Dr. Orlando was unavailable. The receptionist was unable to tell me why she had cancelled my appointment for tomorrow but she was firm: Dr Orlando was unavailable to talk now and tomorrow when we had our weekly session booked. Her voice sounded off - I think her name is Joan and she’s normally chirpy with everyone, including me. Now she sounded… almost scared. She was probably just having a bad day. 

Calls like this gave me a headache and, considering I normally have a headache daily, this made for double the pain so I put the phone down, rather than make the double headache worse. I went to lie down and slept a bit - the rest of the evening is a fog but I have a fairly set routine so I know I probably putzed around after dinner and fell asleep around midnight. 

After work the next day I went to get a takeaway. While I was waiting for my order, I spotted Dr. Orlando enter the convenience store across the street and decided to follow him in. I was surprised to see him loading up on a number of liquor bottles but not as surprised as he was to see me - he nearly screamed! 

“Doctor - it’s just me!” 

The doctor was staring at me in fear. “You - you need to give me time,” he managed. 

I shook my head querulously. “Are you taking a break from your practice?” 

The doctor looked about and leaned in closer. “You son of a… have you harmed him?” 

“Harmed - who?” 

The doctor looked at me in disgust, dropped his basket and stormed out. I followed him, calling him back. He turned around in a rage. “I told you last week: I will do what you ask but you have to promise me that you won’t harm my red panda!” 

I was able to convince the doctor to sit with me in a nearby bar and tell me what was going on. After a couple of strong drinks he told me the strangest story. I had apparently demanded the doctor murder a man called Philip Martin - an accountant, it turned out - and, to ensure he followed through, I had kidnapped his beloved pet: a red panda called Bogus. 

“Aren’t they endangered - how did you get such a creature?” 

The doctor waved his hands away which told me he had probably procured it illegally. 

He whispered. “I… I think I know how I’ll do it. Kill this accountant fellow. But I need to know that my pet is alive and well.” 

I stared at him in disbelief. “Dr Orlando - Rick, I don’t know what to say about any of this. I don’t have your pet. I didn’t ask you to do any of this. I’ve never even heard of Philip Martin, let alone have a reason to wish him dead!” 

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The doctor’s expression brightened. “So - you’ll return Bogus to me?” 

I shook my head. “I’ve never even seen a red panda. Bogus who?” 

The doctor’s face fell and grew increasingly red. “You sick bastard. I knew you were crazy but… alright, I see,” and quickly left before I could stop him. 

I went back to collect the takeaway and went home. It was cold but it was still good. “Doctors get sick too,” I reasoned and looked up photos of red pandas online. Cute buggers. 

The next day I went out to pick up a sandwich for lunch. Upon returning, I was sat in the living room, looking at me - that is, a slightly older version of me was sitting in the chair looking at me. 

Holding up a hand and nodding his head at the situation, he told me to take a seat, which I did, beginning to laugh a kind of desperate wheeze. 

“It was you,” I said. 

“There are reasons for all of this,” he said. 

“Which are?” 

“I can’t tell you,”

I scoffed. “I think I’m the one having the breakdown, not Dr Orlando,” 

“You’re not but this will all make sense.” 

I peered at myself. It was… unnerving to say the least. Like looking into a mirror and seeing the familiar reflection - but warped somehow. The skin was looser, more lines, definitely more white hair around the sides. 

“Do you have a red panda?” I asked. 

“That’s not important right now. The important thing is that you do nothing to interfere with the good doctor’s plan. I know you were considering reporting him to the authorities, maybe have him sectioned before he - you know. But you need to sit back and do nothing. This will work out for the best.” 

“Does this mean time travel has been invented in the future?” 

“Sort of - you’ll see.” 

I got one of my headaches then and leaned back - that usually helped somewhat. I unexpectedly slept for a bit (a morbid dream about teeth in brains) and when I awoke my future self - my doppelganger - was gone. Probably a dream or an hallucination brought about by stress. 

It was a few days later on the local news that I saw the lead story was Dr Orlando having been arrested on suspicion of murder - the victim was an accountant called Philip Martin. 

Orlando was sentenced to 25 years in prison for his crime. Either because there was no evidence tying myself to the crime or Orlando still believed his red panda would still be harmed if he implicated me - or maybe he was plain bonkers too - but I never received so much as a call from the police during the subsequent investigation. 

I ended up getting a new psychiatrist - this time a woman called Madelyn. I decided to stop therapy after I realised I was falling in love with Madelyn and we began seeing each other as regular people rather than doctor and patient and we married not long after. 

The home we bought was oddly familiar but perfect for what we were looking for - cheaper too, considering the size and neighbourhood. The estate agent informed us that they were obligated to tell us before we committed to the purchase that there had been a brutal murder here not long ago: the accountant Philip Martin. 

That was why it was familiar. I said nothing about it to Maddie and she really wanted it - “People die everywhere all the time” she reasoned, and I agreed - and so we bought it. 

I was distracted as Maddie began talking about plans for refurbishing the house. So that’s why my future self had told me not to interfere: if I had, Dr Orlando wouldn’t have committed his crime and I would never have met Maddie, and Philip Martin would still be living in this house. 

My daily headache arrived and we switched seats in the car with Maddie taking over driving. She rarely chatted while driving, such was her concentration - and I was glad of the silence. Maybe the future holds cures for long term sufferers of headaches like me. Maybe brain technology is so far advanced that we can reach back to our former selves and mentally project… but that was science fiction. 

I never did find out if there was a real red panda called Bogus or not but I like to think things worked out for him too.