Short Stories

When he was little, I would read bedtime stories to Oliver. It was board books. Olivier Dunrea's sweet Gossie and Friends books. We're Going on a Bear Hunt. There was one called Sometimes I Like to Curl Up in a Ball that I loved reading to him.

He got older, and graduated to longer books. Picture books. When You Give a Mouse a Cookie, stories like that. Or Winnie the Pooh stories. Anything by Mo Willems.

A couple of years ago, we made the transition to Harry Potter. We'd read eight to ten pages every night. We started at the first one and read all the way through the final one, which we finished last year.

That was fun. Because I don't read a lot of the books he reads. He loves Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle, but I haven't read those. I read one or two of the Percy Jackson books, but that was it. This way, I got to read what he was reading.

While we were reading Harry Potter, I was discovering them along with him. I was learning the plot twists with him. The horror of Delores Umbridge, the dark secrets of Severus Snape, the nobility of characters like Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. I got to share that experience with him.

After we ran out of Harry Potter books, we've been trying to find something else to fit the gap. He loves Randall Munroe's What If? book, as well as the accompanying blog, so we read out of that sometimes. They're not stories exactly, but he loves the different scenarios.

Lately, I've been introducing him to short stories.

I started with Neil Gaiman's short stories. I have two of his collections - Trigger Warning and Smoke & Mirrors. I've been reading the stories that I knew were safe for him. Some of them were right on the edge of comfortable for a 12-year-old. (I hesitated for a while before I read him "When We Went to See the End of the World by Dawnie Morningside, Age 11 1/4." There's a scene of the girl's father striking his mother, and that worried me. He wasn't bothered by it.)

I branched out from there. I found Kelly Link stories and Aimee Bender stories. I read him "The Duke of Wellington Misplaces His Horse" by Susanna Clarke. I went digging for old stories that I remembered, stories like "Repent Harlequin! Cried the Ticktockman" by Harlan Ellison.

Fireside Fiction has been a revelation - they have an incredible deep catalog of great fantasy and science fiction stories. I need to kick some money into their Patreon.

Yesterday I went searching for James Thurber's fables. We used to have a book - The Thurber Carnival - that had several of those stories, and I loved the wicked little things. He loved them too.

There are some classic stories that he's just not ready for. "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson? Forget it. I read him "The Monkey's Paw" the other day and he almost couldn't get to sleep, he was so spooked.

Every time I introduce him to a new story that he loved, it's a victory. Opening his mind to magical realism, weird fiction, is a joy. I'm constantly digging for new stories, new sources. This is one of those things that I dreamed about as a parent - introducing him to the stories and the writers that made me fall in love with fiction.

Writing for My Audience

I'm writing a book.

I'm writing an actual honest-to-god book. 

I started playing around with a book idea a few years ago, during NaNoWriMo, and got about thirty pages into it. And then my life got complicated, and I couldn't find the hour every night to sit with my characters and write. So the book got tucked away in the virtual file cabinet of my Google drive.

And then, a few months ago, I told my son, "so I'm working on this book."

"You are??"

And I told him what it was about, and he was very interested. It's sort of a kid's book, although there are parts of it that are weighty and complicated, so it's a complex sort of kid's book. 

Anyway, I read him a few pages. We still do bedtime reading every night, and that night, I read him a bit of my book. 

He loved it. 

So I read him some more of the short mini-chapters I had written. He ate it up. So, what the heck, I started working on finishing a scene that I had been playing with. Read that to him. He giggled at the right spots, and at the exciting parts, I could hear his breath growing shallow. 

Then I came home from work one day, and he said "dad, did you write any more of your book?"

"No," I said, and I could just tell how disappointed he was. Not in me. He just wanted more of the story. 

So I wrote another five pages the next day, at work, during my lunch break. I brought in my personal computer, and wrote a blue streak. My colleagues kept asking me what I was doing, and I kept ignoring them. (I'm probably getting a reputation at work.)

I'm writing a book. I have over sixty pages done now. So it's not just a little hobby. It's getting to the point where it's developing a structure, and the characters are starting to breathe and to inhabit my dreams.

I bit the bullet and downloaded Scrivener, so I could properly manage this thing as a real book.

I walk down the street now and think about scenes. I imagine how my main character would react to different situations. I take pictures of buildings and imagine the scenes I could place in them. 

I'm reading a wonderful book right now, called All the Birds in the Sky. I started thinking about this miraculous work of fiction that Charlie Jane Anders breathed into existence, that I was holding in my hand, and then realized that my book could be that. That the chapters I'm writing could be chapters in a published book. My prologue could be a prologue in a bound volume. I don't know how to describe the feeling. But for the first time, I realized that the book I had in my head could actually become a book that people purchased and read and gave to their friends for birthdays. My book is becoming real. This could happen. 

My son just finished fifth grade, and they did a little writing project at the end of the year where they asked them questions: what they learned, what their favorite part of the year was, who their favorite author was, questions like that. 

When it came to the question about his favorite author, my son wrote my name. I was his favorite author.

My son listed me as his favorite author.

Tears are in my eyes right now. I studied creative writing over twenty years ago, and I'm finally writing for the first time since I graduated. And my son is reading it, and encouraging me, and he's suggesting scenes and characters to me. My son is helping me breathe this book into life. 

I'm writing this book now for him. It might get published someday, and I'll be delighted if and when that happens. But right now, this is his book. I'm writing it because he is my audience, and he is the greatest audience I ever could have imagined.

Six Grownup Books for Kids

Oliver has books that I love reading to him. I probably love them more than he does. Oh, he loves them anyway, but there are parts of the book that just fly over his head. The language is just a bit too mature for children's ears. Or the books touch on themes - remorse, jealousy, sadness, longing - that he doesn't comprehend yet. Not yet. Not consciously.

I think it's entirely possible that he likes these books because they speak to him, the way songs in another language speak to me. Even if he doesn't understand everything that's being said, he knows that he's being told something important.

Anyway, these are the books that I secretly love to read him. I love the language. I love the moods and the emotions. I love that they feel real, honest; the way those formulaic books about Clifford and George and Franklin never do. They are written as literature, not as "kiddie books." The writer knew how to tell a story with engaging characters, compelling plot turns, and believable dialogue. Those are the books that I hope he still loves years from now.

Here are a few of my favorites.

• Amos and Boris - William Steig.

One night, in a phosphorescent sea, he marveled at the sight of some whales spouting luminous water; and later, lying on the deck of his boat gazing at the immense, starry sky, the tiny mouse Amos, a little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe, felt thoroughly akin to it all.

• Tillie and the Wall - Leo Lionni.

With a long, rusty nail they tried to make a hole to peep through. "It is only a question of patience!" said Tillie. But after working an entire morning they gave up, exhausted, without having made even a dent in the hard stone.

• He Was There from the Day We Moved In - Rhoda Levine/Edward Gorey.

We didn't breathe for a whole minute. That dog just blinked. Then, slowly, he looked up with sad and patient eyes. Then, slowly, he looked up with sad and patient eyes. He blinked again, like he was giving it a second thought. Then he stood up, shook himself, and began to walk - like he was old and tired - toward the end of the garden.

• The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish - Neil Gaiman/Dave McKean.

There was a little rabbit hutch there, and next to the rabbit hutch was a little run with chicken wire all around it. My dad sat on the grass, in the chicken wire run, reading his newspaper and eating a carrot. He looked a bit lonely, and he had grass all over his trousers.

• That Rabbit Belongs to Emily Brown - Cressida Cowell/Neal Layton.

A few months later, Emily Brown and Stanley were lying fast asleep in bed, dreaming of all the adventures they would have the next day, when there was absolutely no noise at all at the door, or the gate, or the window. Silently, in crept the Queen's Special Commandos... and they STOLE the rabbit that belonged to Emily Brown.

• Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - Judith Viorst/Ray Cruz.

There were lima beans for dinner and I hate limas. There was kissing on TV and I hate kissing. My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear my railroad-train pajamas. I hate my railroad-train pajamas.

What are your favorite not-exactly-for-children kid's books?

The West Wing - Big Block of Retweets Day

I don't know when this all started, but one day I noticed that somebody I follow on Twitter had retweeted President Jed Bartlet. Y'know, the president from the West Wing.

Then I saw that President Bartlet was trading remarks with Leo McGarry's Ghost.

As I found one, I found another. Everybody from the West Wing is on Twitter, y'all. I mean, seriously, everybody. Here's the list of everyone I've found so far.

President Bartlet
President Santos
Toby Ziegler
Josh Lyman
Donna Moss
CJ Cregg
Leo McGarry
GlenAllen Walken
Lord John Marbury
Will Bailey
Sam Seaborn

There are more. There must be dozens of West Wing accounts. Who is maintaining these things? Whoever's posting for each character has them down pat - Bartlet is scholarly and irritable, Josh playful and pugnacious, Lord Marbury is ... well, Lord Marbury. It's amazing fun to see them all interacting with each other, having conversations just like the good old days. One of my favorite discoveries of 2010.

P.S. I just noticed, when tagging this post, that I have not ever tagged a post with "Twitter" before. How strange is that!

The Accidental Tourist - Part Five (Conclusion)

"Namaste."

"Shoot," said Kirk. "Am I supposed to say namaste at the end or at the beginning? I wasn't sure."

"I don't think it matters," said Lulu, tapping a key on the keyboard next to her. On a flat screen monitor, the image of Kirk went suddenly blank. "If it was really important, they would have said one way or the another."

Kirk and Lulu were in the basement of his mother's house. It looked like a typical basement rec room, with wood paneling, a tv in the corner, a few folded tv trays against the couch. Only two things suggested that something besides late-night poker games transpired in this room. The first was the Apple G4 Cube computer (which was recording Kirk with a white, vaguely pistol-shaped webcam). And then there was the sinister-looking device which rested on an end table. It consisted of a plastic mask attached to a basketball-sized bulb, the color of army uniforms. A small canister was attached in the middle, and it bore a black and white label with paragraphs of microscopic fine print and two words in bold block letters. The first word: "SEVOFLURANE." The second, in larger print: "DHARMA."

All right," Kirk said sullenly. "I'll say it twice just in case it's, like, a code word or something. No, not a code word. The ... whatever the thing that the hypnotists use."

"A post-hypnotic suggestion?"

"No," Kirk snapped. "It's ... uh ... it's called a ... um ..."He rapped twice on his forehead with his knuckles. "Shoot." And then it came to him. "A trigger word. In case it's a trigger word." He smoothed out the lapels on his lab coat. "Let's go again." Lulu tapped a key and Kirk's face filled the monitor screen.

"Namaste. This is the orientation film for the Stars Hollow station, code named 'the Scoop'." The camera panned back to reveal the familiar spiderweb insignia of the Dharma Initiative, with a curious logo in the center. At first glance, it could be mistaken for a stylized question mark or possibly a cartoonish hot air balloon, but after a few moments, the logo revealed itself as an artistically rendered ice cream cone.

Lulu sniggered at the logo - again - and then hushed herself. "Sorry, hon. I just think it's so cute, what you did with their insignia. I'll edit that out."

"That's why they invented Final Cut Pro."

Kirk composed himself, clearing his throat several times. "Your mission here at the Scoop is infiltration. The Scoop will be your base of operations and, from the outside, will not be perceptibly different from any other home in this small rustic town. You will become one of the denizens of Stars Hollow. Learn their customs. Drink their coffee. Attend their pointless yet strangely moving public events. Find every imaginable way to become - " he made air quotes - "'a regular.'

"If required, you should establish relationships with the locals in order to make your identity more meaningful, including intimate relationships. However, no local resident should ever be allowed to enter your personal living quarters. The communications and scientific equipment in your possession took years of painstaking research, and its cost is incalculable. You must not let it get into the hands of anyone not associated with Dharma. This must be your highest priority, beyond anything else you hope to achieve. Even if your mission should fail, the equipment you have been provided must be protected..."

Kirk stopped then, and waited. A moment passed. He whispered, "Slow fade-in, babe."

"Oh, sorry." She manipulated keys on the keyboard.

He repeated, "the equipment you have been provided must be protected - at all costs."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey."

Fingers snapped in front of Lorelai. After a few seconds, she managed a faint, "Hey."

Sookie stared at her. She walked all around Lorelai, a quizzical look on her face, while Lorelai blinked and breathed and otherwise remained still.

"Where are you?"

"Oh, I just..." She trailed off. Then she started again,"where is everybody?"

"It's five in the morning."

Lorelai nodded, her eyes blank.

"Why are you here?" she asked Sookie.

"Breakfast, dear. I've got prepping to do, coffee pots to set up, inspections, and plus I had a hunch you'd show up here once you emerged from ... wherever you've been." She gestured dramatically up with her eyebrows, but Lorelai didn't get the hint.

"What's going on up there?" Sookie demanded.

"Going on where, how?"

"Okay, look, I don't need all the details, but give me a hint. You and Sawyer have been in that room nonstop for two days. The staff is starting to get resentful of delivering room service to their boss. Your mystery Sawyer man - can you at least say where he's from?"

"Can't tell you that," Lorelai replied.

"Can't? Or won't?"

"You would never, ever believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"Polar bears."

"So ... he's Santa Claus?"

"On a tropical island."

"Okay, okay," Sookie said, holding her hands up, "forget I asked. So tell me something else. Is he dangerous? is he someone to watch out for? Should we call the State Patrol? The FBI?"

Lorelai stared off into oblivion. "Okay, let's think. Dangerous? Yes. Definitely. He's got the potential for great violence. But don't call anyone - he's safe as a kitten."

"Purr purr," Sookie teased.

Again, Lorelai let an easy setup go by without responding. Something was definitely wrong with her.

"Okay, sleeping beauty, we need to do something to snap you out of this. Should I make up a pot of coffee? You look like you could use it."

Lorelai shook her head emphatically. Sookie's eyes nearly fell out of her head.

"You might have misheard me," Sookie said. "See, I said, 'Excuse me, Ms. Lorelai Gilmore, caffeine addict of legend and infamy, would you care for a cup of java?' And that's when you're supposed to say ..."

Again, Lorelai shook her head in the negative.

"But," Lorelai suddenly looked hopeful, "can you do one of those frozen things?"

"What frozen things? You want a daiquiri?"

"I'm thirsty."

"Okay, good. That narrows the choices down to liquids."

"You know. The thing with the ice and the strawberries and the weird powder that you get in those funny little juice bars in New Haven? You don't need to add any of the weird powders - I always suspected they were just like placebos or something, or else maybe mild hallucinogens - but ... you know, one of those?" She went into charade mode then: she gestured a blending motion with a whirling finger (adding blender sound effects that sounded like a car with starter trouble), then poured the imaginary blender's contents into an imaginary vessel, and then drank down the entire thing with a great flourish.

Sookie stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "You want ... a smoothie?"

"Yeah. Sure. They're good for you, right? And it sounds ... kinda ... refreshing, I don't know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sawyer looked over to his window, irritated. "Aw, jumping Christ on a pogo stick..."

Shirtless and wearing blue jeans, he drew the shades on the window. A burst of gravel splashed against the window.

He peered out the window to see Hurley, another handful of gravel poised to throw, and Jin , who was sitting in the passenger's seat of the sitting in the driver's seat of the Dharma van. Jin seemed uncomfortable and kept looking around nervously.

"All right, already, Hugo!" He waved frantically at the window. "Cripes. I'll be right down."

As he reached for his shirt, he glanced at the Dragonfly Inn brochure that Kirk had given him. There was something on the back that he hadn't noticed before, drawn in the margins. It was a familiar spiderweb pattern, drawn by hand with a pencil.

"Dharma." Suddenly it all clicked. "Kirk's one of them. "

"Son of a bitch."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, so there's another group of people on the island."

"Yeah."

"And they're evil."

"Yes, with a capitol E, and that rhymes with P, and that stands for evil too."

"So how do you know Sawyer isn't one of the evil ones?" Sookie asked.

"Because ... oh, come on. Evil people love telling people how evil they are. Didn't you ever watch a single James Bond movie?"

"All right, all right. So they're evil."

"Yes!" Lorelai shouted, exasperated. "They kept him in a cage! Hello?!"

"Ooh, that must have been something to see."

"I know, right?" said Lorelai, wiping smoothie from her lower lip with the back of her hand. "All hot... and sweaty... and dirty ... and half-naked, and trapped in a cage like an animal..."

"Careful, girl."

"Mmmm hmm." She leaned against the counter to steady herself.

It was at precisely that moment that Sawyer called out from the reception desk. "Hey, Becky, you back there?"

"Who's Becky?" asked Sookie.

"Come on back," Lorelai called. Sawyer stepped tentatively into the kitchen.

She attempted to make introductions. "So ... this is my friend Sookie St. James. Sookie, Sawyer." Sawyer nodded to Sookie. Then Lorelai paused. "Well, James, I guess. Or do you want to stick with..."

"Sawyer's fine for now. Hey, ladies, I hate to spoil your fun, but I got work to do. We got an appointment with your pal Kirk."

"Oh, right now? What's the rush?"

Sawyer waved the brochure like a smoking gun. "He's Dharma."

"Dharma," Lorelai echoed, feeling a sudden chill.

Sookie looked a bit lost. "Who's Dharma?"

But Lorelai was already on the way out the door. "We'll tell you later. Gotta go." She pushed her glass into Sookie's hand. "Thanks for the smoothie!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They stood outside his window. Lorelai looked nervous. A crumbled figure rested on the couch, knees apparently curled to its chest, a tattered afghan draped over the body.

"Well, we can't just bust in on them. Look, his mother's sitting right there on the couch! We'll look like a bunch of renegade DEA agents, and she'll have a heart attack or something."

"That's his ma?"

"Yeah, I think so," Lorelai said. "Never met her, but she lives with him."

"That's his ma," Sawyer repeated, unconvinced.

"Well, don't you see her there?"

He pressed his face up against the window. "What are you doing?!" Lorelai hissed.

"I hate to tell you, Becks, but that ain't nobody's mother on the couch."

Jin whispered something harshly, and pointed to the couch also. Sawyer looked at him and shook his head slowly. "Dummy."

"Dummy," repeated Jin in his halting English. "Dummy - dumb?"

"No," Sawyer explained. "Dummy, not real woman."

"Ah," Jin said. "Dummy."

Sawyer rapped on the window. A voice called out, "oh, please come back later! I just have to rest right now..." The voice faded at the end, sounding just like a frail older woman.

"See, she's exhausted! Just leave her..."

Sawyer cautiously turned the doorknob, which had been left open. He stepped in quietly. Then, the door still open, he rapped his knuckles on the outside of the door.

"Oh, goodness! " the same frail voice called out. "And me in my dressing gown! Please just leave it at the door - my son will get it later."

The voice seemed to be coming from behind the door, not from the body on the couch.

Then Sawyer pointed, silently, and they all looked at the tiny black speaker located just above the door. Wires extended from the door and window to an electronic console on the wall, which extended to the speaker.

"I think you rubes have been letting Kirk fool you for years now." Emboldened, he went to the couch and pulled the blankets off 'mother', revealing a long pillow shaped to resemble a human form. A grey wig at the top completed the image. Lorelai gasped.

"So, now, we go see what the kids are up to in mama's house."

They heard a faint noise and followed it to the basement door. The door was left open, and they listened for a moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Like our other agents, Jess Mariano and Max Medina, you will be given an identity and a back story to explain your sudden arrival. Townspeople will be persuaded by various means to play along with your back story to lend authenticity, and then the rest will be up to you.

"If I may, let me offer one bit of advice. There are two paths you can take with this mission. The first is full assimilation - the 'melting pot' approach. That is difficult, because you will never, despite your best efforts, truly be a local. No matter how you try to fit in, you will always be a stranger to these people's eyes.

"The other path, which in my opinion is far easier, is the 'fifth wheel' approach. If you appear unusual from the start, a little off, a little quirky, there will be less questioning when you occasionally let your 'mask' slip, as will inevitably happen. It is far easier to play a stranger in a strange land then to suddenly arrive and become an instant part of the community. So don't try too hard to fit in. Better to stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, in my experience, it's more fun."

From the basement, they heard a series of clicks. Lorelai looked at Sawyer and pantomimed typing. Sawyer nodded.

"Hey, Lu, I'm parched. Can you grab me a Negra Modelo from upstairs?"

"Sure thing." They all scurried away from the doorway. As Lulu reached the top stair, Sawyer reached out expertly and swept her up, one hand over her mouth, the other arm clutching both of her arms against her body.

"We're not going to hurt you, but you are going to stay her until we've had a chat with your boyfriend. Comprende?"

Lulu nodded frantically, her eyes huge.

"Great. Go sit down over there, and my friend Jin is going to make sure you don't try anything foolish. And here's a tip from me - don't piss off Jin. He can kill you seven ways to Sunday before you make a sound."

She looked, horror-struck at Jin. He met her eyes and, after a moment, Jin nodded solemnly in agreement. She sat down on the couch and folded her shaking hands in her lap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lu?" Kirk called up the stairs. A flying can of Diet Coke nearly took his nose off. It bounced ontothe floor and popped open, leaking brown liquid onto the carpet.

"Hey, hot stuff, you're outta beer." Sawyer chuckled as he came down the stairs. "But you know what they say - when you're outta beer, tough Schlitz."

"Did you wake up my mother..."

"Oh, come on, man," Sawyer laughted. "Your mother ain't any more convincing than Norman Bates. Didja think that ruse was gonna work forever?"

Kirk stifled a grin. "Well, it worked for twelve years."

"Well, that game is over. It's all over, Gilligan. All but the shouting." He methodically rolled up his sleeves. "Way I figure it, the quicker you tell me what the hell's going on here, the less screaming you'll be doing."

Kirk, surprisingly, took a seat. He gestured them toward the big green couch. "Sure, I'll tell you. I knew you'd be coming here, sooner or later. That's why I had this primed."

He pointed to a wardrobe on the far wall of the basement. "That's it. That's the magic box."

"What magic box?"

"In time, good sir." Kirk picked up the spitting Coke can and managed to pop the top open. He took a careful sip. "In time, I'll tell you everything you want know. As much as I can, anyway." Kirk shouted upstairs. "Hey there, whoever's holding Lulu hostage! Come on down. Please bring Lulu with you. You'll both want to hear this, too."

And then, slowly, he explained everything. He told them how he had always dreamed of being a CIA agent, but the night terrors that had plagued him prevented that dream from becoming a reality. Then, one day while he was in college, a man was standing outside his dormitory and took him to breakfast. He told Kirk about his agency, promised travel and adventure,and convinced Kirk to sign a long-term contract for his services. The pay was lucrative - preposterously so. He collected paychecks for four years before he was contacted for a job.

And then, one day, the agency technicians came to his house and installed his device. "I've gotten used to calling it the Wardrobe."

"What's it do?" Sawyer asked.

"Well, let me explain it this way. Do you know anything about quantum physics?"

Sawyer shot him a look.

So, Kirk began the world's worst primer on quantum physics. He lost them within moments. Then, he tried another tack, using the example of a tunnel through the center of the earth, and that just confused them further.

"Okay. You know how when you shine a flashlight into the night sky, the light has to go somewhere?"

"Sure," Hurley said. "The light seems to disappear, but it could theoretically travel in space all the way to the end of the universe, unless it gets pulled into a black hole or, you know, hits something that interrupts or refracts the beam."

"Right. Exactly. So ... oh, wait, that's the wrong principle." He thought for a long while as they all stared daggers at him.

Finally, he gave up and said, "it's just a transporter, all right? Like in Star Trek."

"Oh, dude, why didn't you just say so? Now I get it." Hurley turned to Jin. "Transporter. Like Star Trek."

Jin was already nodding. "Beam me up, Scotty."

"Yeah, there you go. Exactly."

"So ... the wardrobe isn't the transporter, is it?" Sawyer asked.

"No, it's all nested behind the wardrobe. All the controls are behind it."

"Then why..."

"C.S. Lewis," said Lorelai.

Kirk smiled wryly. "I loved reading the Narnia books when I was a kid. I wanted my own wardrobe where I could go into another world. And then suddenly, this amazing device shows up on my doorstep. I took an old wardrobe I had in the basement, popped off the back, and fitted it onto the front. I used duct tape to seal it tight - they probably wouldn't have approved, but it's never gotten me into trouble yet. And so there you go. Only problem was, instead of witches and talking lions and fauns, I was going around the world like a glorified maintenance man. Even with my fancy transportation, I was just another flunky, punching a clock."

He was living two lives. On one hand, Dharma set him up with a new life in Stars Hollow, a beautiful house all to himself (and his fictional 'mother' - part of his cover story), money to burn, and free rein of the town. "I could do anything I wanted. Hell, I could have burned the gazebo down and they would have found a way to justify it. I was untouchable."

And the other life was the one he had dreamed of - traveling, via extraordinary means - to mystery locations all around the globe. Sometimes, he wondered whether he had even left the planet.

But the adventures started to sour. Stars Hollow became boring. The freedom of impunity turned stale, and he kept trying new and different things to amuse himself. He told his secret to one other local, Taylor Doose, who wielded his powers as Town Selectman to hook Kirk into new job after new job. He kept each job for a few days and dropped it, bored, for another ever-stranger job.

Meanwhile, the adventures he had been promised were turning into drudgery. At first, he was excited about going back and forth to the island and the other stations around the world, and the technology fascinated him. But then he realized that despite all his questions, they never told him exactly how the transporter worked. "I was a mushroom - they kept me in the dark and fed me ... well, you know."

And the exciting assignments - cryptozoology, staging psychological experiments, equipping the hatches, planning "accidents" and carefully staged acts of serendipity across the globe - turned into meaningless assignments. "I was scrubbing floors in people's houses. Once, I replaced thirty-seven light bulbs with lower-wattage bulbs in a house in Stockholm. No idea why. They never told me anything."

They all sat, enraptured, listening to the bizarre story unfold. Hurley noticed that Jin had been nodding and humming in agreement throughout the tale, and wondered what part of the story rang familiar to him.

"And then the uniforms came. The uniforms were the last straw."

One day, he received a large box from Dharma's courier service. He was convinced it was some great new piece of equipment, but instead it was a box full of beige coveralls with his name - and his new title, the first title he had ever known throughout his association with Dharma - stitched on the breast.

"Kirk. Work Man."

"I was just a goddamned janitor to them," Kirk snarled. "Pardon my French."

"And that's when I sorta snapped. Lorelai, you probably noticed something was wrong, since you were in town then. I'm sure it was pretty obvious that I was out of control."

Lorelai, who had no idea what Kirk was referring to, nodded vigorously. "Oh sure."

"For the rest of you, I'll fill you in," Kirk continued. "I started doing more and more dangerous stuff. I started messing with pyrotechnics. Electrical stuff that I hadn't been trained for. Dangerous work. I was kind of on a death trip. Remember when I drove Taylor's stupid car into Luke's diner?"

"Oh, yes."

"Suicide attempt," Kirk shrugged. "I staged it to look like an accident, and I didn't expect to live through that. I was kinda hoping for a fireball - blaze of glory and all that. I left a note in my house spilling the beans on everything. I guess you're not supposed to use your seat belt or use your emergency brake for suicide attempts - should have thought about that at the time."

"Anyway, that was sorta my low point. I don't really think I've ever really recovered. I just ... I had such hopes. I thought I was an insider, one of the special ones. I was part of the Dharma Initiative! And then it turns out I'm just a workman."

Kirk grew silent for a long while. They watched him, as storm clouds crossed over his face. A tear trickled down one cheek, and his hands clenched and unclenched.

"I always loved science," he said, so quietly that he could barely be heard.

"Well, you got to see some amazing science," Lorelai suggested.

"To see it, sure. But they didn't ... trust ... me enough to explain it to me. Look." He threw a slim pamphlet at Lorelai. "Want to know how the Wardrobe operates - there you go! That's all they told me, anyway. How to turn it on, turn it off. They set the coordinates remotely, so I can't actually run it by myself. 'Cause I'm just a work man, after all," he seethed. "Why would they tell the work man anything important?!"

Lorelai thumbed through the book. "So you're supposed to be unconscious when you go through?"

"Yeah, that's one of the big warnings. Big no-no. That's why I keep the anesthesia around," he said, gesturing to the bulb device on the end table.

"So," Hurley asked carefully, "how do you, you know, run the thing when you're, like, asleep?"

"Oh, Lulu knows how to run the controls, too. She runs it when I have a job."

Hurley nodded. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. But why unconscious? What's that all about?"

Kirk grimaced. "I tried to find out once. I ... um ... put someone else through it once while he was conscious."

Gasps all around. "Who?" Lorelai asked.

"There was this guy, a cable installer. His name was Mick, Nick, something. He came to my house. I offered him a thousand bucks on the spot, and he agreed to do it. I never should have done it."

"What happened?" Hurley asked.

"Well, he went in, and then a few seconds later, he came ... clawing his way out. He pulled himself out like he was stuck in a well. He was only in there a few seconds, but ... his hair was white. And his skin was ... old. He aged, like, a hundred years in that few seconds. And his eyes were ... have you ever seen a rabid dog?"

"No."

"Yeah, me neither. But I always think that that's what a rabid dog's eyes look like - all feral and untrusting and ... volatile. He didn't live very long." He looked at the floor. "I buried him in the backyard."

Silence.

"I'm not proud of it."

"It's their fault! I put his death on their shoulders!" Spittle flew from his lower lip. "Their damn fault! They could have told me what they were doing ... what the dangers were. But they never tell me anything! It's infuriating! " He threw the Coke can down on the carpet, hard enough that it bounced off the carpet a foot in the air.

"They've got some of the most sophisticated science known to man, and they're giving me bupkis, nada, zilch! I'm like their janitor, when i should be ... I should ..."

"I deserve better than this. I deserve better. I deserve..."

At that moment, Kirk's eyes were empty as burned-out lightbulbs. He was angry - no, something beyond anger, something more and darker and more volatile. Sawyer recognized the look and he didn't like it, so he started talking.

"So, ah, Kirk. You were going back and forth to our island?"

"Sure, a few times. I helped set up a few things before your arrival. Cleaned out the hatch a time or two, kept it stocked."

"Yeah."

"Plunged that toilet in the hatch once. That was fun, let me tell you. I don't know what you people eat over, but pee-ew."

Sawyer smirked. "So, in your travels, didja ever see me over there?"

"No, Sawyer. I never saw anyone. I showed up on the beach when everyone was in the woods, and vice versa. I was the man who wasn't there.

"I did plant a couple of things for you, though," Kirk smiled.

"Like what?"

"Books."

"Books," Sawyer repeated.

"Heinlein."

"Ah."

"I thought you'd, you know, appreciate the subtle irony of Stranger in a Strange Land. Maybe not."

"No, no! It was ... impressive. I liked it."

"Mmm," Kirk replied noncommittally. "And, oh, yes, I did plant the trap door to get you here. I didn't understand much about the technology, like I said, but I found another portal. I set it up in the field where you guys liked to drive around your little bus, and presto - as soon as you drove over it, you were brought here."

"Just like that," Sawyer mused.

"Yup, just like that. Well, there were a couple of other things. The clothes and the Hanso card were unexpected - I don't frankly know how or why that happened. A neat trick, to be sure. Wish I knew how it worked.

"You knew that guy Ben, right?"

"Ben?!" Hurley and Sawyer both looked stunned.

"I guess you do. Well, it's his portal. I'll bet that's one pissed off hombre, right now. And it's not really something you can send search parties for, because as soonas they find it, zip! They're missing too. Pretty funny, when you think about it." Kirk grinned in spite of himself.

"And I know Dharma's going to come get me for that," he continued. "I've made my preparations. I recorded a new orientation tape for the next person who comes here - assuming they send someone here. I don't know what they'll do next, but that's not exactly a new experience for me."

"And the transporter," Sawyer asked. "You can use it to send us back?"

"Well, sure," Kirk mutterred. "And I guess, karma-wise, it's my duty. It's my last Dharma job - sending you all back home. That's what you want, right? Back to your friends, your ..."

Sawyer hurriedly interrupted him. "Right. That's right. Home. Home sweet island."

Lorelai looked worried. Kirk switched knobs that the others couldn't see behind the wardrobe. They heard humming, and the shadow of a red light began flickering. A steady beeping began.

"Now, it's going to take about a minute to get ready. I'm ... I'm going to have to put you out."

"Is that so?" Sawyer asked.

"Yeah. Sorry. Rules of the game, my friend." Luke picked up the anesthetic bulb and made some adjustments to the canister. "I guess you can go first, and I'll send your friends after you."

"Well, okay, then." Sawyer dutifully sat in a chair and Kirk lowered the mask toward Sawyer's face. "It's been good to finally meet you," he whispered to Sawyer.

Sawyer mumbled something.

"Sorry, didn't catch that. I suppose it doesn't ..."

The mask lowered on Sawyer's face for a fraction of a second before his hand shot out, caught Kirk's wrist. "Sorry, bub. Not feeling sleepy." He cold-cocked Kirk with a vicious uppercut below the chin. Lorelai and Lulu gasped. Jin quickly took hold of Lulu's hands, and then realized she wasn't fighting to get free.

Lorelai walked to Kirk's prone body. Lightly, she kicked at him with her toe.

"Nice shot, slugger," Lorelai said.

Sawyer flexed his knuckles. "You know what they say, Becky. Practice makes perfect."

"I don't want to know who you've been practicing on."

"It ain't my favorite thing to practice, I'll tell you."

"Well, I'd ask what your favorite thing was, but I think I know."

"Oh, I think you do, too..." Sawyer purred.

"Hey, hey!" Hurley shouted. "Bystanders over here! Innocent bystanders!"

"Yeah, alright," Sawyer growled. "We've got work to do. Fun later, work now."

He nodded at Hurley and Jin. "Come on, guys, give me a hand here. Let's give Gilligan here a pleasant bon voyage."

He looked at Lulu. "Are you going to fight us on this?" he asked.

"Hell, no," Lulu snarled. "He didn't tell me half that stuff. He's been holding out on me all these years. You guys do whatever you have to do. I won't stand in your way." Jin released her then.

"All right, then." Jin and Sawyer dutifully grabbed Kirk's arms while Sawyer carried him by the legs, his hands under Kirk's knees. Lulu helped by grabbing his feet.

"One, two..."

"Three!" They heaved, and Kirk flew, feet first, through the wardrobe, through the portal, and out of Stars Hollow.

They listened, and far off, a million miles away, they heard the sound of his body hitting the ground. Somewhere, he had landed.

"So what do you think? He back on the island?"

"Yeah, he's on the island," Lulu nodded. "There's a big padded thing out in the forest that he lands on, kinda like the padding that pole vaulters and high jumpers land on. That's what the sound was." She started reaching for controls. "I guess we can shut this thing, since none of you really want to go back. You don't want to go back there, do you?"

"Wait!" Jin shouted.

He took the anesthetic bulb and handed it to Lulu. "I ... have to go."

Hurley sighed deeply and shrugged to Jin. "I'm not going back, Jin. I ... I want to be back here in the world. I understand why you have to go back." Sawyer whispered in Lorelai's ear about Sun and the baby, and Lorelai nodded somberly.

"Yeah, sorry, buddy, but you're on your own here," Sawyer said. "I've got ... more on the ourside than back there. But I know why you have to go. Godspeed."

Jin said his goodbyes. Lulu lowered the mask to his face and within seconds, he was unconscious. They took more care lowering him into the Wardrobe, and winced when they heard the whump! as he landed.

"It's okay," Lulu assured them. "Lots of padding. He'll be absolutely fine."

She looked for a long time into the emptiness of the Wardrobe, and repeated the words softly. "He'll be fine."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They met again, a week later, in a coffeehouse in Woodbury. Hurley and Lulu came alone, but seemed grateful to see each other and embraced warmly. Lorelai and Sawyer were already seated when they arrived, sharing a plate of onion rings.

"Ooh. That one - the double one," Lorelai called, pointing to an enormous onion ring. "That's mine," Lorelai called.

"You want it so bad. Come and get it," teased Sawyer, swatting her hand playfully as she reached for it. Finally, he picked it up and fed it to her.

"Hey, Lulu, you look great!" Lorelai said, looking up. It was true. She was wearing the simplest of outfits - faded jeans, sneakers, and a snug plaid sweater - but she looked completely comfortable. She seemed at peace with herself.

"So you're not going to Luke's anymore?" she asked gently. Lorelai flashed her a look and the question went unanswered.

"Anyone hear anything from ... you know?" Lulu asked curiously.

"Nope," Sawyer drawled.

"Hmm."

"Yeah, it's a doggone shame," Sawyer said, chewing on an onion ring. "I guess the head honchos at Dharma weren't too fond of him using their fancy transporter without permission, so they didn't see fit to let him back off the island. Jack's probably put him to work fetchin' firewood or some such thing."

"Or else he's working for the Others," Hurley offered.

"Or else he's polar bear meat," Lorelai suggested.

"Now there's a cheerful thought," Lulu said quietly. She looked around furtively for a waiter.

"So what are you gonna do now?" Hurley asked Sawyer. "Just gonna settle down in Stars Hollow, or what?"

"Well, if Becky Thatcher here lets me, I'd like to stick around," he said, winking at Lorelai. It's a cute little town. It's got its charms to it," Sawyer smiled, squeezing her thigh under the table.

"And I hear they're looking for a town selectman. I reckon they could put up with a blowhard like Taylor as long as they did, a reformed con man might just stand a chance."

"Reformed," Lorelai repeated, and looked insistently at him. "You're out of the business, right? No more cons."

"No, darling," he answered respectfully. He raised three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. "No more cons. This time, I've got all my cards on the table. I've even got the flyers printed up and ready to do, when the time is right." He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it. In bold, patriotic print, the flyer bore a simple message.

"Vote for James Ford - Town Selectman.


It's Time to Start Over."

The Accidental Tourist - Part Four

He had forgotten, after three months, the pure satisfaction of a hot shower. All those days of bathing in streams, on the beach, of not bathing at all, and even those occasional showers in the hatch (which was a pretty shitty rig, all things considered - too cramped and too dark to enjoy). He turned the water up as hot as he could stand it, and his skin tingled from the sensation. He immersed his face in the stream, let it run through his hair, down his back, over and over. It was very nearly bliss.

He was still trying to understand what had happened to him. He only barely remembered the beginning of this latest adventure. It was just another attempt at distraction, another joy ride with Jin and Hurley in the party mobile, the VW microbus they had found. Nothing special about that day, until ...

And that was where his memory cut off. He remembered nothing from the moment he stepped into the microbus until the moment he woke up on Main Street in Mayberry. With a new outfit on his back. And with money - several hundred dollars - in his pocket. And a new calfskin wallet, a Connecticut driver's license with his birth name, and a mysterious credit card he had never seen before. Hanso? Who or what was Hanso, and why were they financing this little trip?

Something fishy was going on. But he had had that sensation since he first landed on the island, so this just fit into the same realm of disbelief as everything else. He had been tortured for asthma inhalers, had been held captive in a bear cage, had been spied on in his most private moments, and now he was in an Andy Hardy movie. He rolled with it, the way he always did.

He snapped off the shower and just stood for a moment, steam billowing around him, and let the water run off his body. He was savoring the experience. God knew when he would catch another hot shower, so he wanted to remember what it felt like.

His instincts, which he had relaxed during the shower, kicked in as soon as the water shut off. His ears were wide open, listening for any stray noise, any unfamiliar sound. There was nothing. It was silent - almost too silent. He dried off, wrapped the oversize towel around his waist loosely, and started looking through the sink's drawer for a comb.

And then he heard it. A soft click at the door. Someone was breaking in.

He looked around the bathroom for a weapon. The only thing close was the hair dryer hanging by the mirror. He took it in his hand and looped the cord silently around his hand, then thought better of it and lay it on the floor.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar. He dropped to the ground silently, peered through the crack at the foot of the door and saw - high heels?

The door opened then, bumping him in the forehead.

"Hey!"

"Ohh God!" The door started to close, but he caught it with one hand and wrenched it open. He reached out and grabbed a stockinged ankle. The intruder fell to the floor.

He rose to his feet. It was a woman. And that was the understatement of the year.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hmm, funny. That's what every single person in the whole town wants to know about you!"

"Oh, great. Another screwball. Let me guess - you're working for that skinny little freak, Kirk or Spock or whatever his name is."

The woman stood up modestly and brushed her dress off. "Kirk?" She looked offended. "No, I don't work for Kirk. Don't even tell anyone you thought that. I don't work for anybody."

"You don't."

"No. As a matter of fact, I'm one of the owners of the inn."

"Oh. So you forget to leave the mint on my pillow?"

"Um, no, that's not it," she said, fumbling. She tried to stuff the bug in her pocket, and remembered too late that her dress had no pockets. His hand whipped out and before she could move, he had the bug in his hand. He turned it over and over, and her expression grew more grave as the seconds passed.

"You were going to spy on me."

"It would appear that way, yes."

He put the bug down on the sink gently and stared it, a bitter expression on his face.

"What's going on here?" he said, so quietly that she almost couldn't hear him.

"I ... think a lot of people want to know that."

He turned to look at her, and his face was twisted in rage. He spoke slowly. "I don't know who you think you are. But I am not answering one goddamn question until you tell me why all you goddamn people are spying on me! What the hell are you trying to do to me?! First the island, and now this, and I'm just about bugshit out of my mind from this crap! What's going on?!" His final words were a roar.

"I don't ... what island?"

"Lady, don't lie to me," he growled.

"I'm not lying! What island? I don't know anything about an island."

"You don't."

"No," Lorelai insisted.

Sawyer was taken aback. "You don't?"

She shook her head.

After a long time, he relented. "Well, I'm just gonna have to take your word for that. So let's try something you do know. Tell me about this Kirk character."

"Kirk?"

"Yep. I want to know everything you know about him." Sawyer described the incident in the diner, the knife, the brochures.

"Well, that's completely bizarre and totally in character for him."

"What the hell you talking about? And I'm warning you, I'm not in the mood for cute answers tonight."

"Look yourself, bub, I'm not trying to be cute or coy or even especially clever. What do you want to know about him? I hardly know anything about him myself."

"Aw, come on. Nobody knows nothing about somebody who lives in their town."

"Seriously, I don't know anything about Kirk! Look, you want the truth, no one knows much about Kirk. He's got unbelievable amounts of money, no one knows why. He's always working, and he has, like, fifteen different jobs that he does one day a month. He's like his own front operation, except instead of a fake store and fifteen guys in green visors in the back, he's just one guy who works ninety hours a week.

"But is he hiding money for the mob or is his mother some kind of Howard Hughes type with millions of dollars stuffed in her mattress? Nobody knows. No one knows anything! And what's with the jobs? He's the mailman. He installs cable. He delivers pizza, he runs the theatre, he sells jewelry. He takes polls for the town! He's Taylor's right-hand man, although God alone knows what qualifications he has."

Sawyer mused, "maybe he has some black-and-whites of Taylor in flagrante."

"I'm saying, maybe he's got little manila envelopes on all of us. No one knows why he does what he does around here. He's like ... that little kid in the Twilight Zone episode that everyone was scared of, and he secretly runs the town. Little Ronnie Howard."

"It wasn't Ron Howard played that kid."

She glared at him. "Look, buddy. Don't screw with me on television shows. My knowledge is legendary at bar trivia nights all around southwest Connecticut. "

"It was Billy Mumy."

She stopped and stared at him, jaw agape. "You're kidding."

"Will Robinson hisself."

She blinked. "All right, the world just shifted on its axis, but I'm just going to ignore that. Where were we?"

"Your buddy Kirk."

"Yeah. My close personal friend Kirk. Oh, and another thing!" She was shouting now. "He's always got some mysterious project going on that no one knew about before, like he's some kind of closet mad scientist. Some hidden talent. Some weird knack for technology that just shows up, out of nowhere."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean ... once he showed up selling soap that was made out of hay. All kinds of stuff - lotions, shampoos, all this stuff with some active ingredient he synthesized out of hay. He made it all himself in the basement of his" - she used air quotes " - 'mother's' house."

"And ... another time, he just showed up and installed a traffic light in the middle of town. Taylor said it was his idea, but I really thought it was Kirk. Still do. Once, he installed a security system in my house. I didn't know he was even there until I set the stupid thing off!"

Oh, and once..." she shook her fist menacingly. "Once... once, he showed up here. Pretended he was on staff. Sat in on the staff meetings. I turn around, he's working the front desk, and no one said boo!"

"That doesn't sound very high-tech, darlin'."

"No, but that's the other thing he does. It's like mass hypnosis, mass hysteria, mass something. Everyone just goes along with whatever he's doing, like he's been doing it the whole time. What's Kirk's game? Hell, I wish I knew. He's a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a $10 haircut."

Sawyer took all of this in, and he felt less sure of himself than before.

"Okay, so why are you here, then?"

"Our town selectman disappeared. He's ... nobody likes him very much, but he's kinda like the pothole at the end of Main Street. It's a nuisance, but everyone would miss it if it went away. And this morning, our pothole went away, and you showed up, and long story short - okay, not such a long story - anyway, people think that you had something to do with Taylor disappearing."

"They do."

"Well, sure. I mean, this is a small town, not much happens here. Something big just happened, and another something just happened, and it's only natural to think the two somethings are related. Ergo ... something ... propter hoc, or whatever that Latin phrase is."

"Well, yeah, that makes sense. Not the Latin, but the rest of it." He rubbed a hand through his moist hair. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Lorelai. Lorelai Gilmore."

"Ah," he nodded. "Should have known."

"Why?"

"Because your name is all I've heard since I showed up here."

Lorelai, startled, asked, "where have you - who's been - what are you talking about?"

"At the diner. Your boyfriend with the ball cap, when he called you." He made his voice gruff, blunter. "'Lorelai, I'm telling youse, don't touch this guy. He's bad news, toots.'"

She grimaced a little, and said, "he's not my boyfriend."

"Uh huh." He went on. "Someone else said it in the diner. That loud blond chick, Nanette or Ronette or somethin'. And Mrs. Kim, after I left. The door opened and I heard her saying something about you. Some guy was on his cell phone in the town square, and I heard him say he wanted to talk to Lorelai Gilmore, stat. So hell, I figured you were a doctor."

There were more, and he shared the rest with Lorelai as she turned various shades of red.

"I don't know what you really do here besides just run your inn, but from the looks of it, everyone here thinks you're the town selectman. And the police. And the savior come back to free us all. Hope I'm not telling you something you didn't already know."

"Oh, no. No. I guess... Yes, I didn't know all that."

"So really, I'm not the mystery around here. You are. You show up in my room, ready to spy on me. You're talking about this guy Kirk and the hold he has on this town, but way I see it, you're the one that really pulls the strings.

"No, I ..."

"Now listen to me, Ms. Lorelai Gilmore. I ain't got a gun - only weapon I have is what God gave me - but imagine I'm holding a gun to your head. If you had to answer the question - " His voice slowed, almost to a purr.

"If you had to say the real reason you were standing here, what is it? Why are you standing here in my room?"

She looked toward the mirror, toward the floor. And then looked at him bashfully. "I wanted to be the hero."

"There you go."

"I liked ... that people were depending on me. I don't know why they have faith in me like this, but they do, and I was going to prove to them that I was worthy of it."

Sawyer nodded gently.

"And?"

"And ..." She twitched her nose and said, "I wanted to see you."

"Uh huh."

"You know, I wanted to ... see how bad this Sawyer person could be. Did he look violent, did he carry a machine gun, did he have tattoos up and down your arms? How bad is this guy?"

"And how bad do I look?"

"There's a lot of ways to answer that question," Lorelai responded.

"Do I really look like a bad guy?" he asked softly.

"Well, no."

"Okay. Now we got that settled. Sounds like we've both got some mysteries to solve, maybe we can help each other out."

"Maybe so."

"And maybe," he purred, "there's more than a few questions that are worth asking."

"Maybe there are," she responded, her heart pounding in her throat.

"So let's hear it, Lorelai. You got any questions you want to ask me? " He took a step toward her, eyes lowered a notch, a little smirk beginning to show.

"What's your real name?" she whispered.

He lifted his hand, reached across to caress her hip. "You can call me James if you wanna call me something."

Lorelai stopped just then. He was a con man. Maybe he was setting her up right now. She didn't know. She didn't trust him. Didn't not trust him, either. But she needed to stop him from running the show. She was getting pulled in.

"There's a nice comfy bed out there, maybe we could ... sit down and interrogate each other..."

"You know what? " She pulled back fiercely. "Shut up. I'll decide what I'm going to call you. And it might be Sawyer, and it might be James, and I might not call you anything at all. You're not the one in control here."

"Okay."

Without meaning to, she added, "say it."

He paused for a very long time and then finally said, "I'm not in control here."

"I own this place," she said quietly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're on my turf, 'James.' My property." She reached out unexpectedly, ripped the towel off him, and held it in her hand.

"I make the rules here." She moved toward him then, tossing the towel aside, and Sawyer felt a rush of emotions, fear not the least among them.

"Yes, ma'am," he said again, and then her mouth was on his.

It was quite some time before they made it to the bed.

The Accidental Tourist - Part Three

"Hey, mom." Rory juggled her cell phone as she dug in her pockets for cash.

"Hey. What's shaking, kid?"

"Um, well, nothing, thank goodness. No major fault lines run through New Haven, happily."

"Well, you learn something new about seismology every day."

"That was my motto for a month in 8th grade."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but then I moved on to volcanos." She paid for her latte and darted toward her classroom.

"Ah, yes, I remember that. It was your natural disaster phase."

"Yep. What was I after that?"

"Um ... Emily Dickinson."

"Right. Logical."

"Hope is an earthquake with feathers."

"I'm not sure that's accurate, but points for trying. Hey, listen. Where do I get a tiny listening device."

Silence.

"Hello?"

"Still here. I think you have me confused with your other daughter, Veronica Mars."

"Come again?"

"Mom, why would I know anything about bugs?"

"See, you know the right terms for them! Bugs! See, where would I know things like that?"

"Every detective show from the last thirty years?"

"Seriously, you don't know some place I can get a ... whaddaya call it ... a bug in the next two hours?"

A heavy sigh. She was late for class now, and her mother had turned into Inspector Gadget.

"Okay. Lane picked up one this one time to spy on her mom."

"You're kidding!"

"No," Rory continued. "It was just one time. She was convinced it was a defensive move - she thought her mother was secretly eavesdropping on her, and wanted to bug her mother so she could prove it. Still not sure what she would have done with the evidence, it's not like you can bust someone for spying if you're spying on them to find out."

"I think they covered that in the Patriot Act."

"Whatever. Anyway, Lane used it once, heard way too much of her mother singing 'Blessed Assurance" and hid it away. But you know Lane - she never throws anything away if it could be useful somewhere down the line."

"Will she let me borrow it?"

"I'll give her a call," Rory offered.

Lorelai teased,"on your two-way wrist radio!"

"Actually, I'll probably just use the old standby cell phone."

"Aw."

"But I'll tell you it's on my utility belt, if it'll make you feel better."

"Much."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lorelai was thinking to herself...

This was so stupid. This was the world-beater of stupid ideas. Lorelai Gilmore, queen of the stupid ideas. Yet here I am, with a bug the size of a bobby pin, preparing to break in on one of her clients so I can plant the stupid thing under his bed.

A client! This was one of her clients. A paying customer that she would be spying on.

No, stop. He wasn't a customer. He was a bad guy. Evil. Eee-ville.

Hey, wait a second.

Cruella DeVille? De-Ville. It's a play on evil! All this time, I thought she was named after a Cadillac.

Okay. Focus. Evil. Bad guy.

Stud bad guy, though.

Who likes to wear his shirts unbuttoned, even in winter. A little eccentric, but with pecs like that, why not show off a little?

So yes, stud bad guy. But still bad. In some vague, undefinable way, he was bad. Like one of those James Bond villains.

What was the name of that one guy? Top Hat. Top Chef? No, that was a cooking show. No, wait, that wasn't a show. That's Iron Chef. But wait, Top Chef is something. What the hell is that? Is that some kind of Hamburger Helper thing?

Let's think. Top Chef.

Top Chef.

Top Cat.

Top Chef.

Odd Job! That was his name!

Top Chef, though. Top Chef. Top Chef.

Top Ramen.

Mmmmm. Love me some Top Ramen.

Do I have any ramen?

I have spaghetti.

Maybe I could take all the spices and sprinkle a little of everything, all together, and it'll be kinda like one of those spice packets. I mean, who the hell knows what goes in those things, it's just all spices, right? If I just throw them all together, that oughta work.

Stop! Focus! Focus, focus, focus.

And ... now I'm thinking about his bed. And I'm thinking about him laying naked on his bed.

What am I, thirteen?!

Come on, Lor, snap out of it. He's just your average bad guy, an evil man who can't keep his shirt buttoned and who growls alluringly, and you're just going to sneak into his bedroom because you're curious about what he's doing here. You're just curious, that's all. Nothing illegal about being curious. Otherwise that stupid monkey would be in jail, not running around with that idiot in the yellow hat.

No! Focus. Focus, focus, focus...

Monkey. Monkey, monkey, monkey. Focus.

Monkey. Monkey pants. Underpants. Monkey.

Underpants.

I bet he wears briefs.

Mmm...

Dammit! Focus!

She swallowed hard and then put her ear to the door. Silence.

"Okay," she thought to herself. "Here goes nothing." She slipped her master key into the lock.

The Accidental Tourist (Interlude 2)

"We don't know what happened to him."

"Well, did he leave any signs of a struggle? Did anyone see blood or torn clothing?

"No," Sayid signed, a little less patiently than usual. "No struggle. No sign of anything - of Sawyer, of his companions, or of the van. They just vanished."

Taylor tapped Sayid on the shoulder. This was apparently a habit of his, and not one that Sayid found pleasant.

"Is this how you run all your meetings?" Taylor stage-whispered, causing a few people to glare at him.

"Should we start a search party?" asked Desmond. "I'll lend a hand. Shouldn't leave them out there, y'know."

"A search party would be futile," said Sayid. "We have no idea where they are. We don't know if the Others took them. For all we know, they ... fell down a hole. Into a tiger trap. or it's another anomaly of the island."

"Well, we still should ..."

Taylor stepped forward then, his hands outstretched. "All right, now I've had just enough of this. Obviously, you people are starved for some semblance of order. You don't show any respect for this man, Shaheed, who is trying to act as your leader, and you don't even have the decency to raise your hand when you ask a question." Turning to Sayid, he winked and said, "let me see if I can whip these people into shape for you. Don't worry - I'm a Town Selectman. I'm experienced at these matters."

"Sayid, who is this guy?"

"Ah. Now that is a point of information. You're out of order, but I'll accept the question. My name is Taylor Doose, and I'm a businessman and political figure of some stature back in my home stateside."

"He was ... in the place where our people vanished," Sayid interjected. "But he's harmless. He's not one of the Others. He just appeared, as far as we can tell."

People began shouting. "How can you know that?"

"Ben said he wasn't one of the Others!"

"We can't prove that he's who he says he is!"

Taylor held up his hands, trying to restore order. "People, people. I'm happy to answer questions, but only one at a time. You simply must show some level of decorum."

Desmond signaled Sayid and the two began whispering hurriedly while Taylor attempted to prove his innocence. "No, no guns. I can't even shoot a gun. Who are these Other people, anyway, and why are they waving guns at you?"

"I believe we have a solution to part of our struggle," Sayid declared. "We may not be able to find Sawyer and our other friends yet, but we can prove if this man is on our side."

"Well, excellent." Taylor showed visible relief - the crowd had begun encircling him in a way he found uncomfortable. "Name the job, I'll do it."

"This'll be easy. Simply go out to the fence and back," Desmond explained, his voice soothing as a lullaby. "A short walk in the woods."

"A walk?" Taylor was perplexed. "You want me to take a walk? Well, fine. Do I get a merit badge when I'm finished?" He chuckled loudly and waited for the crowd to join him. No one did.

"So ... where's this fence?"

The Accidental Tourist - Part Two

Lorelai walked into the kitchen to find Sookie pacing, her face contorted in thought.

"You okay there, Sookie?"

"Lorelai! Thank God." Sookie pulled her over to the counter. "I gotta talk this out with you. Someone's got to have an idea around here. No offense!" She shouted out to the crew, who all kept their heads down.

"What's the problem, hon?"

"Fruitcake. Fruitcake is the problem."

"Well, that'd be a first," Lorelai muttered.

"It's like ... it's the Gordian knot of cooking. It's a formula, it's a pattern, a series of steps, and you can't mess with any of those steps without unraveling the whole dadblamed thing!" Sookie’s hands flew to illustrate unraveling, and Lorelai flinched in spite of herself.

"Okay. So ... what does any of that mean?"

"That means it's Christmas, and I have to work up some of my magic! I've got to do something special for the season - everyone's expecting it.”

“So … egg nog?”

“Already done it.”

“Christmas ham.”

“Christmas ham, Christmas turkey, Christmas cookies, pfeffernusse…”

“Gesundheit.”

“I needed something new. I decided this year that it was going to be fruitcake..."

Michel poked his head into the kitchen. "Lorelai, line three is for you."

"Okay. Hold that thought." She picked the phone. "Hello?"

"Is he there yet?"

"Is who there what?"

"The guy! The guy who bodysnatched Taylor!" It was Babette.

"No, I can't say I've seen any bodysnatchers around here. But hey, I'm in the kitchen, so I can check for pods while I'm here."

"Look, toots, I’m standin’ outside Luke’s. He left here about ten minutes ago, headed your way. Whatever you do, don't let your guard down, okay?" And click - she was gone.

Michel appeared again. "Now line two. And I have four messages for you when you're finished with zis one."

"Are they all about the ... what’s his face?"

He flipped through the messages. "Six blocks away ... just passed here ... don’t say I did not warn you … batten down ze hatches..."

"Okay. Look, hold my calls. Unless it's a supplier or ... someone who's not crazy."

"I will do my best, but you and I will differ on who fits your second criteria," Michel cooed.

"Go!" She pushed him toward the desk. She turned to Sookie. "I don't know what I can do here. You need ideas?"

"Yes! Inspiration, ideas, a miracle..."

"I haven't heard about Smokey Robinson booking a room this weekend, so you're stuck with me. Let's start at the beginning. What goes into your normal fruitcake? And I know that normal doesn't really apply here, but just for the sake of argument."

"Well, it's just your basic dense cake, soaked with brandy..."

"Can't go wrong there."

"And then there's the fruit."

"Like what?"

"Well, your standard candied fruit, also soaked in brandy…”

“Well, why mess with a good thing?”

“Dates, walnuts, raisins…”

“Raisins?”

Sookie nodded. “Oh, and the maraschino cherries.”

“Where?”

“They’re all over. Red and green.”

“Wait, stop,” Lorelai said, puzzled. “Those green things are cherries?”

Sookie looked up. “What else would they be?”

“Well, I don’t know. Pistachios?”

“Well, maybe. So what I’m trying to do is come up with a new fruit cake. Fruit cake remix!”

“Okay, so what have you got?”

Sookie’s hands tried to show excitement. “Tropical.”

“Oh.” Lorelai’s face couldn’t hide her alarm.

“Mango.”

“Oh.”

“Papaya. Pineapple.”

“Oh.”

“And maybe topped with toasted coconut?”

Michel burst in. “Lorelai, I can’t put zem off anymore. Every line is people calling about ze man of mystery. He’s approaching, he’s coming zis way, he has a machete strapped to his back…”

“A machete?!”

“I may have misheard that one. But we’re under siege. Lorelai, who is zis man? What does he want? Why are you getting field reports like we are CTU and Jack Bauer is missing in the desert?”

“He’s … look, I don’t know who he is. All I know is that Taylor has suddenly disappeared – and I don’t mean he’s hiding, I mean he went poof, vanished, disappeared in a cloud of smoke and no one heard him going hi ho silver. He’s gone, this guy’s here. Luke says his name is Sawyer, but is that his first name, his last name, his secret service code name? No idea. No one knows anything about him.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, Mrs. Kim says he’s a generous tipper.”

“Well, kudos to him, but that still tells us nothing,” Michel sneered.

“Ooh, I’ve got a plan!” Sookie burst in.

“Does it involve coconut?”

“Well, not unless you’re feeling naughty…”

Lorelai glared at Sookie. “You’re not going to even say it …”

“Well, if anyone’s going to seduce him, you’ve got the moves, sister!”

“Aw, come on now...”

“Seriously! This guy might be a threat to the town. The state. Our … whole way of life! You’d be doing a service for your country. Plus, Miss Patty says the guy smolders.” She put her hand to her chest and repeated, “Smolders.”

“Why do you assume I’d just throw myself at someone like that?”

“Well, I don’t know if you would, but I might if I were available. Could be fun.”

Lorelai’s jaw unhinged. “Um, hello. Not exactly Mata Hari here. How did I become available? Christopher and I …”

“Lorelai, come on. Christopher is a rebound. The chances of you and Chris becoming a real item is about the same as me winning the lottery.”

“Thanks.”

Outside, a bell dinged. “Hey, anyone back there?” called a drawly voice.

“Okay. Here’s the plan. I’m not seducing anyone. Michel, see what he wants.”

“What if he wants to slit my throat and drink my blood like a fiend of the night?”

“I doubt very much that is going to happen. He’s new in town, probably needs a room for the night. But stall him – get whatever info you can, where he’s from, why he’s in town, anything.”

“Perfect. I will be your shield. When you hear the blood-curdling shrieks, you can take that as a sign things are not going as planned.”

“Michel, please … just see what you can do. Thanks.”

---

The man was inspecting the lobby. Running his calloused fingers over the books, touching the drapes and the tables, and now he was sitting down in the best leather chair, looking like he’d rather be on the back of a Harley. His clothing was midway between ‘rebel” and “young college professor who still wants to be a student” – tight blue jeans, clean cowboy boots, and a tan suede jacket that was thankfully bare of fringe or “ZZ Top” buttons. He was handsome, Michel had to admit, in a shaggy, rakish, bad-boy way.

Michel waited at the desk for a moment before he delicately cleared his throat. The man spun, and Michel saw for the first time that he wore spectacles.

“Welcome to the Dragonfly Inn. How can I help you?” You murdering fiend.

“Well, hey there yourself. Say, what kind of a joint you running here, Pepe?”

That took Michel by surprise. “Pepe? I have not heard that before.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he said. A tiny smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Pepe’s just … one of those, what is it, terms of endearment. It’s a Southern thing.”

“And what does it mean?”

“Oh, I’ve never really known, it’s just one of those friendly things you call someone from Europe. It’s like, you know, buddy or something. Pal.”

“Ah. So you are from the south?”

“Yeah, ‘Bama. Alabama. You’re not, I take it.”

“Oh, no, no,” said Michel, and he flushed a little. “So … how long will you be staying with us?”

“Oh, not sure. All depends on whether I find what I’m looking for.” He laid a black Visa card down on the desk with the single word "Hanso" emblazoned in green across the top.

---

“So?”

Michel was beaming, which was so rare as to be shocking. “He’s not a fiend of the night.”

“Well, your head is still attached to your torso, so that was reassuring,” said Lorelai.

“He doesn’t know why he’s here. He’s not a killer or a spy. He spent some time on an island, and he says he’s looking for something but he doesn’t know what it is. He will know when he finds it. He’s in 215.”

“So, what, he’s on some kind of spiritual quest?”

“it appears that way, yes.”

“Why are you all lit up?” Sookie asked, and finger-circled his face.

“He just … he called me Pepe.”

Lorelai nearly spat out the coffee she had just lifted to her mouth.

“Pepe?”

“Yes. It was quaint. He said it was a Southern expression, a term of endearment.”

Sookie and Lorelai traded glances. Then they began snickering, but tried heroically to stop.

“What? What are you not telling me?”

Lorelai composed herself. “Michel, watch a lot of cartoons growing up?”

“We watched ‘The Adventures of Tintin.’ That was the only one. We never watched those repulsive American cartoons, Punch and Jerry and the rest of them.”

“Bugs Bunny ring a bell?”

“No.”

Sookie offered, “Elmer Fudd?”

“No.”

“Pepe LePew?”

Michel’s eyes grew wide. “Who is this Pepe LePew?”

“Where is the guy now?” Lorelai asked cautiously.

“He went up to his room,” Michel said, his voice a bit tighter. “Who is LePew?”

“He’s a ... skunk. He was a little cartoon skunk who spoke with a French accent.”

Michel’s face tightened, blanched, reddened, and then changed an even deeper color.

Sookie added, “He wore this little beret…”

“Where are your knives?” Michel, tight-lipped, asked Sookie.

“Michel…”

He spied a santoku knife lying on a butcher block, and lunged for it.

“No!”

It took both Lorelai and Sookie to restrain him.