Drive.

I’m going crazy in here. I’ve lost track of the days. I’ve lost track of myself. My life has become so routine, yet still everything seems so unfamiliar. I’m coughing up blood as I write this. In my brain. They won’t let me have a pen. In case I kill myself with it. They won’t let me have a blanket. In case I kill myself with it. They won’t let me have my dignity. Just in case I try to use it against them.

You wake up in a car. You can’t remember anything and your head hurts. The car stinks like fast food but there’s none around. Not much anything around really. Just that smell. Oh, and the keys. They’re in the ignition, hanging out dead. Waiting to be resurrected. Attached to them is a note.

DRIVE, it says.

And with your mind cloudy, you don’t know what to make of it. Drive where? Actually, where the hell are you? You don’t know. Could be anywhere. Either side of you is sand. In the desert, you figure? On some highway headed where? Drive where?

Your mobile phone rings. You don’t own a mobile phone. Yet in your jeans pocket, you feel it vibrate like an inmate who’s gone too long without food. Hunger strikes, it’s called. Release me or I’ll starve myself, the inmate says. Fine, say the guards. He’ll give up eventually. After the first seizure they usually give up. Or the second. No one’s ever made it to a third. Yet. That I know of. But you don’t know about any of this now. All you know is you’re in a car and need to drive. All you know is nothing. Alone here, still, all I know is nothing. But that’s why I was chosen. That’s why I have to do this. You take the phone out of your pocket and stare at it. Unknown number. You answer it.

“Hello?” you ask.

Hello John, He says. You’re John. I’m John. Really, anyone could have been. That’s what this is all about. And as I listen, He gives you your directions.

Drive north.

“Who am I?”

Drive until you come to the city.

“Where am I?”

Do not try to exit the vehicle.

“Who is this?”

There is a bomb attached. If you open the door, you will die.

“What?”

You are being watched. Don’t fuck with me. If you try anything, you will die.

And then He tells you about your daughter.

Here, it’s hard to think with all the shock treatment. Some call it torture. They call it an interrogation. The name doesn’t matter. Just the answer. And as long as I give them the right answer, they might give me fifteen minutes in the exercise yard.

He has your daughter with him and you still have no memory.

“My daughter?” you ask.

If you want her to stay alive, you’ll do exactly as He says. If you want to stay alive you’ll do exactly as He says. He has a gun to her head and can detonate the bomb in your car at any moment.

But He doesn’t want to do that, He says. He wants everything to turn out fine, and if you’re smart, you’ll want exactly what He wants.

Are you smart?

He tells you again to drive. Shocked and confused into movement, you turn the keys in the ignition and the engine roars. It sounds just a little like a burning razor blade connected to some electric device. Just a little. And as you start driving north, life sounds dangerous. And as you continue driving, you’re sweating profusely and shaking. Back then you thought this was torture. Back then you couldn’t remember.

Now you can’t forget.

The natural light of the sun is blinding as I enter the “exercise yard”. That’s what they call it. Four walls, concrete floor, guards with guns aimed at me standing everywhere. Above, below, inside. All I want to do is walk, but the endless interrogations have rendered my body useless. The sun scorches my weak skin. I see the light, but no matter how much I try, I can’t reach it. I’m just stuck in the tunnel. And before you know it, I’m back here.

He tells you to set the phone in the hands-free. You’ll look suspicious if you’re holding a phone.

You do so, and ask where you’re meant to be driving.

No questions, He says.

You ask again about your daughter, and He’s suddenly willing to speak.

You can’t remember her, can you? He states more than asks.

“No.”

She’s a pretty thing, He says, and you instantly feel sick. And it’s that sickness that assures you that she is your little girl.

Her name is Trinity, He tells you. She’s eight years old and He can see her right now. He’s got his gun aimed right at her pretty head, He says. So you better do what they say.

The last thing I can remember about the real world in here is the cameras. The voices. Angry voices screaming, crying. What I’ve done wrong I don’t remember, but I’m being taken away. And then I woke up here.

You’re driving along this road to nowhere, nothing all around you. There’s a voice in your ear telling you what to do. There’s a voice in your head asking why. It all gets very confusing.

“Let me speak to her.” You get a sudden rush of bravado. “Let me speak to my daughter.”

And He says Okay.

And as there’s silence in your ear, your head takes over. He’s watching you, He said. You look around and there’s nothing anywhere. No cars, no planes, no helicopters, no civilization. You can’t open the door because of the bomb. But maybe there is no bomb. Maybe this is all a lie. Maybe you don’t even have a daughter.

“Daddy.” The voice in your ear returns, but this time it’s different. Your heart stops. “Daddy, where are you?” She’s crying, and now, so are you.

“Darling, it’s me. Everything is going to be…”

Shut up, you’re interrupted. He’s back in your ear. Matter of fact, He says, He wouldn’t mind so much if you screwed this up. Trinity is a pretty, pretty girl.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” You scream, and he just tells you to keep driving.

Again you look all around you. Where is He?

Look behind you, to your left, He says. There’s a camera. It’s watching you, and if you even think about tearing it off, He’ll kill you. But not before you hear a bullet tear through your daughter’s pretty face.

Here, bullets are never aimed at the face. A kill shot doesn’t exist. A mercy shot is laughable. Here, death would be heaven sent.

And as you’re driving along, sweating, thoughts of your daughter filling in your brain, you see something. A sign. Las Vegas – 15 miles, it reads. You can’t help but ask:

“Vegas? Why am I going to Vegas?” The fear is now evident in your voice, as if he couldn’t smell it anyway. He’s done this countless times before. He knows exactly what to do to control you. He knows you better than you know yourself. Of course, you don’t know this yet. Maybe never will. All you know is to Drive.

Shut up and keep moving, He instructs. Speed up, but be careful. We don’t want a premature fireworks display. We don’t want your daughter to be without a daddy. All the time you’re getting closer. To what, you don’t know. Why, you can’t figure. All you know now is your final destination.

You’re just going where He tells you to go.

Here, I’m used to following instructions. It’s not as if you have a choice. It’s not as if I ever did, really.

But before you know it, you’ve been driving for an hour. Times flies when you’ve got a gun to your head. The city is in view and as you near it your brain ticks over – always thinking – trying to understand. To make sense of everything. This is when He speaks. Silence is bad. You lose your control of things when you’re not constantly blocking them with noise. That’s what He was taught. So He speaks. Garbage mostly. Threats mostly. He acts as your memory, telling you all the times you’ve had.

You remember your wedding day?

Your 18th birthday?

You remember when your wife died giving birth to your baby girl.

He does. He remembers everything. He’s been watching.

And with all the noise it is so hard to think. So you give up.

And drive.

Just keep driving. Everything will sort itself out.

Here, I don’t remember much. I only know what I’m told. And even that starts slipping when you’re being injected with something. Cut with something. Here, everything is blurry. It could be a dream. But it’s not. The pain is far too real for this to be fake.

And maybe you’re dreaming, you think, as you enter the city. Maybe this is all in your head and you’ll wake up in the morning and laugh about it. You don’t have a daughter. No dead wife. This is all false.

Then why does it feel so real? Why is your heart in agony over the loss of a person you’ve never met, or at least don’t remember? Maybe it’s the drugs. They must have drugged you to get you in the car. To take your memory. But you don’t feel drugged up?

Before you know it, you’re surrounded by civilization. By blinking lights and spurting fountains and people left and right. Here, with all the distractions, you almost forget you’re trapped in a car, driving to oblivion.

Turn left, the voice says. He’s been talking the whole time but you haven’t been listening. Not really. But still His words have seeped inside. Somehow. You know everything He has said, but you don’t remember Him saying it. You’ve been following His directions blindly and you don’t know why.

You’re almost there, He says.

“Almost where?” You can’t help but ask. “Where the hell am I going?”

He doesn’t answer. You don’t need him to. Right in front of you, getting closer by the second is the MGM Grand Casino. And there are people everywhere. Yet somehow you’re not stuck in traffic. Ahead of you is a limousine. Behind you is people, crowding. And you just keep driving. Slowly behind the limo. The voice in your ear, all around you, invisible, tells you to reach into your breast pocket. He tells you to have the card ready to show.

You take a hand off the wheel and reach in. You pull out a card. An ID card. It has your picture on it. And a Government logo. And the name JOEL RICHARDS.

But you’re name is John?

And now you’re right outside the MGM. There’s people everywhere behind barriers. Cops all around. Men in suits all around. There’s a podium, and in front of you the limo is open and a man flanked by security steps out. He is all smiles and waves as he moves to the podium. A sign on the podium is telling you VOTE GRAHAM IN 2004. And there’s a picture of the guy. You are now stuck behind the parked limo. He tells you to have the card ready. You do.

Knock, knock. A police officer is tapping on your window.

Roll down the window, you’re told. By the voice. By the cop. You don’t ask any questions. Just do what they say.

“ID, sir?” the officer asks and you obligingly hand it to him. He looks it over thoroughly, eyeing you also. Comparing photos. You’re sweating still. Don’t screw this up or you will die. Your daughter will die. The voice is silent, but his sentiments echo in your mind like screams in a chamber.

“Okay sir.” He says, stone-faced. “Come with me.”

And you don’t know what to do. You’re waiting for the voice to guide you.

Go with him, he says finally. Thank you for your service. You’re a true American.

With the officer looking away, you wonder if he heard that. You wonder how he couldn’t have. And you get out of the car.

“Duck your head and walk with me fast.” The officer tells you as he grabs your arm and leads you away. And everyone’s oblivious as they watch “Graham” take his place behind the podium. As he begins to speak, you feel so far detached from everyone and everything when…

Here, I can’t really be sure what happened. Every time I think I’ve got it, I lose it again. Here, nothing is real. It’s all a lie. At night I dream of it. Not the whole thing, just the end. The explosion. The screaming. The bodies piling on top of me. Here, my dreams are the truest place I know.

Here, I’m going crazy. I’ve lost track of the days.

I’ve lost track of myself. And all around me is a requiem of screams.

And maybe, I think, this is all a dream. It can’t be real. Can it?

And maybe, I think, there never was a Trinity.