I had no idea. I had passed out for longer than I thought.

‘Bloody Hell’, I cursed myself. I cursed myself for having drunk that much. That was a personal record for the number of rounds of alcohol.

Slowly, I sat up on my bed and swallowed a couple of aspirins from the bed side table, a desperate attempt to get rid of the banging inside my head. And those tablets took a few minutes to show any signs of success.

After a hot shower I went on a wild rampage in search of my mobile and after a struggle I found it in the kitchen.

’21 Missed Calls’, the phone showed. That, definitely, wasn’t a good sign.

A few calls were from my landlord, obviously for the list of overdue housing bills. A couple of calls were from my fellow script writers in the studio and strangely around fifteen calls were from an unlisted 'Private number'. There was roughly one call every one hour starting from noon the previous day.

‘Who could that be?’, I thought, my curiosity aroused.

Just as I placed my kettle on the stove to make a cup of tea, the mobile rang again. The number showed as ‘Private Number’. This should be the same person I thought and answered the phone.

‘When can you meet me?’, asked someone on the phone.

‘Excuse me?’, I was taken aback.

‘I am calling about the ad banner on the website. When can we meet?’, said the person, clearly nervous.

‘Who is this? Calm down for a second, will you?’

‘I am calling about your ad. ‘Search for a Schizophrenic’ on the website’, the person said without taking time to calm down.

It took me a few seconds to understand what the call was about. And my curiosity and interest grew to a much elevated level.

‘Oh wow..! that’s great..! finally, some one has called..!’, I said.

‘Cut the crap..! I don’t want to know what you feel like. When do you want to meet me?’

‘Eh.. Well.. Any time.. Any time you ask me to..!’, I replied immediately.

‘Quarter to eleven today, Red Sea café in the dodgy end of Wandsworth’

‘Dodgy end, you mean near the queen’s head?’, I asked.

‘Yeah, be there on time. I’ll leave at 10:46 if you are not there’ and the line went dead.

I was both bewildered as well as happy. Finally, after waiting for more than a month, someone has come up to speak. This was my chance, a real chance of getting a Schizophrenic’s real life account.


Part II

For over a decade, movies had been my life. I had started as a part timer in the Studio’s office and slowly had moved up to a member of scripting syndicate. The syndicate was the group of people who analysed scripts for movies and made the necessary changes after a series of discussions, or well, arguments.

For the love of my writing skills, I wanted to write a script for a movie, something absolutely original. A movie whose title credits would have the words, ‘Written by’ and my name below it.

I had a series of prolonged discussions with one of the Studio bosses and after a lot of difficulties had got his nod of approval. I was thriving to make a script which would make a difference. That was when the idea of Schizophrenia absorbed me like quicksand.

Though things were smooth initially, I hit a very serious writer’s block somewhere in the after the start. That’s where my search for a schizophrenic began. I needed someone's real life schizophrenic accounts which will help me progress my story.

I had tried very hard to get the audience of a few but none of them had been successful. And I was pushed to post an advertisement on a few free websites and had been waiting with high hopes that someone will get in touch. It was over a month and the idea was a complete let down.

Time was running out and my frustrations were building up. And when I was facing the real difficulties of accepting my failure, I had drunk really silly a few days back.

Finally, it was going happen today. Someone had got in touch and I was hoping it would help me in moving on with my script. I smiled to myself. At last, a real lucky break and a real chance to score.

When I stepped out of my house near the Charing Cross hospital, it started drizzling. I ran across the street and found shelter under the small bus stop. It was over-crowded than usual and someone was complaining that it was more than thirty minutes since the last 220 bus to Wandsworth.

‘To hell with this’, I cursed to myself about the unpredictable weather and the even more unpredictable bus delays.

Throughout the forty minute travel in the unusually crowded bus to Wandsworth, I felt a unfamiliar rush in my veins. I was just running the things I needed to focus while talking to this stranger I was going to meet.

‘Will his experiences turn my script in the right track?’

‘Will there be really something in this person’s experiences that will be very different?’

There were a series of questions running over and over in my mind. My bleak career as a script writer might end just as bleak or glow brighter that ever before. All of which depended on what I learn from the meeting today.

‘What’s taking this long..?’, I became furious when the bus was not moving for over five minutes. I looked out of the window to see that it was a bloody long line of vehicles on both lanes. I looked at my watch and it was 10:29 already, no way was I going to make it before 10:45.

‘To hell with it…’, I cursed again and pressed the ‘Open button’ on the bus’s door and hopped out before the car on the other lane and jumped onto the pavement. I started jogging in the rain cursing louder this time.

10: 40 it was when I reached the Queen’s head. I quickly grabbed an old lady to ask where the Red Sea Café was. The lady gave me a bizarre look before speaking a word.

‘Go straight ahead, you will find a worn down building at the end of the street. Walk into it and reach the far end. You will find what you are searching for.’, she said.

‘Thank you’, I said and started running.

‘Watch you head’, said the old lady before walking away but I didn’t wait to listen.

The building looked older and weaker than any I had imagined. It looked so weak that it would fall anytime. Even worse was the path through the building to the far end. The ceiling was so low and there were lots of support beams put in place to keep the ceiling from falling.

I realised the words of the lady to watch my head. I wasn’t sure whether my head would hit the low ceiling or the ceiling would fall right on my head.

‘This is one hell of a place..!’, I said to myself as I carefully moved to find the café. All the other shops seemed to have been pulled down even before decades and at the far end he could see a slightly lit board that said ‘RED SEA CAFÉ’.


Part III

I felt better to have reached on time as well as a bit eerie to be in a building like this. I carefully walked to the café’s windows and tried to look in. The windows were so dusty that I was able to see just shadows of things inside. I reached the door and stepped in.

The café hall was a very dull lit and looked very rusty. There were around fifteen tables arranged in the widely spaced café. A few people were sitting in the far right corner, a couple of shabbily dressed people were in the other far corner. Other than that, the place looked creepy and deserted.

For a few seconds I just stood there his eyes searching for the person who had made the call and just then my phone rang.

‘Walk straight in and I am at the table behind the pillar’, I was told and I obliged to see the mystery man I had been talking to. I was really surprised with what I saw.

In a broken down building, in a dirty restaurant and amidst dusty tables and chairs, I saw a smartly dressed, handsome, middle aged man sitting with a steaming cup of black tea in front.

Hesitant at the first instant, I said a soft ‘Hello’ but the man did not finch. I said a slightly louder ‘Hello’ to get the attention of the man sitting in front of me.

‘I know you are here’, he said without taking his eyes off the coffee, ‘Skip the formalities, take your seat’

I was taken aback with the slight hostility but I took a deep breath and sat in the chair opposite. A brief moment of silence followed and I felt a sudden nervousness to where and how to begin.

But before I began, the man asked, ‘So, you want to make a movie about me..?’.

‘Well, not exactly about you. I’m trying to write a script based on Schizophrenia’

‘You can’t make a better movie than ‘A beautiful mind’. I think you are wasting time here’, the man said.

‘Well, I appreciate that it’s one of the best movies, but I am just trying to..’

Before he could finish, the man burst, ‘Whatever..! I am not sure if I can be of much help, but ask what you want to’

‘Eh.. Ok’, I said opening the dossier he usually carried with him. ‘Can I have your name?’, I said as beginning to write.

‘My name is Michael Dallas’, the man said and I could notice a slight pride in the way he said.

‘Ok’, I said and wrote ‘Interview with Michael Dallas’ at the beginning of my notes and continued asking, ‘So, Mike I want to thank you for responding to my..’

And before he could finish ‘You can’t call me ‘Mike’, I don’t even know you. Address me as ‘Mr Dallas’. And if my name comes on any of you future records, I am going to sue you for sure.’ said Michael.

‘Holy crap..! I am going to have a very tough time here’, I told myself.

‘Alright Mr Dallas, let me get to the point. If you can give me a brief of your Schizophrenic experiences, it would be great’

‘Do you have all day long..? Even if you do, I can’t waste that much of a time. Be precise on your questions, will you?’

‘I can’t even get this guy to talk’, I thought and asked ‘When did you start to have..?’

‘I realised that I have schizophrenic illusions eight years before’, he answered before I finished my question.

‘If you say you realised, well, how did you realise?’

‘A psychiatrist, a good friend of mine and my confidante helped me’, replied Michael.

‘What kind of illusions do you think you have, Mr Dallas’, I asked.

‘I am being followed by two people for a very long time now’, replied Michael.

‘Followed by whom..?’

‘How the hell would I know..?! I am being followed by two people who are visible to only me and they don’t even talk to me, alright?! I don’t know them..!’

I bit my teeth with the thought of just standing up and leaving the place instead of talking to the man who was showing no respect whatsoever. But, I decided to be patient for just a few more minutes.

After a moment of awkward silence Michael began, ‘Sorry, this always gets me on my nerves. Every bloody time I start talking about this, I feel I’m sick. It makes me feel really sick’

‘Take your time Mr Dallas, it’s not a compulsion to tell me this if you really don’t feel like’, I remained neutral.

‘That’s alright. That.. That’s alright’, Michael stammered for a couple of seconds and the awkward silence returned.

‘Mr Dallas, do you have any idea why they are following you?’, I broke the silence with a question.

‘I guess, they are planning to murder me’, he said.


Part IV

I thought I had heard it wrong.

Michael took a couple of deep breaths and sighed, ‘I guess, they are planning to murder me’

‘Murder you? Well, how do you say that?’, I was curious.

‘They carry weapons when I see them. Silver coloured guns and I am quite sure I have seen them aiming their guns at me many a number of times’

A schizophrenic who had illusions of people planning to murder him, that was one hell of a plot.

‘And before I understood that these people were my schizophrenic illusions, I was under the assumption that someone was really trying to murder me and I kind of stuck on to it’, said Michael without taking in even a slightest breath.

All I could do was nod to whatever he was saying. The interview was slowly getting interesting, just as I had expected it to.

‘I was for a long time wondering how none of my colleagues, my family or my corporate security noticed them’, continued Dallas, ‘and it took a long time for me to realise that the problem was with me and these people were only visible to me’

‘Did you find that by yourself?’

‘No, when a lot of my efforts to make people understand of my fears failed, I was convinced to meet a psychiatrist’

‘Did you meet one?’

‘Yes, after a long thought. One of my close friends was there to help. She had just then reached the league of outstanding psychiatrists.’

‘How did you react to this?’, I asked.

‘I was so happy to hear the news, I arranged for a huge party and celebrated it..!’, he said and I was a little shocked.

‘Excuse me..?’, I asked with a blank face.

‘What kind of a question was that..?! How would you feel if you found out that you have a weak heart and are going to die of a heart attack soon?’, he asked me with a serious face.

‘Well..’, I didn’t know what to say, ‘I would feel bad, probably break down and..’

Before I could finish, he signalled me to stop. ‘Exactly..! I broke down..!', he said and went silent.

'I had a real tough time..!', he began after the pause. 'It took over a year to become normal and learn to live with this. The most painful days of my whole life'

I, for the first time, felt really bad for Michael. I didn’t know if it was a morality issue of using someone’s weakness as a building block or if it was just feeling of pity. I didn’t really know.

Michael Dallas was visibly upset revisiting those terrible days when he was dealing with this disorder. And then an intense silence fell in place again and I didn’t want to push him too much. I was ready to wait till he could hold himself back.

After a few minutes of silence, I slowly began with a question ‘Do you still have schizophrenic episodes?’

‘I see them, yes.’

‘Interesting’, I said, ‘When do you see them?’

‘Well I have booked a meeting with them everyday between 09:15 to 11:15’, he smiled.

‘Are you serious?’, I asked.


Part V


‘Ah no, I was just kidding’, he smiled for the first time.

‘They cross me a lot of times a day. They remain the same all time. Neither do they grow nor do they wear different dresses. They are the same, as when I noticed them for the first time eight years back’, he said.

After a bit of thought and out of a sudden curiosity I asked, ‘Do you see them at the moment?’

‘You mean, here in this café?’

‘Yes’

‘No, not inside the café, but..’, he said and leaned sideways across the pillar trying to see outside.

I was waiting curiously.

‘Ah, there is one of them just outside the café, wearing a funny green t-shirt with the words ‘Darko’s knife’’

I moved my sight around the pillar to look at where Michael had looked. The windows were a bit clean compared to how dirty they were when I came in. I could see someone outside.

‘That’s a really funny green t-shirt’, I smiled to myself. And then, something struck me. And my smile vanished immediately.

I slowly tilted my head to my side to see across the pillar in the same place again. A guy wearing funny green t-shirt with the words ‘Darko’s knife’ was standing there. And I could certainly see something silvery in his hand.

I understood something was wrong. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck raise up. I could feel a shiver run down my spine. There was definitely something very wrong.

‘Mr Dallas.’, my voice came down to a whisper. ‘The man you said..’

‘Yeah..?’

‘Is the K in the word knife, a mirror image and in a bright red?’, I asked with a shiver. Michael was stunned to hear what I was asking.

(To be continued..)