Half A Man On the outskirts of Manchester a tall, well built man leaned over to his wife. Sweeping the long blonde hair away from her face he kissed her lightly tanned forehead softly. His strong, clean shaven jaw brushing the tip of her petite nose. She squeezed his huge biceps through the crisp white shirt, pulling him by his silk, navy blue tie, to her lips. ‘Not bad for forty five,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not too bad yourself,’ he smiled as he grabbed his suit jacket off the black leather sofa. His long strides taking him over the solid oak floor to the marble hallway. ‘Should be back by midnight,’ he said as the window on his silver S Class Mercedes-Benz disappeared, humming into the driver’s door. ‘Love you,’ he shouted as the car crunched over the gravel drive and through the wrought iron electric gates. Gliding onto a quiet, country lane the Mercedes sped off towards the motorway. The driver’s Armani cuff links reflecting the early evening sun.​ Seventy miles away Carolyn watched through the two way mirror that separated the observation room from the dimly lit back office. Her long red hair was tied back in a pony tail and the hint of pink lipstick and touch of mascara that she had put on this morning had long since rubbed off. Carolyn sipped a tasteless coffee from the vending machine, only taking her sharp blue eyes away from the large viewing window in front of her to check on the time. Her feet were killing, she’d been on shift since six a.m. and the silver rimmed clock on the office wall told her that it was now exactly twelve hours later. The consultant psychiatrist, Mr. Pearce, sat on a solid oak desk to the side of her, his feet dangling above the floor like a three year old boy sitting on a park bench. His bald head tilted forward as if praying, he quietly read through the pile of case notes that had been delivered to him only an hour before. They had come across three counties and had travelled over a hundred miles to be sitting on his desk. Beyond the window a mountain of a man, six foot five and at least twenty two stone...big by anybody’s standards, slowly paced around a single white chair that sat in the middle of the floor. His baggy stonewashed jeans crumpled over his huge yeti like bare feet. The top of his back side exposed, an unattractive crack of dark hair, straining to escape the belt-less waistline. The top of a once white tee shirt poked out above the V necked sky blue fleece that was covered in tea stains and cigarette burns. He had a mammoth black beard that any mountain climber would have been proud of and had hands like a cricket batsmen’s glove. But in spite of his extraordinary facial hair and his gorilla like stature he looked almost childlike. His large hazel brown eyes were soft and trusting and the side parting in his slightly greying hair added to his air of vulnerability. Two hours earlier Carolyn had been waiting for him to answer the door. She remembered feeling uneasy as she stood in the communal hallway with the pile of dead leaves swirling around her feet and the stench of stale dog piss burning her nostrils. This was her second visit to Bob Pedlow since he had moved to the area about a month ago and something didn’t feel right. The last visit was okay, but she always thought it a bit dodgy when somebody of his age ’just turns up’. Where had he been? What had happened? Why come here? These were all questions that she would hopefully get answers to over the coming weeks and months but for now she would have to tread carefully, until she had gained his trust at least. She tapped on the door, half hoping that he wasn’t home. No such luck, the sound of a chain being released and the turning of a key announced his arrival in the doorway. His mountainous frame filled the space left by the open door. She flashed her ID but he had already turned away, disappearing into his dark retreat. The battered front door left to swing open by way of an invitation. Tip toeing past a crumpled old black sock and a pile of unopened letters she slowly made her way up the dimly lit hallway and into the living room. As she entered the room he sat facing her. Filling a grubby, cream leather armchair that had more wrinkles than a Shar Pei puppy’s face, he nodded towards a small, round dining table. She took the hint and sat on a lone wooden chair. Her eyes quickly scanned the room. Same as last week. A large navy blue sheet covered the window and a single bulb hung from the ceiling, giving off just enough light for her to check her notes. Beneath the window was a small pine bookcase. An Airfix model of R.M.S Titanic sat pride of place on the top. The shelf below contained a Collins English Dictionary, a reference book on the Egyptians and ‘The Interpretation of Dreams’ by Sigmund Freud. Three identical pictures of Spitfires hung in small wooden frames on the magnolia painted wall opposite the covered window. On the carpet-less floor an overflowing glass ashtray and a tea stained Mickey Mouse mug sat either side of his feet. ‘What do you want?’ he grunted, ‘Who are you? ‘I’m Carolyn, your psychiatric nurse’, she said softly. ‘Oh yeah, I remember talking to you on the phone a couple o’ weeks ago. Thought you were supposed to come last week,’ he said, spitting the words into her face. ‘I did come last week,’ a slight quiver in her voice as she wiped a couple of spots of his rancid saliva off her top lip. He looked confused, his eyes were full of anger and his tone seemed different to when she last saw him. ‘How are you?’ she asked. There was silence and she noticed that his eyes had focused on a spot just above one of the Spitfires. He began to smile as if he’d just remembered a scene from his favourite sitcom. The smile became a chuckle and within seconds he was roaring uncontrollably with laughter. His head thrown back, mouth wide open exposing countless rotten teeth. Carolyn’s uneasiness turned to deep anxiety. She had been in similar situations with her patients before but never with anybody as unpredictable, or as big, as Bob. Her heart was banging at her ribcage as she slowly got to her feet, grateful that she had left the front door slightly ajar. ‘Who are you?’ he boomed as the laughter suddenly stopped. ‘I’m Carolyn, your psychiatric nurse, Bob…remember?’ ‘Bob…who’s Bob?’ said the giant. ‘My name is Joe…Joe Smart.’ ‘Sorry Joe, my mistake’ whispered Carolyn. ‘Why don’t you sit down so we can have a little chat.’ ‘Sit down. Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?’ he yelled, his enormous bulk circling the tiny room. ‘I don’t need to talk to you, I don’t need to talk to anybody,’ his voice getting louder with every syllable. Prowling around the room, no regard for anything that was in his way . The tea stained cup lay on its back in the doorway, now handle-less, a crack scarring Mickey’s face. Crumpled cigarette ends littered the floor, his enormous ash covered feet smashing the ashtray against the scuffed skirting board under the window. ‘I’m a doctor of Psychology,’ he bawled, ‘and I can sort out my own problems.’ Carolyn glanced down the short hallway. Surely she could escape, it was only about ten feet to the door. But then there was the heavy metal door that led outside. The release button didn‘t work last week. It was bound to stick today, that would give him time to catch her and drag her back to his lair. She would have to risk it though, better to try and escape than to just give in. Maybe somebody would see her and would help…maybe they would see her and not help. Who in their right mind would tackle such a behemoth? Her attention was brought back to the room as the two foot long model of the Titanic smashed onto the concrete floor. A thousand pieces of plastic disappearing under the chair and dining table, coming to rest in piles of dust and fag ash. Her instincts were to run but the ogre was now on his knees. Tears streaming from his eyes and disappearing into the undergrowth of his beard. She started edging towards him but, as she approached he shot her a look of pure evil, and she turned and ran. She had cleared the hallway and her fears about the metal door proved unfounded, it was slamming behind her as she looked over her shoulder. Fumbling in her handbag, finding pens, lipstick, post-it notes and even a miniature screw driver before finally grabbing her car keys. She stumbled over the unkempt grass verge that separated the small car park from the three storey pebbled dashed building that housed the grim looking flats. She kicked a crushed can of Carling and an empty packet of Benson and Hedges before taking the heads off a family of dandelions that were growing by the kerb. Falling into the driver’s seat of her metallic blue Renault Clio, the taste of the ’Black Ice’ Magic Tree that she had bought earlier that day hitting the back of her throat as she gulped in huge amounts of air. Not waiting to get her breath back and her lungs still burning Carolyn sped out of the tiny car park, crunching over an already broken bottle of Stella, her mobile phone stuck to her ear. A few minutes later a stream of blue flashing lights passed her heading toward the flats. ​ ‘Bob Pedlow’ said Mr. Pearce, his deep voice bringing her back to the small office. ‘Forty Five years old, he was diagnosed with Multiple Personality Disorder as a child.’ he read from the file that was lying on the desk. ‘Mother and partner were heroin addicts. Bob suffered horrendous abuse at the hands of her partner when he was just eighteen months old. Mother and partner were jailed and both died in prison less than a year later, overdoses. Bob was taken into care and within six months had been adopted. ‘That’s shocking’ said Carolyn, her cobalt blue eyes still fixed on the figure beyond the glass. ‘The abuse was so severe that Bob’s brain had to disassociate from the experience,’ the consultant continued. ‘This created an alter personality that took over the pain, this defence mechanism enabled him to survive. Damaged, but alive.’ ‘How many alters are there?’ asked Carolyn. ‘Since he’s been here we’ve observed two distinct personalities that alternately take control of his behaviour. Bob Pedlow, the vulnerable, sensitive damaged little boy and Joe Smart. Doctor Smart is the confident, intelligent one. He is also the aggressive one, he has taken on all of Bob’s anger and pain and needs to release it whenever he can. He is two people, both have their own memory and neither have knowledge of each other’s existence,’ explained the consultant as they both stared at the giant beyond the mirrored glass. He may be two people but, in effect, he is only half a man, thought Carolyn as she wiped away a single tear that had found it’s way on to her cheek. A knock on the door broke the short silence. A petite, dark haired nurse entered the room followed by an imposing man, attractive in an Arnold Schwarzenegger kind of way. Obviously spends a lot of time in the gym, thought Carolyn as she acknowledged the latest spectator to the room with a slight nod of her head. He was introduced as a specialist in Multiple Personality Disorder before the dark haired nurse left the room, muttering something about how stuffy it was in there. The new doctor brushed past Carolyn, flicking his navy blue silk tie over his broad shoulder as he did. His crisp white shirt tight on his muscular arms, expensive looking cuff links completing the look of a successful man. He looked vaguely familiar to her, perhaps she’d seen him around the hospital. He stepped as close to the mirror as possible, his breath forming a light mist on the glass in front of him. Bob‘s head had been bowed for the whole time that Carolyn had be observing him. Suddenly his head snapped up, his eyes focusing directly on the spot where the new doctor’s breath had formed on the mirror. Bob walked slowly and deliberately towards his reflection. Carolyn held her breath, waiting for the explosion of anger and rage. Bob took one last step, and reaching forward he ran his fingers over the image looking back at him.​ ‘Hello Joe,’ he whispered affectionately, ‘I’ve missed you.’ The new doctor was frozen to the spot. His eyes locked onto Bob’s. Or was it his own reflection that he was staring at? He couldn’t work it out. What was going on? Who was this stranger that had such a hold over him? Who was this monster that looked so familiar? ‘I’ve been waiting for you Joe,’ smiled Bob. The specialist’s chest began to tighten and his head span to the point where he nearly passed out. He eventually managed to break the spell that Bob had put on him. ‘He had a brother,’ said Mr. Pearce, raising his bald head from the papers, ‘a twin brother.’ The specialist was now standing over Carolyn, his soft hazel brown eyes looking down at her. His lapel directly in front of her, his name badge burning into her eyes…Dr. Joe Smart. Steve Nestor seemed to have over him and stumbled away from the mirror.