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MORNING FOUND ME MISERABLE. I’d never hurt worse. Ben had eggs scrambling on the stove and bacon sizzling in the microwave. The smell brought me back to life. He had coffee from a Keurig to finish the full breakfast.
He spotted me stirring and called from the kitchen. “Up and at ‘em! Your phone’s been buzzing off the hook.”
I sat up, scrubbing my hands through my hair and noticing lots of unexpected pains in my back. I could barely turn my neck. I stretched it while I reached for my phone, sleep still fogging my mind.
A message from Cass was the first thing I saw. It said, “he knows it was u”
My stomach twisted up so hard I almost retched.
My breath escaped me in a pathetic whimper. She had to mean Hauser. And if he knew....
There were more messages from Cass in the thread.
“t is alive”
“d is pissed”
“h has been talking to the cops. lay low”
“nm. he doesn’t know.”
“he still wants the gun. keep it safe.”
“stay small. talk l8r”
I wondered about her sources. How did she know what Hauser was up to, if she wasn’t working with him anymore? How had she found my phone number?
It looked like she was saying I was safe. “nm. he doesn’t know” wasn’t much to go on, but that was the only thing that made sense.
I wrote back. “I’m at a safe place now. What’s our next move?” There was no immediate answer, so I turned myself toward breakfast.
Ben handed me a plate. “Any news?”
“Not really.”
His face fell, and I shrugged as I scrolled back up through Cass’s messages. I read them off, translating as best I could. “Trina is alive, but still in Hauser’s hands. Hauser is cooperating with the cops somehow, and Derrick is dangerous. I’ve got to keep the gun hidden and avoid the cops.”
I put my phone away and found him staring at me. He asked, “That it?”
“So far,” I said.
“That sounds like news.”
“But it’s not a plan. It’s nothing we can act on.”
“You acted last night,” Ben said. “In storytelling, we call that a ‘scene.’ Now you’re suffering the consequences and figuring out what to do next. That’s a ‘sequel.’ A story is an unbroken series of scenes and sequels, each flowing into the next.”
“You know,” I said, “I wouldn’t let you talk to me like that if you weren’t such a good cook.”
I meant it as a throwaway joke, but Ben looked hurt. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this isn’t a story,” I said, “This is my real life.”
“But stories are how we understand real life.” He said that like it was obvious. Like I was already supposed to know it.
I looked him right in the eye. He was my story guy, right? “Do you understand my life.”
That caught him by surprise. He froze like a deer in the headlights. Then he swallowed hard, squared his holders, and said, “Yes.”
He looked for all the world like he expected me to take a swing at him. He was braced for it. He was ready for a fight.
I didn’t want to fight my friend. I wanted to survive my most recent mistakes.
So I dropped a hand on his shoulder and asked sincerely, “Do you have any advice?”
He thought about it awhile, then asked without much hope, “Can you get your hands on a dragon or a very powerful spaceship?”
“I can’t. Have you seen the state of my car?”
“I don’t think you should drive that thing.”
“So what should I do?”
Back where we’d started. He sighed. “I think you should work on your game.”
I got to grin at that, because I’d been thinking the same thing. “Me too.”
“You do? I had a whole argument ready.”
“Save it for tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll feel stupid for doing nothing.”
“But it’s not nothing,” he said, fire in his eyes, and I grinned wider.
“Save it for tomorrow. Today, I need you working on my product description.”