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strange, half listening to the broadcast. He wondered why Terry wasn’t afraid, or at least concerned with the enormity of the situation. It wasn’t exactly a normal everyday occurrence, and yet he had taken it all in his stride. He watched his friend, crouched in the dirt taking his readings, and the thought crossed his mind that perhaps, this was all a big joke, and Terry was in on it.
    The broadcast was interrupted mid song, which got Doyle’s attention.
     
    We interrupt this broadcast to bring you, our fans, news. We are sad to report that one of our loyal listeners, Doyle Reynolds, aged just thirty seven, passed away today.
     
    Cold rolled down Doyle’s spine, as he turned towards the car.
     
    It seems he got too close to something he didn’t understand, and he paid the price with his life. Rest in peace Doyle, this one goes out to you.
     
    The Door’s track ‘The End’ filled the airwaves, and Doyle turned towards Terry.
    “ Holy shit, did you hear...?”
    Terry was gone.
    Doyle glared into the darkness, and without thinking about it pulled out the gun from his jacket and flicked off the safety.
    “ Hey, come on, this isn’t funny. Stop screwing around.”
    He walked towards the cold spot, his eyes wide as he tried to see where his friend might be hiding. Confusion, anger and fear raced through him as he stared into the dark. He couldn’t move, rooted to the spot by fear. The song finished, and once again, DJ D filled the airwaves.
     
    That was Mr Mojo Risin’ himself, Jim Morrison, who will be joining us live next week to perform a few of his classics and maybe a new song or two. Next up is…
     
    Doyle pushed it aside, trying to ignore it and will himself to move. He took a single step, such a small thing feeling like a huge achievement.
    “ Damn it, Terry where the hell are you?” He screamed into the night, listening to the sound of his voice echo.
    You know where he is.
    The voice in his head startled him, as it had been dormant for a long time. He knew it was a bad sign that he was hearing it again, and so tried to ignore it. But it wouldn’t be silent.
    Don’t think you can ignore me. I’m here to help.
    “Go away.” He whispered.
    You know why I’m here. You know what’s happening to you, don’t you?              
    “ I won’t listen to you, you aren’t real.”
    None of this is real. That’s the point. Whispered the voice in his head.
    Doyle stared at the cold spot, then at the car. The broadcast was silent, the air filled with the static hiss of dead air.
    “I don’t understand.” Doyle whispered, letting his gun arm fall to his side.
    You are sick again. Remember? Like before.
    He could remember snatches. A hospital bed. Medication. Therapy.
    “ I’m okay now, they said so....”
    You never heard of a relapse?
    “Terry, I need help buddy.” Doyle shouted into the night, trying to ignore the voice emanating from the centre of his brain.
    Terry isn’t here.
    “He is. I know he is.”
    Terry’s dead. Remember?
    “It’s not true, he’s here,” Doyle screamed, falling to his knees.
    No, he’s dead. Dead because of you.
    “It wasn’t my fault.” Doyle whispered.
    It was your fault. You were the one who fucked his wife, remember?
    “It wasn’t like that, we were in love…”
    And when he found out, he went apeshit. Come on, help me out here. This is all buried somewhere in this head of yours.
    “I can’t remember, it’s not true.”
    You remember, you just had it all repressed by the shrinks. You lost it buddy. Lost it big time.
    “But why?”
    Because he killed her. Terry killed his wife because of you, then he came out here, and killed himself.
    “But the radio, the broadcast…”
    It’s in here, just like I am. The radio station, Terry helping you out, all a fantasy, all a failed attempt by this brain of yours to untangle the cables in here and put itself right.
    “ No, it can’t be.”
    Really, let’s take a look at it. What was