 For what reason is Zarwell seeking treatment with Bergstrom?
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. [p 135 ] By CHARLES V. DE VET monkey on his back Under the cloud of cast-off identities lay the shape of another man— was it himself? Illustrated by DILLON HE was walking endlessly down a long, glass-walled corridor. The truth lurked in some corner of his consciousness, but it was not reached by surface awareness. [p 136 ] Two men hurried through a doorway of a small anteroom to his left, calling to him. It took him only a few seconds to push the case into the compartment, lock it and slide the key along the floor beneath the locker. But the fact that they had been expecting him meant that others would very probably be waiting outside. A tall ruffian, copper-brown face damp with perspiration and body oil, grabbed him by the jacket and slammed him back against the lockers. Bergstrom’s neat-boned, fair-skinned face betrayed no emotion other than an introspective stillness of his normally alert gaze. The floor beneath Zarwell’s feet assumed abruptly the near transfluent consistency of a damp sponge. It rose in a foot-high wave and rolled gently toward the far wall. “When psychiatry was a less exact science,” his voice went on, seeming to come from a great distance, “a doctor had to spend weeks, sometimes months or years interviewing a patient. We are able now, with the help of the serum, to confine our discourses to matters cogent to the patient’s trouble.” The floor continued its transmutation, and Zarwell sank deep into viscous depths. Zarwell grunted acknowledgment and pushed himself to his feet, apparently unaware that his shirt clung damply to his body. Zarwell was careful not to rest his hand on the flesh searing surface of the stone. The evening meal hour was approaching when he reached the Flats, on the way to his apartment. The feeling was there again, like a scene waiting only to be gazed at directly to be perceived. Yet always, when his mind lost its sleep-induced [p 140 ] lethargy, the moment of near understanding slipped away. This morning, however, the sense of disorientation did not pass with full wakefulness. Zarwell moved among them, seldom taking part in the individual clashes, yet a moving force in the conflict . Zarwell was riding a shaggy pony outside a high wall surrounding the stricken metropolis. Zarwell was not the leader of the invaders, only a lesser figure in the rebellion.
 He is experiencing symptoms of memory loss
 He is experiencing symptoms of memory loss  He struggles with night terrors on a regular basis  He feels paranoid that someone is controlling his thoughts  He wishes to rid himself of the ennui that stems from his depression