Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Not while I am alive, it won't! It surely was all right for me to let myself do it now. I couldn't have a complete fool. The guy on the corner reading a newspaper by the bus stop. "I need help," I panted to him. "Somebody's trying to kidnap me." "Really makes you sick to hear about something like that, doesn't it?" he said. "I'm in favor of the Lindbergh Law myself." drive me insane! Two men, a girl—" I should have known better, but I wanted to touch him in some way, make him know I was alive. I grabbed him and shook him by the shoulders, and there was a whoosh and as I might have expected he collapsed like the insubstantiality he was. Cartons, bottles, what looked like the skin of a dehydrated human being—obviously, on second thought, only the discarded skin of one of of my piloting. "What have you done to my mind?" Beta or not, we gave you good service. Don't slip now." I heard the voice and I heard another voice, and it said "What could was a lie about them using incendiaries. One of your own tricks for you, Heinie. Up on the stick, up under your I'm sick. Sr., in a western as a badman. He was protecting a doll-faced blonde from the rest of the gang, standing them off from a grove of rocks. The flickering action caught my unblinking eyes. Tom Santschi is sneaking across the top of the rocks, a knife in his dirty half-breed hand. Raymond Hatton makes a try for his old boss, but Chaney stops his clock for him. Now William Farnum is riding up with the posse. Tom makes a try with the knife, the girl screams, and Chaney turns the blade back on him. It goes through his neck, all the way through. The blonde is running toward Farnum as he polishes off the rest of the gang and dismounts, her blouse shredded, revealing one breast—is that the dawn of Bessie Love? Chaney stands up in the rocks. Farnum aims his six-shooter. No, no, say the girl's lips. "No!" "No!" says Flicker Flashbacks Tom Mix had gone off the air and he and his Cowboy Commandos beat the Japs in comic books. Only, hadn't he sold Liberty Bonds with Helen Morgan? out front. My boy got me that. He runs a radio and Victrola store. A good boy. His name's in the fishbowl." Doctor Zhivago had been replaced by the roof. I dodged in front of a horse-drawn garbage wagon and behind an electric battles checkering the street behind me. I grabbed the handle on the door, opened it and threw myself into the back seat. it. Something was wrong. Two men were in the front seat. The driver showed me his hard, expressionless face. "What do you think you are doing?" "This isn't a taxicab?" I asked blankly. "Park Police." I sat there while we drove on for a few minutes. "D. &amp D.," the second man said to the driver. "Right into our laps." The second officer leaned forward and clicked something. "I'll get the City boys." "No, kill it, Carl. Think of all that damned paper work." Carl shrugged. "What will we do with him?" How could I tell him that? Before I even got a chance to try, he said: "What did you do?" "I didn't do anything!" "What's your name?" "Hilliard Turner. There—" "We don't want you going back there again, Turner, causing trouble. Understand?" "Officer, I only bought some books—I mean magazines." "These?" the second man, Carl, asked. He had retrieved them from the back seat. "Look here, Sarge. They look pretty dirty." Sarge took up the "You know about the laws governing pornography, Turner." "Those aren't pornography and they are my property!" I reached for them and Carl pulled them back, grinning. "You don't want to read these. They aren't good for you. We're confiscating them." "Look here, I'm a citizen! You can't—" Carl shoved me back a little. "Can't we?" Sarge stepped in front of me, his face in deadly earnest. "How about it, Turner? You a narcotics user?" He grabbed my wrist and started rolling up my sleeve to look for needle marks. I twisted away from him. At that, Carl loped up beside him. The two of them started to beat me. intruders for the first time I could remember, and went inside. I threw myself on the couch and rubbed my stomach. I wasn't hurt badly. these false memories in a closed curve. That was the worst part of it. False memories, feelings of persecution, If there was one thing that working for an advertising agency had taught me, it was social responsibility. I took up the phone book and located several psychiatrists. I selected one at random, for no particular reason. Dr. Ernest G. Rickenbacker. I memorized the address and heaved myself to my feet. The doctor's office was as green as the inside of a mentholated After several long, peaceful minutes the inner door opened. "Mr. Turner, I can't seem to find any record of an appointment for you in Dr. Rickenbacker's files," the man said. I got to my feet. "Then I'll come back." He took my arm. "No, no, I can fit you in." "I didn't have an appointment. I just came." I looked up into that long, hard, blank face that seemed so recently familiar. "I'm Dr. Sergeant," he said. "I'm taking care of Dr. Rickenbacker's practice for him while he is on vacation." I nodded. What I was thinking could only be another symptom of my illness. "I feel," I said, "that I am caught up in some kind of time travel." "I see. Have you read much science fiction, Mr. Turner?" Turner. For instance, to a certain type of person, I often recommend the mysteries of Mickey Spillane." I seemed to be losing control of the conversation. "But this time travel...." "Mr. Turner, do you really believe in 'time travel'?" "No." "Then how can there be any such thing? It can't be real." "I know that! I want to be cured of imagining it." "The first step is to utterly renounce the idea. Stop thinking about "How did you know I keep slipping back into the past?" I asked. "But you did, Mr. Turner. You told me all about thinking you could go "Please try to keep from getting violent, Mr. Turner. People like you actually have more control over themselves than you realize. If you will yourself to be calm...." "I know I didn't tell you a thing about the Back Number Store. I'm hands of a corpse, or a doll.... I lurched across the desk and grabbed his wrist. " Please , Mr. Turner! violence will—" My fingers clawed at the backs of his hands and my nails dragged off can't win them all, and I had been in a lot of scraps when I had been younger. (Hadn't I?) I stepped in while he was trying to decide whether to use the hypo on jawbone. He dropped. I gave him a kick at the base of his spine. He grunted and lay still. There was a rapping on the door. "Doctor? Doctor?" I searched through his pockets. He didn't have any keys. He didn't have any money or identification or a gun. He had a handkerchief and a with her over the needle than fight Carl over the rod. Idiotically, I smiled at that idea. I slipped. You aren't going to be able to Immelmann out of this dive, Turner. Good-by, Turner. Death.

<question>:
Why does Turner become afraid of the psychiatrist?

<options>:
A He realizes he is actually the police officer who beat him up.
B He pulls a gun on him.
C He knows things about his childhood that he never told anyone.
D He kidnapped the Dr. Rickenbacker.

<answer>:

A