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Candy pulls it down and tosses it on the ground.
“I suppose we’re going to have to question everything we see, huh?”
“Everything but us.”
We continue walking. Left turn. Then another.
Candy says, “How do you know everything but us? How do I even know you’re you anymore?”
“We can play twenty questions.”
“Okay. What’s your favorite movie?”
“The uncut version of Bambi. Before they took out all the nudity.”
“What’s your favorite food?”
“Definitely deviled eggs.”
“Your favorite sport?”
“Sumo soccer.”
“Who’s prettier, me or Brigitte?”
“Veronica Lake.”
“What do you like best about me?”
“Your velvet Mary Janes.”
“Did your father really try to shoot you or is that another tall tale?”
Another left turn.
A man and woman are waiting for us. The man is in his late thirties, but looks fifty. When she was young, the woman looked like Ann-Margret, but the chemo has left her nothing but bare bones and gray skin in a crooked wig.
“Jimmy,” she says.
The man raises a hunting rifle.
I pull Candy back around the corner.
A shot goes off, ripping through the brittle cornstalks.
I get out the Colt. Pull the trigger as I round the corner. But there’s no one there.
Candy comes up beside me.
“Was that . . . ?”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad. The human dad who raised me. He wasn’t a happy person.”
I put the Colt back in my waistband.
“I’m so sorry,” Candy says.
I nod.
