Reality Show

The Invisible Man Meets Reality

Fandom: Invisible Man (2000)

Rating: PG-13.

Status:Complete                   Length: Aprox. 15,250 words

Author: Betsy Manning (aka AnitaLife, because honest to god, I really need a life!)

E-me:  betsybird27@hotmail.com 

Feedback: Sure.

Disclaimers: These aren’t my characters. I just take ‘em off the shelf and play with them once in awhile. The Invisible Man is the property of Stu Segall Productions and USA Cable Entertainment.

Archive: Sure; just let me know so I can make sure you've got the latest version.

Spoilers: Barely.

Music: Paper Moon

Synopsis: Darien Fawkes and actor Vince Ventura switch places.

Additional Disclaimers: For people who’s heads blow up regarding fan fic with “real” people. OK. The Vince, Paul and Shannon in this story are still only characters, so please relax. Given the context of the story, you will understand. Vince Ventura, Paul Ken-Richter and Shannon Benny are characters in the same way “Bill” is the character of William Shatner in the movie “Free Enterprise”. William Shatner is, I believe the actor who portrayed “Bill” and I heard he wasn’t too bad at it at all.  There's also Being John Malkovich where JM plays himself and DOES have a mad affair with somebody's Mary Sue. “Vince’s” wife, his manager, director, etc. are all make believe. They do not have wild affairs with my Mary Sue. I don’t write that crap. I write other crap. If you still want to have an exploding cranium, be my guest. Just be considerate and melt down where it will be easy for others to clean it up. Thank you.—AnitaLife

Legal advice: Dewey, Cheatum and Howe, Esq.

Reality Show

Shirley, backed by the Shirelles sang, “Momma said there’d be days like this. There’ll be days like this my momma said.”

I didn’t have a momma to give me advice, but if she’d been around, her words to me should have been: “every day there’ll be days like this”. Ever since I had that little bit of unnecessary brain surgery a Sword of Damocles has been hanging over my head tied neatly with an unbreakable Gordian Knot. And you know, I’m wishing right now that it would just fall and put me out of my misery. It was one of those days.

1. A Paper Moon

The all too familiar pain engulfed Darien Fawkes. His head was splitting and he could feel the Quicksilver poison rushing through stop lights in his veins. The restraints tightened, held him and cut into his flesh as he convulsed against them. He wanted to call out, but no sound could come from him.

Darien could sense that Hobbes was close by. Hobbes had been the one who got Darien to the Keep.

The chemicals battling in his body served to magnify every sound and sensation to agonizing levels. He could feel the needle enter his arm as if it were a jackhammer. Blood was thumping loudly through his veins and he could hear dull thuds throbbing in his skull. Slowly, all too slowly, the torment ebbed away like a red tide fading into the morning. Claire released Darien’s restrains and he desperately reached out for Hobbes and Claire without thinking.

INT.  KEEP

Darien on exam chair. It’s in its propped up position. Darien is writhing in agony. Hobbes is nearby. Claire injects the Counteragent.

HOBBES                       CLAIRE

Hold on there, buddy.        C’mon, Darien. C’mon.

You can do it.               We’ve got you. Shhh.

C/U shot of Injection

C/U Darien’s tattoo becoming green.

C/U Claire is relieved and checks Darien over. Uses light to check his eyes.

CLAIRE

There. He’s coming out of it nicely. Responding well. Good.

Darien’s sobs subside. The restraints are removed. He reaches out for Hobbes and Claire and tumbles off the chair, feeling defeated. Hobbes catches him as he goes. Both end up on the floor. Hobbes is unsure what to do with himself or his partner, like a man holding a baby for the first time in his life.

CLAIRE

I’ve got something to discuss with the Official. Look after him, Bobby. (softly, she adds) He really needs you right now.

Shot: Hobbes looks awkward, still holding Darien gingerly.

Shot: Claire giving Hobbes a “Go ahead. You can do this.” look. Hobbes pulls Darien closer with some resolve.

Claire exits surreptitiously to give the two men a private moment.

DARIEN

(Wracked with emotion, recovering from the brush with Quicksilver Madness.)

I can’t do this any more.

HOBBES

Yes, you can.

DARIEN

Hobbes. I want to end this! One way or the other, I want to end this hell.

(Next two lines can overlap)

HOBBES

Hang in there.

DARIEN

It’s not worth it! I can’t…I can’t… (sobs)

HOBBES

Listen here, kid. Look at me.
(More emphatic.) Look at me!

Hobbes takes Darien’s face in his hands.

HOBBES

You can and you will do this because Bobby Hobbes is gonna be with you every step of the way, my friend! I ain’t been down the road to Hell and back just to sit on my thumbs and let you give up.

DARIEN

No. I can’t…

HOBBES

You ain’t quitting! Not on my watch. And besides, (beat) you’re worth it…to me!

Darien looks into Hobbes eyes, surprised by this revelation.

HOBBES

Now what do you say, partner? Gonna give yourself a fighting chance? Or am I gonna have to kick your skinny ass to Timbuktu?

DARIEN

(Beginning to calm, accepting Hobbes’ vow. Still very weak.)

OK. OK.

The pair hold each other, clinging for life, like two men in a lifeboat.

Fade

“CUT! Print it! Superb!” the director said as he clapped. “OK. It’s a wrap, people! Beautiful folks!”

“Cut!” an echo. “Print it!” “Wrap”

Click. Darien’s emotions went away as if some one had flicked a switch.

“Paul! Great read! Superb! Shannon, nice work.”

Claire stood at the door to the Keep and gave a little curtsy in acknowledgement of the man’s compliment. She clapped for her co-stars.

“Vince PERFECT!” the director continued. “You had me believing it. Great way to convey QSM. You just get better every day.

“We’ve got plenty of coverage. Thanks for hanging in there folks. I know we’ve been pulling long hours.” He went off to shout a bunch of orders and make announcements to the crew.

The emotion that had wracked Darien only a moment ago switched with a sense of disorientation. He looked down and found no evidence of the shot he had just been given; his arm was track free as if he’d never received his weekly injections.

“Hobbes” slapped him on the shoulder with a “Good work, Vinny!” and pulled away. He got up and was now talking to “Claire” who was smiling and laughing. Other people were clapping and congratulating them all on the “great scene” but most of them were cleaning up, fussing with electrics and sound and redressing the set. Suddenly the once familiar Keep was a hive of activity, poured over by a brigade of strangers, nattering as they went.

A tee shirt and jeans clad man pulled a large PanaVision camera away. When it stopped, a film changer took out the reel.

Darien sat on the floor and stared at every thing and everyone.

The ceiling was now lined with riggings and dotted with Klieg lights with barn door shutters. The Keep was a hot place, instead of the usual cool cellar. The lights began to cascade to “off”, bringing a slight chill to the room again.

“Don’t forget, I won’t be in on Monday AM.” Hobbes was telling a few people. “Got an audition with Full Eclipse. My agency doesn’t seem to know--I’ve got a series! If all goes well, I’ll be around in the afternoon for some ADR work for Phil on the “Six Ways to Sunday” bit. So, Al, if you need me for any shots, let me know.” He was telling the director.

“Good luck with the audition, Paul! Sounds like a peach of a role. Let us know how it goes, eh?” Claire said with a perfect Australian accent.

“Oh, I will, Shannon and you’re the peach here. And, may I say your work today was exemplary, my dear.” now there was that Hobbes’ charm, as he kissed her on the cheek and put his arm around her. Their relationship had shifted radically and they were suddenly more touchy-feely than Darien had ever witnessed.

“And as long as we’re doing mutual admiration, that last scene was something else!” she told him. “Great read! I’m always amazed how well you can match the takes!”

“Ah, shucks, ma’am.” was Hobbes doing a perfect, but campy John Wayne impression. “Just done in the line of my duty, little lady.”

“Vince? Vinny? Are you feeling OK, man?”

“Rich Little” Hobbes looked down at Darien, who was still sitting on the floor. It took him awhile to realize he was being addressed as “Vince” and “Vinny”.

“I’ll buy you a coffee at Craft Services.” Hobbes grinned, since Craft Services was free for the cast and crew. “You OK? Last scene get to you, or something? Getting too immersed in the character?” he said with an unfamiliar joviality.

Darien could see that Hobbes’ eyes and manner had changed. He was smiling, relaxed and easy going. It was still him but not him. The edginess that defined Hobbes had been replaced by a relaxed and charming quality.

“Hobbes?”

“Yeah, that’s my character’s name. Don’t wear it out.”

“What’s going on? Who are these people? What happened to the Keep? Claire?” His panic began to rise.

“Hobbes” and “Claire” were staring at him, and a ripple effect went through the studio. First, an assistant director noticed that “Vince” was having some problems and then a production assistant who was redressing the set saw his look of dismay.

“Vince? What’s up with you man? Been working too hard?” asked the stranger who was using Hobbes’ body.

Darien got up and stood looking around the room as it spun.

“Hobbes, what’s going on?” His voice should have been tired from sobbing, but instead it was strained with alarm. He looked down at his wrist. Something was odd about his tattoo. With his thumb, he rubbed it; it smeared off easily. He rubbed his hand over his face and looked at his hand. It was covered with stage make up.

“Hey, Vinny! The bit’s not working! Knock it off! You’re scaring me!” Paul said, genuinely concerned about his co-star.

Darien looked from the Keeper he knew as Claire and the friend he knew as Hobbes, but didn’t recognize who they now were.

He started to take off, out of the set, through a place where a wall had just been only minutes ago. Several people called after him. “Hobbes” was telling some one to get a medic. “Vince” was acting strange. “He’s not himself,” he said to the crew member.

Darien threw himself out of a heavy metal door with the sign “Stage 5” written in one foot letters, but he wasn’t reading the sign. He was just looking for anything that was a touchstone, something familiar.

He heard a familiar laugh that sent chills up and down his spine. As he rounded a corner on the lot, he saw “Arnaud”, laughing and joking with some of the people he saw back in the “Keep”.

“You did this to me, de Ferhn!” He accused the man. Soon a cadre of people rushed out. The thin actor was taken aback by Vince’s accusation and didn’t know what to do.

A convertible drove through the alley of the lot. An unmistakable song was coming out of its radio.

Say it's only a paper moon,

Sailing over a cardboard sea.

But it wouldn't be make believe

if you believe in me.

Yes, it's only a canvas sky

Hanging over a muslin tree

But it wouldn't be make believe

if you believe in me...

And it faded out.

A group of people from the set came rushing out after Darien. He saw familiar faces among them, but no familiar souls.

2. A Cardboard Sea

Vince held Paul the way they had rehearsed, careful to stay within the proper blocking. He waited for the director to yell, “Cut”. He didn’t want to mess up the shot; it was a difficult, emotional scene and the last set up for the week. He wanted to get it right so they could all go home. The onus was on him to stay focused.

Paul finally pulled away but he stayed in character. Not knowing exactly where to go with it, Vince let his instincts take over.

“You OK, Fawkes?” Paul/Hobbes asked as he patted Vince’s upper arm.

“I think so,” he said, as he wiped his face with his hand. Something was odd; he felt no make-up.

“OK, we’re improv-ing? Now? At the end of that scene?” Vince thought, “OK, Paul, I’ll stay with you on this. Let’s see what happens.”

“Thanks.” he told the Hobbes character.

“For what?

“You know what.” he snuffed. “For giving a damn.”

“Who says I give a damn?”

Oh, banter, is it?

“I says you give a damn.”

This was not working, but what the heck.

“Oh yeah, what the hell do you know, punk?”

“I know…”

Vince had trained himself to stay focused and to attain a certain amount of selective awareness of his surroundings, but as he continued the “scene”, it was impossible to tune out the fact that the “set” was now a 360 with no cameras, lights or crew. He couldn’t help but break character and gape.

“I know…Paul? What…? What happened to the set? Is this a joke? I mean…how…?

“Fawkes! What’s wrong?”

Vince stood in shock and frantically looked around in disbelief. He began feeling the full force of receding Quicksilver Madness. He looked at his wrist automatically and ran his thumb over the Ouroboros, but it didn’t come off. Looking closer he realized with horror that it was a now a permanent mark on his body. He also saw the place where Darien had received the injection of Counteragent, along with scaring from previous shots.

Hobbes grabbed his cel phone and dialed the Official’s office. “Get Claire down here now! Something’s wrong with Fawkes!”

3. A Canvas Sky

“I was a blank man. I had no face, no meaning, no personality, hardly a name. I didn't want to eat. I didn't even want a drink. I was the page from yesterday's calendar crumpled at the bottom of the waste basket "---Raymond Chandler The Little Sister (Chapter 25)

Darien lay on a bed in the intake center at the emergency room. Next to him sat a beautiful woman and a small boy who had called him “Daddy” more than once.

“Don’t you know me, Vince?” she asked with tears in her pretty eyes.

Darien looked guilty, as if there were something important that he was supposed to be remembering. But he couldn’t. He was Darien Fawkes, ex-con and now Invisible Man.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned his head away from the pair.

“Don’t you know your son? Your own son?” she sobbed a bit more.

“I …I’m sorry.” and he really was sorry.

He didn’t want to explain again. He knew it would distress this stranger to tell her that he was not her husband and that the boy was not his own.

He wished it were so. He wished to God that his whole life had been merely a foolish play for the benefit of entertaining his adoring fans. It would be wonderful if he were really an actor, married to this wonderful woman and this adorable boy was his son. Darien Fawkes with a family! He would have laughed at the idea if he could do it without upsetting the woman.

Darien could hear a disturbance on the other side of the curtain.

“I’ve got to see him! Where is he? I want to see him right now!” a man with a gravely voice demanded of the nursing staff.

“Please sir, this is a hospital! I’ll take you to him, but you must keep your voice down and you must put out that cigar!”

“Oh, it’s Ira.” she stated, then realized that Darien did not register any significance to his name. “Ira Levy. Your manager.”

The curtain swooshed back suddenly and a heavy curly haired man stormed into the space, a thick un-lit cigar in his hand.

“Vince! What the hell is this all about?” he demanded as he paced as much as he could in the small space. “I had to deal with Guttenberg’s mental attack last week and now you! Look, I know you artists are weird, but really! This has gone too far! This isn’t even like you.”

“He’s not faking, Ira!” she told him tearfully. “I think he really had some kind of break.”

“Well, get a Doctor in here! Where are all the Doctors?” he stepped outside the curtain and asked, “Hey, is this a hospital or a Denny’s? I’ve gotten better service at Denny’s! We need a doctor in here, now!”

“Ira! Shhh!” she hushed, pulling the distressed manager back. “Shouting isn’t going to solve anything. You’re going to get yourself thrown out!”

“Dammit! You’re Vince Ventura! Actor!” he said ignoring the woman’s admonition. “And I’m not putting up with any more of this crap! They’re gonna need you back on the set on Monday and the show must go on. Do you know why the show must go on? The show must go on or we don’t get paid! In fact, if we break the contract, we get SUED. Do you understand me? Now snap out of it, and get real!”

Darien wished he could “get real”. Given this unsettling situation, he’d have to think fast.

How many cons had he pulled? Now he was about to try to pull off the con of a lifetime. He pretended to feel woozy. He leaned his head into his hand, shook slightly then pretended too come out of it.

“Hey buddy,” he said to his ‘son’. “What are you doing here? Hey, hon. What’s going on? Am I in a hospital? What happened?” He looked genuinely confused.

“I’m an actor, eh?” he thought. “That works.”

The worst part was when the small boy crawled blithely on top of him and told him he wanted to “go home, Daddy! I wanna go home. I wanna go home, Daddy!”

“So, do I kid!” he thought with a pang in his heart. “I’m right there with you!”

 4. A Muslin Tree

Walter Truett Anderson said, “Reality isn't what it used to be.” That pretty much described how my day was going.

 As an actor, I have a lot of fun playing with the perception of what is real; it’s my job and it’s my craft. There are a lot of opportunities for actors to lose touch with reality. When they start believing their own press, for example, they can get swept away and forget the things that are important in life.

I never want to be like that because I love my real life and family. The “reality” I’m in right now, isn’t what it used to be and believe me, I’m not really happy about this script. I want to go home.

Actor Vince Ventura found that he was very weak, as if the emotions portrayed in the previous scene had come into real life and drained him of energy. “Paul” was on a cel phone, asking for “Claire” for help with “Fawkes”. Vince was confused and disorientated.

He began to head for the door of the set in the direction of what used to be stage left. Instead of seeing the framing that buttressed the back of the set, he saw real walls. Now he found himself in the place they used for the hallways of the Agency. He mentally followed the geography he knew from working on the soundstage based on the map the set designers and directors used for continuity. Using his mind’s eye as a map, he made his way to the outside of the Harding Building. As he turned to look up, he saw the exterior of the building used for establishing shots of the Agency. This couldn’t be here; this place was across town from where the interior of the Keep was filmed.

His sharp mind was working but his emotions were racing. He gave himself a chance for supposition. If I am Fawkes, and that’s really Hobbes following me, then he’s talking on his cel phone to Claire. In their minds, I’m Darien and I’m acting crazy. Then the next thing I’m going to see is…

“Oh, crap! Wait! Wait a minute! Shannon…Um… Claire!”

Fear and confusion welled up in his chest. Then the one thing happened that could strike abject horror in the heart of even the most stalwart of actors, the very thing indeed. He could feel the chill of the Quicksilver issuing from his pores and enveloping his figure. He had become The Invisible Man.

“This is great research.” he thought for a split second.

Claire had her dart gun aimed at Vince’s chest but he disappeared before she could hit him.

“Fawkes, buddy!” Hobbes called. “Where the hell are you, Fawksey?” he sing-songed. “We don’t have time for these games.”

Vince tried to focus the way Darien would and shake the Quicksilver but the fear of getting hit with a real tranq-dart made it difficult. The reality was that this would not be pleasant.

“Think fast, Ventura!” he told himself. “Can you act yourself outta a paper bag? Get to work!”

Claire re-aimed at him when he reappeared about 10 feet away from her.

“Hey, Claire!” he put his hands up in defeat as if that would deflect the dart. “Wait, before you do that, hey! I’m sorry!” he attempted, falling into Darien’s affable style. “I…it was the shot. Yeah, I…um…the madness and the shot.”

“Ad lib baby! Remember? Improv!” he thought. “God, I need a script right now!”

“I’m better now. Really. Can we, um, go back inside, Sha…Claire?”

She was taking no chances. With a brief glance at Hobbes who nodded his readiness, she nailed Vince in one.

“Ouch!”

“Damn stage fright!” Vince thought as Hobbes grabbed him, preventing his face from meeting the concrete.

5 A Honky-Tonk Parade

Vince awoke in Darien’s chair in the Keep. He slowly pulled himself into consciousness as the effects of the dart rolled away but left him feeling sluggish. That was one heck of a dream he’d been having, he thought. His shoulder was still sore where the dart had pierced him. “Must’ve worked out a little too hard.” he told himself, hopefully.

He heard a familiar voice say, “Claire, I think he’s coming out of it.” 

Oh no. It just couldn’t be.

He finally screwed up enough courage to slit open an eye and steal a bleary peek at the man who spoke. No. No. No and no! He knew it immediately. That was not his affable, talented, charming and self-effacing co-star Paul Ken-Richter; it was the neurotic, high-strung, ultra-observant, ex-Marine, off-beat but brilliant secret agent man, Bobby Hobbes. He knew the bearing and the man’s eyes, just like when Paul was in the full blossom of his character. If he were looking at his co-star, he would be admiring the man’s abilities.

Vince thought he had either lost his mind or he was still dreaming. Was it possible that this was a nervous breakdown or a long string of images from a coma? He couldn’t fathom it and he couldn’t ask the strangers that were nearby for help without causing them (and himself) a great deal of grief.

This world he recognized as a familiar setting was once only a sound stage populated by fellow actors, crew and fabricated props. Something had flipped like a switch and turned his world topsy-turvy as if he had accidentally stepped through a Fun House mirror. Darien’s melodramatic world of the Quicksilver Gland and Super Spies was now Vince’s real world. He was trapped inside it like a desperate rat in an aquarium tank that was doomed to take up permanent residence in the alimentary tube of a snake.

Something told him that there was a deadline, a time constraint. Something had to be done or else he would be trapped as Darien forever and that could not be good. This internal divination instructed him that it had to take place on this side of the looking glass.

Hobbes was staring at Vince, studying him with his discerning glare. The palpable feel of the keen eyes that were examining him reminded him that he was in terra incognito.  The insightful scrutiny of Bobby Hobbes meant that Vince would have to pull off some pretty acting and do it fast. Hobbes would surely recognize any incongruity of behavior.

Vince took a deep breath and willed himself into character. He visualized himself performing the role from his third eye, as if he were a spectator himself. He relaxed his muscles, became body aware. He called on his sense memory and tried to remember everything he could about Alexander technique. He summoned the Method. He made a mental soul sacrifice on the altar of Olivier. He prayed to Brando. Maybe even an ode to Walken. He sent a silent and brief plea to Saint Genesius, Patron Saint of Actors. It couldn’t hurt.

It was time to pull out every trick in his bag and pull off as slick a bit of acting as he had ever performed using every scrap and shred of knowledge he possessed and more if he could get to it. He had to play to the toughest audience he had ever performed for—Bobby Hobbes and Claire Keeply.

He felt the compassionate hand of the woman who was now his Keeper brush his forehead.

“Darien? Are you back with us?” she asked kindly.

Vince’s heart pounded. He had already decided to play the part until he could figure out what was going on, but there was a huge difference between what he did for the show and this. It was comfortable or at least familiar playing a part on television; it was what he did for a living and he loved it. He had a script to give him a blue print for his performance. He had laudable co-stars to play with and against. The production staff surrounded him at all times and their work served to support his. This staff included a group of talented craftsmen who made up a well-oiled machine. The team consisted of the director, the assistant director, the producer, the script supervisor, the hairdresser, the make-up person, the costumer, the cameraman, the sound tech, and the lighting director, the cinematographer, set dressers, gaffers, key grips and a wonderful group of production assistants. Not to mention a brigade of producers, all flavors, whose function ranged from supervising and helping to simply being pains in the neck, or elsewhere. Still, even the intrusion of too many executive cooks would be a comfort at this moment.

Instead of having this motley but dedicated team behind him, he now faced the “real” Bobby Hobbes and Claire Keenly, if they were indeed real. They were Darien’s allies, he knew, but they would be scrutinizing him, Vince, based on his recent behavior. He had to ask himself a question, which he the production staff sought to answer on a daily basis: What would Darien Fawkes do?

“Mmmunmmph.” he groaned.

Oh, that was good, he chided himself. That will really bring down the house.

“I’m…I’m fine. Just a bit weak. What happened?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe you can tell us. In any case, I think you should stay here for some tests.” Claire said with worried tones.

Vince knew how to react to that idea.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’ve been poked and prodded enough, thank you very much.” he said with groggy, but emphatic disdain. “I’m fine, Claire.” he tried some of Darien’s assertiveness.

“I don’t know, Darien. You’ve got me worried.” she stated, pulling air through her teeth. “That was a close call you had today. You were not yourself.”

Hobbes was watching Vince as if he could peal off his skin and look into his skull. The scrutiny did nothing to encourage a great performance. Claire was observing with her scientific eye. Actors like being watched; what good is acting with no audience? But this was over the top.

“You up to this mission, sport? Because, I don’t want you out there if you’re not up to spec.100% A-OK…This case is dangerous.”

“I really should run some tests, Darien.” she tried again.

“No, I keep telling you both, I’m fine.” he blustered.

“It’s gotta be this last bout of madness, Claire.” Hobbes offered. “Too close for government work.

“Fawkes, who are ‘Paul’ and ‘Shannon’, buddy?”

“Who?” Vince asked with a great puzzled look, but not too much. He did not want to chew the scenery, especially this real scenery. Just a little eye brow furrow.

“So your name is…” Hobbes prompted.

“Darien Fawkes, same as it’s always been.” WWDD? What would Darien do?

“Darien Fawkes. That’s good. That’s good. And, do you want to explain what just happened? And, you’ve never heard of Paul and Shannon?”

“No.” Vince lied. “I can’t…I really can’t explain any of that.” he said in truth. “You know, I’m feeling much better, but maybe not up to working on the case. Claire, can I just go home?”

She paused and considered as if she were studying a rat that was exhibiting unusual responses. “I thought the case was urgent.”

“Oh, lady, you’re going to make this hard.” he thought. “Now what the heck case were Fawkes and Hobbes working on in this episode and did I get a chance to read it?”

“Yeah, um, the case, the one where, Chrysalis is, no, it’s terrorists who have a device for switching people into other…” Oh god, no! No way! It just couldn’t be that!

“I don’t know, Claire.” Hobbes said. “His brain seems all scrambled up. He’s goofy! Worst than usual, I mean.” he emphasized, leaning his head in Vince’s direction. “I don’t want him to mess up and get us both killed, see what I’m saying?”

“Thanks buddy,” Vince intoned sarcastically. “You are too kind. You of course are as lucid as always.”

Claire smiled. Hobbes seemed a bit relieved.

The door to the Keep slid back and The Official swept in with Eberts closely in tow like a dingy behind a battleship.

“What’s going on? Why are you two still milling about down here; this mission is time sensitive!”

“We’ve had some problems with…” Claire began.

“Problems! I don’t want to hear about problems. I want to hear solutions. What do I pay you people you for?”

“But sir, Fawkes is…” Hobbes began futilely.

“Eberts. Would you check to see if I’ve dropped any bread crumbs down the hall. It seems my steps are being dogged by a voracious pigeon.”

Obedient as always, Eberts began to look down the hall in the Official’s wake, but realized quickly, with some embarrassment that he had just been told to back off. The Official was in rare form today, having been informed of further funding cutbacks.

The Official put his fingertips together in a mock prayer to his staff for the wind-up. “Now, if you would please kindly, pretty please with sugar on top, get your indolent butts out on the street and find out what’s going on at that warehouse. I’d be ever so grateful.” he said jeeringly as he swept out of the room, leaving a stunned trio in the Keep. Eberts followed—out of arms’ reach.

6. A Melody Played in a Penny Arcade

Darien sat in Ventura’s living room across from the actor’s distressed wife. The small boy was on the floor playing with some blocks but was more interested in the cardboard box left over from a recently purchased appliance.

The woman observed him with grim eyes as she crossed her arms. The doctors had simply released him into her care with some mild sedatives and an order for rest.

“I’m OK…um…honey.” Darien attempted but she knew something was still wrong.

“You forgot what today is, didn’t you?”

Oh god! Why did women always do that? How out of character could it be that this guy, or any guy would forget an anniversary?

“I’m in trouble aren’t I? Because, since I am, can we just get it over with and get to the part where I apologize for being a stupid guy.”

She managed a weak smile on her red-splotched face.

“I could cancel the plans.” she offered.

“No, honey, don’t…don’t do that just because I’m not my old self. We’ll just go out and have a…have a really nice time.” he stuttered.

She looked at him with a pre-exploding face as if he had just said, “No, I don’t love you any more and you and your parents should be put to death slowly and publicly by fire ants and immolation.”

She grabbed the boy and ran off in a huff. He could hear doors slamming throughout the house and her distressed sobs echoed in the rooms and would not relent.

He just glimpsed the up side of his gland-enforced celibacy. He could handle Agency cases that pitted international terrorist plots against the safety of the planet, but proper care and feeding of a woman was not a job for any man, not even one who used to be able to become invisible.

He knew he would be getting this Ventura fellow into trouble. Isn’t this the part where the guy is supposed to run after the woman and grovel until she is satisfied that she’s beaten him into submission? At that point, he would get roped into a shopping expedition in search of curtains and be interrogated as to whether ecru or eggshell would work best in the family room. It was all white to him. Guys only know about 5 or 6 colors including black and white; they like it just fine that way.

He knew he was supposed to be making amends to his “wife”, but he really couldn’t; he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make it worse. He had to get out of this house. He needed to think, on his own for awhile, without facing the woman’s confused glares and obvious emotional pain. Besides, if he stayed here, he risked hurting her further with his clumsy guesses about their life and he did not want to do that.

The beach was pleasant enough at dusk when he arrived from his long walk. He saw the famous green flash spark in the sky as the sun set into the Pacific. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around what had happened to him.

Try as he may, he could not use Quicksilver; the gland was not in him. It was a dream come true; he was free. Or was he? He tried to relish the feel of being normal again. He was exactly like any of the people he saw walking down the streets of San Diego, a regular guy again.

There he was, perfectly ordinary and common, with no one breathing down his neck and telling him what to do. He didn’t have to worry about the Quicksilver in his body taking over and turning him into a monster. What could be wrong?

Would he miss having the I-Team around at his heels, watching his every move? He had no Keeper to look after him and no Bobby Hobbes to shadow him when his thieving heart led him astray from the government agenda.

Sure, his manager was a bit neurotic, but Darien expected that was just show biz; he could calm him down. He had a beautiful wife (whom he did not know or love), a nice home, and two cars in the driveway, a chicken in every pot, fame, fortune, public acclaim and a little boy who needed his real dad.

Over the past several hours, seven or eight people recognized him, shyly and enthusiastically asking him for his autograph. He obliged them; they were kind enough and they sang the praises of the wonderful work he was doing on the Invisible Man series and in a popular situation comedy. No one had ever asked for his autograph that way before. The only way anyone had ever wanted his signature was on legal papers, police records and court documents. It was an odd feeling. A mug shot or a wanted poster was the normal way he would be identified. This guy had slick head shots and probably a web site of his own.

He considered his options. It wasn’t as if he could just disappear in this world. He was a known actor. A thief does what he can to remain anonymous, but that was not going to be possible. He could imagine a headline, which read “Popular Actor Caught in Safe Cracking Scheme.” That wouldn’t work.

He could try to adapt to this life, but he wasn’t a trained actor. He learned his confidence skills on the fly from Liz. He could pull off a con, look straight into someone’s face, lie and mislead. But that was different from what a real actor does. It wasn’t encouraging that this Vince person was no ham; it appeared that he was highly skilled. Darien didn’t think he could pull off the act of acting for very long. They would know he couldn’t perform his roles the same way the real actor did. But, he had to try for now. He was after all, going to be Darien Fawkes playing Vincent Ventura playing Darien Fawkes. He did know how to be Darien Fawkes, didn’t he?

As he sat, staring into the dimming sky, a police vehicle pulled up behind him. He told himself to be cool, but his first impulse was to run; old habits die hard. He hadn’t had to dodge the police for over 6 months.

Mrs. Ventura spilled out of the car and ran toward him, calling “Vince” as she rushed to his side. The bored policeman slowly exited his white steed and pulled out a report sheet. Ira Levy was not far behind as he waddled over the sand, patting his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.

“Oh crap!” he muttered.

It was going to be a long weekend.

7. A Barnum and Bailey World

Darien survived the weekend, just barely. The big event that he had forgotten was his “son’s” birthday. The family gathering that the couple had planned for two months had to be cancelled due to Vince’s problems and the fact that instead of being with the birthday boy Darien had disappeared on his introspective beach foray. The boy seemed appeased by a trip to a Chumley Cheta’s Eating Emporium and Arcade and a day at a theme park. Playing daddy to the boy warmed Darien’s heart and the two of them had a great time but Mrs. Ventura kept a close eye on her “husband”, checking for any more signs that he had gone round the bend.

After two days of profuse apologies offered to his “wife” because of that major faux pas, Darien was happy to go on a location shoot to the border of the desert. His manager drove him; he was nagging and fretting the whole way. He was hovering over Darien like a brooding hen because of “Vince’s” recent behavior. Levy wanted to make sure “Vince” got to the set in one piece and did not go wandering off down to the beach again. This man was really getting on Darien’s last nerve but it was too soon for him to be able to fire him. He would have to get a better handle on what this Ventura’s life was like before he could make those kinds of changes.

None of this was his first choice; he belonged back in his own world with Hobbes and Claire to nag him instead of Ira Levy. He would have never thought that he would have missed that action. What would he do about the woman and her son? He couldn’t go on lying to her and the thought of the little boy without a proper father brought up too many of his own personal issues. He would do his best for the sake of that little boy, so that the kid would not have to grow up without a father.

Until or if he could find out of this mess and get back home, being Vince Ventura was the best and only way Darien knew how to deal with the situation.

Maybe he was an actor who’d gotten too engrossed in a role. Maybe he just needed a good shrink.

Which scenario was more feasible? That he was really an Invisible Man, implanted with a biosynthetic gland by an under-funded government agency for whom he now worked so that he could get regular Counteragent injections or that he was a slightly cracked artist with, at best, a tenuous hold on reality. He would have to wait and see.

In the make-up and hair trailer at the location, Darien stared at the script in front of him with a modicum of disgust as the hairdresser pulled the last of his moussey strands into the stratosphere. The scene he was attempting to memorize was unsettling him. The make-up guy did a final check and told him he was ready.

He got up from the chair and left the trailer, eyes still on the script. The people he left behind were puzzled. He had barely even acknowledged their presence all morning or thanked them the way he always did. They watched him as he walked out of the tiny mobile room.

“I think he’s gone Hollywood.” said Gladys as she put her lipstick pots in order.

“Yeah, I think so too. What a shame. He was the last of the good ones. Oh well.” said Fred as he put his hairdryer in its place.

“Happens to the best of them. I’ve seen it before. You know Mike Nelson?”

“The Biggest Face in Show Business? Who doesn’t know Mike Nelson?”

“Well, before he got really famous he was just folk. Now he’s all high and mighty. Won’t even let people look him in the eye or talk to him while he’s on the set. What a crashing bore!”

“Oh no! I’m doing his hair next week.”

“I don’t envy you. I had to do his face last week. Zit city. Anyway, good luck.”

“Thanks. Sounds like I’ll need it. He’ll probably have crabs.”

The pair laughed and continued to trade insider information about all the famous idiots they had to work with.

Darien had grabbed a few interesting articles of clothing from Vince’s closet. He liked the guy’s style for the most part. Wardrobe took one look at him and approved his “costume”. He wouldn’t have even noticed them had they not pulled a few strings off the bottom of his floppy shirt, fussed about and tried different way to tuck his shirt into his pants. “In” in the front and “Out” the rest of the way around was the final consensus. This was exactly the way Darien usually wore his shirt, except now he needed two wardrobe techs to tell him how to do it correctly.

Their attention was almost as annoying as having the old gang fuss over him only they didn’t muss with his hair and clothing. It took only a few wise ass remarks from Hobbes and they could call it a day.

He did manage to pull his eyes off the script long enough for a quick glance at himself in one of the make-up mirrors.

“I look more like me than I do.” he thought.

Paul was on the set near the van set up, talking to a man Darien thought might be the director for that week’s episode. He looked very serious as he discussed the day’s work.

As Darien approached the van, Paul rushed him, slamming handcuffs on him, and twirling him against the mustard colored metal.

“You’re good! Really good! You had me going, there buddy!”

“Whoa! Wait a minute! Hobbes! I can explain.” Darien pleaded. Obviously, the switch was this: the world had gone Quicksilver Mad and Darien Fawkes was the last sane person left.

“Now, who the hell are you and what have you done with Darien Fawkes?”

“Hobbes! I’m…I’m…Stop it! I AM Darien Fawkes! You’re right! I’m the real deal, man.”

Paul stopped and laughed at his co-star. “Heh heh heh! Gotcha! You messed up that line, Vinny.” he said with amusement. “We’ll work on it.” he said as he patted his taller co-star on the back as the fake handcuffs released easily.

Darien was trembling, upset and confused. He lost his place and forgot that this was an actor playing Hobbes, not the real Hobbes.

“Hey, sorry Vince!” Paul said as he noticed Darien’s consternation. “I just thought I’d have some fun with the scene and get you back for that stunt you pulled on me last week.”

“Yeah, nothing like a genuine reaction, eh.” Darien snipped as he brushed himself off. This guy might be crazier than Hobbes.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, just scared me a bit. Thought you’d forgotten your meds.”

Paul looked at him for a puzzled moment then realization pealed across his face. “Oh, yeah, my meds!” he pointed at Darien and smiled broadly. “I get it! Good. Very good! Maybe we can work that in.”

It was going to be a long day.

8. Just as Phony as it Can Be

Darien sat in the passenger seat of Hobbes’ van on a set in a remote part of the desert. He couldn’t believe he was actually here, sitting across from an actor who was portraying Hobbes.

Here was the approved, final script as written.

INT VAN DAY TIME

Parked behind brush near a warehouse in the desert.

Fawkes sitting in passenger seat and is bored.

Hobbes has giant telescoping binoculars, he looks like a bug-eyed character Warner Cartoon and is watching intently as men moving boxes into a truck.

He also has a device with a computer screen in front of him which is used for surveillance. It’s a very delicate, sensitive, high tech piece of *borrowed* equipment.

FAWKES

Are we having fun yet?

HOBBES

We’re on a stake out. Of course we’re having fun.

Fawkes readjusts himself and sighs deeply.

FAWKES

Can I look?

HOBBES

No

FAWKES

(Holds up his hand in front of Hobbes’ binoculars and Quicksilvers it.)

Does this bug you? I’m not touching you.

HOBBES

(sighs)

Knock it off, Fawkes. I’m warning you.

Cute enough but Darien thought it was just plain ridiculous.

They tried to run through the dialogue a couple of times. Darien was looking more displeased than bored, his unease transmitting to Paul and the crew.

Finally during one take Darien burst out, “Fawkes wouldn’t say that! Hobbes isn’t this focused. He’s got AADD and gets distracted easily.”

Paul looked puzzled. His co-star was opinionated, but he was also very professional. It was not like him to interrupt the work once it was set in motion. He might moan before. He might complain after. But, he never disrupted the shoots during.

“Vince, I’m sorry.” the director informed him. “But it’s too late for rewrites. I’ve got a memo that says this scene must be played as written. It’s important to the rest of the script and mine is not to question why.”

Darien ignored the protest. “And where did Hobbes get this fancy equipment? We don’t have anything like that at the Agency. We barely have toilet paper on a good day.”

Paul was openly shocked at this point.

“Vince, may I speak to you?” the director asked.

It was going to a long shoot.

9. It Wouldn't be Make Believe

Vince sat in the passenger seat of Hobbes’ van on a stake out. He couldn’t believe he was actually here, sitting across from the latte-swilling crazy agent and taking notes on the comings and goings of drug runners. It was exciting enough to make him almost forget his mystifying predicament. Almost.

“What are you lookin’ at, Fawkes?” Hobbes challenged, still peering through his tiny bird watching binoculars.

“Oh. Sorry. Yeah. Um…I guess I was staring.” Vince said, embarrassed as he looked out the window.

“Yeah, well knock it off. Do I have spinach or somethin’?” he said as he checked the rear view mirror and rubbed his finger over his front teeth, cast a glare at Vince and went back to his binocular-aided observations.

Vince looked away, trying to mask his grin. This was like hanging out with a living cartoon character. He started to chuckle and found he couldn’t stop.

Sometimes, due to pressure, fatigue, a funny script or a crazy co-star, actors get the giggles. Even the most professional actor can fall victim to this trap and the only thing to do was to take a break whenever possible and let it run its course. Maybe it was the whole insanity of the situation, but Vince was sliding down that slippery slope, giggling as he went. So much for staying in character.

“What is up with you?” Hobbes demanded.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just thought of something funny.”

“You laughin’ at me?”

“No.” he smiled and chuckled. Now Hobbes was being paranoid.

“You better not be laughin’ at me, Gland Boy.”

“I am NOT laughing at you.” he couldn’t stop laughing.

“You know what I did to the last guy who laughed at me?”

“Oh god!” his eyes got big with anticipation as he rolled his head in an unconscious Fawkes-like gesture of ennui. “You’re going to tell me one of your FBI stories, aren’t you? Or a war tale! Don’t let me stop you. I’m all ears.”

“Punk!” he said. “I’ll deal with you later. Right now, Giggles the Disappearing Clown, it’s show time.”

“Show time?”

“Yeah! Show time, doofus. Go crystal. Leaded glass. Do it! What’s wrong wit choo? I need you in there.”

Vince went white, but not quite clear. He suddenly realized that he didn’t know how to pull off a real disappearing act, other than to hit his mark and clear the shot.

“Uh. OK.”

Vince had found the sure-fire cure for the giggles—utter panic. He slithered out of the van and headed for the back, knowing full well that Hobbes was spying on him in the rear view mirror and could see him until he got behind the van.

He tried to become invisible, but he couldn’t. He remembered the pilot’s spider scene when Darien’s gland was jump-started into functioning condition. Something like that had happened to Vince when he first found himself here, but where would he begin now that a tranq-gun was not being aimed at his chest?

He thought about the montage where Darien spent lots of time exploring his new abilities and learning to control invisibility. Vince liked the creative process, but he hadn’t had the time to rehearse and develop Darien’s bit of legerdemain.

A montage is the filmic method used to show a process that takes place over a great deal of time. It always makes a difficult task look simple, like learning to be the Karate Kid, rehearsing for the ultimate dance contest or training a flabby body to perfection for the big fight in any given Rocky film.

Vince wished he could grab an editor and learn to do all of Darien’s tricks in a matter of Dutch angled jump cuts, fancy wipes and artistic fades. If only he could just turn invisible all over, never mind the tricks. But, he couldn’t; he didn’t know how.

He leaned on the back of the van looking down at the scrubby brush and feeling sorry for himself, yearning for his family. He realized he missed his son’s birthday and that hurt. What if he was stuck here? What if he’d never get to see his darling boy grow up?

“What’s wrong with you?” Hobbes boomed and startled Vince.

“Hobbes! Dammit! I’m gonna to make you wear a bell.” Vince felt the cold of the Quicksilver paint across his mid-section, but it receded just as quickly as it came. He could not control it.

Hobbes was scrutinizing Vince again as he sat next to him on the bumper of the beat up van. Maybe it was time to come clean. Vince didn’t know he really had anything to gain by this ruse. If Claire could figure out how to get him home, then everyone would be better off.

“I brought you something.” Hobbes said.

“Oh yeah?” Vince said glumly as he looked dispassionately at the little spider that Hobbes had just put on his arm. Vince sighed and then realized with a start that he was supposed to be mortally terrified of those things.

“Oh! Hobbes!” he attempted to act afraid, but it was too late. Timing was…He had failed Hobbes’ test...everything.

“Nice try, pink boy!” Hobbes barked and took this cue to grab Vince, spin him around and cuff his hands together behind his back.

“Who are you and what have you done with Darien Fawkes?”

“Wait! Hobbes! I can explain!”

“Yeah, well you will have plenty of time to explain. You can start talking anytime.”

“I’m Vince Ventura, an actor. I play Darien Fawkes in a TV show called The Invisible Man. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Oh yeah? That’s original and I’ve heard ‘em all.” The cold nose of Hobbes gun stabbed into back of Vince’s head causing a whimper to rise from his chest.

“Oh god, Hobbes. Please don’t kill me.” Vince begged pathetically. “Really, it’s not what you think.”

“Yeah, what do I think? Tell me what I think.” Hobbes began to move Vince brusquely toward the passenger seat, put his gun away and reached for his cel phone.

“I’m not a spy!” Vince insisted futilely.

“OK Barney, we’ll find out soon enough who and what you are.”

There’s something genuinely unsettling about being handcuffed, helpless and held at gun point in the grasp of a known mental patient.* Vince now understood the motivation for Darien’s spiky hair and it wasn’t errant and excessive mouse.

Despite the fact that Hobbes was focused on this imposter, he could hear the subtle snapping of twigs and branches. Fifteen, no sixteen AK-47’s and 4 Uzis were being prepped and aimed on the hapless pair.

They both stopped and stared into the barrels of the weapons because there was little else to be seen in the vicinity.

“Aw, crap.” they said in unison, like they had since the beginning.

It was going to be a long death.

Fade out.

10. If You Believed in Me

Quicksilver perfused** the pair dousing them from sight. Vince stood in stark terror, convinced that he was about to perish in this lost realm. There was no place for even invisible people to run, especially when an impossibly strong net was thrown over them.

Well, there was one place to go and Hobbes took it when he managed to shimmy under the van and get out of the line of fire, leaving the hapless actor to face the music alone in the net and handcuffs.

The Quicksilver melted immediately. Vince was lead away with the mysterious camouflaged tribe, his fate a mystery. Evidently, they wanted him and had no interest in Hobbes. At least one of them would live.

Darien’s V.O.

Robertson Davies said, “To be a book-collector is to combine the worst characteristics of a dope fiend with those of a miser”.

I think all collectors are like that. I used to collect stray money and jewels that happened to be left lying around in safes. I know the thrill and rush of acquiring things that one shouldn’t have.

Now, some people collect books like Davies. Others collect stamps, coins or action figurines. But, the guy whose epitaph is gonna read “He won” when he dies with the most toys, is going to be the ultimate gigantic mega-collector and a super addict. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t stop by collecting old Coca Cola posters. He’s going to try to collect the world’s biggest,“bestest and the mostest” superlatives of all things and he was out to collect his very own Invisible Man.

Like the script I was supposed to be shooting, I knew that this guy was out to get me, but instead he got my alternate universe buddy, Vince Ventura. Can not blame him for trying, but it was supposed to be me in trouble instead of getting my nose powered and my hair done. I almost felt bad about the mix up.

11. The Collector

Vince awoke on a comfortable bed with a big fluffy comforter pulled around him. That was one hellava dream he’d been having. He reached over, hoping his wife was there. What time was it? What day was it? Did he have to be on the set?

His hand felt only pillows on his wife’s side of the bed. He shook himself and prepared to meet the day. He was going to have a ball telling this crazy dream to everyone. Then again, maybe not. They’d think he was nuts.

Finally, he realized that he was not in his own room but in a comfortable approximation of Darien’s apartment set. The big difference was that one wall was a giant mirror, like the set of the padded cell. The reflecting silver of the mirror disappeared and he saw a few men sitting, staring at him.

“Good morning, Agent Fawkes. Welcome.” said a man whose manner and dress showed that he was the boss.

“Where am I?” Vince asked.

“Your new home. Allow me to introduce myself. For now, I shall be known to you only as The Collector.”

“Collector? What the…?” Vince asked from his haze.

“Please, Darien, I want you to relax. We’re going to have a long time to get to know one another. Would you like a tour?”

“Ah, sure. Why not?” Could it get any crazier?

The Collector signaled to his men. The door to Darien’s apartment opened and the big guys were ready for any disappearing Vince might do. He didn’t resist as they handcuffed him, flanking him as they escorted him through the door.

“Be careful boys. No bruises this time, please.” The Collector commanded with joviality.

The Collector was dressed in safari garb like a 1940’s big game hunter, complete with ascot and pencil thin mustache. He had a rifle draped over his arm as he jauntily lead Vince through the display cases.

“I must apologize for the state of disarray. We’ve just moved this operation here.”

“Oh don’t apologize on my behalf. I’ll feel more at home if you don’t neaten up. Where’s here?”

“Oh, ho ho ho. You don’t need to know that.”

“It would have been nice.”

“Let’s just say you’re very far from where you’re friend or Agency can find you. And, very far from where you can ever escape.

“That can’t be good.”

“You see, you are now the centerpiece of my collection and I’m not interested in seeing you go anywhere.”

“Oh, it’ll be just like Christmas morning.” Vince stated as if he were bored. “You’ll play with your new toy for a little while and then forget all about it by noon.”

“Ah, ha ha ha. My operatives have studied you well. You have a rapier wit and clever turn of phrase, my boy.”

No, I’m just a dad, he thought. I see it every year.

He lead Vince down through a series of cages like the one he just been in, each decorated according to its inhabitant's needs.

“This one is the Lizard Woman.” The Collector said like a proud owner. “She was born with scales on 70% of her body, a natural throwback to one state of human evolution.”

“Sure.” said Vince with disdain.

The woman barely moved. She looked despondent and spiritless. Perhaps she was a long time denizen of this place.

“This man was the first to receive a head transplant. The third arm was added by my staff.”

“Oh, you manufacture as well as acquire.”

“Not always. Only in special cases.” he said in his museum curator way. “This chicken was born from a turkey egg.”

The crazy Collector guy and his cronies carted Vince around the insane freak show. At the end of the Fun House tour, they returned him to his cage to sulk.

“Wake up, Vince!” he kept telling himself as he flopped onto the couch. “Wake up, dammit!”

12. Trodden by the Boards

Ira Levy drove Darien home but not before driving him insane with his complaints. Yes, he knew the director was not pleased with his work that day. Yes, they only got part of what they needed and they had to shoot around him. Yeah, he knew he had better pull himself together. This guy made the Official look like a teddy bear.

Darien dozed through most of Levy’s rants. He’d been on the set for 14 hours and he had to get up in a few hours and do it all again. This acting business was no cake walk. Spy biz could demand long hours, but Darien always found ways to sleep in and stroll in late, even when Hobbes got annoyed and Borden threw hissy fits. Darien knew when and how much to push the limits in his world. He wasn’t going to be able to flout the rules of the people in this world the way he could the Agency. Actors were a dime a dozen. They could write him out in a heartbeat and then where would he be? More importantly, where would that little boy be with an unemployed actor for a dad and one with no prospects due to a ruined reputation?

When he arrived home, his “son” was already in bed. His wife was waiting on the porch.

“Don’t keep him up!” Ira ordered her. “He’s got to do better tomorrow or else.”

Darien looked sheepishly at the woman who was staring up into the sky. He tried to get by her and into the house. He was beat and he just wanted to sleep, if he could.

“Vince? We’ve got to talk.” she told him.

Oh no! That was the second time today he’d heard that. This could not be good.

Darien felt roped and tied, like an errant calf in a rodeo.

“Vince, you know you can talk to me, don’t you?” she began. “I know you’ve been going through something, I mean, everyone knows something’s wrong. But, I’m your wife and your friend. I’m here for you, you know.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to hear what I have to say.” he said.

“How can you think that? I always want to hear what you have to say. Vince, I love you. I don’t want to see you hurting like this.”

“I’m sorry.” The con man was out of words as his heart felt heavy for this woman and her son. He knew he couldn’t simply take Vince’s place in this world. This farce could not go on, but what could he do?

She looked lovely in the moonlight as she smoothly put her arms around him and kissed him tenderly. Her body pressed invitingly against his. He could have her with just a whisper. It would be easy to commit this simple act of adultery with no Quicksilver interruptions and he had been without love for so very long.

“I know we can work it out if we put our heads together.” she breathed. “We’re a team.”

It took tremendous effort for Darien to pull away from her warm embrace.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m not…” and he stopped short, knowing the confession of his identity would upset her. It was bad enough that she was bewildered by the fact that he didn’t want to make love to her.

“I’ve got to sleep.” he offered as an excuse. “I’m gonna use the Guest Room for a few nights. Please, honey, I just need some time to myself.”

She began to object but he ran into the house so he wouldn’t have to face her distress. He even locked the door to the guest room and then sunk to the floor behind the door. He missed his friends and his world. To his surprise, he found that he missed being the Invisible Man. He would have felt sorry for himself longer had he not fallen into a fitful sleep next to the dresser.

13. All the Stage is a World

Darien sat on the soundstage and read the script reluctantly. The plot involved a character who called himself “The Collector” and was out to add The Invisible Man to his collection like a prized trophy. He watched the set dressers put a few finishing touches on the cage set.

The colorful actor who was playing The Collector was chatting with Paul and the director as the wardrobe and make-up people made a few minor last minute adjustments.

Darien thought the whole thing was dumb and so did Paul, he found, when they discussed it. Of course, they both thought it was silly for different reasons. Paul thought it was wholly unoriginal. It wasn’t the kind of script he wanted to see come down the pike, but he would do it and do it well. He wanted to see more human interest stories instead of merely weird and far-fetched cliché ridden nonsense.

Darien just thought it was dumb because no one knew about him, did they? No Collector guy would find out about the Agency’s secret weapon, would he? Then again, he knew the words “government” and “secret” were uneasy bedfellows. The Agency’s leaking net of secrecy had as many holes as a busted sieve and as many faults as a mixed metaphor. So much for that theory. Maybe it wasn’t such a dumb idea for a script.

Darien really admired this actor guy. He was very good at being Hobbes, so much so that Darien often had to remind himself that he was not at home. He even felt some affection for him; he was so much like Bobby. Between takes, he was very kind and helpful. Darien tried to wrap his mind around this version of Hobbes; he was a sensitive and talented artist, one who could turn the Hobbes character on and off like a light switch. It was amazing.

Darien told Paul that he needed help and the veteran actor was more than happy to lend him a hand. They immediately had an easy rapport and Darien started to relax a bit and fall into a pace. He could do this. He could do this until the real Vince got back and took his rightful place in this world.

As Darien continued to read the script, some items grabbed his attention. Enrapt with reading it, he could not put it down. This script might prove to be the key to everything that had happened to him.

14. Grains Through the Hour Glass

Vince was busy staring at the ceiling. He had counted all the large holes in the third ceiling tile. Now it was time to go for all the small holes. It was like counting the sands running down an hourglass before an execution. Time was rushing toward the inevitable. One, Two green segments left. One, Two on his tattoo—for the fiftieth time. One Two, not Three anymore.

Vince knew what was happening but he couldn’t believe it. “The play’s the thing,” he repeated mindlessly as he gave a dire laugh. A sharp pang stabbed the back of his head like an ice pick piercing tender flesh.

“It’s only a show.” he told himself as he braced futilely for the second wave of agony.

“I’ve been underplaying the pain.” he said aloud as torment thunder-clapped through his head and ran down his body.

The lighting in his room changed and the reflecting wall looking-glass became a window. Never one to underplay his own theatrics, The Collector appeared as a silhouette with only a top light delineating his figure. In his own mind he was the god of this world, but for that matter, so Satan is of his own.

“Good morning, Darien.”

“Is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Morning. You see, I kind of lost track here.”

“It can’t be helped. We’re still settling in.”

“Say, don’t you have any books I can read or a remote control I can play with?”

“Environmental enrichment will be provided.”

“You wanna hear something really funny?” Vince asked.

“Well I…”

“There was this collector dude who made a couple of huge mistakes.”

“What mistakes would those be?”

“For one, he collected the wrong guy.” he paused for dramatic effect. “I’m not Darien Fawkes.”

“Ah heh heh heh. You are indeed an amusing personality, Mr. Fawkes.”

“I’ve been told that. I can be amusing when it’s called for in the script. It’s my job. But, I’m still not Fawkes.”

The Collector was charmed. This man could provide many hours of entertainment in addition to his invisibility abilities.

“Please, don’t let me stop you. I’ve noticed that all my acquisitions find enchanting ways to refute the obvious when in the denial phase. This is quite droll.”

“The other mistake is that I have the same nagging problem that Darien had. If I don’t get a shot of Counteragent, I’ll be insane in a day or two. How droll is that?”

“I am well aware of your need for Counteragent. I regret that I will not be able to provide that for you. However, whether you are sane or not, is immaterial. You still have great of value to me as a prize. You’re the one and only Invisible Man in the world and you are now in my possession.”

“Ah, another mistake, there Theodore Collector. There’s another Invisible Man.”

“What? What did you say?”

“His name is Arnaud de Ferhn and he made the Counteragent or took credit for it. He’s got a gland too. I’ve seen those scripts—there’s a big season finale.”

“That’s impossible!” The Collector blustered. Vince had finally got to him. “I’ve scoured the world. You are the only one.”

“Maybe you just didn’t see him.” Vince jabbed. “He’s easy to miss. Nondescript.”

“You’ll say anything to be released. I won’t indulge you further.”

“This is all great. Just great. You know, you’re already insane.”

“We’ll make a matched set then, won’t we?” The Collector said disdainfully.

“The Id Man and The Idiot Man.”

“That was uncalled for, Mr. Fawkes, but until you settle in, I will make certain allowances for your behavior. However, I must warn you, undue verbal abuse by you will be punished without remorse. I would watch my tongue if I were you, sir.”

With that, the mirror returned and Vince encountered his disheveled image in the glass. He was startled for a moment by his broken appearance before another wave of agony forced him to his knees. His looks were now the furthest thing from his mind as pain poured in to replace all thought.

15. The Play’s the Thing

The script that had once bored Darien now held him in thrall. The words on the page seemed to fill his head in glorious Three-Dimensions and described exactly what he had been living. He was the “real” Darien who had switched places with the actor who played him. Darien poured over the same pages several times and marveled at Art imitating Life imitating Art imitating Life and so on. But, he didn’t know which one was “Life” and which one was “Art”. What if he were the “Art”? It couldn’t be.

If the script meant anything, then Darien thought there was something very important he would have to take care of.

Hope led him to the living room that afternoon where Vince’s wife was watching her son.

“Daddy!” the boy said as he leapt up from his toy truck into Darien’s embrace.

“I love you, Daddy!” he said, giving his heart the way only a child can.

“I love you too, sport. You’re the best.” Darien hugged the boy with all the love he could muster.

“Hey, guy.” Darien said, breaking the embrace. “Why don’t you go outside for a bit and play in the yard. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“OK Daddy. Can we play basketball?”

“Anything you want, Buzz. You got it.” he said as he pulled a little cap onto his charge.

The little boy tumbled out through the kitchen and into the back yard. Darien was left alone with the boy’s sad eyed mother.

“You’ve got a great boy there, Mrs. Ventura.” Darien said sincerely.

“Don’t I know it. Takes after his dad.”

“I just want you to know that everything is going to be OK.”

She looked sullen, as if she were holding back tears. She’d cried a lot since Darien unwillingly came into her life.

“You’re not the man I married.” she finally burst out. “I don’t know you anymore.”

“Hey, hey!” he said, trying to sound reassuring and moving next to her on the couch. “That guy will be back soon. I just know it.”

“When? When is he coming home? When?” She tightly folded her arms over her sunken chest.

“Mrs. Ventura, I promise you, he’s on his way. I’m going to do everything I can to get him back. But for now, I’ve got to go get my butt kicked in a basketball match.” He kissed her on her cheek and went to play Daddy for the last time, he hoped.

“I want a rewrite,” Darien stated at the production meeting as he proffered his notes to the head writer.

“Vince, The Collector script is a done deal,” said the executive producer with his hand to his forehead. “We’re discussing next season here.”

“I can’t accept that.” Darien demanded with certitude, “It has to be changed.” His life depended on it.

The room was quiet. The wonderful, professional Vince Ventura had become a difficult, prima donna complete with demands and arguments over creative decisions that were not in his purview.

“And, who is this Alex person?” Darien dropped into the mix. “I don’t like her. She’s got to go.”

Darien knew that the producer would choose which arguments he could win and which he could lose; it was a matter of compromise and negotiation. Darien had given the man a bargaining chip with the petulant, demanding actor.

The producer considered for a moment. The Alex Monroe character was not up for debate; their office had a memo from on high that mandated her inclusion. “If we make these changes to The Collector script, then will you let us keep the Alex Monroe character?”

Darien pretended to be displeased with the proposal. Finally, he said, “OK. You know how I strongly feel about The Collector changes. But, we’ll have to keep an eye on the Monroe stories. She shouldn’t distract from the other characters.”

“Fine, Vince. Fine. Now, let’s move on.” said the producer, feeling he had won a small victory.

Darien hid his complete relief. Maybe he could be an actor after all.

16. I Got Your Breach, Right Here

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy

With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;

And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”

Vince had gone round the bend. His red eyed delivery of every Shakespeare speech he could remember had attracted The Collector’s cadre of helpers to the picture window to watch the show.

“Do you like my hair like this? Or like this?” he asked no one I particular as he pushed his rumpled locks around his head. “No, I’m not vain about my hair! I use it to establish character!” he shouted.

“Mr. Fawkes!” The Collector had joined his group, scattering them to their respective assigned tasks. “I see you are settling in.”

“By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.” Vince folded himself and slumped against the side of the bed. As he enclosed his body with his arms, he rocked back and forth.

“Open, locks,

Whoever knocks!

“That’s from "Macbeth", Act 4 scene 1” he informed the air. “Locks are VERY important. My hair is my life!”

“Yes, very good.” he clapped. “I’m very wicked, am I not? I won’t ‘open locks’ and release you.”

“Do you think I’m a good actor?” his mood changed to self-pity as he rose to his knees. “I’ll never make it as an actor, will I? I’m just not good looking enough. I wish I were better looking. Maybe I’ll get a nip or a tuck. Maybe it’s my eyes.” he said as he looked at his faint reflection in the glass that contained him.

“Why do you think you’re an actor, Mr. Fawkes?” The Collector was genuinely mystified. Could Fawkes’ insistence that he was not Darien Fawkes bear some truth? His display of Id seemed to support the theory of a puzzling switch.

“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more:

“Oh! Is that a wrinkle?” Darien interjected with panic and then continued.

“…it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.”

“That’s from "Macbeth", Act 5 scene 5

“Do you like it? I worked on that read for weeks. Please say you like it. I just want you to like me.” Vince was now vacillating between utter vanity and complete self-flagellation, at once praising himself to the heavens and beating himself to an emotional, down-trodden pulp.

“I am not bound to please thee with my answers.” quoth the Collector in return.

“You! You’re an idiot!” Vince claimed as the Quicksilver washed over him and erased him from sight. “I’m and Invisible Man. I just play one on TV.”

Vince’s disembodied voice continued to recite Shakespeare’s words.

“To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? …”

“This just goes on and on, Fawkes. Have you ever tried to break into a conversation when the other person refuses to stop talking?” The Collector interjected as the Quicksilver flaked away revealing an even more determined Vince.

“To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub:

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time…”

“Oh god. I don’t want to die here. I want my wife and my son. I love my kid! I want to die acting.”

“It would seem you’re already dying acting.” The Collector could not resist the jibe.

“You’re a really funny guy, Mr. Collector, dude. Do you think it’s easy to be an actor?”

“I was once an actor for a time. I know what it’s like.” he offered. “Brevity is the soul of wit. “ Hamlet", Act 2 scene 2. Shakespeare was never brief.”

“Don’t you EVER say anything bad against the Bard, man! I’ll kill you for that.” Vince lunged for the unbreakable glass.

“I think not.” said The Collector, unmoved by Vince’s aggression.

“ ‘If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.’ Vince wailed, switching back to self-pity. "Twelfth Night", he began sobbing. “Act 3 scene 4.

“This is not happening!” he wailed I’m not really here!”

Vince jolted when alarms suddenly pierced his lament. He could hear a thunder of footsteps and the familiar voice delivering a familiar line: “Federal Agents! You’re under arrest. Failure to cooperate may result in bodily harm to you and/or your associates.”

“Cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war.” Vince played to the rafters and delighted at the prospect of being rescued by Bobby Hobbes. He thought it was funny that he was being saved by a character from the TV show he had been working on.

“I can give you mirth.” he laughed. “How do you like my laugh? I’m a good laugher, I’ve been told.”

Vince giggled and watched as a group of Agency boys surrounded The Collector and slapped restraints on the stunned man’s wrists and ankles.

“‘The game is up.’ "Cymbeline", Act 3 scene 3. Ha! Bet you didn’t know that one, smart guy.” Vince taunted as he laughed at his ex-captor.

The door to Vince’s cage was kicked in and Agent Bobby Hobbes stood in the entrance, AK-47 in hand, with the light from the hall haloing the silhouette of his stocky form. That little guy was a beautiful sight to behold.

“Are you ready for your close up, actor boy?” Hobbes barked.

Vince’s glee was replaced with fear that this was not really a rescue.

“‘The devil hath power

To assume a pleasing shape.’

"Hamlet", Act 2 scene 2. You can’t be Hobbes! Don’t hurt me! Please don’t shoot me.”

“Bobby Hobbes, kid. The one and only.” Hobbes said. “And I didn’t travel around the globe just to shoot you, Brando!”

The stage presence of the beautiful and elegant Claire Keeply invoked another mood change for Vince. When he saw her holding a “make-that-a-super-size” needle full of Counteragent he recited tenderly,

“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

“‘Romeo and Juliet’. Ouch! Act 2 scene 1,” he informed them.

Claire smiled kindly as she injected the blue liquid into the actor’s arm. The Counteragent began to work immediately. Rapidly Vince returned to sanity.

“Hobbes, how did you find me?”

“Oh, ‘Et tu, Brute?’ Even YOU doubt me? I’m an expert tracker! Let me tell you something, kid, Bobby Hobbes can find a sand flea on the ass end of a camel in the middle of the Mohave Desert. Don’t you doubt it.”

“I never would.” said Vince happily.

Hobbes ordered his men to finish cleaning up the mess. All of The Collector’s living specimens had to be set free and cared for.

“You Mister”, Vince scolded the Collector with glee as he was escorted out by Hobbes and Claire “are now part of the Bobby Hobbes’ Collection.”

“Collection of what, I may ask?” he sneered.

“Collars!” said Hobbes.

“Yeah!” Vince added as the two of them left. “Ha!

“‘He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.’” Vince spouted to Hobbes as they walked away.

“What?” Hobbes said with confusion.

“The Collector dude doesn't have a snappy comeback,” Vince explained. “He’s still thinking of something to say!”

“Just get in the chopper, Olivier.”

17. The Long Voyage Home

It was a tiring 22 hour journey home to San Diego from India from where The Collector had ensconced Vince and the rest of his operation in a futile attempt to avoid capture.

“We had that Collector guy in our sights for years. You know, he’s got the original Mona Lisa? The one at the Louvre is a clever fake. We couldn’t do nothing about it until he made off with our own prize collectable—you. Before that, we didn’t have enough evidence to make anything stick to that slippery bastard or enough funding to take him down.” Hobbes explained on the trip. “When he stole our top secret, highly valuable weapon, the Official suddenly found some bucks lying around under his mattress or something. He spared no expense getting “Darien” back.”

“But, you know, I’m not Darien.” Vince said apologetically. “You came after me anyway.”

“Don’t get mooshy on me, kid. I just want my punk partner back. We found this at Darien’s apartment.”

Hobbes handed Vince a note that read, “I have been switched with an actor, Vince Ventura, who plays me in a TV show in a parallel universe. It gets weirder. While trying to cure his invisibility problems, Arnaud accidentally created a Reality Distortion Field device. When he realized what he had, he aimed it at me. You’ve got to get Vince another hit from the machine. Just do it! I want to come home. —Darien”

“I don’t remember that.” Vince thought out loud.

“What?”

“It sounds like they had a pretty crazy and contrived script that week. That’s such an obvious ploy.”

“It’s how we figured out what happened.” Hobbes said.

“If we didn’t get that note, we would still be wondering who you were. And we would never believe anything you told us.”

“I guess I’m not as convincing as I’d like to be.” Vince said grimly.

“Keep practicing, guy. Keep practicing.” Hobbes said as he turned aside for a nap.

“When we get back home, Vince, we’ll get you back home.” Claire whispered to Vince as she stirred from her own sleep. “Now get some rest. You’ll need it.”

18. Reality Distortion Field

“I’ve been doing my own Realty Distortion Field work for years.” Claire informed them. “I finally had the funding to finish the device.” she smiled, lighting up the Keep.

“Will this hurt?” Vince said, staring at the strange contraption.

“No. But, we need to get you started as soon as possible.” she said.

“How does it work?” Vince asked.

“The theory of Reality Distortion has been around for years. It’s believed by some that RD is used all the time by people in their every day lives.”

Hobbes rolled his eyes surreptitiously. Wrong question, kid. he thought. Fawkesy would have known better than to ask. Now we'll get the whole lecture.

“You see, whenever a person tells themselves that they are unable to do something that they are actually very good at or that they are better at something than they really are, they’re using Reality Distortion. That is known as Perceptional Reality Distortion. Quite fascinating, especially in the light of the work put forth by Yosef Diavlay in the 1800’s when he…”

“Claire, dear, I thought you said we had to move on this.” Hobbes interjected. “I’d like to rescue Fawkes from the clutches of all the scantily clad, beautiful actresses he’s probably got lining his dressing room.”

Vince looked worried and thought about his wife and his reputation.

“Oh, sorry. Yes. Well, Vince, then this is good bye and good luck.” Claire hugged him.

“So long, guy.” Hobbes shook Vince’s hand heartily.

“Thank you, both. I’ll never forget you.”

Claire operated her device and Vince said good bye to Darien’s universe.

19. The Baseless Fabric of this Vision

The switch tossed Vince and Darien back into their respective places. They met each other in a nether world during their journeys home. They were startled by the resemblance to one another and took a few moments to overcome their mutual shock.

Darien finally said. “I envy you. You have a great kid and a wonderful wife.”
 

A thought crossed Vince’s mind and his face fell. “You didn’t…” Vince started to ask, but Darien read his mind.

“Guest Room, man! The whole time.” Darien put his hands up in a surrender gesture. “She thinks you’re sick in the head. She’s worried. You’re going to have to play nice and do the make up thing. Flowers. Chocolates. You know. Groveling would help.”

“Making up is the best part.” Vince smiled relieved that his ex-con, ex-thief counterpart had not availed himself of the situation. Perhaps Darien possessed a little more nobility than Vince gave him credit.

“What did you do that I have to fix.” Vince asked knowing full well what Darien was capable of when the little devil on his shoulder won the arguments with ease.

“I got ‘Vince we have to talk’ at least once from your Missus,” Darien said doing her part with a mock woman’s voice.

“Only once? Your performance must have been better than you think. That’s not too bad. What else? Sleep with many actresses?” he tossed off.

“I wish! No actresses.” Darien looked glum. “I was too busy working.”
 

Vince’s eyes narrowed. “OK Darien, what DID you do?”

“Ira Levy’s ready to bust a gut.”

“That’s normal. Ira’s a little high strung.” Vince informed Darien. “What else?”

“Uh, you’re going to have to kiss some major butt on the set. I demanded a rewrite on 'The Collector' script. I assume that’s why we’re talking right now; Claire and Hobbes got my message and figured out how to get us home.”

Vince considered for a moment. “I have to smooth feathers at work all the time. I tend to voice my opinions about some of the dumb things that go on. They don't always want to hear it.

“Darien, I’m glad you figured out how to get that message to Claire and Hobbes. You saved us both with that rewrite. Now we can both put our lives in order.”

Darien snuffed. “You can. I’m back to the Land of Gland.”

“You’ve got loyal friends. It’s all right to rely on those people.