Sitting by the lake with Roger, my eyes rest on the glittering waterfall as it gushes over the cliff and churns the lake below.

  “And so, you are still looking for the psychic signal?” asks Roger.

  “Yeah. Sure. If that’s what you want to call it.” I take a deep breath of clean, cool, waterfall air with my new lungs. I’m just trying to survive, tin can. How long have I been ‘just trying to survive’ though? Maybe it’s time for something new.

  “From which direction do you sense it, Mr. Wolfgang?”

  “Not sure right now. Not even sure if it’s still there.”

  I gaze at the lake. The still waters are crystal clear. It’s hard to even tell they’re there; the rocky bed looks dry enough to sleep on.

  Following my line of sight to the waterfall, the bed opens up into a gaping, black pit. The inky darkness reflects the stars above, fashioning itself as something like a portal into outer space. Another part of outer space, I suppose. A door to the cosmos, I muse.

  “Is that a pit under the water there?”

  “I have concluded so,” says Roger. “Though, I’ve never analyzed it from any closer than we are now.”

  “No good with water?”

  “Correct, Mr. Wolfgang. My circuits would be flooded if I were to go into the lake. So, I only sit and analyze from the shore.”

  “You know more about tentacle monsters than I do. What if I went into the water?”

  “It would be cold. And wet.”

  “It wouldn’t burn my skin off or something.”

  “No. The substance is almost purely dihydrogen monoxide.”

  “Dihydrogen monoxide… Sounds acidic.”

  “It’s just water, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  “Say that then. Don’t worry, tin can. I’ll get you socialized. I’m going for a swim. I want to see what’s down there.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It’s probably nothing, but my gut is telling me to be curious. And that’s something. Something is better than nothing.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  “Mind pulling security while I jump in?”

  “Security? I’m uncertain—”

  “Just reach in and grab me if something happens. Can your arms reach that far?”

  “My arms can only extend up to—”

  “Can you yell? Splash the surface? Heck, if you can’t get my attention, just make yourself safe, and I’ll figure out the rest.”

  “Understood, Mr. Wolfgang.”

  “Thanks, tin can. I’ll see you when I get back. I doubt this’ll take long.” That’s a lie. My gut tells me I’m knocking on trouble’s front door for coffee and a late, intimate evening. Trouble and I are too good of friends. The best of buddies. I hate that guy.

  I shloop into the water. Cold. Crisp. My purple hide goes goosey. Tin can was right. As I submerge, a shiver shoots out and down my tendrils like a dog shaking snow off his coat.

  Let’s see what’s down in this pit.

  Cool freshwater slides past my face as I shloop deeper and deeper into the starry, black well. My strange body has adjusted to the water; I feel warm like I’m taking a bath. The deeper water feels no cooler gliding across my hide than a spring breeze tenderly touching a man’s face.

  Wouldn’t be a bad place for a tentacle monster to sleep. I’ve slept enough for one lifetime, though. For now. Still, it is nice and quiet down here. This is the kind of place a man visits when he has a thing or two to think about. Maybe that’s what’s drawing me down here. I always give myself too much to think about.

  Well, Jack, there’s still no whiskey or cigarettes: still no time to think. But what’s next? Are you planning on sitting down here forever? Hiding here like a troll under a bridge, like the disgusting monster you are.

  Fear sinks into my hideous veins. I can hear the blood rushing in and out of my brain.

  Yeah, the perfect place for a terrible creature to hide. No one can hear you scream down here.

  That fear isn’t real. You’re making it up in your head. You know you’re alone down here.

  Maybe that’s what scares me. Why? Who knows? God knows. Try praying again, Jack. You haven’t prayed in a while.

  I close my eyes in the pitch black, a stern signal to my busy mind for it to stop and focus.

  Our Father…

  [ HALLOWED BE THY NAME. ]

  The sun is shining. The warm breeze of a summer afternoon rushes across my outstretched, bare arm as a baseball slams into my worn leather glove. The evergreens tower over the yard. The dry, brown grass crunches under my feet.

  My hand is moist with sweat. I run my arm across my forehead to wipe away more sweat before throwing the ball back to my dad. There’s a cigarette hanging from his lips. The bouquet of the burning tobacco sails across the breeze like the scent of a rose welcoming the day. Dad catches the ball with his bare hand ‘the way we used to do it back in the day.’ Ash dances off the hanging cigarette.

  “Good throw, Jackie,” he says, tossing the ball back. “You’re getting stronger.”

  The ball slams into my glove again. I look at it in my palm for a second: the white leather has browned a bit, and the red and blue stitching has faded and darkened with grime.

  “Thanks, Daddy.” I throw the ball back to him. He catches it again with one hand, his other hand now holding the cigarette with two fingers.

  “Let’s back up. I want to see that arm working a little harder.”

  “Okay, Daddy!”

  I never could have imagined I’d stop getting to say those words little more than a decade later.

  Okay, Dad. Which way do I go now?

  [ MEMORIES ARE MERCIES ]

  We’re sitting on the steps of the back porch now, drinking my mother’s lemonade. More tart than sweet, it’s a drink I look forward to every summer. The summer breeze has cooled. The porch’s roof shades us. Dad pulls out a burlap bag of jerky and offers me some.

  Roger, our old, seasoned beagle mutt, skitters on over to beg for a piece, his clawed toes clacking against the wooden porch. I giggle as he sticks his wet nose on my cheek and licks my face.

  “Go ahead and make him sit, then give him some.”

  “Sit. Roger, sit.”

  The old dog sits and wags his tail in anticipation. I hand him a big piece of jerky. Taking it in his mouth, he wanders off to enjoy it alone, toes clacking all the way.

  “Were you paying attention to the sermon today, Jack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? Looked like you were sleeping.”

  “No. I wasn’t sleeping,” I say, chewing through a mouth full of dried beef.

  “What was the sermon about then?”

  “Um, it was about the Israelites in the desert.”

  “Alright. And how long were they in the desert?”

  “Forty years.”

  “And what were they doing there?”

  “Being no good Jews, I guess.”

  “Jackie!” Dad gives me a stern look. “Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”

  “Well, it’s true!”

  “You’ve been talking to Grandpa too much,” he says before taking a draw from his cigarette.

  “Pastor James said it too.”

  “He didn’t say it like that. You’d know that if you hadn’t been snoring so loud.”

  “I wasn’t snoring.”

  “You were snoring like an elephant, Jackie. Hooonk-sheeew! Hooonk-sheeew!” He raises his arm up like a trunk.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Nuh-uh!”

  He gets up from his seat and tickles my ribs and armpit with his fingers.

  “Hahaha! Daddy, stop! I promise! It wasn’t me. It was Grandpa!”

  “Oh, yes. I heard him snoring, too. But he’s old, so he gets a pass. He’s heard that sermon at least a dozen times.” Dad’s voice is still as light as a bird soaring on the wind; he’s making a point to tease me. “You keep snoring like that, and I’ll have to sell you to the gypsies.”

  “Not the gypsies!”

  “What do you know about gypsies?”

  “Grandpa says they’re almost as bad as the Jews.”

  “Christ help me…” says Dad, exasperated. “Alright. Let’s sort this out. What did Grandpa tell you about the Jews?”

  “He said that they were so rotten that there’s a whole book about them: the Bible. He said that they were always worshipping demons instead of worshipping God and that it was so bad that when God came to the world as Jesus, they didn’t even recognize Him, so they killed Him.”

  “And what happened after they killed Him?”

  “He came back.”

  “Yes, He came back and forgave them. And you know what happened then?”

  “They started killing Christians.”

  “Yes and no. Peter, James, John, and Paul were all Jews, right?”

  “I thought they were Christians.”

  “That’s my point, son.”

  “But you can’t be both.”

  “For them, it was be both or be nothing. And they weren’t alone. All of the first Christians were like that. Paul was even one of the ones persecuting them at first, but you know what the Christians did?”

  “No.”

  “They did the same thing Christ did.”

  “They forgave them?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But they were evil. They were killing Christians.”

  “Son, they killed God Himself, and He forgave them. Do you think you’re better than God?”

  “No.”

  “So, if He decides to forgive them, and He wants us to be like Him, don’t you think we should forgive them?”

  “Well, I guess so.”

  “You guess so, huh? What did Jesus tell us to do with our enemies?”

  “Bring them before Him and put’em to the sword.”

  “No, son! You missed the point of that story. He told us to love them.”

  “Ew, gross. I’ve gotta kiss my enemies like Mommy kisses Daddy.”

  “First of all, you’re not kissing anyone. Second, not that kind of love.” He put out what little was left of his cigarette. “Love, son, is just when you try doing what’s best for someone else.”

  “Well, I’m not doing what’s best for the Jews. They hate us.”

  “All the more reason you’d better do what’s best for them: pray that they repent and find Jesus. That’ll be a good place to start. And don’t get it in your head that they’re the only ones who hate you; the whole world hates you, but they all hated Christ first. What do you think you would have been doing while Christ was hanging on the cross?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When you figure that out, then you’ll be able to say you’ve started the road to wisdom.”

  I stared down at my lemonade, trying to figure out what he meant.

  “You’re confused. Let’s take it back to the sermon. So, the Jews were wandering in the desert, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And long story short, they were there for forty years because God needed to prepare them to go in and take the Holy Land. He couldn’t just give it to them. He had to get them to see just how awful they’d been, and then He had to clean them up. All they knew was slavery, he needed conquerors. Warriors, not slaves.

  “In life, you’re guaranteed to go through hard times. It’s not a question of if your teeth get kicked in. It’s a question of ‘when?’ Those hard times aren’t there to break you: they’re there to make you realize how little you’ve loved, how selfish you’ve been, and how much more growing you can do. They exist to make you stronger, to prepare you for the battles ahead, and you’ve got to let go of everything that’s making you weak: your pride, your selfishness, your resentment, and everything else. They’re there to make you a warrior, not a slave. Only then will you be ready to go into the fight.

  “You’ve got to be like a fire, Jackie: you’ve got to be able to burn, but you have to keep it under control.”

  Be like a fire, Jack.

  [ WAKE UP. ]

  I’d better go back up.

  Opening my eyes, I turn all of them toward the dim light, the surface of the lake.

  I wonder if Roger’s okay? Feels funny being worried about a tin can. I knew all along he’d be fine up there. Why was I pretending to be bothered? Because I knew I’d be the one alone in the dark.

  Closing my eyes, I turn back to the darkness. Without thinking, I swim down with a few lazy strokes.

  Alone in the dark. Is that what you’re really afraid of, Jack? Being alone.

  Yeah. It hurts like a swarm of bees embroidering your heart with venom. Found that out well enough when I was just lost out there in the stars. I’m still lost out there. Being lost just got more interesting. I’m lost with someone else now. Lost with someone else, and the first thing I do is ditch him to go cave diving. I’m just making more excuses.

  Look, you came down here to look around, so keep looking, Jack. Don’t be scared just because it’s dark and quiet. Can’t see a thing. ‘Looking around.’ Even that’s not why I really came down here.

  You came down here to get some peace and quiet, to try and sort things out in your head again. So, do it. Sort it all out.

  Okay, what needs sorting first?

  I guess…

  Forget it. I’m going back up.

  I turn back around to the dim glow of the surface.

  Lot farther away than I thought it would be. Pretty good at swimming in this body. It’s nice that I don’t have to worry about holding my breath. How’s that work now anyway—

  A burst of bubbles jets out of my mouth as a massive tendril wraps around me and yanks me away from the light.

  You son of a bitch! I knew it! I knew there was something down here!

  I squirm, squeeze, and squirt right out of the unknowable beast’s grasp, only to slam into the wall of another tendril. I shloop around it. Yet another tendril reaches for me. And another. And another.

  Slippery and quick, I shloop around and between each and every one of the monster’s cords. He’s boxing me in.

  I end up facing back down toward the bottom of the well. I see the terrible green glow of countless eyes and gaping mouths scattered across a formless, writhing mass.

  Damn. You’re ugly.

  The writhing monstrosity can’t grab me, but I can’t get past him.

  Stalemate. Never was all that good at chess.

  ‘What were you ever good at, Jackie?’

  The thought freezes me like a rabbit tranced in fear; I recognize the voice. A thick tendril wraps around me and squeezes me tight.

  You! I’ll kill! Get out of my head, you bastard.

  ‘You don’t have to scream anymore, Jackie. You’re just a sad, lonely fool. That can be over now. Surrender, Jackie. Join us.’

  I wouldn’t join you for lunch, you bag of worms.

  ‘Lunch? No, the fool flatters himself. Only a snack. You’re only a morsel for us. But surrender, and you can be so much more. So much more than lost and alone, screaming in the dark.’

  Something stirs deep within me like the coals of a winter fire stoked before the light of dawn, something more than indigestion from too much rye on an empty stomach.

  That’s all I am to you? A bite to eat? You really need to work on your recruitment campaign. What are you even?

  ‘Why do you ask? You already know: we are you.’

  No, you’re not. I’m me. I’m Jack Wolfgang, a flame unquenched. An American. A veteran of a foreign war. A private investigator. A monster lost in stars.

  Most of all, I’m a man, and man’s spirit is indomitable, for man alone has amongst the beasts looked into the heavens and seen a mirror to himself, sparking within him the ancient battlecry: I will not yield!

  And who are you? A collection of the damned? The writhing mass of fear that lives deep within me? I don’t want anything to do with you. I don’t need you. I will not yield!

  A white hot, electric light bursts from my mind and into being. The tendrils recoil like hands zapped by bad wiring. With a single shloop, I rocket myself toward the surface, the beast’s hideous cries of pain echoing in my mind, its deprecating words muzzled in agony.

  Another tendril grasps at me; I shloop out, sending another white shock at it. You don’t learn easily, do you? I’m not staying here. Cool water rushes past my face as, again, I race toward the bright surface. I don’t care what’s happened to me. I’ve got what I’ve been given. I’m going to embrace that. I’m going to live out what life I have left. I’m going to pursue truth. I’m going to practice justice. I’m going to live the American way, by God!

  “I’m going to be free!” I shout, breaching the surface like a rocket. I shloop to the shore like a slug on a rollerskate. Roger locks light bulbs with my eyes.

  Turning, I stare back at the still surface of the lake. The tranquil water enjoys its peace beyond the waterfall crashes churning the surface.

  From chaos comes order.

  “You appear exasperated, Mr. Wolfgang. What did you find down there?”

  “Just…” I pause for a moment, trying to put into words what my gut fully understands happened, wondering if the whole thing had been real or another work of psychic structures beyond my imagination. “I had to see a guy about a whale’s belly.”

  “Oh, is this another one of those ‘metaphors’ you told me about?”

  “You got it, tin can. Don’t worry too much about it.” I’m sure as death and taxes not going to. “I’m out of the belly for now. That’s all that matters.”

  Heat radiates through my purple hide, reminding me of the bonfires of my childhood, the ones I huddled around with friends and family trying to warm one side of my body. Complete in my warmth, I have become the fire: the spark has been lit within me, and I know now I must tend to it and carry it throughout the darkness of the cosmos, though the words for all this are still beyond me. My intuition knows, though; my intuition’s always right.

  “How’d things go up here?” My multitude of eyes are locked on the water’s surface. Was that really just in my mind? Couldn’t have been. Either way, the imagination is one hell of a drug.

  “We have a new friend, Mr. Wolfgang. He’s over there.”

  Roger points: standing in the field is a nubile man with marble-white skin laid smoothly over his chiseled, heroic chest. I’ve seen him before. I know him. His very presence resonates deep within my core as if he’s a piece of my history reaching back into forgotten, bygone days.

  “What’s Michelangelo’s David doing here?”

  I know of him, that is.

  “Who?” he asks.

  “Never mind. I guess you wouldn’t get it.”

  “Michelangelo… That name’s familiar. Was he an artist on your world? A sculptor and painter, perhaps?”

  “How’d you know that? What do you mean, ‘my world?’”

  He puts his hand on his chin like he’s thinking. “If I had to guess, you’re thinking of the statue he sculpted of me.”

  “If I had to guess, I’d agree with you. Tell me. Who are you? Roger, who is he? I’m a fish out of water here, and flopping around is getting me nowhere.”

  “Let me ask you this first, Jack: who else nailed your Christ to His cross?”