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“There’s a pattern, a formula to the theories that take off.” Dan scrolled through several threads discussing the elements of each almost scientifically. “They all contain an element of familiarity—something that allows people to say, ‘I’ve seen that’—an explanation with an element of novelty or a twist, and—this is important—an antagonist or system that is motivated to keep the explanation secret, that needs to be overcome. What does that sound like?”
“A novel,” Theo admitted.
“This stays between you and me, mind. I don’t need people knowing.” He grinned. “Consider it a trade secret.”
“Of course, I’ll take it to my grave… We can only hope my body isn’t dug up by a minotaur.”
By the fall, Theo had become more confident with her craft, and their conversations were closer to even, and robust: between colleagues rather than teacher and student. When Dan returned parts of her manuscript with suggestions and corrections, she was always deeply grateful but was now more willing to defend her own ideas and decisions.
“I don’t want to describe him,” she said, when he advised her to give her protagonist more physical definition. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like.”
“Of course, it does. People react to your physical appearance. What he looks like tells you a lot about the characters interacting with him. Are they acting out of revulsion because he’s hideous, or lust because he’s attractive? Are they superficial or ageist or even racist?”
“But that’s all a matter of perspective.” Theo replied. “What we’re repulsed by or attracted to is often about our own stories, our own prejudices. Making your protagonist a blank canvas allows you reflect that; it allows the readers to find themselves in your characters and perhaps to recognize their own biases.”
He sighed as he often did when he thought she was being what he called “high art.” “Readers aren’t interested in reflections, Theo. They want to know whether your hero has a big nose or not, whether he smiles with his bottom teeth showing and might be a lizard.”
Theo snorted. “Are you still reading those?”
“Gotta do the research, sweetheart. It’s what makes me a professional!”
“Well, if the size of his nose or his underbite has an impact on the story, I’ll let them know!” Theo closed the screen of her laptop, so she could see his face unimpeded.
He laughed. “Tell me, Theodosia, what does a young woman like you find attractive these days? It’s abs, isn’t it? Every woman nowadays wants a man with abs.”
Theo studied him, noting the glimmer in his eye. Whatever she said, he would tease her about it later. She shrugged. “I don’t know if there is anything in particular. People are more than the sum of their physical parts. And I’m not particularly fussed about abs.”
Dan shook his head. “Nobly said, but I don’t believe a word of it.” He patted his stomach. “Before you ask—two hundred sit-ups a day.”
Sometime in the months in which they’d been meeting, her friendship with Dan Murdoch became something slightly more. Theo was sure it wasn’t anything as extreme or absurd as love. More a flutter of feeling that she couldn’t describe—an admiration, a deepening warmth—one-sided and embarrassing. It would pass, even out, and they would have one of those legendary writerly friendships like Lawrence and Mansfield or Tolkien and Lewis. Still, there was a strange longing when he smiled at her. Theo expected Dan felt a little sorry for her, perhaps nostalgic for the time when he’d been an aspirant writer unburdened by the weight of fame. It was that. It had to be that. And so, she was caught by surprise when it all changed.
CHAPTER 3
Has a stray dog ever followed you home? Did you take pity on it? Feed it? Bring it inside to play with your kids or sleep by your bed? Interesting, right—how easily we’ll trust a creature who might have been trained to do us harm, to attack on some unknown command? A sound maybe, that people can’t hear but dogs can…and until then they wait, beloved and trusted. Thousands of them across the U.S., placed in particular homes, bypassing security checks with a wag and a lick. Where did your family pet come from? Did fate place him in your home or was it something else? Do you trust Fido with your life? Is that your mistake?
Thousands of attacks reported in the last year—men and women mauled by their own pets. Are these just random tragedies or is there some design to these assassinations?
Frodo 14
WKWWK
My sister was bit by her dog. Near took off her arm. He was a stray, I think.
Diane from Phoenix
That’s BS. My dog’s a stray and he would never bite me.
Space Monkey 2497
I’ll bite you. Message me.
Kansas Karen
The day had started badly. Theo and Gus fought over breakfast…over the milk, to be more specific. It was a petty squabble of the kind they’d had as children, and that had more to do with the fact that one of Gus’s cases was going badly than what ratio of fat and calcium suited muesli. On the way to Benders, Theo mailed the last of the forms and letters that officially and forever gave up her place at the Australian National University. She was unprepared for how untethered that act made her feel, how stateless. And for a while, she was panicked by the finality of it.
And so, when she reached Benders, she was distracted and uncertain of everything.
The beautiful woman was back, and she and Dan were cloistered together in a booth. Dan looked up briefly, smiled, and then reverted his attention to his companion before Theo had time to smile in return. Nothing in his manner invited her to join them, and so she took a seat at another booth and tried not to feel slighted.
