Higher reasoning flees you. All you can do is emit a kind of guttural moan.

  Ellery raises his hands in deference. "No? That's— hey, no problem. Just thought you might be able to clarify?"

  And with a reverberating snap you're back. Clarify? He thinks you can clarify? Your life was in perfect order until four days ago until for no apparent reason the entire world lost its collective marbles and now snakes are people and people are not people and people are trying to kill you and people are dying and people are not dying and you are just about at the end of your rope. He thinks you can clarify?

  You rise from your chair, clutching the LOG with white trembling knuckles. "'Just thought?' I cannot think of an event— or a sequence of events— or anything— less possible, you perverted freak!"

  ("What the fuck is he saying!" Madrigal signs from across the tent.)

  Ellery's posture tightens. "It wasn't a— I just have limited— look, I can't remember last night, and I woke up without—"

  ?Hence the bathrobe.?

  "And you think I'd willingly participate in some kind of whoreish— some kind of— you think I'd sell my body to you?!"

  By way of response Ellery raises his left hand. Five words are scrawled into the palm:

  "DEAL WITH

  LOTTY

  (BLONDE ONE)"

  "Needless to say," he says apologetically, "I don't remember this either."

  (Madrigal across the tent: "He's using you to avoid me! Get out and let me corner—")

  "Uh-huh," you say wisely. "Yes."

  "So, sorry, uh, is there something else I should be dealing with?"

  >[1] Write-in.

  You have no earthly idea why your name is carved into his hand. Surely he did it to himself, but before or after the— what, attempted murder? Shooting? Is this a matter of regeneration or of resurrection? (Or rebuilding? You're not quite over the automaton theory.) Or, more esoteric: an Ellery (if it is Ellery) from a different time? Different dimension? (Under your bitter fear lies a thrilled little undercurrent. The possibilities!) And 'deal with you?' Are you a threat?

  You have no intention of helping him figure this out. "Your mangled brain, probably!"

  This provokes a stilted laugh. "No, trust me, you've got nothing to do with that."

  "Ugh! Well, whatever." It was a softball. "Can't you ask Maddie? She's literally right there."

  "Ask her about you?"

  "N…" You cross your arms. "Yeah. Yes. Sure. Just talk to her." (Madrigal gives you two thumbs up.) "I— I, for one, am through with this— this debacle— after your shameful insinuations!"

  Success. A smooth passing of the baton. You have little interest in an actual face-to-face with Ellery— he's too tall (?More of a face-to-chest, really?), and strange, and alive— so if Madrigal so desperately wants to patch up her sorry relationship you're more than willing to let her. You nod decisively and begin to inch past Ellery, LOG in the crook of your elbow.

  Ellery grabs you firmly by the shoulder— you squirm, but he's unexpectedly strong. Maintaining silent eye contact, he grasps and prises the LOG from you.

  He nods decisively back.

  ?Embarrassing. At least make a dignified exit.?

  You try your damnedest: you hasten towards the entrance like your heels are on fire. You almost made it out, too, only you made the mistake of coming too near to Madrigal. For the second time, you're caught by the shoulder.

  "Where do you think you're going?" she hisses. "I need you for this! You're my witness!"

  It seems this'll be your problem, whether you like it or not.

  On one hand, you don't want to be here for this: the tension in the room's thick enough to slice. On the other hand, some vocal minority of you is gripped with the prospect of getting your hands dirty, of hiking waist-deep through slippery and yielding mud, of sluicing for some hard fine grains of reality—

  ?You've never gotten over your week on the flats, I see.?

  Your week on the mud flats was enlightening, and that's all you'll say on the topic.

  Madrigal takes your lack of resistance as assent and foists upon you a stack of papers. "Okay, good— take these, I thought they looked important. You're going to run interference, gotcha?"

  You don't gotcha. "What?"

  "Interf— look, this is gonna be a bitch and a half, okay? A bitch and a half. He—" Madrigal jerks a nod towards Ellery, who's collapsed into an armchair and is staring the two of you down— "isn't gonna yield an inch without a fight. It's like— I think I said this; it's like pinning an eel, talking to him."

  "That doesn't answer the question!"

  "You're gonna catch him off guard for me, one. Or not off guard— just get him something other than fucking calm. Surprised, excited, mad, I don't give a shit. I can't do it, because he knows me. Two, you've got the evidence, right?"

  Your pockets (and hands) are full of miscellaneous papers. "Yeah?"

  "Show him the evidence— when it comes up, or whatever. He can slip past everything but that." Madrigal squeezes your shoulder, her grudge apparently forgotten in the thrill of the hunt. "Hey, it's gonna be great. I'll go ahead and start—"

  "Pardon, shouldn't I… read these?"

  "'Pardon,'" she scoffs under her breath (lip-reading: an essential skill for any budding eavesdropper). "Yeah, sure, if you want. I guess. I'll— look, I'll go ahead and start."

  ?It'd be prudent to inform her of his condition.?

  Wow, look at Richard's thoughtfulness and compassion. An inspiration to us all.

  ?For the simple issue of time management, not out of concern for her well-being.?

  You don't actually care: you were just pretending. "He doesn't remember anything, by the way."

  Madrigal touches the bruise on her cheek. "Wait, what?"

  "Or, not anything— the last day or two, at least. Maybe more. Very concerning." You wave the papers. "Have fun."

  Madrigal looks as if she's going to say something, but doesn't. Instead, you're treated to one more shoulder squeeze (considerably less affectionate) and she's off. You watch her stride over to and stop short in front of Ellery, who's got the LOG open and is scratching away inside it. He doesn't look up, but says aloud: "Done?"

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "You've got fucking amnesia?"

  "I tend to prefer 'temporal fuzziness'."

  "Do I look like I'm kidding with you?"

  Ellery glances up and, for the first time, focuses on her face. "Gods, Maddie, that's a nasty bruise. Where'd you pick it up?"

  She twitches. "Nowhere."

  "I'm sure. Is it swelling? I think it's swelling. You should talk to Monty, I think he's got compression bandages— I mean, he's practically giving them away, so it'd be easy to—"

  "I've got it handled!" Behind her back, Madrigal snaps at you to hurry up. "It's nothing, okay? My head's fine, too, which is better than yours!"

  The first paper in the stack is stiff and white, sure signs of being newly-made. There's terse black mirror-writing lines at the top, and smudges of black something at the bottom. In the corner, Madrigal's drawn an arrow pointing to the other side.

  You flip the paper over. She's provided a translation— but how? You pat your pocket for the mirror shard, but come up empty.

  ?Quick-fingered, that one.?

  "[Fixed all the spelling mistakes —Madrigal]

  "Unwelcome news: cough's back," the translation reads. "Black, which strikes me as a bad sign. Already concluded it's not phlegm.

  Will monitor. Samples below (check effect later):

  11 MM

  12 MM

  13 MM

  14 MM

  15 MM

  16 MM

  17 MM

  18 MM

  19 MM"

  There's identical black stuff for every day of the previous week, excepting 19, which is labeled but empty. Today is 20 MM.

  Madrigal's still at it. "—you mean to tell me this doesn't concern you?"

  "I've had worse, okay? As far as things go, uh, this is not all that—"

  The second paper is a small card, not a paper. "ANTHEA AVES * PRESIDENT * SPEL—" hold on, you know this. Garvin/Horse Face gave one to you. You flip it over.

  "For Mr. Routh - Just In Case," it says in cutesy script, and next to it a strange face is drawn: "??"

  ?I believe it's winking.?

  How bizarre.

  You glance back over to Madrigal: "—'temporal fuzziness' my tits! How long—"

  "A day. A day where nothing happened, uh, clearly, seeing how I'm right here—"

  "In a bathrobe!"

  "Yes, Maddie, the world is full of mysteries, and, um—"

  The third, strangely, is written in alternating hands: first mirrored, then not, then mirrored again. Above her translation, Madrigal's made a note: "[M] for mirrored originally, [R] for right way around."

  "[M] 34 SM - I am sitting here, writing nothing in particular, nothing of importance, not doing anything, just writing, just writ————~ [R] got it. 8 deliver me. Feel like I've broken something?/through something?/shoved something heavy off—but if I stop/let go it's done&—————~ (M) gone. Like that.

  I'm being fucked with."

  You ought to hasten. Madrigal is sounding pugilistic. "—like lionfish?"

  "What about them?"

  "Charlotte!" You start at your name. "Get the— get the—" Madrigal makes a flippy motion with her hands; you take it to mean 'sheet of paper.' You retrieve the log of 23 Kitemaker and hand it to her. She presents it triumphantly to Ellery. "Remember this, you bastard?"

  Ellery takes the sheet of paper. He scans the sheet of paper. He stands wordlessly, ducks over to the wall of the tent, and tacks 23 Kitemaker back onto it.

  He then doubles over in a fit of coughing.

  Madrigal looks ready to have a fit of her own. "For god's sake!"

  "For God's sake," you repeat, a little horrified— he's really going at it, making a sort of thick sucking sound, spraying foam-white spittle flecks everywhere— and you begin to wonder if maybe something should be done. It's just when you do, though, that he stops, straightens, wipes something black from his face, and returns to the armchair.

  He stares like he's daring you or Madrigal to say anything.

  "You're not helping your case," she snaps after a little while.

  He doesn't respond.

  "That's it? We're here again?"

  No response. You take the lull as a chance to review your final papers. There's not much to look at: the fourth has no writing except for the title ("DAYS SOBER") and a whole host of tally marks— a hundred or more, by your quick count, starting large and growing smaller and smaller as they descend down the page. The fifth paper has no writing at all, just symbols: twenty curlicue-circles, is the best way you can describe them.

  ?Closed spirals.?

  ?Hm.?

  Closed spirals. In any case, you can't make heads or tails of them, and Madrigal can't either: the only thing on the back is "???".

  "For fuck's sake!" Madrigal's given up. "Say something!"

  Ellery leans back, places one leg over the other, rests a thumb on his chin. "What would you like me to say?"

  "You're— you're such a fucking bastard."

  "Am I?"

  "Are you a—" Madrigal draws herself up taut and, unexpectedly, turns to you. "Charlotte."

  "Yes?"

  "Is Ellery a fucking bastard?"

  He kind of is, actually. You're impressed— you didn't know he had it in him. "Yes?"

  "Thanks." She turns back. "You are a fucking bastard."

  Ellery shrugs.

  Back to you again, and there's murder in Madrigal's eyes. She points hard at you, and points hard at her. It's a command.

  You walk over to her as slowly as you can get away with. She doesn't comment on your insubordination— there's more pressing issues at hand. "I told you. This is how he gets. Talk about anything, but the instant matters he's fucking dead."

  "I'm right here," Ellery says, politely.

  "Fuck you!" is Madrigal's handsign response before she resumes speaking to you (much quieter). "Look, Charlotte, would you… take over? For a little bit? Get him talking about something, I don't give a damn what. But he's got to talk."

  [END THREAD 4]

  [Pick ONE topic. Others can be returned to later— but Ellery will only tolerate so many changes of topic.]

  >[1] So, Ellery, er, don't you want to know how we got the note we gave you?

  >[2] Don't you care why, er, we're in your tent?

  >[3] So, erm, you wake up memoryless often, I take it?

  >[4] How's the whole… manse thing going?

  >[5] How's the whole… coughing up black goo thing going?

  >[6] How's the whole… worshiping god corpses thing going?

  >[7] I've got this mirror, and I put some blood on it… that's interesting, isn't it?

  >[8] Write-in? [Still subject to the one topic rule!]