You’re in the middle of— Hello? You awake yet?
Let’s try again. You’re in the middle of a game. Potentially a lethal one.
Hello? You heard me say lethal, right?
Should have worn off by now.
C’mon.
HEY!
Lightweight.
#
Should I wait until you have your bearings? Not sure how much time you have.
Whoa. Don’t go overboard.
Right. That’s the Pacific. Stay on the bench. Don’t rub your eyes. I’m sure your hands are salty.
No oar. Sorry. There’s a radio, though.
Follow my voice.
I may have damaged some parts of it.
That’s correct. A game.
For starters? Look at the boards under your feet.
Yeah, that’s a problem.
There you go. That’s what the cup’s for.
#
Still afloat? High spirits?
Good heavens no. The goal isn’t to survive. I fully intend you to die.
Your goal, friend, is to figure out why you’re playing the game.
No suspects? At all? Funny. I’d have thought you might have too many. So many columns, so many threats.
Oh, no. I never threaten. But sometimes I deliver.
#
Some corporate housekeeping. On a five-point scale, please rate how satisfied you are that your game came with everything needed to play.
Don’t be silly.
That’d make the game too easy.
I said don’t be silly.
And you’re back to scooping.
I was kidding about the satisfaction rating. Got bored.
You don’t mean that.
You’re bitter. A one?
Because you’re losing.
But which column? I didn’t hate all of them. A few, I quite liked.
You know which one. Must have known even as you wrote it.
No.
Not that one either.
Of course every article upsets people. I know that. But this was over the line. You must have realized.
Again, no.
Far too recent. You think this was an impulse? Do you know how much prep this took? Two years!
Sure you can.
I’m reasonable. You must remember what you wrote that year. A column a week, that’s fifty-two guesses.
You’re in no position to make demands.
Knowing is what’s in it for you. I want you to die knowing.
So uncooperative.
Guess.
Guess.
Fine.
#
Only two things to do out here. Scoop and play.
Play.
#
It was about a movie.
Hello? This on?
Very mature.
You’ll get bored eventually.
#
Hah! You don’t look bored now.
Enjoy the rain.
#
First downpour and you’re still afloat.
Look at you. Thirsty, thirsty caterpillar. A week ago, I bet you didn’t imagine you’d be wringing clothes for water.
You can expect it to rain like that every couple days, this time of year. So unless it stops for a week, you won’t die of thirst.
No, your death will be slower than that.
#
Huzzah. You spotted my drone. Took long enough.
And there’s the finger again. At least it’s aimed the right way this time.
#
What is that you’re–
Into the boat? Really? How long you think it’s been floating there?
You’re not going to eat that.
Yueerrp. Going to be sick.
Revolting. Can’t watch. Gonna recharge the drone.
#
Done? Glad I can’t smell your breath. Thought you’d wait longer before going all Castaway.
Is that a fish bone you’re chewing on?
Whatever. Your esophagus.
#
Anymore guesses?
C’mon.
#
Listen: You’re not a movie critic.
You’re not. No one cares what you think about movies.
Don’t laugh.
No one cares.
I do not.
You’re the one who’s over-reacting.
Shut up.
#
For the record, I didn’t direct the movie or anything. Wasn’t connected to the production.
I might have auditioned for a small part. Don’t mind admitting it. Hedgeway’s a genius.
I was gonna be the bartender, but some woke producer picked someone else.
What are you doing with that bone?
Fine. I don’t care.
If Hedgeway saw me, I’d have gotten the part for sure.
Quit giving me side-eye. I’m a reasonable person. But I’m not going to stand by while some “social issues” philistine airs dumb takes about an art they clearly don’t understand.
#
Whatever are you doing now?
You realize you’re going to need every inch of fabric out there? Exposure’s a bitch.
Ah, I see. And the fish bone as a hook. Thought you saved that bit because you lost your appetite.
It won’t work. Fish’ll flop right off the line with the first tug. Love the effort, though.
#
Stop it. Don’t look smug.
Had to look up your little trick. I gather you’ve gone gorge-hook fishing before?
Ugh.
I gotta recharge. This fish is fresher, but…
#
Sorry I’ve been quiet—
Again the finger. Whatever.
— Look, I’ve been doing math. Consulting charts. Your boat isn’t drifting the direction I thought. And, obviously, you found a way to fish. Which changes things. Some Mexicans back in the aughts survived two-hundred-and-eighty-five days at sea because they could fish.
Well, now I have to consider the possibility someone finds you. That maybe you’ll be alive when they do. That maybe they’ll find me.
I don’t know yet. I’m thinking.
#
Yeah, no way around it. I have to go back out there and kill you in person.
Hah, right.
Yeah, sure. Love your odds. How can I prevail against your intestinal parasites and unflagging optimism?
Of course I’m telling you.
Yes, deliberately.
Don’t you get how this works? You know I’m coming, but you don’t know when. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when you’re sleeping, rocked by the sea. You know why I’m coming, but you don’t know how. Maybe loud, by plane. Maybe quiet, by boat. I have options. But you have to be ready all the time. Dread your constant companion. The important thing is you know it’s coming. And you know why.
No.
No, not Flea Street.
The other movie. Barbells.
You absolutely wrote about Barbells!
You never wrote about Flea Street. Not ever.
Do I need to show you your own damned articles?
Fine. I’ll bring them with me. You’ll see.
Very soon, you’ll see.
###