Charles looked at Simon with a disbelieving look. Simon decided to push on, not willing to risk losing Charles with his last statement. “It told me to return home and to take Penelope with me.”

“Can you be more specific about ‘it’?” Charles asked. He walked over and joined Simon at the table, leaving his laptop and iced tea on the desk. When Charles walked over it was usually a sign to Simon that he was growing interested in the conversation. He usually participated in conversations from a distance, until he decided to take a more central role in the conversation. At that point, he would usually walk over and move as close as possible to the rest of the audience. It was always dramatic and obvious what he was doing. Even though Simon and everyone else knew why he hung around the background only to vault into the limelight, it did not make it less effective. When he approached, you knew he was serious, and usually, you knew you were in for a good tale. It seemed strange to Simon to realize that he was not approaching to tell a story, but to listen to Simon’s story.

“The voice was like nothing I’ve ever seen or heard or felt before,” Simon said. Simon leaned forward with his elbows on the table. His fingers were interlocked and they were noticeably red and white from the effects of pulling them apart. “It was as if all of my senses were focused on the same feeling. Not the same feeling felt from different perspectives, but the same feeling completely. As if I was feeling, seeing, hearing the same thing all at once. It’s so hard to explain. It felt like truth, like beyond reality. It was what brought me here and what waits for me down the road. Is this making any sense?”

“No, not really,” Charles said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not real. Was this a supernatural feeling? Was this your moment of meeting your creator?”

As open minded as Simon considered Charles, Simon knew Charles had a blind spot when it came to religion. He was an avowed atheist, and would never hear of anything. That’s not to say that he did not believe in the supernatural. He did. But his supernatural belief ended when it approach god. “I don’t know if it was my moment in front of god, but it was an otherworldly feeling. It was more than a dream. And the seizure.”

“Have you seen a doctor about that?” Charles asked. “It could be serious. I had a stepfather who a week after his first seizure died in an airplane crash. It was tragic.”

“And seeing a doctor would have helped your stepfather?” Simon asked.

“He was the pilot,” Charles answered with perfect comedic timing. Simon could never be sure if that had been Charles’s stepfather, or if he ever even had a stepfather. For purposes of his stories, he was willing to invent or use any part of his life or anyone else’s life; as long as it provided him with the proper elements for his story.

Andros was lying next to Simon as they spoke. He lifted his head as Charles delivered his line and whined loudly. The sound he released was almost human in nature. It was a cross between a human baby’s cry and a young woman’s scream for help. Charles made a mean face at Andros before his scrunched-up face let loose a loud, jovial laugh.

“I didn’t even notice your dog come in,” Charles said. “He does have a way of ending conversations doesn’t he?”

“That he does,” Simon agreed. He reached over and ran his hand over Andros’s long head. As he petted Andros, he pulled his skin back and over his eyelids, giving him the briefest look of a rabid dog. When he let go, the skin returned slowly. When he had been younger, the skin would have snapped back in place. It had been many years since that was possible.

“So once you grab Penelope, you’re heading back home to see what this is all about?” Charles asked.

“Yes, that’s my plan,” Simon said. “Assuming she’ll join me on the trip. We’ll leave as soon as possible and try to stop him. My hometown was rather sleepy. I only lived there for the first ten years of my life, before my mother moved out of my father and headed south to the city. I don’t remember much about it, but it was clear from what the voice stated, that it was my original hometown and not the city that I should travel to.”

“Do you have any idea who he is,” Charles asked. “Who are you supposed to stop?”

“Yes,” Simon said. “I have a good feeling that’s it’s my brother-in-law, Theodore. He married my sister a few years ago and he always seemed a bit off. He’s a physicist working in the local college, and he always has little side projects that he doesn’t tell anyone about, not even my sister Rebecca. It makes sense in that way that where a story is going nowhere, sometimes a big anvil falls on your head and you have the somewhere. Do you know what I’m saying here?”

Charles nodded sagely. “It’s sad when things start falling apart this early. But persevere. Good things come to those who continue. Now, get off this tangent and get back to writing.”

“I think I’m going to join you,” Charles said. “Your town sounds interesting, and I have an inkling I know where to find your misplaced girlfriend.”

While Simon was happy for Charles’s help, he was not sure how he felt about Charles tagging along. He had serious things to talk over with Penelope, and Charles sometimes did not help moving things forward. But for all his complaining, he knew he needed Charles now. He needed him not only to help find Penelope, but also to convince her to join him on his quest.

“She’s in the mall,” Charles said when he saw Simon needed more convincing. “I’ll call her when we get there and we’ll corner her for the big news.” Charles smiled as he finished. He walked to the front closet and grabbed his coat. Simon did not begin to think about why Charles knew where his girlfriend was better than him, or why she chose to speak with him when she outright refused to speak with Simon. These were not questions he should worry about now. He had to get with Penelope and convince her to follow him to his hometown, where he hoped he would be in time to stop his brother-in-law from blowing up the world, or whatever it was he was planning to do.

The weather continued to be hot outside. They drove toward the mall. It was late and when they arrived, the stores in the mall were closing. The parking lot was still full and a long line of cars both entering and leaving the parking lot greeted Simon, Charles, and Andros. The large department stores stayed open late along with the restaurants and some of the food court restaurants. Simon found an underground parking space not too far from the doors. He left the windows partially opened for Andros, and opened a bottle of water to ensure he was hydrated when needed. He didn’t want to return to a dead dog.

When they left the car, Charles got on the phone and dialed Penelope’s number. Simon followed the dialing in his head, hearing the tones before Charles pressed them. “Good evening, dear,” Charles said after a few rings that were audible to Simon. “Where are you?” Charles said into the phone.

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Charles answered after a pause. “Yes, we’re coming to you. No, I brought Simon. It’s a funny and long story and you’ll get a kick out of it. Wait, before you yell, it’s important that we speak with you. There are interesting things afoot, and you’ll be at least as tickled as I am with it. And perhaps we’ll get a chance for you to use your new travelling bags.”

Charles did not seem to wait for Penelope to answer. He made a ta-ta type of sound and hung up the phone, looking at Simon with a triumphant look. “You know, she really does adore you,” Charles said.

Simon did not have the stomach to answer him. After hearing that conversation, it was clear that had Charles told her who he was with initially, they would not have found her in the mall. It was also clear, by the speed that Charles started walking, that he knew Penelope may make a run for it before they met up with her. Simon wondered not for the first time how he chose such a life for himself. How he could chase after a girl that seemingly wanted nothing to do with him. It was not always. There were many times when she was wonderful together. Whenever they met up for dinner or a date night, and it was just the two of them, there was something there. He felt it, and he knew Penelope felt it, even if she couldn’t admit it as much. But there were times like this, times when they were with their friends, and Penelope did not seem the least bit interested in him, that he wondered why they bothered. What type of couple lived apart more than lived together, spent more times with friends than with each other? He did not have answers to these types of questions. He would leave answers for another time. What he needed now was a chance to speak with her and tell her what he had heard.

Charles was in good shape for his age. While he did not run, he walked very quickly, and Simon found it hard to keep up with his longer-legged friend. He would break into a half run every few steps, surprising the shopper who were leaving with their hands full of bags and their attention on finding their car.

Charles went down the escalator and toward the food court. He walked to the back of the ice rink, and toward the entrance where he waved. Simon was a few steps behind him and did not see who he was waving with. Charles entered the seating area for the ice rink, and slid into a bench. Penelope was sitting with her left leg crossed over her right, untying her white skate. The skating rink was full of skaters, mostly couples, with a few individuals spinning around the center area. Guides in dark clothing skated easily around the outside, helping the less experienced skaters stand up after nastier falls, and ensuring that the less experienced skaters did not run over the vulnerable skaters.

Whenever Simon visited the mall, he always made time to watch the skating rink. He usually did so from a few levels up. He enjoyed the spectacle. There were usually a few experienced skaters who would perform tricks in the middle of the rink. During the day, he would catch many skaters taking lessons from the professionals. They would clear the rink and lay down small orange cones, which the instructors would take their students around. The students were usually young children of different age levels. Occasionally, older skaters would also learn from these lessons. Simon was not a skater, but he had offered to take lessons from the instructors to join Penelope in one of her favorite hobbies. She thought it was a bad idea when he offered it to her. Penelope considered her time on the ice a way to escape the world. Simon had realized early on that she considered him part of this world that needed escaping.

Simon stayed outside the seating area, allowing Penelope and Charles to catch up on whatever conversation they were having earlier in the day. They did not appear to speak about Simon or look in his direction. It was clear that Penelope was still angry about what had happened earlier. It seemed she was not ready to forgive him. Simon refused to believe that he deserved her wrath. They had an argument, and it was time she stopped running to Charles to settle all of these arguments. It all seemed less important with the news he had to share. He decided to risk it and walked up the stairs toward the seating area.

A young man in a blue skating t-shirt stopped him and asked for his ticket.

Word count: 2,096

Word total: 8,305

Words remaining: 41,695

I can’t believe this is only the fourth day. Things are not looking good. This started as another painful day. We’ll see where I go with it. I’m not feeling very good about the writing. I know that what I’m writing is not important. I just can’t seem to get past it today. Depression struck as I stared at the screen. I’m not sure where this will take me, if anywhere. I’ll keep pushing words and hope for the best. I guess I have to think of hope and springs and eternity. I’ve spent most of my time flipping between Word and the Internet, writing a paragraph every thirty minutes or so. This is getting ridiculous.

Where the last few years, I ran out of things to say or said things badly, I at least had a plan of what to say. Unlike this year, where I’m afraid to reread what I’ve written because I know it’ll not make sense. I need a break. I need a few hours of deep thought to see where to take this. I need to stop consternating and get writing. The one good thing about this year’s writing is that I’m the only one tortured by the words. Sure, these annoying consternations, the only evidence that I’ve written anything, are slightly annoying. But, and trust me on this, they are not nearly as annoying as the two-thousand words of crap written above this fold.

I managed to get the needed words tonight. I took a few steps at the end to try to salvage at least this part of the story. I won’t know if I’m successful until tomorrow. Until then.