Wake up, now. We don't have all day to do this. I can see your eyes moving, I know you're conscious. I'll answer your questions in a moment.

Do you know where you are? Yes, you're in your bedroom. Good, the amyl is wearing off. I'll need you alert for this.

Yes, I know you can't move. Your system shouldn't purge the sodium pentothal for another hour or so. I have to tell you, you're a hard person to figure out dosage for. Especially with the ether having already taken effect. The last thing I wanted was a complication.

You really don't remember? It'll come back to you. Let me give you a few hints. Coming home, walking up the stairs, you heard a noise. You turned around, you felt the rag over your mouth. You inhaled to scream, and then -- nothing.

Don't panic. Trust me, you don't have the strength to. The drugs take care of that. Oh, all right, don't listen to me. Try and struggle. It's only gaffer's tape holding you to the chair. Nice chair, by the way. IKEA? No? Doesn't matter anyway, I won't be back.

No, I'm not going to rob you. Look at me, do I look like a robber?

You're not looking at me. I said LOOK. Look at my face.

That's right. It's not a face, is it? It's a simple, featureless white mask. You think I wear it to hide my identity? You poor fool. This is my identity.

Oh, why not? We have time. I'll just talk to you, keep you entertained while I look through your closet here.

My name is Dmitri Smerdyakov. Yes, it's Russian. No, I don't have a Russian accent. I worked long and hard to eliminate any trace of regional inflection from my voice. But now and then, I speak in my father's voice.

Do you think he sounds like a strong man? He was a strong man. Perhaps I am, too.

Do you prefer this voice? You should. It's yours. It always sounds different from another pair of lips, doesn't it?

Oh my. These clothes, where DO you shop? But yes, they will do, they'll do nicely.

Where was I?

Yes, Russia. Well, to put it plainly, my father was rich, and my mother was a whore. When my father's wife died, my mother told me that we would have a home with him. But it was not to be. He came to the small hamlet where we lived, and took us to his manor. I lived in a small shed outside, with a leaky roof. My mother lived in the house for a day or two. Then she hanged herself.

Father died years later, I heard. I had already run away, on the train to Moscow. I served the State and the Bureau for ten years. Then the State fell, can you believe that? Oh, it's old history to you, you probably watched it on the television, then went back to your microwave popcorn and baseball.

There, how do these fit? Yes, they're a little baggy in the legs. You could stand to lose a pound or five, you know. But to be honest, I haven't eaten well lately. Do you mind if I check your kitchen? I won't be but a moment.

I'm back. At least you have taste in food. You don't make much money, but you eat healthy, at least. I don't eat good sandwiches anymore. Not since...ah yes, his life.

May I make a small digression? It's important to me, you see. It's all about him, after all.

The spider.

You know who I mean. I don't like to name him. Not by THAT name, anyway. The newspapers don't understand about him, not like I do.

You see, I've been in his shoes. Literally. I've slept in his bed when he's been swinging from rooftops. I've eaten roast beef and cheese sandwiches on white toast with his dear aunt. I've tied his tie around my neck, I've walked the halls of the very place he works, stood face to face with his best friends, and they've never been the wiser.

I know the spider, because I've lived his life. My brother wore his costume once, but I've been in his life. I've worn his hair, his face, his eyes, his voice.

And his name. I tried it on for a while. Peter. It fits him, he looks like a Peter. And his friends and family, they love him.

I suppose somehow, I do too. Not like that, mind you.

Then again, maybe it is like that. Do you know what I mean? To be so close to someone, to be able to touch their life without their knowledge? To want to be a part of that, so much?

Maybe you do, maybe not.

Thus endeth the digression. And I'm almost done now, so I suppose I owe you an explanation.

You see him every day, you know. In the halls, in the parking lot. Every day, you pass within five feet of him. But that's not why I'm here. You see, you have another life as well. You have your friends, and your family, and your daily routine.

I'm just going to borrow it for a while. In a day or two, I will call the police, and your voice will tell them how you're hearing noises outside your window. And they'll come here, and find you tied to this chair.

Maybe you'll last three or four days without food or water. I think I'd like that. Maybe I'll come back, to check on you. Because I like you. You're a good listener. A captive audience, if you'll forgive me.

It'll only be a little while. I appreciate this. It's only a loan.

No, I'm not taking your money. Look at me. LOOK at me. You'll feel a small pinprick. This may burn a little, and I apologize. You shouldn't remember any of this. But I promise, I will be gentle, and only take a little.

This is what I'm taking. Your face. Your eyes. Your hair. Your clothes. Your voice. Your life.

I'll bring them back. In a day or so. But for a while, I'm not going to be Dmitri Smerdyakov. I'm not going to be the Chameleon, arch-villain, menace to society, ad nauseum.

No, no. For a day or three, I'm borrowing another life.

I'm you.

Sleep well. It will all be over soon.

Goodbye.