Two months ago, the conversation in my head went like this:
Me: Well, that’s great! I nailed down all of the main characters for my new book…except for one. Luke, where are you?
Luke: Here.
Me: Yikes! What?
Luke: Um, you called me. But I can fade back into your subconscious if you want me to….
Me: No…? No, no, no, no! Stay right where you’re at. Maybe…tell me a little about yourself.
Luke: ….
Me: Luke?
Luke: ….
Me: Darn it! Right back where I started. I just can’t figure this guy out.
Luke: You really want to know about me? There was this one day at Wolf Camp when my cousin…
Me: Wolf Camp? Cousin? Those aren’t in the book I’m writing.
Luke: ….
Me: Oops, I mean, yeah, that sounds great. Tell me more.
Luke:
“Welcome to Wolf Camp. You have a 42% chance of survival. Please take your orientation packet and head directly to your cabin.”
The kid stood in the doorway like a deer in the headlights. Tattoos marbled his skin while a deflated army-surplus duffel bag hung over one shoulder. It took a second for Becca’s words to sink in. Then—predictably—he turned on his heel to flee the premises…and crashed chest first into me.
“Perhaps you could tone down the welcome,” I suggested to my cousin.
“Just saying it the way I see it, Luke.”
“Well, start seeing it differently.”
Despite our banter, my eyes never left the kid. I did, however, take a single step backwards so I could take in the entirety of his form.
He was early twenties, I guessed. Older than usual. And…. “Where’s Mommy?”
