“A tow truck showed up soon after that and pulled us out,” I say. “That little church? You remember the Edelmans? The family that caught me naked in that bed and breakfast? Well, that church by the lake was the venue for the wedding they were in town for. They were all standing around watching when we stepped out of the world’s first submarine motorhome. We got invited to the wedding and the reception. Let me tell you, the FBI can dance.”

Dr. Black laughs. “And did you dance?” she says.

“On crutches?” I say. “Nah. I ate way too much and watched.”

“You could’ve propped yourself up and, I don’t know, swayed?”

I shake my head.

“You take yourself out of things, Ben,” says my therapist. Melanie recommended her and I think she’s pretty good at her job. Probably. This is only our third session but I like her. “I wonder if you do that too much?”

“To hang out on the edges of things and... witness?” I say.

“To subtract yourself and gain distance.”

I don’t respond. After a moment I say, “I sent the people that did the runes on my home a nice fruit basket. Goddamn thing was airtight? Amazing.”

“You could have gone in person.”

I shake my head. “No. I didn’t want to disrupt their day. They’re at work, you know?”

“You didn’t give them the option.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s game this out for a moment,” Dr. Black says, leaning back in her chair. She’s an attractive woman in her early sixties, blonde hair streaked with gray. An itty bitty, lean woman, with a square jaw and large, sparkling eyes that see right through me. “You go in with the basket. They might be genuine in their reception of you or you might get something patronizing and false. They get to choose. They might invite you in for a moment or a while or they might make their excuses and signal for you to leave. They’d get to choose.”

“You’re saying I chose for them.”

“I don’t find that surprising,” says Dr. Black. “Do you? What happened to Gerry’s car? What if your motorhome wasn’t airtight? You’ve been involved in bank robberies, kidnappings, active shootings, car chases, sword fights, and extra-dimensional incursions or whatever they’re calling them. I heard about a man riding an elephant back to the zoo on the radio this morning.”

I sigh. “That was me. It escaped from the zoo and choked on something it was eating out of a dumpster.”

“You saved an elephant from choking.”

I shrug. “The Heimlich maneuver works. It’s a little tricky on an elephant, yeah, but it’s the same thing. Gertrude was well-trained. Former circus animal. She picked me up and I walked her back.”

"How'd you even figure it was choking?"

"It was thrashing around, clearly in distress but wasn't making any noise."

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Dr. Black shakes her head at me. She does that a lot. “Do they know how she got out?” she says.

“An intern at the zoo forgot to lock the enclosure.”

“I bet the zoo was happy to have her back.”

I don’t answer.

“Ben?”

“I didn’t stick around, okay? I’m dangerous.”

“Everybody’s dangerous.”

“Not like me.”

“Yes, some of us are much worse.”

“My friends get hurt.”

“They survive when they should have died.”

“Cal has burns all over her face and a bald spot on her head now from the burn. Monica’s still pissed—.”

“Amir is free and has his own place. Gerry bought a new car. The Wests are independently wealthy and Willamette didn’t get eaten by a dragon from another dimension.”

I snort. “Sometimes I wish the FBI’d never written that NDA up for you,” I say.

Her eyes twinkle as she purses her lips to stifle a smile. “Doctor-patient privilege would've covered it. I think they wrote that for you. Well, that and bureaucrats will cover their asses as much as they can. If they hadn't, you wouldn’t feel like you could tell me everything which would not only impede our progress but keep me at a distance.” she says. "There's that word again."

“I shouldn’t be here,” I say. “It’s selfish for me to be here. There could be a short in the wall and there’ll be a fire. A truck could come through the wall.”

“Or I could win the lottery?” says Dr. Black. She bends down to pull a ticket out of her purse and waves it at me. “I’ve decided to start playing. Just, you know, out of the blue.”

I roll my eyes.

She leans forward. “Ben, you have the same capacity for good or evil as anybody else. Things happen around you, yes. Sometimes bad things. Scary things. But good things too. You push a bit so things happen more good than bad, right? Well, isn’t that an overall improvement?”

The view out her window isn’t remarkable. It’s a parking lot. There’s a tree. Part of a bush.

“I want you to consider something,” she says. “It seems clear that, for some of these things that are pure luck, that time isn’t a factor. The meteorite that totaled Gerry’s car. It had to have been set on that course maybe a hundred years ago.”

I nod. Shrug.

“Why wouldn’t that apply to you?” she says.

“What?”

“You, Ben. It seems likely that your luck went back in time, before you were cursed, to bring you here. Maybe you’re supposed to be here. Maybe that’s the best possible personal outcome for you and that you’re now living your best possible life surrounded by people that are the best possible for you.”

I’m crying. “And I push them away?”

“You worry about us.”

“Us?”

“Hey, I’m one of your people now,” says Dr. Black. “One of your ‘best possible,’ even if it’s only in a professional role but, yeah, I do alright.” She laughs. “Melanie told me about you and I was briefed, a bit, by the FBI. I knew what I was getting into. I chose.”

“My mom and dad didn’t choose,” I say, wiping tears away. “Nick.”

“No, they didn’t. What would they choose for you now?” Her voice is quiet. Gentle.

“I don’t know.”

“What will you do, Ben?”

“I don’t know.”

Dr. Black smiles. “You know a way to find out.”

People are staring at me in the park. Sometimes, as I work, I give them a wave.

Laid out around me and weighted down with rocks are maps of all fifty states the slight breeze keeps trying to lift away. I’ve taken one of my slingshots and fixed a short length of PVC pipe between the uprights like I saw in an online video. It’ll now shoot a full-length arrow.

I’ve taken the arrowhead off, of course. There are people around. Maybe a low-flying plane could fly over or a bald eagle or something. I can’t be too careful. There's a green magic marker on the end now, stuck on with duct tape. It’s a little awkward and won’t fly right, but it’ll do.

Green for go, right? Black seemed ominous. Red has similar connotations. Green for life, money, nausea, and envy, right? The color of Spring and sickness. Good enough and apt.

I close my eyes and spin around and around, backing off whenever a shoe touches paper so I stay in the center. Then I shoot the arrow straight up, promising myself that wherever it lands. Wherever. That is where I will go. Whether it's Kalamazoo, Waikiki, or the middle of Lake Superior.

After a bit, I hear it strike behind me.

I turn around, still a little dizzy, and walk toward a map. The arrow lies beside the mark it’s made like it’s pointing at my future.

I’m pretty sure, yep, it’s the map of Ohio. The green smudge of ink is almost lost in a green space on the map. A public park. Near Willamette.