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As we drove off, Ridley asked the inevitable.
“What in the hell was that all about? How did you know the hair would change colors?”
I smiled, pleased with myself.
“I didn’t,” I replied. “But I had a hunch. I don’t know why, but it just felt like I could try it.”
“But what even gave you the idea?”
“My book,” I said. “You said you read some of novels. Did you ever read The Chameleon?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“Figures. It’s an older one. I wrote it under a woman’s pen-name. Believe it or not, women writers get more book sales if they use their initials or a fake man’s name instead of their first name. That’s fucked up of the reading public, ain’t it?”
Ridley looked over at me and glared.
“Okay, back to the topic at hand,” I continued. “My book was about a monster that was basically made up of all the beneficial parts of animal predators and none of the cons. For instance, a bear’s claws and teeth are sharp, but its downside is that it’s huge and easily spotted by prey. Or a wild boar: it’s feisty, it’s deadly, it’s small, and it’s fast; but it can’t climb trees. Well, in my story, the monster is an animal that is basically a lion-tiger-bear-oh-my-and ten other different types of predator all in one, with no downsides. One of the things the monster could do was hide itself in plain sight, just like a chameleon. If it was hiding behind a tree, it would turn its hair and exoskeleton to be the exact shade as the tree.”
“But that didn’t happen here, Philip” Ridley interjected. “The hair disappeared.”
“No, it didn’t,” I cemented. “It just changed colors to what it was around. What was on the bottom and top of the hairs when it was under the microscope?”
“A lens. Glass.”
“Exactly. And what is the color of glass?”
“Clear.”
“Yep.”
Ridley stared at the winding dirt road while driving the precise speed limit, eyes open wide in confusion.
“Okay. So the hair changed color to being clear to hide itself in the environment it was in. But what stumps me is how did the hair know to do so? It’s not sentient. It already fell off the animal. In your story, the monster consciously changed its color. But here, the hair, while not attached to its owner, did it on its own.”
I shook my head. “I know. I don’t understand that either. That’s outside of my creative realm. I don’t know how that’s possible. I don’t know how any of it is possible, to be quite frank. But that portion right there is what makes me say ‘What the hell?’”
We drove in silence for most of the way back to my house.
About one mile before my drop-off, Ridley abruptly asked, “Isn’t it weird that a unique paranormal element from your book played out in real life in your hometown?”
My face scrunched up a bit.
“Sheriff, is that an accusation?”
“Not at all,” he replied immediately. “Sorry if it came out as such. I just... I think it’s weird, don’t you? An unidentifiable vicious animal that has the ability to change its colors killed a member of our community and kidnapped another. You happened to have wrote a book that is about an unidentifiable vicious animal that has the ability to change it colors.”
“True. I agree, it is weird. But the monster in my book never kidnapped anybody. That’s where this true Hollywood story takes a turn.”
“It’s strange,” was all Ridley said before parking in front of my house.