"Harold" by DarkPlaces | CLANCYPASTA

[00:00:01] I was having a dream much like any other I'd had before. There was some loosely strung together plot, apparently only in retrospect. Somewhere I had to be, an object of my pursuit that seemed to elude and taunt me.

[00:00:17] I moved forward without understanding why. There were people around me, and who those people were changed without warning, and sometimes I was no longer acting, but instead watching myself act as if viewing some abstract and esoteric film.

[00:00:33] That all changed when I found his wallet. It was brown leather, worn and scuffed from many years of going into back pockets, then back out from being tossed on the counter when he got home from being sat on.

[00:00:48] It was sitting in a puddle under a bridge I did not recognize and could not find again if I needed to. I picked it up and turned my head, looking for whomever it could belong to, noticing only then that I was alone.

[00:01:03] The faceless and shifting and impermanent throng of dream travelers was no longer with me. It was grey January, and gentle rain fell everywhere, except under the cover of the bridge, and the wallet was damp with cold and I was alone holding it.

[00:01:21] There was money inside the wallet. Red and blue bills with faces on them that I did not recognize. Strange nonsense denomination. A six note, a thirty, one thousand units of whatever currency this was.

[00:01:38] My instincts told me to take some. Just one of those dream thoughts you have no control over. I stuffed a few bills in my side pocket.

[00:01:47] I remember a moment of pause as I realized I was wearing an old pair of cargo pants that, in reality, are sitting in the back corner of my closet, unthought of for some time.

[00:01:59] His ID was in the front flap behind a thin plastic film. His name was Harold Haying Harris, and he was smiling like he knew something. Something about me.

[00:02:13] I decided I didn't want the wallet, and dropped it in the puddle where I'd found it.

[00:02:19] Strange dreams often stay with you for a few moments upon waking. At least that's how it is for me.

[00:02:26] Usually I come back with only a few pieces. I lay in bed, hesitant to move or change anything, scared that motion will draw me further into the waking world.

[00:02:37] All I ever want is to go back to sleep. I live my days in anticipation of that moment.

[00:02:44] Climbing into bed, pulling the covers up until they cover my mouth and my nose. Breathing my own exhales.

[00:02:51] The way your body eventually starts to dissolve. You feel heavy, half paralyzed.

[00:02:57] There's a comforting warmth as your stomach goes up and down with each breath, drawn automatically.

[00:03:03] Laying there, trying to preserve my comfort.

[00:03:07] That's usually when other pieces of the dream return.

[00:03:12] That night, it was still dark. Somewhere in the quiet moments preceding twilight.

[00:03:18] I lay thinking about where I'd just been. Somewhere familiar, in many ways.

[00:03:24] The dark evergreens, the gunmetal sky.

[00:03:27] But not anywhere I'd ever actually been.

[00:03:31] Likely not a place that truly exists, I thought.

[00:03:34] Just a creation of my mind.

[00:03:37] I remembered the rain.

[00:03:39] How cold it had been.

[00:03:41] I thought about the puddle and, suddenly, I remembered the wallet.

[00:03:45] The strange bills.

[00:03:47] Harold's picture.

[00:03:48] I could see it so vividly.

[00:03:50] Could see his name.

[00:03:52] I rolled over in my bed to face the window.

[00:03:55] It's always been my theory that if you want to fall back into the dream you've just woken from, your best bet is to stay in the same position.

[00:04:04] Don't move a muscle.

[00:04:06] Close your eyes and let yourself drift back to the place you just left.

[00:04:10] I imagine it has something to do with blood pooling in certain areas of the brain.

[00:04:15] Our thoughts occupy physical space inside our head.

[00:04:19] The things our imaginations conjure are not entirely intangible.

[00:04:23] A lot of people don't get that.

[00:04:26] I had no desire to go back into that dream.

[00:04:30] I feared it.

[00:04:32] So, I turned over, hoping that would help.

[00:04:35] Icy rain pelted my window and wind-driven bursts.

[00:04:40] Every time I closed my eyes, my thoughts returned to the dream.

[00:04:44] Walking in a crowd, pursuing some undefined thing that was just beyond my ability to recall.

[00:04:51] Finding the wallet.

[00:04:53] Harold Haying Harris.

[00:04:56] I sat up and bet I have enough experience falling in and out of the same nightmare to know how this was going to go.

[00:05:04] Unless I did something to stop it.

[00:05:06] What you need in those moments is an interruption.

[00:05:09] Get out of bed.

[00:05:10] Go to the bathroom.

[00:05:12] Get some water.

[00:05:13] Walk around for a minute.

[00:05:14] Anything that functions as a reset.

[00:05:18] After making the circuit.

[00:05:20] Bathroom.

[00:05:21] Kitchen.

[00:05:21] Back to bed.

[00:05:22] I decided to check my phone.

[00:05:24] I don't remember seeing what time it was.

[00:05:27] I don't even remember opening Google and typing in his name.

[00:05:30] I suppose I thought it might help to quickly confirm what I already knew.

[00:05:35] That Harold was not a real person.

[00:05:38] That he was simply a thought inside my head.

[00:05:41] What I found was his blog.

[00:05:45] It was a WordPress site.

[00:05:47] They're easy to identify.

[00:05:49] The one I built to post my writing years ago had a similar layout.

[00:05:53] Nearly 100 entries.

[00:05:54] Each with his name at the top.

[00:05:57] There was a small picture next to his name in the byline.

[00:06:01] The same picture from his wallet.

[00:06:04] The same smile.

[00:06:06] I turned on my bedroom light and waited for sunrise.

[00:06:11] Harold appeared to be some sort of lifestyle blogger.

[00:06:15] That's as close as I can get to describing what I found.

[00:06:18] He lived in a city called Kadesh and wrote about his days there.

[00:06:23] I skimmed the entries.

[00:06:25] Most were boring.

[00:06:27] Today I went for a lovely walk down 21st street.

[00:06:30] The leaves are beginning to turn.

[00:06:32] If you're looking for a delicious cup of coffee in the area, consider...

[00:06:37] Stuff like that.

[00:06:38] A few though were strange.

[00:06:41] I began to wonder if there might be something wrong with Harold.

[00:06:44] Some sort of condition.

[00:06:45] And if this blog might best be viewed as almost voyeuristic insight into the mental degradation of a sick man.

[00:06:54] Earlier today in the gray hours of the morning, all the birds fell out of the sky in unison.

[00:07:00] Did anyone else see this?

[00:07:04] I was ready to stop reading.

[00:07:06] Until I stumbled upon that line.

[00:07:10] I kept scrolling to see if it was an outlier.

[00:07:13] I found others.

[00:07:14] This one buried at the end of a long entry about the best thrift stores located on the sleepy main strip.

[00:07:22] I noticed the cashier from Second Chances following me.

[00:07:27] To each subsequent store I visited, he was hiding behind a clothing rack in exchange.

[00:07:32] I found him sitting alone in a locked dressing room in moonlight jewels.

[00:07:37] I'm worried he may have followed me home.

[00:07:40] I took a much longer and less straightforward path back to my place, but couldn't shake the feeling someone was behind me.

[00:07:48] Lacking just far enough back to stay out of sight.

[00:07:52] He made me very uncomfortable.

[00:07:54] I don't think I will be returning to the store, despite their excellent selection of second-hand cutlery and china.

[00:08:03] Each post contained a link to a map which traced his path.

[00:08:08] Places where he stopped, like restaurants and bakeries and shops, were noted.

[00:08:13] I zoomed out from one of these maps, curious to see where in the world Kadesh was located, and was disturbed to note it was in my state, not far from my home.

[00:08:25] I'd nearly driven past it many times.

[00:08:28] It was north and west of me, close to the Pacific Ocean.

[00:08:32] Strange that I'd never heard the name before.

[00:08:35] I checked the map on my phone, comparing it to Harold's.

[00:08:38] I zoomed closer and closer, but where Kadesh was on the map was nothing but empty green space on mine.

[00:08:46] A featureless spot in the woods, with no roads and no shops, and nothing else of note except for a small lake.

[00:08:54] The lake was on both maps.

[00:08:58] I found an entry of Harold's which involved it.

[00:09:02] Walked to Cressman Lake today.

[00:09:05] There's a bench at the edge of the water where I like to sit.

[00:09:08] You'll find a lot of flat stones at the base of this bench, perfect for skipping across the glass-like surface of the water.

[00:09:15] It's a good place to spend an afternoon when you need to clear your mind.

[00:09:20] I worry that he will return soon.

[00:09:23] I see him in my dreams.

[00:09:28] The lake.

[00:09:29] Cressman to him, unnamed to me, was a 90-minute drive from my house.

[00:09:35] I had no plans for the day.

[00:09:37] Nothing to stop me from filling it with three hours of driving.

[00:09:41] Round trip, plus however much time I would spend at the lake.

[00:09:45] Doing what?

[00:09:47] Looking for it?

[00:09:48] I didn't stop to think.

[00:09:50] I opened my closet and packed a few changes of clothes quickly, feeling an urgent need to get on my way.

[00:09:56] Logic would necessitate that all I needed were the clothes on my back for such a trip.

[00:10:01] That makes me wonder if I knew even then what I was going to find.

[00:10:07] If I knew somewhere in that part of my brain which can't speak, not out loud at least, where I was going.

[00:10:15] The first hour of the drive was navigating from my residential street to the highway and then heading due north.

[00:10:25] It was the same boring, uneventful drive I'd done hundreds if not thousands of times.

[00:10:31] I chased bright blue skies up the round of the earth.

[00:10:35] It was an unseasonably beautiful day.

[00:10:38] Blue and gold with viciously cold wind.

[00:10:42] The weather lifted my spirits.

[00:10:44] It was easy to forget what I was doing.

[00:10:47] The mountain was on my right, slowly falling behind me with each mile I drove.

[00:10:52] I watched its white, snowy bulk travel from my passenger window to the rear window to the rear windshield before vanishing altogether.

[00:11:02] It was time to head west.

[00:11:05] Two miles further along the road I'd exited to, a nondescript state road with numbers for a name,

[00:11:12] my GPS commanded me to turn right onto an unnamed, unmarked dirt road that carved a path through grey, barren trees.

[00:11:21] I could see that it went straight for a few hundred feet before curving out of sight to the left.

[00:11:27] The road was wide enough for one car and full of dips that shook me from side to side as I passed over them,

[00:11:34] going no more than ten miles per hour.

[00:11:38] Somewhere along this road, which connected with so many others just like it that I lost count,

[00:11:44] lost sense of which direction I'd been turned in, then turned out of, then turned back around into,

[00:11:49] clouds filled the sky, blocking out the sun, making it feel much more like the January afternoon it was.

[00:11:57] And then I saw it just ahead.

[00:12:01] The lake.

[00:12:03] I parked my car in a dirt turnaround and walked to the water.

[00:12:08] No wind blew and, likewise, the lake sat still and silent, patient.

[00:12:14] The color of the sky a perfect imitation of what sat above me,

[00:12:19] equally as still, as if buried in the dirt was some grotesquely massive looking glass.

[00:12:26] I began to walk its circumference clockwise.

[00:12:30] The day was quiet.

[00:12:32] Nothing moved.

[00:12:33] I heard birdsong off in the distance, but saw no birds.

[00:12:38] The only other sound was the destruction of whatever crunched beneath my feet with each step.

[00:12:44] Every time I rounded another turn, I would tell myself that it was time to turn back.

[00:12:49] My feet would continue forward,

[00:12:51] and I would convince myself that one more corner was what I needed.

[00:12:55] I knew that just around the next tree, there would be something for me.

[00:13:00] Something that was waiting just for me.

[00:13:03] I continued this way until I found myself on the opposite side of the wide lake,

[00:13:08] miles from where I'd part.

[00:13:10] There was no way to mark the descent of the sun,

[00:13:13] save the gradual dulling of the light, the curtailing of the hidden day.

[00:13:18] I turned back, bitterly disappointed.

[00:13:22] I've no idea how long I walked, because despite certainly retracing my steps,

[00:13:28] the lake and its shore providing the surest guide any wanderer could hope for,

[00:13:32] I failed to reach my car, where it should have been.

[00:13:36] And of this I am also sure.

[00:13:39] The empty dirt patch of my arrival was unmistakable,

[00:13:43] as were my own so recently treaded tire tracks,

[00:13:47] stood now only a forlorn bench.

[00:13:51] I sat and attempted to slow my racing mind.

[00:13:55] I felt, after a few moments of slow, steady breathing,

[00:14:00] the strangest sense of comfort and normality.

[00:14:04] Darkness overtook the sky.

[00:14:07] I had no car, no sense of where I was.

[00:14:11] Even my phone was gone.

[00:14:14] Sitting still, presumably, in the cup holder where I had left it.

[00:14:18] And yet I did not panic.

[00:14:20] I felt certain there was nothing to fear.

[00:14:24] I should have known better.

[00:14:27] There was light in the distance,

[00:14:29] blowing beyond the far side of the lake,

[00:14:32] city lights polluting the dark sky.

[00:14:34] I saw them on the clouds and reflected on the black surface of the water,

[00:14:39] which had become otherwise indistinguishable from the solid ground on which I sat.

[00:14:45] I stood and began my dark journey back again around the lake,

[00:14:50] hoping that some unknown grace would prevent me from wading into a cold, lonely death.

[00:14:58] The city looked as I imagined it.

[00:15:01] A delicate mist hung around the streetlights.

[00:15:04] People walked past each other on the sidewalk with their heads down,

[00:15:09] mostly in pairs or alone.

[00:15:11] I stumbled into a greenway,

[00:15:14] entering from the tree line where the city ended.

[00:15:16] There was a gazebo with string lights wrapped around the wood lattice.

[00:15:21] A couple embraced in that spotlighted podium.

[00:15:25] Storefronts lined the main strip,

[00:15:27] all with their orange lights projecting warmth upon the shivering sidewalk.

[00:15:33] Somewhere, someone roasted peanuts.

[00:15:36] I felt welcome despite no one noticing me.

[00:15:40] There are said to be events so shocking that one could not face them and remain unchanged.

[00:15:47] Events which, due to their nature, their magnitude, their substance,

[00:15:52] taint the immortal spirit of man and make him forever after something different.

[00:15:59] Unsurvivable moments.

[00:16:01] I'm not speaking of occurrences which stay the beating heart

[00:16:05] or disconnect the corporeal from the inanimate.

[00:16:09] I say unsurvivable to say that there is a dividing line,

[00:16:13] a place in the gray where one can clearly separate white from black

[00:16:18] and say, without question,

[00:16:20] the person I once was no longer exists.

[00:16:25] I found myself facing such a moment

[00:16:28] not long after entering this lost city beyond the trees.

[00:16:34] I walked along the town's central road slowly,

[00:16:38] stopping to gaze at the items displayed in shop windows

[00:16:41] or to watch the people tromping aimlessly up and down the sidewalk.

[00:16:46] The first store I entered was a sweet shop.

[00:16:49] The purveyor was a kindly older woman,

[00:16:53] and the walls were lined with clear buckets of candy with turnstile bottoms.

[00:16:58] What I noticed first was the lack of recognizable brands.

[00:17:01] Even the packaged candy sitting on shelves was bland and generic.

[00:17:06] There was no names on any of the labels,

[00:17:09] no familiar logos.

[00:17:11] I stretched my hand beneath one of the buckets

[00:17:14] and twisted the knob one time,

[00:17:16] loosening some multicolored hard candy from its cage,

[00:17:20] which I placed immediately into my mouth.

[00:17:22] It had no taste.

[00:17:24] The woman behind the register,

[00:17:27] her face ruddy and beaming,

[00:17:29] stared straight forward

[00:17:30] and seemed not to notice me.

[00:17:34] Back on the sidewalk,

[00:17:36] a familiar pair passed me.

[00:17:38] Familiar because they'd walked past me once before,

[00:17:42] heading the opposite direction.

[00:17:43] They were a couple of indeterminate sex,

[00:17:47] arm in arm,

[00:17:48] their heads bent forward as if against an agitating wind.

[00:17:52] The air was still,

[00:17:54] and the evening quiet.

[00:17:56] I crossed the street,

[00:17:58] and entered what appeared to be a record store.

[00:18:01] It was dark inside.

[00:18:03] Dim, yellow globe lamps hung from the ceiling,

[00:18:06] casting meager spotlights onto each aisle.

[00:18:10] From the back of the store,

[00:18:11] a familiar,

[00:18:13] vocal-less melody played softly.

[00:18:15] I wandered slowly up the first aisle,

[00:18:18] trying to determine the genre of the section.

[00:18:21] It was labeled alphabetically.

[00:18:24] I stopped where appropriate,

[00:18:26] looking for names I would recognize,

[00:18:28] finding none.

[00:18:29] Upon finally making it to the back wall,

[00:18:32] I searched for the owner,

[00:18:33] or at least whomever was tending the store.

[00:18:36] There was a long counter,

[00:18:38] which ran the length of the wall.

[00:18:40] Behind the counter was an open door.

[00:18:42] The back room was the source of that familiar melody.

[00:18:46] Someone was moving around in there.

[00:18:49] I could see his shadow.

[00:18:51] I opened my mouth to call out for assistance,

[00:18:54] but an alarming sense of foreboding stole over me,

[00:18:58] silencing me at once.

[00:19:00] I left quickly.

[00:19:03] On the sidewalk again,

[00:19:05] the same couple walked past,

[00:19:07] bent forward,

[00:19:08] determinedly.

[00:19:09] I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

[00:19:13] In this veritable ghost town,

[00:19:15] I myself was the spectral figure,

[00:19:18] and worst yet,

[00:19:19] I was stuck here,

[00:19:21] unable to leave,

[00:19:22] with no one knowing where to look for me

[00:19:24] or even that I was gone.

[00:19:27] With the reality of my situation settling in,

[00:19:31] I began to walk quickly back the way I'd come.

[00:19:34] I cannot speak with certainty about my intentions

[00:19:37] because I did not make it far,

[00:19:40] although it seems to me now,

[00:19:41] in retrospect,

[00:19:42] that I was heading for the woods again.

[00:19:45] The lake,

[00:19:47] which,

[00:19:47] while dark and cold and ominous in its own right,

[00:19:50] was at least a lonely place,

[00:19:52] and anywhere felt safer in that moment

[00:19:56] than this strangely populated strip.

[00:19:58] And total solitude seemed better company

[00:20:01] than these reactionless,

[00:20:03] empty people

[00:20:04] who seemed to contain no purpose,

[00:20:07] no vivacity,

[00:20:08] no animation whatsoever.

[00:20:11] Something compelled me to turn to my left

[00:20:14] and gaze in the lit window of the final store

[00:20:17] before rounding the corner

[00:20:19] which would have taken me

[00:20:20] back to the town green,

[00:20:22] the gazebo,

[00:20:22] and the tree light.

[00:20:24] It was a second-hand store

[00:20:26] named Second Chances.

[00:20:28] I recognized the name at once

[00:20:30] from Harold's writing.

[00:20:32] A strange man stood behind the register,

[00:20:35] smiling,

[00:20:36] his eyes locked on mine.

[00:20:38] He saw me.

[00:20:41] For the first time since entering Kadesh,

[00:20:43] I was certain that someone was aware of me.

[00:20:46] How I wished in that moment

[00:20:49] for the complete anonymity

[00:20:51] I so fully dreaded just minutes before.

[00:20:55] I wanted nothing more

[00:20:56] than for this man not to see me,

[00:20:59] for him to have never seen me.

[00:21:01] I turned,

[00:21:02] prepared to run for the trees,

[00:21:05] hoping with every ounce of my being

[00:21:07] that he would not jump over the counter

[00:21:10] and give chase.

[00:21:12] What greeted me upon turning back

[00:21:15] drove that thought entirely from my mind.

[00:21:19] The townspeople had stopped pacing.

[00:21:22] They'd ceased wondering aimlessly.

[00:21:25] All stood completely still in unison.

[00:21:29] Their heads turned to me,

[00:21:31] slowly,

[00:21:32] like a hive mind

[00:21:33] that had become aware of the interloper.

[00:21:36] I darted around the corner,

[00:21:38] horribly aware as I turned my head

[00:21:40] that they intended to follow.

[00:21:42] I ran without looking back,

[00:21:44] ran in fear that one might catch me

[00:21:47] before I reached the tree line,

[00:21:48] in fear that this tree line

[00:21:50] might lack the talismatic quality

[00:21:52] which I was placing upon it.

[00:21:54] A safe haven,

[00:21:55] somewhere I would be untouchable.

[00:21:58] A man leapt from an alleyway,

[00:22:00] intercepting me.

[00:22:02] Before I had a chance to defend myself,

[00:22:04] I was being dragged into the darkness,

[00:22:07] a hand placed over my mouth

[00:22:09] to stifle my screams.

[00:22:11] He whispered into my ear,

[00:22:14] trying to calm me,

[00:22:15] and then we were backing into a door

[00:22:17] which he slammed shut

[00:22:19] and locked behind us.

[00:22:20] We were in a storage room

[00:22:22] with boxes stacked high

[00:22:24] along one wall

[00:22:25] and a bare metal shelf

[00:22:27] containing all sorts of tools.

[00:22:31] You'll be safe in here,

[00:22:33] he said.

[00:22:34] It was Harold,

[00:22:36] the man I'd dreamed about.

[00:22:39] I struggled to speak,

[00:22:41] backing away toward the locked door.

[00:22:44] Don't,

[00:22:45] he said.

[00:22:46] Let me out of this room,

[00:22:48] I said.

[00:22:49] You're safer here.

[00:22:52] Why should I believe

[00:22:53] you care about my safety?

[00:22:54] Who are you?

[00:22:56] I thought you would know,

[00:22:58] he said,

[00:22:59] speaking more to himself than me.

[00:23:02] Something pounded viciously

[00:23:04] on the door behind me,

[00:23:06] making me jump.

[00:23:07] It was the townspeople,

[00:23:10] still set,

[00:23:11] apparently,

[00:23:11] on hunting me.

[00:23:13] Come on,

[00:23:14] upstairs,

[00:23:16] said Harold.

[00:23:17] I paused,

[00:23:18] but only for a moment.

[00:23:20] I did not trust Harold,

[00:23:22] not entirely,

[00:23:23] but there was something kind

[00:23:25] and friendly about his face.

[00:23:28] The dream tried to return to me,

[00:23:30] or perhaps a different dream.

[00:23:32] Everything was mixed up inside my mind,

[00:23:35] trying to congeal and present a formed picture.

[00:23:38] The savage beating at the door is what decided for me.

[00:23:43] I didn't trust it would hold.

[00:23:45] I followed Harold up a wooden staircase,

[00:23:48] emerging in the lobby of a small inn.

[00:23:50] He grabbed a key from a post where it hung among many others,

[00:23:54] and then rushed me up another set of stairs,

[00:23:57] and then another.

[00:23:58] We stopped at room 306.

[00:24:01] He unlocked it,

[00:24:03] handed me the key,

[00:24:04] and shoved me inside.

[00:24:07] Don't come out until morning.

[00:24:09] Draw your blinds.

[00:24:10] If anyone knocks at the door,

[00:24:12] be silent,

[00:24:13] and keep it locked.

[00:24:15] He shut the door on my face.

[00:24:18] The room was small,

[00:24:21] one twin bed,

[00:24:22] and an old dresser of stained wood.

[00:24:24] A desk underneath the curtained window held a reading lamp,

[00:24:28] sheets of paper,

[00:24:29] and a pen.

[00:24:30] I stood over it a moment,

[00:24:32] tried the pen in my hand.

[00:24:34] It was warm,

[00:24:35] as if only recently leaving a strong hand set to accomplish something significant.

[00:24:41] I wrote my name on the paper.

[00:24:44] I wrote Harold's name on the paper.

[00:24:48] I wrote his full name.

[00:24:50] I wrote it again.

[00:24:52] On the bed,

[00:24:53] I found the bag that I'd packed that morning.

[00:24:56] Last I'd seen it,

[00:24:57] it had been in the back of my now missing car.

[00:25:01] My keys sat on the dresser.

[00:25:04] I passed the night sitting at the desk,

[00:25:07] holding the pen.

[00:25:09] The sun rose behind the heavy curtains.

[00:25:12] I had no way of knowing.

[00:25:14] At some point,

[00:25:15] I must have dozed,

[00:25:17] because I awoke with a start to someone knocking at my door.

[00:25:20] It was Harold.

[00:25:22] I wondered if his directive the night before applied to him.

[00:25:26] Without unlocking the door,

[00:25:28] I asked him what he wanted.

[00:25:30] It's safe now,

[00:25:31] he said.

[00:25:32] You can come out.

[00:25:34] I changed,

[00:25:35] thankful for the extra clothes I'd packed.

[00:25:39] Curious, too,

[00:25:40] to see the familiar old cargo pants

[00:25:42] I'd been wearing in my dream,

[00:25:44] and followed him downstairs.

[00:25:47] He left me alone in the lobby

[00:25:49] as he went into a back room.

[00:25:50] I glanced furtively over my shoulder,

[00:25:54] afraid that one of my pursuers might appear.

[00:25:56] Harold returned,

[00:25:57] carrying a plate.

[00:25:59] Free breakfast for all guests,

[00:26:02] he said,

[00:26:02] setting the plate on a table.

[00:26:04] On the plate was a fluffy Belgian waffle

[00:26:06] with a large slice of butter melting in the center,

[00:26:10] two eggs,

[00:26:11] fried,

[00:26:11] and two pieces of bacon

[00:26:12] that looked like they'd seen the hot side of a skillet

[00:26:15] for no more than ten seconds.

[00:26:18] I know you want it,

[00:26:20] he said with a smile

[00:26:21] as I stood,

[00:26:23] hesitating.

[00:26:24] That he was correct

[00:26:25] is what made me most uncomfortable.

[00:26:28] I tried to understand

[00:26:29] how this strange man

[00:26:31] knew what my

[00:26:32] mother

[00:26:33] used to make me

[00:26:34] for breakfast every year

[00:26:36] on my birthday.

[00:26:38] The first bite

[00:26:39] caused tears

[00:26:40] to swell in my eyes.

[00:26:42] That's not an exaggeration.

[00:26:44] I wanted to cry

[00:26:45] because I had not tasted this waffle

[00:26:47] prepared with her own

[00:26:49] homemade batter.

[00:26:51] I tasted the vanilla,

[00:26:52] the cinnamon

[00:26:52] in nearly ten years,

[00:26:55] not since the cancer

[00:26:57] had ripped her away

[00:26:58] from me,

[00:26:59] from the world,

[00:27:01] before we were ready

[00:27:02] to lose her.

[00:27:03] Without pause,

[00:27:04] I dropped my fork

[00:27:06] and stood,

[00:27:07] looking over his shoulder.

[00:27:09] Harold had been standing over me,

[00:27:11] watching me eat,

[00:27:12] smiling,

[00:27:13] to the room

[00:27:14] from which he'd emerged.

[00:27:17] Is she here?

[00:27:18] I asked him.

[00:27:20] The absurdity

[00:27:22] was not lost on me,

[00:27:23] but certain sensations

[00:27:25] can drive rational thought

[00:27:27] from the brain.

[00:27:28] Am I dreaming?

[00:27:29] Is this real?

[00:27:31] Is who here?

[00:27:33] There was genuine puzzlement

[00:27:34] on his face.

[00:27:36] My mother.

[00:27:37] This is hers,

[00:27:39] I said,

[00:27:40] pointing at the food.

[00:27:42] Something clicked.

[00:27:43] I could see it

[00:27:44] on his face.

[00:27:46] Interesting,

[00:27:47] he said.

[00:27:48] I had no idea.

[00:27:50] It is a terrific waffle.

[00:27:52] I have one every morning.

[00:27:54] A patron barged

[00:27:56] through the wide front doors.

[00:27:58] Instantly,

[00:27:58] I was on guard.

[00:28:00] I backed away

[00:28:01] from the table

[00:28:02] and stood next to Harold.

[00:28:03] He doesn't see you,

[00:28:05] he said.

[00:28:06] Most days,

[00:28:07] he doesn't even see me.

[00:28:09] The man,

[00:28:10] not one of the townspeople

[00:28:12] I'd seen last night,

[00:28:13] but similar,

[00:28:14] in some way

[00:28:15] I struggled to identify,

[00:28:17] walked through the lobby,

[00:28:18] head down,

[00:28:19] and rounded the corner.

[00:28:21] He disappeared

[00:28:22] up the stairs.

[00:28:23] I could trace his path

[00:28:24] through the sound

[00:28:25] of his steps.

[00:28:27] He's going to his room.

[00:28:29] He'll stay up there for...

[00:28:31] Harold checked his watch.

[00:28:33] Ninety minutes or so.

[00:28:34] Then he'll come down,

[00:28:36] back out that same door,

[00:28:37] and he'll walk to the hardware store

[00:28:39] on 6th.

[00:28:40] He won't buy anything.

[00:28:41] Not anymore.

[00:28:42] He will walk to aisle 17,

[00:28:45] inspect a ball-peen hammer,

[00:28:47] put it back on the shelf,

[00:28:48] confused,

[00:28:49] and leave.

[00:28:50] Then kill a few hours

[00:28:51] pacing main

[00:28:52] and be back here

[00:28:53] before nightfall.

[00:28:55] He said this

[00:28:56] as if it bored him.

[00:28:59] Where's my car?

[00:29:00] I'm leaving.

[00:29:02] It's around the block

[00:29:03] where I parked it.

[00:29:04] Can I walk with you?

[00:29:06] There's something I'd like

[00:29:07] to show you

[00:29:07] before you go.

[00:29:10] I followed Harold

[00:29:12] outside,

[00:29:13] not without trepidation.

[00:29:15] I was still fearful

[00:29:16] of the angry mom

[00:29:18] which had seemed

[00:29:19] hell-bent on

[00:29:19] spilling my blood.

[00:29:21] Not 12 hours earlier.

[00:29:23] Harold,

[00:29:24] in direct contrast,

[00:29:25] carried himself

[00:29:26] with a nonchalant

[00:29:27] inattention,

[00:29:29] one that I envied.

[00:29:30] It was as if nothing

[00:29:31] in this entire world

[00:29:33] could surprise him.

[00:29:34] No contingency

[00:29:36] could strike

[00:29:37] which he was not

[00:29:37] totally prepared

[00:29:39] to encounter.

[00:29:40] Cars this way,

[00:29:42] he said,

[00:29:43] starting up the sidewalk.

[00:29:44] A few people lingered

[00:29:46] in the town square

[00:29:47] or in the gazebo.

[00:29:48] In the distance,

[00:29:50] I saw the familiar drones

[00:29:52] trekking the central strip.

[00:29:53] They looked just

[00:29:54] as they had

[00:29:55] the night before.

[00:29:57] Mindless,

[00:29:58] purposeless.

[00:30:00] They've already forgotten,

[00:30:02] he said,

[00:30:03] as if my thoughts

[00:30:04] were being broadcasted

[00:30:05] at full volume.

[00:30:07] So long as he doesn't

[00:30:08] see us,

[00:30:09] they won't.

[00:30:10] Harold grabbed my arm

[00:30:12] and stopped me

[00:30:13] from rounding the corner.

[00:30:14] It would have taken us

[00:30:15] past the wide windows

[00:30:16] of Second Chances,

[00:30:18] the thrift store

[00:30:19] with the menacing cashier.

[00:30:21] We ducked into the alleyway

[00:30:23] from last night.

[00:30:24] It took me a moment

[00:30:25] to recognize it

[00:30:26] in the daylight

[00:30:27] and cut back out

[00:30:28] to the main strip

[00:30:29] a few buildings later.

[00:30:31] Who is he?

[00:30:32] I asked.

[00:30:34] What a good question,

[00:30:35] he said with a humorless laugh.

[00:30:38] I was hoping you might know.

[00:30:41] Two blocks away,

[00:30:42] we reached my car.

[00:30:45] If this is it,

[00:30:47] I'm glad we met,

[00:30:48] he said,

[00:30:49] extending his hand.

[00:30:50] I took it out of reflex.

[00:30:52] His was warm,

[00:30:54] his grip strong.

[00:30:56] I truly never thought

[00:30:58] we would.

[00:31:00] The words

[00:31:01] bubbled up to my mouth

[00:31:03] before I had a chance

[00:31:04] to consider them.

[00:31:05] Come with me,

[00:31:07] I said.

[00:31:07] You don't belong here.

[00:31:10] Harold laughed.

[00:31:11] It was the same laugh

[00:31:12] I was coming to expect

[00:31:13] from him.

[00:31:14] He looked at his feet,

[00:31:16] arms crossed over his chest,

[00:31:18] and said one of the saddest

[00:31:19] things I'd ever heard.

[00:31:21] If I belonged elsewhere,

[00:31:24] I'd be there.

[00:31:25] You're not like them,

[00:31:27] I said,

[00:31:28] gesturing to the faceless many,

[00:31:30] the wanderers,

[00:31:31] the empty-souled horde

[00:31:32] that crawled the street

[00:31:34] without purpose.

[00:31:35] I used to think that,

[00:31:37] but I'm more like them

[00:31:39] than I am like you.

[00:31:40] I know that now.

[00:31:42] I could get in that car

[00:31:44] just to prove a point,

[00:31:46] but as soon as you left

[00:31:47] these dirt roads,

[00:31:48] and I could get you there,

[00:31:50] I know the way.

[00:31:51] As soon as you got close

[00:31:52] to your road,

[00:31:53] the one you know,

[00:31:55] I would melt away.

[00:31:57] I'd be back here,

[00:31:59] in my inn,

[00:32:00] with my counterparts.

[00:32:02] Says who?

[00:32:03] I asked.

[00:32:04] The answer was forming

[00:32:06] in my mind,

[00:32:08] but I needed Harold

[00:32:09] to say it.

[00:32:10] The rest came

[00:32:11] as soon as he did.

[00:32:14] It's you,

[00:32:15] he said.

[00:32:16] Always you.

[00:32:19] I convinced Harold

[00:32:21] to get in the car

[00:32:23] and test his theory.

[00:32:24] Frankly,

[00:32:25] it didn't require

[00:32:26] much effort on my part.

[00:32:28] He was desperate to leave.

[00:32:30] His conviction

[00:32:30] that our attempt

[00:32:31] would be fruitless

[00:32:32] was not something

[00:32:33] to stand in his way.

[00:32:35] I want you to leave,

[00:32:37] I told him,

[00:32:38] accelerating towards

[00:32:39] the town square.

[00:32:41] He put his hand

[00:32:41] on my arm

[00:32:42] and directed me

[00:32:43] to turn right

[00:32:44] at the next intersection.

[00:32:46] Yes,

[00:32:47] he said,

[00:32:48] once again

[00:32:48] sensing my thoughts.

[00:32:50] Even in the car,

[00:32:51] he'll know it's us

[00:32:52] and it will be

[00:32:53] the last night

[00:32:54] all over again,

[00:32:54] except this time

[00:32:56] we'll have to

[00:32:56] wait them out

[00:32:57] much longer.

[00:32:59] We took the long way,

[00:33:01] circumventing

[00:33:02] second chances

[00:33:03] and Dennis.

[00:33:04] I remembered

[00:33:05] his name now,

[00:33:06] remembered the people

[00:33:07] he'd hurt

[00:33:08] and how he'd hurt

[00:33:09] them,

[00:33:10] how I'd made him

[00:33:11] hurt them.

[00:33:14] That is,

[00:33:15] unfortunately,

[00:33:16] not how it works,

[00:33:17] Harold said,

[00:33:18] returning to my

[00:33:19] original statement.

[00:33:21] How do you know that?

[00:33:22] Call it a hunch,

[00:33:24] I guess.

[00:33:25] Intuition?

[00:33:25] You probably know

[00:33:27] a better word for it

[00:33:28] than I do.

[00:33:29] Emerging safely

[00:33:31] beyond the thrift store,

[00:33:32] we had just a short

[00:33:33] way to go

[00:33:34] before entering

[00:33:35] the woods.

[00:33:36] In the road ahead

[00:33:37] of us stood

[00:33:38] a young woman.

[00:33:39] She stared

[00:33:40] vacantly up

[00:33:41] at the sky,

[00:33:42] the sun,

[00:33:42] her mouth ajar,

[00:33:44] with drool

[00:33:44] running from

[00:33:45] one corner

[00:33:46] of her mouth.

[00:33:47] Tears streamed

[00:33:48] down from her eyes,

[00:33:50] painting her

[00:33:51] emotionless face

[00:33:52] with a glossy shimmer.

[00:33:54] I've never seen

[00:33:55] one do that,

[00:33:57] Harold said.

[00:33:58] They get worse

[00:33:59] every day.

[00:34:01] We drove for a while,

[00:34:03] leaving paved roads

[00:34:04] for the rutted,

[00:34:05] bouncy dirt path.

[00:34:06] I no longer

[00:34:07] needed his guidance,

[00:34:09] these trails being

[00:34:10] the architecture

[00:34:11] of my own design.

[00:34:12] Before I heard him

[00:34:13] mutter,

[00:34:13] ostensibly to himself,

[00:34:16] as do I.

[00:34:18] I want you to leave,

[00:34:20] I repeated.

[00:34:21] I said it over

[00:34:22] and over,

[00:34:23] hoping it would be

[00:34:24] enough.

[00:34:25] We were getting

[00:34:25] close to the edge,

[00:34:27] rounding the lake

[00:34:28] now.

[00:34:29] What's his deal

[00:34:30] anyway?

[00:34:31] Harold asked.

[00:34:33] Dennis,

[00:34:33] I never figured

[00:34:35] that out.

[00:34:37] He's sadistic.

[00:34:38] Causing pain

[00:34:39] gives him pleasure.

[00:34:40] I was never sure

[00:34:41] why.

[00:34:42] I thought I was

[00:34:42] close at one point.

[00:34:44] Something to do

[00:34:45] with his relationship

[00:34:46] with his father.

[00:34:47] Some co-mingling

[00:34:48] of abuse and comfort.

[00:34:50] That ugly cycle,

[00:34:51] but then that felt

[00:34:52] trite,

[00:34:53] so I gave up.

[00:34:54] I always give up

[00:34:56] when it gets hard.

[00:34:57] I'm sorry for that.

[00:35:00] Harold said

[00:35:01] nothing to this.

[00:35:03] I understand

[00:35:04] if you're angry.

[00:35:06] The strange part is

[00:35:08] I know you're not.

[00:35:09] You don't have

[00:35:10] that in you.

[00:35:12] I looked to my right.

[00:35:14] The seed was empty.

[00:35:16] I rolled down my window

[00:35:17] and stuck my head out.

[00:35:19] The air was fresher,

[00:35:21] the sky above me

[00:35:22] more vibrant.

[00:35:23] I was out.

[00:35:26] All I had to do

[00:35:27] was drive forward,

[00:35:29] leave the woods,

[00:35:30] get back to the highway.

[00:35:32] Do my best

[00:35:33] to forget about them.

[00:35:34] I'd done it before.

[00:35:36] I knew it was possible.

[00:35:38] What stopped me

[00:35:40] was Harold's

[00:35:41] sad words

[00:35:42] bouncing around

[00:35:44] my mind.

[00:35:45] If I belonged elsewhere,

[00:35:48] I'd be there.

[00:35:51] I left my car

[00:35:54] where Harold had parked it

[00:35:55] and retraced my route,

[00:35:57] careful to avoid

[00:35:58] Dennis' watchful eyes

[00:36:00] and the alerting effect

[00:36:02] they had on the townspeople

[00:36:04] to the inn.

[00:36:05] He was sitting at the table

[00:36:07] where he'd served me breakfast,

[00:36:10] staring at his hands.

[00:36:12] I'll do it,

[00:36:13] I said.

[00:36:14] I don't know how,

[00:36:16] but I'm going to make it happen.

[00:36:18] We went upstairs

[00:36:19] to the room

[00:36:20] I'd spent the night in.

[00:36:22] This time,

[00:36:22] Harold came in with me

[00:36:23] and shut the door

[00:36:24] behind us.

[00:36:26] He sat on the edge

[00:36:27] of the bed

[00:36:28] and I took my seat

[00:36:29] at the desk.

[00:36:30] I took the pen

[00:36:31] in my hand,

[00:36:33] put it back,

[00:36:33] looked down

[00:36:34] upon the blank page.

[00:36:36] It was

[00:36:37] as I always

[00:36:38] knew it to be,

[00:36:39] inviting,

[00:36:41] appealing

[00:36:41] in its own

[00:36:42] unique,

[00:36:43] indescribable way,

[00:36:44] but intimidating,

[00:36:46] enticing me

[00:36:47] and making a mockery

[00:36:48] of me

[00:36:48] all at once.

[00:36:50] It knew my deficiencies,

[00:36:52] but didn't even have

[00:36:53] the decency

[00:36:53] to state them outright.

[00:36:54] It made me do that,

[00:36:57] forced me

[00:36:58] to bring them

[00:36:59] to prominence

[00:37:00] with each stroke

[00:37:01] of the pen.

[00:37:02] I tried,

[00:37:03] more than once,

[00:37:05] Harold said.

[00:37:07] I thought maybe

[00:37:08] you'd put enough

[00:37:08] of yourself in me

[00:37:10] that I might be able.

[00:37:11] I'm not exactly

[00:37:13] well read,

[00:37:14] you know that,

[00:37:15] but I know things,

[00:37:16] I know a lot.

[00:37:18] That's one of the

[00:37:18] biggest tropes,

[00:37:20] isn't it?

[00:37:20] The main character

[00:37:21] being a stand-in

[00:37:22] for the author.

[00:37:23] I know I'm not you,

[00:37:24] exactly,

[00:37:25] but there are certain

[00:37:27] undeniable similarities.

[00:37:29] It's only natural.

[00:37:32] I pretended

[00:37:33] to be deep in thought,

[00:37:35] staring down

[00:37:35] at the ream of paper

[00:37:36] he'd left for me,

[00:37:37] only because I could

[00:37:38] think of no reply.

[00:37:40] It was an upsetting

[00:37:41] thought,

[00:37:42] that piece of me,

[00:37:44] and how big a piece,

[00:37:46] had been left behind

[00:37:47] in this place.

[00:37:48] To rot,

[00:37:49] to fester,

[00:37:50] to fade into obscure,

[00:37:52] half-remembered

[00:37:53] recollections that

[00:37:54] only appeared

[00:37:55] in the occasional dream,

[00:37:56] forgotten before

[00:37:57] even having the chance

[00:37:58] to settle

[00:37:59] into their rightful place

[00:38:01] in my mind.

[00:38:03] It's hard,

[00:38:05] Harold said.

[00:38:06] It's really hard.

[00:38:07] I can't say I liked it.

[00:38:09] The frustration.

[00:38:11] I'm just never able

[00:38:12] to say it right.

[00:38:13] The things I see up here,

[00:38:15] I see them so vividly,

[00:38:17] and always.

[00:38:18] I come up here

[00:38:19] and sit at that desk,

[00:38:21] so excited,

[00:38:22] so ready to put it

[00:38:23] down on paper,

[00:38:24] but as soon as the pen

[00:38:25] is in my hand

[00:38:26] and it's time to do

[00:38:27] the damn thing,

[00:38:29] it's like,

[00:38:30] I don't know,

[00:38:31] like it all goes

[00:38:32] somewhere else,

[00:38:33] somewhere I can't see it.

[00:38:36] The more you chase it,

[00:38:38] the more it runs,

[00:38:39] I told him.

[00:38:40] It's like when you're

[00:38:41] trying to think

[00:38:42] of a specific word

[00:38:43] and it's right

[00:38:44] at the tip of your tongue.

[00:38:45] You have to stop

[00:38:46] trying for a moment,

[00:38:47] do something else,

[00:38:49] let your brain

[00:38:49] run in the background.

[00:38:51] At least that's

[00:38:52] how it is for me,

[00:38:54] but look at all

[00:38:55] I've accomplished.

[00:38:56] Maybe I'm not the one

[00:38:57] to take advice from.

[00:39:00] He pulled the curtains

[00:39:01] and raised the blinds.

[00:39:03] The sudden brightness

[00:39:04] was dizzying.

[00:39:06] Yes,

[00:39:07] look at all

[00:39:08] you've accomplished.

[00:39:10] He was suddenly emotional.

[00:39:12] It's beautiful.

[00:39:14] This was once

[00:39:15] a real town

[00:39:15] where real people

[00:39:17] lived their lives.

[00:39:18] There was happiness

[00:39:19] and beauty

[00:39:20] and mundanity,

[00:39:22] yes,

[00:39:22] the simple everyday

[00:39:23] moments that define a life.

[00:39:25] And there was evil

[00:39:26] and hurt

[00:39:27] and suffering

[00:39:28] and all of those,

[00:39:30] yes,

[00:39:30] they're necessary too.

[00:39:32] But you forgot us.

[00:39:34] You stopped thinking

[00:39:35] about us.

[00:39:36] And gradually

[00:39:37] we've waned.

[00:39:38] We've dwindled

[00:39:39] in the weakest of us.

[00:39:41] Those of us

[00:39:41] who were hardly here

[00:39:42] to begin with.

[00:39:43] The background characters,

[00:39:44] the extras,

[00:39:45] are nearly gone.

[00:39:47] Look at them.

[00:39:48] They're senseless.

[00:39:49] They've forgotten

[00:39:50] who they were

[00:39:51] because who they were

[00:39:52] hardly mattered

[00:39:53] to begin with.

[00:39:54] We're only here,

[00:39:57] he said,

[00:39:58] pointing down

[00:39:59] at second chances.

[00:40:00] Because there was

[00:40:02] more for us

[00:40:02] to lose.

[00:40:04] We were made

[00:40:05] because it takes longer

[00:40:06] for a dark stain

[00:40:07] to fade.

[00:40:08] But fate it does,

[00:40:09] eventually.

[00:40:11] I find myself

[00:40:12] waking up

[00:40:13] in the morning

[00:40:13] confused,

[00:40:14] unsure of who I am

[00:40:16] or when it is

[00:40:17] or where this place is.

[00:40:19] I don't want

[00:40:20] to be like them,

[00:40:22] he said,

[00:40:23] choking up.

[00:40:24] If that's what

[00:40:26] you've decided

[00:40:26] for me,

[00:40:27] then kill me now.

[00:40:29] Harold grabbed

[00:40:30] the pen

[00:40:30] and put it

[00:40:31] in my hand.

[00:40:32] Write it

[00:40:32] on that fucking paper.

[00:40:34] Harold died

[00:40:35] in his sleep

[00:40:35] peacefully.

[00:40:36] Give me the dignity

[00:40:37] of a peaceful exit.

[00:40:39] I can't remain

[00:40:40] here alone

[00:40:40] in this empty world.

[00:40:42] Soon they'll all

[00:40:43] be gone

[00:40:44] and the trees

[00:40:44] and the lake

[00:40:45] and the birds.

[00:40:46] The birds have already

[00:40:47] vanished

[00:40:47] and I'll be

[00:40:48] all that remains

[00:40:50] because you started

[00:40:51] with me.

[00:40:52] I have the most

[00:40:53] of you

[00:40:54] in me.

[00:40:55] I can't do that.

[00:40:57] I can't be

[00:40:58] alone here.

[00:41:00] I'm not

[00:41:01] killing you.

[00:41:03] Do you know

[00:41:04] how time

[00:41:05] moves for us?

[00:41:06] Did you check

[00:41:07] the time

[00:41:08] when you got out

[00:41:08] when I evaporated

[00:41:10] and reanimated

[00:41:11] back in this

[00:41:11] fucking inn?

[00:41:12] The date?

[00:41:13] I bet an hour

[00:41:14] hasn't even

[00:41:14] passed out there.

[00:41:15] Minutes

[00:41:16] at most.

[00:41:17] How long

[00:41:18] has it been

[00:41:18] since you've

[00:41:19] written of us?

[00:41:20] Do you even

[00:41:21] know?

[00:41:23] Nearly

[00:41:23] ten years,

[00:41:25] I said,

[00:41:25] shrinking away

[00:41:26] from him.

[00:41:28] Try

[00:41:28] thousands,

[00:41:30] he said,

[00:41:31] for us.

[00:41:33] I'm

[00:41:33] sorry.

[00:41:35] There's

[00:41:36] no

[00:41:36] need

[00:41:37] to be

[00:41:38] sorry,

[00:41:39] he said,

[00:41:40] closing my

[00:41:41] hand around

[00:41:41] the pen.

[00:41:43] Ride us,

[00:41:44] bring us

[00:41:45] to life.

[00:41:47] We

[00:41:48] sat in silence

[00:41:50] for minutes.

[00:41:51] Those minutes

[00:41:52] roll together

[00:41:53] with the same

[00:41:54] impassive,

[00:41:55] inevitable force

[00:41:56] they always do,

[00:41:57] becoming an hour

[00:41:58] and then another.

[00:41:59] The quality

[00:42:01] of the light

[00:42:01] was changing

[00:42:02] in the room

[00:42:03] as the sun

[00:42:03] climbed over

[00:42:04] our heads

[00:42:05] and began

[00:42:06] its descent

[00:42:06] on the other

[00:42:07] side of the

[00:42:08] building.

[00:42:08] I couldn't

[00:42:09] write with him

[00:42:10] watching me,

[00:42:11] but something

[00:42:12] in his posture,

[00:42:13] in the

[00:42:13] incontrovertible

[00:42:14] stare with

[00:42:15] which he fixed

[00:42:16] me,

[00:42:17] told me that

[00:42:17] asking him

[00:42:18] to leave

[00:42:18] was no longer

[00:42:20] an option.

[00:42:20] He intended

[00:42:21] to see my

[00:42:22] end of the

[00:42:23] promise

[00:42:23] delivered.

[00:42:25] I

[00:42:26] wrote a

[00:42:27] sentence

[00:42:27] of no

[00:42:28] significance,

[00:42:28] just something

[00:42:29] to get my

[00:42:30] hand moving.

[00:42:31] I paused

[00:42:32] again,

[00:42:32] thinking of

[00:42:33] how to

[00:42:33] turn this

[00:42:34] first sentence

[00:42:34] into a

[00:42:35] paragraph,

[00:42:36] and that

[00:42:37] paragraph

[00:42:37] into a

[00:42:38] page.

[00:42:39] Harold

[00:42:39] leaned

[00:42:40] forward,

[00:42:41] curious to

[00:42:41] see my

[00:42:42] words.

[00:42:43] I crowded

[00:42:44] the page

[00:42:45] with my

[00:42:45] shoulder.

[00:42:46] The delay

[00:42:47] between the

[00:42:48] first and

[00:42:49] second sentences

[00:42:50] was shorter

[00:42:51] than the

[00:42:51] length of

[00:42:52] time I

[00:42:52] had needed

[00:42:53] when first

[00:42:53] pulling up

[00:42:54] to the

[00:42:54] desk and

[00:42:55] putting the

[00:42:55] first word

[00:42:56] down,

[00:42:56] but extensive

[00:42:57] still.

[00:42:58] I could

[00:42:59] feel his

[00:43:00] impatience.

[00:43:01] The gap

[00:43:02] between

[00:43:02] sentences

[00:43:03] two and

[00:43:04] three was

[00:43:04] shorter still,

[00:43:06] and my

[00:43:06] efforts progressed

[00:43:07] at the same

[00:43:08] exponential pace

[00:43:09] until I was

[00:43:10] struggling to

[00:43:10] keep my

[00:43:11] wrist from

[00:43:11] cramping and

[00:43:12] my handwriting

[00:43:13] from abandoning

[00:43:14] the limited

[00:43:14] structural

[00:43:15] integrity it

[00:43:16] began with.

[00:43:17] life.

[00:43:18] I lost

[00:43:18] track of

[00:43:19] where I

[00:43:19] was.

[00:43:20] It was a

[00:43:21] familiar

[00:43:21] feeling,

[00:43:22] one I'd

[00:43:22] grown out

[00:43:23] of love

[00:43:23] with,

[00:43:24] falling

[00:43:24] into the

[00:43:25] page,

[00:43:25] and coming

[00:43:26] home to

[00:43:27] it was

[00:43:27] like embracing

[00:43:28] an early

[00:43:28] lover,

[00:43:29] one who

[00:43:29] taught me

[00:43:30] to move

[00:43:30] in the

[00:43:31] right way,

[00:43:31] to breathe

[00:43:32] at the

[00:43:33] right pace,

[00:43:34] and held

[00:43:34] my hand

[00:43:35] through the

[00:43:36] multitude

[00:43:36] of mistakes

[00:43:37] natural

[00:43:38] to a

[00:43:38] beginner.

[00:43:40] It's

[00:43:40] only now

[00:43:41] in reflection

[00:43:42] that the

[00:43:42] irony strikes

[00:43:43] me so

[00:43:44] clearly.

[00:43:45] Of all

[00:43:46] the times

[00:43:46] I floated

[00:43:47] away,

[00:43:48] left my

[00:43:48] room and

[00:43:49] my desk

[00:43:49] and my

[00:43:50] paper,

[00:43:50] and fell

[00:43:51] into the

[00:43:51] world of

[00:43:52] my

[00:43:52] creation,

[00:43:53] this was

[00:43:54] the one

[00:43:54] time where

[00:43:55] there was

[00:43:55] literal

[00:43:56] truth to

[00:43:57] the

[00:43:57] sentiment.

[00:43:58] I slapped

[00:43:59] the pen

[00:44:00] on the

[00:44:00] desk as

[00:44:01] if it

[00:44:01] were a

[00:44:01] hot

[00:44:01] stone,

[00:44:02] and one

[00:44:03] more

[00:44:03] second of

[00:44:04] holding it

[00:44:04] would sear

[00:44:05] my flesh

[00:44:06] and push

[00:44:07] the paper

[00:44:07] away.

[00:44:09] Done?

[00:44:10] Harold

[00:44:10] asked.

[00:44:11] The sun

[00:44:12] had gone

[00:44:12] down entirely.

[00:44:14] At some

[00:44:15] point he'd

[00:44:15] stood and

[00:44:16] turned on

[00:44:16] the lamp

[00:44:17] above the

[00:44:17] desk.

[00:44:18] It cast

[00:44:18] me in a

[00:44:19] small puddle

[00:44:20] of light,

[00:44:21] the only

[00:44:22] source in

[00:44:22] the room.

[00:44:23] His face

[00:44:24] was an

[00:44:25] ominous

[00:44:25] shadow

[00:44:26] where he

[00:44:27] sat on

[00:44:27] the edge

[00:44:28] of the

[00:44:28] bed.

[00:44:29] Let's

[00:44:30] go,

[00:44:30] I said,

[00:44:31] taking my

[00:44:32] keys.

[00:44:33] He followed

[00:44:33] me through

[00:44:34] the door.

[00:44:35] I didn't

[00:44:35] stop to

[00:44:36] wonder,

[00:44:37] then as I

[00:44:37] should have,

[00:44:38] if he

[00:44:39] already knew

[00:44:40] the ending

[00:44:40] despite my

[00:44:41] futile efforts

[00:44:42] to keep my

[00:44:43] words concealed

[00:44:44] as I wrote

[00:44:44] them.

[00:44:45] Were my

[00:44:46] words immediately

[00:44:47] sent to

[00:44:48] his mind?

[00:44:49] It was his

[00:44:49] story I was

[00:44:50] writing,

[00:44:51] his fate

[00:44:52] I was

[00:44:52] deciding.

[00:44:53] So I

[00:44:54] thought.

[00:44:56] We traced

[00:44:57] the same

[00:44:58] path,

[00:44:59] growing beyond

[00:44:59] familiarity

[00:45:00] and becoming

[00:45:01] monotony,

[00:45:02] back to the

[00:45:03] car,

[00:45:03] and drove the

[00:45:04] same way,

[00:45:05] avoiding Dennis,

[00:45:06] to the

[00:45:07] woods which

[00:45:08] would set

[00:45:08] us free.

[00:45:10] I parked

[00:45:11] at the

[00:45:11] tree

[00:45:11] line.

[00:45:12] He looked

[00:45:13] confused,

[00:45:14] causing me to

[00:45:14] think that

[00:45:15] simply putting it

[00:45:16] on paper did

[00:45:16] not make the

[00:45:17] next move

[00:45:18] apparent to

[00:45:18] Harold.

[00:45:19] He still

[00:45:20] needed to

[00:45:20] live it

[00:45:21] to find out.

[00:45:22] I got out

[00:45:23] of the

[00:45:23] car.

[00:45:24] You're

[00:45:24] driving,

[00:45:25] I said.

[00:45:26] Agency.

[00:45:27] It's

[00:45:27] important.

[00:45:28] You need

[00:45:29] to make

[00:45:29] it happen.

[00:45:30] It can't

[00:45:30] happen to

[00:45:31] you.

[00:45:32] He nodded

[00:45:33] and hopped

[00:45:34] behind the

[00:45:35] wheel.

[00:45:36] We drove

[00:45:37] into the

[00:45:37] dark forest,

[00:45:38] our headlights

[00:45:39] illuminating the

[00:45:40] night as we

[00:45:41] bounded through

[00:45:42] each curve and

[00:45:43] bounced along

[00:45:44] the pockmarked

[00:45:45] path.

[00:45:46] I could see

[00:45:46] the end up

[00:45:47] ahead, the

[00:45:48] place where we

[00:45:49] left Kedash and

[00:45:50] returned to

[00:45:51] reality.

[00:45:52] And this

[00:45:53] time, it

[00:45:53] felt different.

[00:45:55] I smiled,

[00:45:57] happy that I

[00:45:57] had, for

[00:45:58] once, figured

[00:45:59] it out and

[00:46:00] written to

[00:46:01] the ending and

[00:46:02] not given

[00:46:03] up.

[00:46:04] I could

[00:46:05] feel the

[00:46:05] boundary

[00:46:06] pressing down

[00:46:07] into us as

[00:46:08] we crossed

[00:46:08] it, the

[00:46:09] threshold

[00:46:10] fighting to

[00:46:11] stop us

[00:46:11] from leaving.

[00:46:12] You feel

[00:46:13] that?

[00:46:14] I asked

[00:46:15] him, a

[00:46:15] triumphant

[00:46:16] shout in

[00:46:17] my voice.

[00:46:18] No, he

[00:46:20] said, grinning.

[00:46:21] I don't

[00:46:22] feel anything.

[00:46:25] The last

[00:46:26] I saw

[00:46:27] of Harold

[00:46:28] was that

[00:46:29] knowing

[00:46:29] grin as

[00:46:30] I faded

[00:46:31] from the

[00:46:32] car.

[00:46:34] When I

[00:46:35] realized I

[00:46:37] was in

[00:46:37] Harold's

[00:46:38] Inn, when

[00:46:39] the reality

[00:46:40] of my

[00:46:40] mistake came

[00:46:42] crashing down

[00:46:43] upon me, I

[00:46:44] immediately

[00:46:45] rushed upstairs to

[00:46:46] the room with

[00:46:47] the desk and

[00:46:47] the paper and

[00:46:48] the pen.

[00:46:49] My draft was

[00:46:51] gone.

[00:46:52] All that

[00:46:52] remained were

[00:46:53] blank pages.

[00:46:55] Simple enough,

[00:46:56] I told myself,

[00:46:57] change it.

[00:46:58] Sit down and

[00:46:59] change it.

[00:47:00] I sat in

[00:47:02] that room

[00:47:02] all night,

[00:47:03] starting and

[00:47:04] stopping,

[00:47:05] balling up the

[00:47:06] first page and

[00:47:07] throwing it across

[00:47:07] the room, then

[00:47:08] starting over,

[00:47:10] trying again,

[00:47:11] scrapping attempt

[00:47:12] after attempt.

[00:47:14] It was

[00:47:15] futile.

[00:47:16] I could write

[00:47:16] one paragraph,

[00:47:18] maybe two at

[00:47:18] best, before the

[00:47:19] words would start

[00:47:20] to trade places.

[00:47:21] They would

[00:47:22] switch and

[00:47:23] rearrange

[00:47:23] themselves as

[00:47:24] soon as I'd

[00:47:25] look away.

[00:47:26] It was impossible

[00:47:27] to complete even

[00:47:28] one page.

[00:47:30] It's against the

[00:47:31] rules here.

[00:47:32] That must be

[00:47:33] it.

[00:47:34] We can't write

[00:47:35] ourselves out.

[00:47:39] I have been in

[00:47:40] Kadesh for

[00:47:41] four years,

[00:47:43] give or take a

[00:47:44] week or two.

[00:47:45] It took a while

[00:47:46] before I decided

[00:47:47] to start keeping

[00:47:48] track of time.

[00:47:49] If what Harold

[00:47:50] told me is

[00:47:52] true, he's only

[00:47:53] been out there

[00:47:54] in my world,

[00:47:55] the real one,

[00:47:56] for days.

[00:47:57] not long enough

[00:47:59] to have forgotten

[00:48:00] us, which

[00:48:01] comes first.

[00:48:02] It must,

[00:48:03] before I can

[00:48:04] try to make him

[00:48:05] remember,

[00:48:06] before I can

[00:48:07] draw him back

[00:48:08] and trick him

[00:48:10] into releasing

[00:48:10] me the way

[00:48:12] he pulled

[00:48:13] me back.

[00:48:16] I feel

[00:48:17] fortunate

[00:48:18] at my writing

[00:48:19] before he

[00:48:20] left me here

[00:48:21] as revived

[00:48:22] the town.

[00:48:23] People are

[00:48:24] alive once

[00:48:25] again.

[00:48:25] They go to

[00:48:26] work every

[00:48:27] day and

[00:48:28] shops and

[00:48:29] kids go

[00:48:29] to school.

[00:48:31] How long

[00:48:32] before they

[00:48:33] start to

[00:48:34] wane again?

[00:48:35] How long

[00:48:36] until the

[00:48:36] birds fall

[00:48:37] out of the

[00:48:38] sky?

[00:48:40] I spend

[00:48:40] my time

[00:48:41] maintaining

[00:48:42] the inn

[00:48:42] and watching

[00:48:44] for Dennis.

[00:48:45] Like the

[00:48:46] townspeople,

[00:48:47] he is much

[00:48:47] sharper too.

[00:48:48] How long

[00:48:49] until it

[00:48:50] is just

[00:48:51] us two?

[00:48:53] At night,

[00:48:54] when I lay

[00:48:55] down to

[00:48:56] sleep,

[00:48:56] I think

[00:48:57] of Harold.

[00:48:58] I think

[00:48:59] of him

[00:48:59] driving my

[00:49:00] car out

[00:49:00] of the

[00:49:01] woods,

[00:49:01] smiling.

[00:49:03] I wonder

[00:49:04] if he

[00:49:05] moved into

[00:49:06] my home

[00:49:07] or if he

[00:49:07] found one

[00:49:08] of his

[00:49:08] own.

[00:49:09] I wonder

[00:49:10] how he

[00:49:10] spends his

[00:49:11] time.

[00:49:11] The

[00:49:12] things

[00:49:13] our

[00:49:14] imaginations

[00:49:15] conjure

[00:49:16] are not

[00:49:17] entirely

[00:49:18] intangible.

[00:49:20] What

[00:49:20] upsets me

[00:49:21] most is

[00:49:22] that I

[00:49:22] can no

[00:49:23] longer

[00:49:23] remember

[00:49:24] if I

[00:49:24] wrote

[00:49:24] Harold

[00:49:25] or if

[00:49:26] he

[00:49:26] wrote

[00:49:26] me.

[00:49:27] I

[00:49:28] fear

[00:49:28] we've

[00:49:28] been

[00:49:29] doing

[00:49:29] this

[00:49:29] dance,

[00:49:30] trading

[00:49:31] places,

[00:49:31] one of

[00:49:32] us

[00:49:32] always

[00:49:33] in

[00:49:33] Kadesh

[00:49:34] while

[00:49:34] the

[00:49:34] other

[00:49:35] sits

[00:49:35] in

[00:49:36] the

[00:49:36] real

[00:49:36] world,

[00:49:37] setting

[00:49:38] traps,

[00:49:39] writing

[00:49:39] blog

[00:49:40] posts,

[00:49:41] for

[00:49:41] instance,

[00:49:42] for

[00:49:42] decades,

[00:49:43] centuries

[00:49:44] perhaps.

[00:49:46] I

[00:49:47] shudder to

[00:49:47] think of

[00:49:48] the breadcrumbs

[00:49:49] he's

[00:49:49] dropping

[00:49:50] at this

[00:49:51] very

[00:49:51] moment.

[00:49:52] It's

[00:49:53] imperative

[00:49:53] you do

[00:49:54] it

[00:49:54] immediately

[00:49:55] while you

[00:49:56] still

[00:49:56] remember

[00:49:56] because

[00:49:57] he

[00:49:57] will

[00:49:58] forget.

[00:50:00] I

[00:50:00] know

[00:50:01] he

[00:50:01] will.

[00:50:02] We

[00:50:03] always

[00:50:03] do.

[00:50:05] I

[00:50:06] do

[00:50:06] my

[00:50:06] best

[00:50:07] to

[00:50:07] dream

[00:50:07] of

[00:50:07] Harold

[00:50:08] because

[00:50:09] dreams

[00:50:09] are

[00:50:10] only place

[00:50:10] where

[00:50:11] he

[00:50:11] and

[00:50:11] I

[00:50:11] can

[00:50:12] cross

[00:50:12] paths

[00:50:13] for now.

[00:50:15] Centuries

[00:50:19] perhaps

[00:50:20] for me.

[00:50:21] He

[00:50:22] will

[00:50:22] forget

[00:50:22] me.

[00:50:23] He

[00:50:23] will

[00:50:24] forget

[00:50:24] all

[00:50:24] of

[00:50:24] us.

[00:50:25] And

[00:50:25] he

[00:50:25] will

[00:50:26] dream

[00:50:26] a

[00:50:27] familiar

[00:50:27] face.

[00:50:28] That

[00:50:28] of

[00:50:29] someone

[00:50:29] he

[00:50:29] could

[00:50:29] swear

[00:50:30] he

[00:50:30] once

[00:50:30] knew

[00:50:31] or

[00:50:31] at

[00:50:31] least

[00:50:32] imagined.

[00:50:34] And

[00:50:34] he

[00:50:34] will

[00:50:34] come

[00:50:35] looking

[00:50:35] for

[00:50:36] me.

[00:50:36] I

[00:50:37] have

[00:50:37] to

[00:50:37] believe

[00:50:38] he

[00:50:38] will

[00:50:38] look

[00:50:38] for

[00:50:39] me.

[00:50:39] That

[00:50:40] he

[00:50:40] will

[00:50:40] find

[00:50:40] me.

[00:50:41] And

[00:50:42] when

[00:50:42] he

[00:50:42] does,

[00:50:43] I'll

[00:50:44] know

[00:50:44] him.

[00:50:46] He

[00:50:46] will

[00:50:47] not

[00:50:47] know

[00:50:48] me.

[00:50:48] Not

[00:50:49] until

[00:50:50] it's

[00:50:50] too

[00:50:51] late.

[00:50:52] made.