Chapter 1

Truth is stranger than fiction. Everybody says so.

But some truth seems like it is fiction.

So what do you do then?

You know what I'm talking about. It's happened to you ... maybe many times. You find yourself in that situation where you're thinking "What the heck is going on here? Can this be real? Is this really happening?"

Of course, usually, those are short term situations. You're sliding across the ice toward that semi, anticipating the crunch of metal while you stomp uselessly on the brake pedal. Or maybe you're being robbed, and are looking down the barrel of a gun. Or you're delivering a package and this babe opens the door naked, and pulls you inside demanding to be sexually satisfied.

No ... wait ... that's just in a story I read. That's real fiction. Sorry.

But you get the drift. Not that I think everybody's been in a crash, or robbed, but something has happened where you've wondered if you were dreaming it or not.

Well, you might be interested to find out that sometimes those things aren't just short term, quickie situations. I know, because I'm living one right now. And it's been going on for five years. Or six years.

It kind of depends on who you talk to.

But you didn't open this file to listen to me (watch me?) babble. You want to hear (see?) the story. So here it is.

I'm an author. You know that already. But I was an author eight months ago too, which is why I was sitting at my computer in my house on Elm Street in Brady, Oklahoma. It's a thoroughly ordinary computer in a thoroughly ordinary house in a completely normal town. It's not the kind of place you'd expect magic to take place, or aliens to visit. But that's sort of what happened. Again ... depending on who you talk to.

Anyway, I was typing away on the Great American Novel when there was a knock at my door. That was unusual, because hardly anybody comes to visit me. I'm a kind of private fellow. But it isn't unheard of either, so I got up to answer it.

It was a girl. Young woman, actually, though she had many girl-like qualities at first glance. I'll just tell you some of the things I noticed, because looking at this young woman sort of took your entire attention to do well, and hardly anybody does anything with their entire attention. This is to say that there is much more to her than I'm going to tell you about. This is just what I remember most vividly.

She had smooth, almost perfect skin, which was pale and had a spray of freckles from one cheek across the nose to the other cheek. I know most people think of freckles as a "marring" feature, but in this case that's like saying the stars mar the night sky. That nose was a little crooked, like maybe it had been broken. Her eyes were what is commonly called hazel, but I remember blue and brown and gold and green - all distinct and separate - but all at the same time. Her hair was purple, a deep, rich blue-black shade that I normally associate with black cherry soda in a glass. It wasn't long, or short. It was just there, framing that face.

She was slim, and that included her breasts. I don't understand all this bra cup size stuff, but I imagined my hands on them, as if they were the support for me while I was doing a pushup (and yes, I know how weird that is, ) and my hands covered them completely. What made them scream at me for attention was that her nipples were pressing through her T shirt, making it clear she wasn't wearing a bra of any size.

I noticed the T shirt had a picture and some writing on it. The picture was of a scowling clown, who looked decidedly unfriendly. The writing said "Breasts are more fun than any clown."

"I agree!" I said immediately.

"What?"

Her voice was one of the things that was girl-like. I must admit that, in the ten seconds that I had been in this young woman's presence, my male body had reacted to her female one. As soon as I heard that voice, though, I felt like a child molester.

"I'm sorry," I said, both wondering what I was sorry for ... and knowing ... on some deeper level. "Can I help you?"

"I think so," she said. She was staring at me as if I might have sprouted a third eye. "This is unbelievable." Her eyes widened, and I saw her pupils dilate. Having some experience with reading body language, my brain told me that was "interest" in me. Being an author with what I consider to be a firm and loyal following, one which I am very thankful for, I made the connection that this was a fan who had actually found me.

That was ridiculous, of course. But I wanted to believe I had been tracked down by a fan, perhaps my very first groupie. I mean if bands can have them, why not authors? We like to party and have sex too, you know.

In the truth-is-stranger-than-fiction department, it turns out she had tracked me down. And you could even say she was a fan, but that would be stretching the truth. At least at that point in time. And her interest in me had nothing to do with my books. At least at that point in time.

"I can't believe you look so much like him," she said. Her voice had a wondering, sort of awe-filled tone to it. That's important, because it was the last time I ever heard her address me as if she was in awe.

And that is because I'm a thoroughly normal, un-exciting kind of guy.

"I'd be delighted to try to help you," I said. "But I need some clue as to what you want me to do," I said.

It was truth-is-stranger-than-fiction time again, because she flowed toward me and hugged me. She was a very strong girl, for as light as she looked. And those semi-naked breasts felt hot against my chest too. I continued to react to her as a man. I made a conscious decision not to feel bad about it, even though there was a fifteen-year-old sounding voice inside the delightfully soft woman in my arms.

"I like trying to help you," I said. "Please feel free to keep asking me to help you."

I felt the most gentle, most unsuspecting, most innocent bump of her loins against mine. I describe it that way because it happened while she pushed herself away from me. It was kind of like she used her whole body to push back, rather than just her hands. I was reminded of a dolphin, which uses its entire body to do anything at all. In other words, it wasn't a sexual thing she did. But it was impossible for her to miss how my male body felt about her female one.

"You're a dirty old man too!" she said, her voice suddenly huskier than a fifteen-year-old girl's voice had any business being.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, playing innocent. I mean I didn't have a leg to stand on. Actually, come to think of it, I suddenly had three legs to stand on, if you get my meaning. But I wasn't going to admit that to a complete stranger, especially one who I wanted desperately to make a good impression on.

Why was I desperate to make a good impression on her? That was part of - is part of - her special kind of magic.

Her eyes assumed a very wise look for such a young face.

"Never mind. It's not important at this point in time. I just needed to meet you and ... make a decision."

"I see," I said, not seeing anything at all, but wanting to appear wise. "And, having met me, what is your decision?"

"I haven't made it yet. I'm Tuesday, by the way."

"Tuesday," I repeated.

"Yes, like in Tuesday Weld?"

"You're better looking than Tuesday Weld," I said.

She gave me another one of those interesting looks, which is to say she looked interested ... in me! It was kind of like getting poked with a cattle prod. And I know, because that's happened to me. Then she kind of ruined it.

"I like some of your writing, but not most."

"Be still, my beating heart," I said, rather underwhelmed by this "fan" who was so un-effusive. Thoughts of other people who probably didn't like my writing at all entered my mind. What if they found me too? Those were the kinds of people who bombed medical clinics in the name of peace and love. "How did you find me?" I asked.

"I'm very clever," she said.

"While I don't doubt that," I responded, "that is of little help in determining whether I need to move, or hire a body guard or whatever."

"You don't need a bodyguard because of me!" she said, sounding injured.

"I believe you," I said. "But your answer was evasive, if not a little proud. See the problem is that if you, who don't like most of my writing, can find me, so too can those people who don't like all of my writing, and might wish to do me harm."

"If you're at all like him, I pity those who wish to do you harm," she said, looking around. She appeared to be distracted.

"Who is this 'he' you keep speaking of?" I asked.

"I can't tell you that right now," she said, evasively. "You wouldn't believe me, and I'm beginning to think I want you to believe me."

"I believe that," I said.

She turned those gorgeous eyes on me and frowned just enough that I knew she was frowning.

"You're not as clever as you think you are. I'm onto you, old man."

"How could you possibly be onto me? We just met!" While I had no idea what was going on, here, I was having a pretty good time being involved in it. She was just a pure joy to look at and listen to.

"You wouldn't believe that either," she said. "Do you have a spare bedroom?"

"Yes," I said. "But it's not for rent."

"I don't want to rent it. I just want to stay in it for a night or two ... just until I make up my mind."

"Let me guess," I said. "If I ask you what you're going to make your mind up about, you won't tell me."

"That's correct," she said. "I will, however, begin to share some things with you if I think it's a good idea."

"Well I guess that beats taking a vacation in the Poconos," I said.

"What's wrong with the Poconos?" she asked.

"I haven't the faintest," I said. "Never been there. It's just spelled funny."

"You're so much like him!" she fairly exploded.

"At least tell me who 'he' is," I begged.

She crossed her arms under those small breasts, with such large nipples. "Do you promise to keep an open mind?"

"Of course," I said. "I believe an open mind is one of the most important things to have. You can't put anything into or take anything out of a closed mind. Anyone with a closed mind is just taking up space for no good reason."

"All right then," she said. "You're so much like your great-great-grandfather that it's almost creepy!"

"My great-great-grandfather," I said. Somewhat patiently, in my own humble opinion. I had asked for a little help, and she was teasing me.

"Yes. His name is ... was ... Jonathan Paul Rutledge."

"I know that!" I said, a little crossly. "Well, I know his name was John Rutledge."

"No, not John," she said. "That drove him crazy when people tried to shorten his name. He preferred Jonathan."

"Ahhh," I said, finally understanding. "You found his diary, or journal, or whatever, and you want to sell it to me."

She blinked several times. It's the only time I've ever seen her look even vaguely startled.

"No," she said, with exaggerated patience. "I've never had to explain something like this before. And I'm still not sure about you. I have pretty good feelings about you, but I need you to be patient with me a little longer. I think it would be to your advantage ... depending on what I decide to do ... to just roll with things, at least for tonight. And if that works out well, I promise I'll answer all your questions tomorrow."

"And you want to stay with me tonight," I said.

"I want to stay in your spare bedroom tonight," she said, clarifying things that I hadn't even alluded to. She was a very smart girl. Still is, for that matter.

"Okay," I said. "Deal."

"Just like that?" She seemed about to smile.

"Well you showed up out of the blue, apparently ready to ask to stay the night. So if you trust me that much, why can't I trust you too?"

"Oh, I don't trust you," she said firmly. "I just think I can handle you."

"Even better," I said. "I was so hoping you'd want to handle me." I smiled widely and stood back, sweeping my arm to invite her deeper into my lair.

She didn't go out to the car to bring in a suitcase or anything, so I still wasn't sure if this was just some random fan yanking my chain, or if this woman actually had some kind of business she wanted to do with me. She said she didn't, but then nothing she'd done or said thus far had made a lot of sense. So I just went with the flow. Like I said, she was a delight to look at, pretty in an offbeat, Bohemian kind of way. She had several piercings in her ears, and the hair on the sides of her head was Army short, with a shock of longer dark purple that grew from the top to fall and cover one side. Her lips looked delicious. And listening to her talk was a little like ... I don't know ... maybe being in the wave pool at a water park? I mean it relaxed me and excited me, all at the same time.