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"Now? It's really... I can't stay like this."
"Very mature of you. I recommend you sit down for this, for the vertigo." He gestures to the stoop. You sit, and he pushes his sleeve up. "Allow me."
What does he do? You think it went like this— he grabbed the air, twisted it, and pulled it away, like that trick with the tablecloth. Everything wobbles a bit, but remains where it is. You look at your hands. You look down. "Oh!"
"See? Not difficult." Richard offers you a hand up. <span class="mu-i">He</span> hasn't changed. "Don't look at me like that, Charlotte; it's novel. You must understand that I have no special tie to the age I appear as. You're the one who—" You're glaring. "Goodness. At least allow me the period of this conversation. I believe it'll become clear you're the one who owes a favor."
"Because I killed you?" you say.
"I'm well over that, primrose. No. You got killed. We'll discuss that inside— it's not pleasant out here."
"Really? I thought it was a nice..." Your voice dies. The lawn outside was nice, and the sky was blue— you're sure of those. Now the lawn is brown and the sky is grey. Red-tinted, you'd say, but you don't want to go there. "Okay."
You go inside. (You walk easily: your knee-wound has vanished.) The entry is as you remember, as is the parlor, and you heat-seek out the settee. Richard chooses a perpendicular armchair and lights a cigarette.
"You better use an ashtray," you say. "Aunt... er..."
"Your aunt would disapprove? I doubt she'd know, but I'm happy to respect her wishes." Richard reaches over to the end table and twiddles the ashtray there. "Now we better talk about you. Why did you shoot yourself in the head, Charlotte?"
"Um," you say. "I... I didn't actually... Ellery did."
"Because you asked him to."
"He offered."
"And you accepted this offer? And goaded him to go through with it? You shot yourself in the head. Please explain your reasoning to me."
"I... um..." You curl your legs up under yourself. "I don't want to die."
"Which is why you shot yourself in the—"
"No. I'm just saying, I— I wouldn't have agreed if I thought it'd— I wasn't trying to die. I didn't think I'd die. And," you venture, "it looks like I was right, so..."
"Charlotte, that's a justification, not an impetus. If I were to go to the market, I would assume I wouldn't die at the market, but I don't go there because I won't die. I go there to purchase grains, or whatever it is you eat. Fill in the blank. What advantage did you see in being shot in the head?"
"Um," you say. "I just... I was talking to Ellery, and he was saying a lot of things about how it was weird that I... that I did a lot of weird things. And he said that he thought I was special. Kind of. And that I couldn't die, because I... it wasn't the right time yet. And something wouldn't let me. Or something."
Richard taps his ash into the ashtray. "And you wanted to see if he was correct?"
"I guess," you say. "Yeah."
(4/6?)
