School ended, fiinally. Foster slid through his classes with ease, as usual, but this time there was nobody to talk to. Now that school had ended, he had many people to talk to.

Too many.

"OMG, Foster, today was soooo boring without you!" Kristie believed that because she was a water nymph, and he was a Sun Child, they were like, destined to be together, or something. But Foster just saw her as some sort of leech.

As she chattered on with some of the other kids in their friend group, Foster zoned out, catching sight of Mateo.

Foster found most people in Hildegard entertaining, but so far, Mateo had been his favorite. The boy was slightly telepathic, wore polo shirts, and always styled his hair perfectly.

Foster knew that the boy could hear him thinking about him, and he continued to stare. Mateo ignored him.

You know you love me, Foster thought loudly in Mateo's direction as he passed, leading his little group of chattering friends out into the sunny afternoon of Hildegard.

Hildegard was a boring little town, and Foster couldn't wait to get out. The only thing keeping him here was his age... and his magic.

Hildegard was the last village on Earth where magic could run free- the most forgotten place. The safest place. And if he left, he'd have to give up his little light, and the memory of Hildegard, for forever.

So the cobblestone streets and the looming forests would have to do, for now.

"I was thinking we could all go to the movie in the park? I heard it's some old 80's movie," Kristie bumped into one of the guys playfully.

"Nah Kristie, I got rehearsal. You know this," He sighed. Foster's best friend, Keenan, had one of the worst diseases Foster could imagine- he was a theater kid.

"Oh no! First Gus and Kayla, now you? looks like it'll be just you and me, Foster," Kristie peered at him from behind her silky curls. She was pretty, and Foster hooked up with her enough times to know that he wouldn't get to watch most of the movie. But most of his hookups left him alone after.

Lucky, lucky Foster then he spied his escape. His savior, really, slinking out of the castle-turned-school.

"Actually, Kristie, looks like it's just you- I got tutoring," He stopped, gesturing apologetically as Kristie shot him a look.

"Tutoring? With who?" Instantly jealous. God, he felt good.

"Miss Faunch," he pointed a thumb at the girl, who shouldered her way around a group of very loud werewolves.

"Meissa Faunch? You're getting tutored by the troll girl?" Kristie looked disgusted. Foster was getting closer and closer to freedom, he could feel it. He began backpedalling away from her, grinning as he felt his escape working.

"Is that what she is?" He quipped giddily. He turned, following Meissa, who'd barely managed to make it through the wolf pack, leaving Kristie and the Academy behind.

"Miss Faunch!" He called after her, making it to the dirt path. As they grew ever so slightly farther from the cobblestones, the breeze picked up, rifling his curls and exposing his forehead. "Miss Faunch you almost forgot me!"

She stopped in her tracks, then turned on her heel, which had to hurt. Maybe not those calloused feet, but whatever.

"For the last time, it's Meissa, and you possibly can't be serious," She scowled at him. She was probably a head shorter than he was, and her legs about a head wider. He was beginning to see the troll.

"I need tutoring, Miss Faunch," he shrugged, and grinned. He wished for a second that he had Mateo's telepathy so he could figure out why she could possibly hate him so much. I mean, everybody loved Foster Adaunt. Until he broke their heart. Then they hated that they loved him.

"Fine the I guess we'll just-," She'd begun to stalk back towards the school when she stopped abruptly, an Idea interrupting the scowl on her face. The wind picked up, blowing her tangled hair around. If he reached out, he might even be able to catch some of it in his fingers.

He almost did, too, when suddenly Meissa grinned.

"Okay then, sure. You can come to my house." She peered at him slyly before turning and walking back towards the forest.

Foster was ever-so-slightly frightened by her grin, but he would never admit that to anyone. Instead, he let his curiousity guide him toward her, and he followed just a pace behind, into the woods.

...

If Nature was her mother, than the wind was her babysitter. And it was very excited about Foster. Unlike Meissa.

She didn't know what she did to deserve his torment, but there he was, strutting a pace behind her like a prince entering a court.

But he wasn't entering court. He would soon be entering Vergessene forest.

The moment he recignized the boundary line, his steps faltered. Most in Hildegard feared the forest- well, most feared the druids, and the Druids wouldn't go near Vergessene. Good for the forest, and good for Meissa. She didn't bother to hide her smile as she leaped over the fallen tree that ended Hildegard's path.

"You don't-," Foster frowned, his uniform sloppily hanging untucked, "You can't possibly live in there."

Meissa shrugged, the wind blowing her hair around. Now that she was home, it began its ritual of untangling her mess. She liked the way the breeze felt, playing through her hair, the locks falling gently around her face once they'd been preened.

Foster stared incredulously at the girl glancing back at the school house. Meissa just shrugged and turned, dumping her schoolbag on the ground, pulling off her jacket.

Once she was free, Meissa began to job, hoping to find Tawna, or Sage, maybe Beorn. Any of the wolves. She might go swimming later, in this weather-

"Whoa!" she shouted, as the wind took her feet from underneath her. She flipped, almost hitting the floor before the wind caught her, throwing her back towards the tree where Foster sat.

"What the heck!" she shouted at the wind, as it danced through the laughing leaves.

"What was that?" Foster remarked from his spot on the tree, sounding almost impressed.

"It was nothing." Meissa grumbled, standing up and brushig the dirt off her butt. "It's not my fault your too scared to come in the forest."

No. It wasn't her fault. But maybe she'd help keep it that way.

"Scared?" Foster scoffed, slding down from the tree, landing of Veressene ground for the frst time. "Who said I was scared?"

Meissa rolled her eyes at his stupid ego, but she had to admit, she was impressed.

"My mistake," she shrugged. "So you'll be able to make it to the lagoon?"

She watched his face as he tried to imagine a lagoon, or where it might be, before he responded.

"Yeah, why not?"

She huffed.

"Oh, nothing."

She knew the forest would make it easy for him to get to the lagoon, as it usually only did for Meissa. She would tell them later that he wasn't a friend, and that they should banish him as they would any other person.

"So... do you live in, like, a tree house? maybe a cave? Do you have parents?" The boy continued to pry as he scrambled over fallen trees and little streams.

She didn't respond.

"You know, if you don't like me, you don't have to keep doing that." He grumbled, walking under a branch the wind had blown out of the way for him.

"Doing what?"Meissa frowned, jumping over stones that quickly dried and aligned for Foster's arrival.

"That," He gestured at the rocks, which sat in a perfect, stable line beneath his feet.

"Oh," Meissa frowned. "That's not me."

"Yeah, right. then what's your ability? what's your thing?"

"My thing?" Meissa couldn't help but be amused. The birds were watching the new boy curiously from the branches, and she could sense the wolves drawing nearer.

"Yeah," he went to pull a twing from his hair, but the breeze tugged it out before he could. He stuck out his lip, clearly frustrated by the wind's excitement. Meissa nearly laughed.

nearly.

"I don't have an ability. And I don't have a thing. I'm completely human." It was the truth, but Foster clearly wasn't satisfied. He let out a huff of angry air, and didn't press the subject, shouldering his bag.

"Okay, here we are. set your bag down over there, and we can start." She pointed to the platform boulder lying on the side of the lagoon, the tamest of the rocks in the alcove. It wasn't really a lagoon, just a still pool of water at the bottom of a waterfall. It fed most of the rivers in Hildegard. And it was Meissa's favorite place in the forest. The wind tugged at her hair, at her clothes.

"Oh, are you... hungry?"

Foster considered it, without hiding the disgust on his face at the thought of what she might eat.

"Um, no. Thanks," He tottered awkwardly on the rocks, climbing towards the platform she'd pointed to.

Meissa looked back towards the forest, where she cought a glimpse of Sage, peering out at her from the shadows.

It's okay, she shrugged, giving him a reassuring smile, and rolling her eyes. she turned, eaping from rock to rock to get to the platform. Her feet found the spots where she'd pounded the rock smooth, flattened moss marking their place. She'd have jumped into the lagoon already, if it weren't for the boy she had to babysit.

"So, what exactly are you... what are you doing?" Foster had tossed his bag to the side, precariously close to the river. he'd pulled off his shoes and lay back, stretching out in the sun.

"What? I'm a Child of the Sun. I can't enjoy it a bit?"

She huffed, rolling her eyes. It was just like the chair. Why was he so stubborn about the stupidest things?

In truth, he was glowing. The sun reflected off of his skin, and brought out the unusual blonde accents in his hair. He'd relaxed plenty since their entrance into Vergessene. Meissa didn't know how she felt about that.

"Um, Foster?" she asked quietly, but the boy didn't respond.

Of course he fell asleep.

She turned, addressing the wind and the water.

"Protect him, will you?" the water bristled, but the wind danced before her, curiously.

why?

Because this was the most popular kid in all of Hildegard, that's why. But that's not the answer the breeze was looking for, and the wind wouldn't care anyway. Instead of answering, she turned, hopping out of the lagoon and galloping into the forest.

Foster Adaunt.

Everybody's heard his name. Even Meissa Ralph, the awkward nobody who's never done anything notable.

"Foster texted me last night!" she'd heard one girl bragging in the bathroom, before Meissa opened the stall door and they shut up. She only used his first name, but everyone knew who she was talking about. Nonetheless, as Meissa left the bathroom she heard one of the other girls go- "Foster Adaunt? The Sun boy?"

As if she knew multiple boys named Foster.

Fortunately for Meissa, Foster had never looked her direction, let alone took her to bed, as he seemed to have done with most of the school. She didn't even know how averse to the idea of being with the renowned asshole she'd be, and that's what scared her the most.

Unfortunately for Meissa, he's actually smart- must've finally been coersced into the higher classes, for now he sat in the back of her English class.

In her seat.

It was the seat all the way in the back, halfway between the window and the door. And it was perfect. It was everything. And now this prick sat in it, despite there being empty chairs on either side.

"You're in my seat," She stood at the desk, crossing her arms and scowling. He had his legs on the top, shiny shoes dangling off the edge as he leaned back casually on the chair, tossing a little ball of light from hand to hand. He looked at her, surprised, then looked down, surveying her.

"And you're not wearing shoes."

No. Of course she wasn't.

"So? Could you move?"

His eyebrows raised, disappearing into a nest of tightly wound curls. He was hot. No pun intended. he threw the little ball of light back into his palm and it disappeared. She kept staring.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked, still not moving. the other students had begun filing in. a few threw disapproving glances when they saw Foster, and looks of surprise, and even resignment when they saw Meissa. She tried not to think about it.

"None of your business. You've plenty of other seats, and I've sat here the whole year. I would like to continue sitting here," Meissa softened, hoping that she wasn't being too confrontational. "Please?"

He smirked.

"I don't know. I quite like it here."

Meissa frowned. Okay, forget being nice. She really wanted to sit there, and this boy was being an ass.

"I'm gonna kick you." She pouted, not really knowing what to say.

At this is eyes widened in mock terror. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, well, in that case..." He laughed, but tapered off when he saw her serious expression.

"Fine. How about you tell me your name, and I'll move."

"You don't need to know my name."

Too many had made fun of her already.

"Meissa Faunch, I know you're excited to meet our new student, but please sit down!" Her English teacher snapped from the front of the classroom. The bell rang the moment she started.

She huffed, shooting a murderous glare at the infuriating boy. His stupid brows were raised once again, this time in triumph. Whatever, she thought. She'll just get here extra early tomorrow. She would've stomped to the seat in the back, closest to the window, if not for the cold tiling they had on the floor. Her bare feet wouldn't do too much stomping.

She had fought to break dress code. You wanted to force her inside- you're gonna shove her massive, calloused feet into shoes, too? And socks? No way. At least her pants- well, shorts really, at this point- reached her knees. Wearing such short skirts would be a crime with her curves.

She didn't really have an ability- Meissa was chosen by the natural spirits as their little plaything, and through them, she had a sort of magic. Where as most would fear a storm, she'd never needed to. If Mother Nature wanted to punish Man, her adopted daughter would run safe among the destruction.

None of that was any of Foster Adaunt's business. And for some reason that was really hard for him to understand.

As soon as their teacher released them to work on their journalism projects, Foster got up, swinging his shoes off of her desk and sauntering over, like a stag with horns to heavy for its head.

"So, Miss Faunch-,"

"Don't talk to me." she muttered, scribbling notes in the margins of the article she was reading.

"Oh well- my apology, Miss Faunch."

She could feel him staring at her as she scribbled, his golden eyes burning a hole in the side of her head.

"Miss Faunch, you've got something in your hair-," He half stood, reaching to tug something out of her mane.

"What the hell?" Meissa jerked back, slapping his hand away. He froze, half standing, bemused expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, was that a family member of yours?"

One of the kids in the row in front of them heard, sniggering.

"No, Mr. Adaunt, that was a twig. Welcome to Honors English." She shot back.

"You know my name," he smirked.

"Hard not to when you've screwed half the school."

At this the kid who'd laughed earlier dropped his pen, and the kid beside him turned around to see the show. Meissa stared hard at him until he turned away. Didn't take long.

"Not quite half," His smirk didn't leave, and she heard him lean back in his seat, propping his feet back on the table.

The leaves in the tree outside the window jittered as the breeze dance through them.

"Shut up," she mumbled, and it danced even harder before prancing away.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" He quipped. How daft did this guy have to be?

"Not to you," She mumbled, because apparently he had good hearing.

"Oh. were you-," he stifled a laugh, "Were you talking to a tree?"

She didn't answer. She'd been through this all of her life. She shouldn't have been in this damned school, but the wind led her here, opening the locked doors. And as teachers were preparing for the coming year, and she chased butterflies right into their office. They decided that the small child must have some magic, no family, and accepted her immediately.

She still fights with the wind about it.

"Hey, Miss."

"It's Meissa."

"Okay, Miss. can I go home with you after school? I really need help with this assignment."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not funny, assho-,"

"Mr. Adaunt, I think that's a lovely idea. Meissa, you'll be welcoming to our new student?" Their English teacher piped up, conveniently.

"Thank you, Professor Wilkerson!" Foster beamed, almost glowing.

The school bell rang as he hopped up from his seat, and Meissa slumped in her seat, glowering at the boy's head as he pranced out of the room.

"Hey, hey, Kyrie," I hear him start.

"No."

"Aw, come on, I haven't even said anything yet."

"Still no."

"I just want to know a little bit about you."

"Definitely no."

"How about yes or no questions?"

I turn and stare at him. So freaking annoying. I sit in the back corner of the classroom just to avoid this very situation, but the teacher was apparently feeling cruel today and rearranged the seating. Internally weighing his pestering against his questions on the annoyance scale, I sigh heavily. "Choose your questions carefully, or I'll demonstrate why everyone else leaves me the fk alone."

He seems surprised, but doesn't hesitate. "Do you have a favorite color?"

"Yes."

"Is it black?"

"No."

"Is it blue?"

"No."

"Is it silver?"

"No."

He pauses briefly and seems to get bored with that line of questioning. Ah, sht. Bored Foster is never a good thing, and neither is the mischievous expression on his face. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"A girlfriend?"

"No."

"A lover?"

"No."

"Any love life at all?"

"...No."

"A sx life?"

I glare at him hard enough that my control slips and the legs of his chair freeze to the floor. "Try again."

He appears almost triumphant, but changes topics. "Do you think your roommate would be a good lay?"

I just roll my eyes at him and don't bother answering. His next question catches me off guard, though. "Is it true you look smoking hot in a bikini? That you're actually super fit under your extra-baggy uniform?"

I genuinely consider decking him right then and there. For one thing, my uniform is only baggy because I'm short. My measurements changed over the last break, and my uniforms are still being altered to fit, so I've been forced to wear the closest size to mine... which means the cuffs are rolled up three times and the torso is four inches too long and has enough room to fit a second me if neither of us had breasts. I might have had better luck with a woman's uniform, but then this man-slut would be trying to peek up my skirt instead of poking at me.

I throw him a considering glance. Hmm... that could work. Supposedly, the alterations to my school swimsuit should be finished today. "If you want to see me without clothes, you'll have to fight with me first."

His eyes spark at the challenge. "Yes. Absolutely. During lunch."

--four and half hours later--

The match is surprisingly easy. Foster might be smart, but he doesn't have a lot of fighting experience. I take care to make it extra insulting by fighting in my uniform, which isn't designed for exercise and has a lot of extra material due to the size difference. As he squints up at me from his position on his back in the dirt, I smirk. "Oh, right. We have swimming class next."

He stares at me in utter shock. "You- you tricked me!"

I snort. "You only realized that now?" I turn to leave, shedding my oversized uniform as I do. Our school swimsuits are designed to completely reveal the stomach and back while still technically being one piece, with strips of fabric down the sides holding it together. Nobody here cares about nudity, so I head toward the school's natatorium in just my swimsuit, leaving Foster gaping behind me. As I reach the door of the sparring gym, though, I pause and turn back. "Oh, right. If your goal was to see me naked, I should probably warn you. Not only do you have the wrong plumbing, the last guy who tried to get me naked is now missing some important anatomy." I shoot him another smirk at his horrified expression. "Consider yourself warned, Aduant."

Foster Adaunt.

Everybody's heard his name. Even Meissa Ralph, the awkward nobody who's never done anything notable.

"Foster texted me last night!" she'd heard one girl bragging in the bathroom, before Meissa opened the stall door and they shut up. She only used his first name, but evryone knew who she was talking about. Nonetheless, as Meissa left the bathroom she heard one of the other girls go- "Foster Adaunt? The Sun boy?" As if she kew multiple boys named Foster.

Fortunately for Meissa, Foster had never looked her direction, let alone took her to bed, as he seemed to have done with most of the school. She didn't even know how averse to the idea of being with the renowned asshole she'd be, and that's what scared her the most.

Unfortunately for Meissa, he's actually smart- must've finally been coersced into the higer classes, for now he sat in the back of her English class.

In her seat.

It was the seat all the wy in the back, halfway between the window and the door. And it was perfect. It was everything. And now this prick sat in it, despite there being empty chairs on either side.

"You're in my seat," She stood at the desk, crossing her arms and scowling. He had his legs on the top, shiny shoes dangling off the edge as he leaned back casually on the chair, tossing a little ball of light from hand to hand. He looked at her, surprised, then looked down, surveying her.

"And you're not wearing shoes."

No. Of course she wasn't.

"So? Could you move?"

His eyebrows raised. She felt heated. He was hot. No pun intended. he threw the little ball of light back into his palm and it disappeared. She kept staring.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked, still not moving. the other students had begun filling in. a few threw disapproving glances when they saw Foster, and looks of surprise, and even resignment when they saw Meissa. She tried not to think about it.

"None of your business. You've plenty of other seats, but I've sat here the whole year, and I would like to continue sitting there," Meissa softened, hoping that she wasn't being too confrontational. "Please?"

He smirked.

"I don't know. I quite like it here."

Meissa frowned. She really wanted to sit there, and this boy was being an ass.

"I'm gonna kick you." She pouted, not really knowing what to say.

At this is eyes widened in mock terror. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, well in that case..." He laughed, but tapered off when he saw her serious expression.

"Fine. How about you tell me your name, and I'll move."

"You don't need to know my name."

Too many made fun of her enough.

"Meissa Faunch, I know you're excited to meet our new student, but please sit down!" Her English teachersnapped from the front of the classroom. The bell rang the moment she started.

She huffed, shooting a murderous glare at the infuriating boy. His stupid brows were raised once again in triumph. Whatever, she thought. She'll just get here extra early tomorrow. She would've stomped to the seat in the back, closest to the window, except for the cold tiling they had on the floor here. Her barefeet wouldn't do too much stomping.

She fought to break dress code. You wanted to force her inside you're gonna shove her massive, calloused feet into shoes? and socks? no way. At least her pants- well, shorts really, at this point- reached her knees. Wearing such short skirts would be a crime with her curves.

She didn't really have an ability- Meissa was chosen by the natural spirits as their little plaything, and through them, she had a sort of magic. Where as most would fear a storm, she'd never needed to. If it was a punishment of mother nature, her adopted daughter would run safe among the destruction.

None of that was any of Foster Adaunt's business. And for some reason that was really hard to understand.

As soon as their teacher released them to work on their journalistic projects, Foster got up, swinging hs shoes off of her desk and sauntering over to her, like a stag with hrns to heavy for its head.

"So, Meissa Faunch-,"

"Don't talk to me." she muttered, scribbling notes in the margins of the article she was reading.

"Oh well- my apology, Miss Faunch."

She could feel him staring at her as she scribbled, his golden eyes burning a hole in the side of her head.

"Miss Faunch, you've got something in your hair-," He half stood reaching to tug something out of her mane.

"What the hell?" Meissa jerked back, slapping his hand away. He sat there shocked.

"I'm sorry, was that a family member of yours?"

One of the kids in the row in front of them heard, sniggering.

"No, Mr. Adaunt, that was a twig. Welcome to Honors English." She shot back.

"You know my name," he smirked.

"Hard not to when you've screwed half the school."

At this the kid who'd laughed early dropped his pen, ad the id behind him turned around. Meissa stared at him until he turned away. Didn't take long.

"Not quite half," His smirk didn't leave, and she heard him lean back in his seat, propping his feet back on the table.

The leaves in the tree outside the window jittered as the breeze dance through them.

"Shut up," she mumbled, and it danced even harder before prancing away.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" He quipped. How bored did this guy have to be?

"Not to you," She mumbled, because apparently he had good hearing.

"Oh. were you-," he stifled a laugh, "Were you talking to a tree?"

She didn't answer. She'd been through this all of her life. She shouldn't have been in this damn school, but the wind led her here, opening the locked doors as teachers were preparing for the coming year, and she chased butterflies right into their offices. They decided that the small child must have some magic, and accepted her immediately.

She still fights with the wind about it.

"Hey, Miss."

"It's Meissa."

"Okay, Miss. can I go home with you after school? I really need help with this assignment."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not funny, assho-,"

"Mr. Adaunch, I think that's a lovely idea. Meissa, you'll be welcoming to our new student." Their English teacher piped up, conveniently.

"Thank you, proffesor Wilkerson!" Foster beamed, almost glowing.

I smile wryly.

“My writing? Short form. Six words to about two hundred. Mostly. Sometimes more.”

He grins, flush with disbelief. I’m dazzled by the green eyes.

”For serious?”

I arch an eyebrow, pull a corner of my mouth up, and half-shrug. Maybe too many tattoos?

“Sometimes.”

“Doesn’t seem that hard. Can‘t ChatGPT do it?”

His once intoxicating cologne now cloys at my throat.

“Got honorable mention in a online contest. A human won,“ I respond, hoping to conceal my jealousy. “I like my stories to provoke thought and creativity. I ask about control and self-determination. I ponder a future where humanity is gone, replaced by self-aware androids.”

”In six words.” That he used the incredulous indicative instead of an innocent interrogative burns my ass raw. I notice wrinkles as he smirks.

“Yes.”

“Are you being like this because you wanna show me you write like you talk?”

“No.”

“Can you do it?”

“Can I do what?”

“Can you come up with a six word story. Now. About our date.”

I twist up my smile, summoning my meanest muse. Well, he wants proof.

“Less is more. Doubt? Disinterest? Done.”

I stand, push my chair in, and leave without looking at him.

God Saved Gale Myers, the Lone Pine Gazette front page read. Ernie Roy, the last remaining reporter of the small-town weekly, caught up with Gale less than an hour after he’d returned home from a business trip in New York City. The date was September 13th, 2001.

Gale flew from New York to Mill Haven, then hailed a cab for a three-hour ride back home. The congregation of nosey bored Lone Pine residents awaited his return like the second coming. For the first time, the quiet cul-de-sac gravel road of Reese Settlement was ripe with anticipation.

He looked anxiously out the window as the taxi slowed to a crawl amidst the wave of trespassers and on-lookers. His right hand continued brushing back his thinning, sweat infused hair. A nervous tick Gale had since the balding began back in the 80s, when he was only nineteen.

The voice of Meredith, his ex-wife who had flown the coop two years back, echoed in his mind like a migraine. “You can dress him up, but you can’t take him out. You can dress him up, but you can’t take him out.” Those words invaded his thoughts more often than he’d care to admit. He hated her guts, but what he hated more was that she was right.

His tie hung loosely around his neck like a noose, and his shirt was wrinkled and damp. After all these years in insurance, wearing the same outfit each day like a cartoon character, he never wore it well. Circumstances be damned, he always looked like he’d woken up in Tijuana after a week long bender.

“I ain’t never seen no more than a couple of folks down this way in my whole life.” Jimmy Mann, the cabbie said. “Gale Myers, a goddamn rockstar. Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Can you turn around, please? Jimmy, can you do me a solid and turn around? I-I-I can’t deal with this. No way. No way.” His head was shaking back and forth, and his hands were waving in front of him like he was a hockey referee calling back a goal. “No way, no way!”

“I’m turning around alright, but you sure as hell ain’t going to be in this cab. Now get out of here. If you play your cards right, you could be a housewife’s early morning regret.” Jimmy ended the conversation with a wink and a smile.

Gale sighed and opened the door. Meredith’s voice returning. “You never stand up for yerself. You let everyone push you around. Are you even a man, eh? Is there anything down there?” She used to say this before grabbing him by the testicles and laughing.

He got out of the car and looked around at all the folks that had never paid him a second’s worth of attention in his 36 years on this planet.

“Gale, Gale. Glad to see ya, buddy. Welcome home. Welcome home.” His old math teacher, Bruce Jensen, and his wife Polly called out.

“That must have been so terrifying, Gale. We’re here if you ever need anything,” said the Allen sisters, Helen and Gertrude, who had humiliated Gale throughout his time at Lone Pine primary, middle, and high. But were now thinking of ways that smart ole Gale could monetize this tragedy. And when he did, they’d be there offering a shoulder to cry on. Or whatever else it was that Gale needed to help him get past the trauma.

Tony Mancini, the owner of Mancini’s Pizzeria on Albert Road, yelled out, “free pizza for a year, for this guy right here.” Then he started clapping, urging the rest to follow suit. “Come on, everyone, clap for Gale. The survivor.”

“Gale! Gale! Gale! Gale!”

Gale walked through the crowd, nodding his head and forcing what he hoped was a convincing fake smile. Hands were outstretched. He shook them, thanked them and finally walked up the three steps to his front door, tripping on the last one. Meredith again reminding him that a real man would have fixed those steps by now, but who was she kidding? Gale wasn’t no real man.

“Thank you everyone. I really appreciate this. But I need some rest. It’s been an exhausting trip, to say the least. Thank you.”

“Who saved you Gale, because we know you didn’t save yourself?” Meredith’s sister, Connie, yelled out in a vain attempt at humiliating him. She nudged Meredith in the ribs, making sure she didn’t miss her genius quip. Meredith was too busy looking at her ex-husband with intense hatred to notice her sister.

Connie rolled her eyes, and returned her gaze to Gale, feeling proud of her shallow dig. Always a loyal follower of the mantra, “for every peg another is knocked down, is one more that I climb.”

Gale answered. “God saved me. God saved me,” trying to make it seem like he didn’t notice them at all. For this small Catholic community, that was the right answer. The crowd cheered for Gale Myers like they had in his dreams so many times before. He waved the peace sign with both hands and went inside.

Ernie sat in his red Chevrolet that was parked across the street. He wrote the quote God saved me in his handy little notebook. Headlines were often the hardest part of the job, but sometimes they just jumped right out at you. He chewed on his toothpick, waiting for the crowd to thin before eventually evaporating. Then he would get his story.

On the other side of the door, Gale sat on his carpeted floor, trying to rip the tie off of his shirt. He was declining into one of his famous panic attacks. “Calm down, buddy. Calm down. It’s okay. It’s ooookay.” He kept repeating through sharp breaths.

He reached in his pocket for his little orange bottle of pills. There were only five tablets of Xanax left, and he dry swallowed them all, before laying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling fan.

Gale found that trying to focus on an individual blade occupied his mind enough to relieve some of the panic, when he was facing code red anxiety.

The fan and the sound of cars, and chattering men and women leaving his property brought some temporary calm. “Get out here. Go Home. Please. Go Home.” Gale said, as he rubbed the carpet back and forth with both hands.

As soon as the dust settled from the cars heading out of Reese Settlement, Ernie got out of his Tacoma and made his way to the door. He was out of shape, and his big belly jiggled over his work pants as he strutted down the gravel driveway.

“Wait till Henderson gets a hold of this.” He said, thinking about his new boss, Jordan Henderson. The bastard that was trying to push out the old small town reporters, in favour of young city ones, who could simultaneously cover both areas.

Henderson had been on Ernie’s case for a few months now, since the story-well had dried up in Lone Pine. “We need some stories, Ernie, and we need them now, my friend.”

“My friend, I’ll show ya my goddamn friend”, Ernie said to himself while grabbing his crotch. He laughed and jotted it down in his notebook, in case he ever got the chance to use it for real on his good old pal, Henderson.

Ernie knocked on the door. “Hey, Gale. Ernie here with the Gazette, I’d love to talk to ya for a few minutes.”

“You fucked my wife. I had to do it. I had to do it.” Gale said, “I am a man, Meredith. I can do what has to be done! I can!”

“Uh, Gale? I can hear your voice, but I don’t have a clue what you’re saying. Could you come to the door, please?”

Gale looked over in the direction of the voice. “Who is it?” He yelled.

“Ernie, pal. Ernie.”

“Oh, Ernie. My friend. My good friend, Ernie. Come on in. It’s unlocked.”

Ernie came in and saw Gale lying on his back, laughing at a joke no one told.

“Jesus, buddy. Let me help you up.”

Gale was a 120 lbs soaking wet, and Ernie was pushing the 300 mark, so he hauled him to his feet with little to no effort, and brought him over to LAZ-y boy in his living room.

He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the sink. “Here, buddy. Take this. Take this.”

“Thanks, Ernie. You were always good to me. The rest of em are vultures.”

He drank the whole glass in one shot, and sat it down on the coffee table, next to Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. The book was open, and he had a quote circled.

“Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be?”

“You can ask your questions, Ernie.” Gale said, lighting a cigarette from his breast pocket, and tapping the ashes into the cup that Ernie brought him. The cup read Insurance Assurance Award 1997.

“You sure, Gale? I can wait.”

“No, no. Go ahead. I always wanted to be interviewed for the paper. Funny thing is, I used to shower all the time and pretend I was getting interviewed by Leno, or Johnny Carson, or something. Always trying to perfect my answers, so that I sounded smart and articulate, ya know?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Well, first man, tell me a little about what happened. What were you doing there?”

“Well, ya know James Eberle? Grew up around here. Well, he was working for an insurance company there, and I flew over to see him. Talk a little business. I’m thinking of expanding and you know, he’s a big shot. I’m one of the little guys. I, uh, thought he could provide me a little advice. Maybe even a loan”

“That couldn’t have been a phone call?” Ernie asked, followed by his signature snort and chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah. It could have been. But I wanted to see the city. He paid for my flight, so I thought, why not?”

Ernie wrote in his notepad, but thought that Gale sounded a little suspicious. Sure, he could chalk that up to Gale’s traumatic experience, but he’d done a lot of interviews, especially in his hey-day and he thought the man sounded off. But maybe that was the young investigative reporter from the 70s creeping up inside of him. The reporter who was an important man in those days. Not the one that was sitting on Gale’s couch.

Gale stared at him, as Meredith’s voice repeated, “You killed him, Gale. You killed him, Gale”

“Shut up, Shut up.” He whispered.

“What was that?” Ernie asked.

“Sorry. Just talking to myself.” Gale answered, pulling down at the bags around his eyes with his left thumb and forefinger, while brushing his thinning hair with his right.

His head was pounding, and he was sure he was going to throw up. Five pills, Gale? Are you serious, man? He told himself.

“You sure you’re alright, buddy?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay. Just a stressful couple of days, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“I understand, buddy. It must have been awful.”

“It was.”

Gale answered the rest of Ernie’s questions, which took around fifteen minutes, then smiled for his front page headshot. Ernie told him it wasn’t pretty, but it would have to do. They both laughed at this. Then they got up, walked over to the door and shook hands before bidding adieu.

“Hey, if you ever want to grab a beer or something, let me know, eh?” Ernie said, still feeling a little suspicious, but feeling guilty too. The town never treated Gale right. He had always been nice to him, but he never stopped anyone from treating him badly either. And maybe, in some ways, he was just as guilty as the rest.

“Sounds like a plan. Bye Bye.” He closed the door, then hung his head on it. He cried deep, panicked sobs. The kind you only let out of Pandora’s Box, when the only company there is, is the guilt and pain inside your head. Meredith’s voice yelled accusations. “You killed him didn’t you, Gale? You killed him for sleeping with me, didn’t you?”

“What kind of man would just let someone sleep with their wife?” He answered. “You never thought I was worth a damn, Meredith. You never thought I was anything. Well, I’m a survivor. I made it down those stairs and out of the North Tower. I survived. I SURVIVED.” He yelled.

“You’re a murderer. How did you make it out? Who saved you Gale Myers?”

“God did. God saved me.” Then in his head, he could hear the cheers of the Lone Pine vultures.

“Gale! Gale! Gale! Gale!"

"God saved me!"