Who Is Brian Quinn?

One Pill Makes You Larger, One Pill Makes You Small...

Stan Bernie, the real Stan Bernie, hadn't showered, shaved or slept for days, possibly weeks. He'd been living off pistachios and the wild parsley that grew between the cracks in the small patio just outside his back door. His nails had grown long, curling in on themselves, filled with unsightly grime from constant foraging. His hair and beard had grown out a wild mess, shaggy and offensive, spilling out over his collar like unkempt hedges.

Stan Bernie held a small blue pill between his fingers. "See this pill, Gary. If I take this pill I will be plunged straight away into sheer unadulterated heart of darkness." He nodded slowly, eyes wide and unblinking. "A dark and treacherous pit of death and destruction. You bet. I'll destroy everything within fifty blocks, Gary. Everything. Don't think I won't." He gestured with his long mangy fingernails at the surrounding neighborhood, a dilapidated section of the city filled with brownstones and sagging brick.

"You know what else I'll do. I'll destroy the calendar, Gary. No more yesterday, today, tomorrow, the day before. All days, gone. No more Monday, Tuesday, Thursday. No more calendar. No time. Out of time. And you know what, they'll never catch me. You know why? Because I'm innocent, no evidence." He winked obscenely.

Gary and Suzanne sat watching uncomfortably from the couch. The cushions, they noticed, were sticky with some sort of substance and the floor appeared to be caked with an unidentifiable batter. They sat scrunched together on the couch trying not to touch anything, watching Stan as he lunged about spouting indecipherable gibberish.

Earlier, Gary had stood in the kitchen. Stan obviously hadn't had the foresight to stock up before this particular schizoid fit. His cupboards held nothing but macaroni and cat food and it looked as though he hadn't touched either and Stan's cat had been conspicuously absent on their arrival that morning.

Suzanne had been sniffing at the sofa during Stan's tirade and could not determine what the mysterious substance was that covered everything like frosting. Perhaps a mixture of glue and shoe polish?

"But," Stan held up a finger, ruminating. "You know, it's a choice I have to make." He furrowed his brow and studied his hands and then the pill held between thumb and finger. "A real sinister society girl gave me this particular pill." He held it up to his eye, rolling it about between his fingertips.

"Um," said Gary, endeavoring to speak.

"No!" cried Stan Bernie. "No, Gary. Don't say anything. Anything you say will come back to haunt you in ways you can't comprehend."

Suzanne stood, smiling thinly. "Well, I'm going to go fix us all a drink."

In fact she had no intention of fixing any kind of drink, for one thing liquor had become off limits for Stan Bernie some years before when he'd thrown his publisher's mistress through the roof of an atrium on New Year's Eve. Actually, Suzanne planned to use the phone in the hallway to make a discreet call to Dr. Angus Berry, Stan's therapist for the last twenty years.

"Hello, Berry?" she said into the receiver. All his acquaintances called him Berry. Suzanne stood in the hallway. She could hear Stan carrying on in the other room, stomping about and growling. The poor man.

"Speaking," said the voice on the other end.

"It's Suzanne. I've got Stan here and he's in a really bad way. One of his fits. I know you're the one that deals with," she glanced down the hallway to the living room. "with this type of thing. Gary and I just got back from the continent and found him like this. He's out of control."