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“What does that mean?” I asked.
I hated to ask the question, felt like doing so made this, whatever it was, more real than I wanted it to be. But deep down, I knew there was no avoiding it.
No denying it.
“It means it’s time for you and me to level with one another,” he said.
“And how do we do that?” I asked, my voice sounding defeated.
“What have you been doing tonight?”
He was repeating the question for a reason, maybe to get me to implicate myself, maybe for his own reassurance.
One glance at his face, still handsome but harder now, unyielding, scary, told me I had no choice but to answer.
“Fine,” I responded, knowing what a terrible mistake I must be making, but still hoping to somehow turn this to my advantage. “Why were you at the docks?”
“Why were you at the docks?”
“I asked first,” I countered.
He smiled, laughed again, and I stood taller, the pleasure his laugh brought up snuffed by annoyance and more than a little bit of fear.
“I think I’ve had enough of you laughing at me for the evening,” I said.
“Let’s not worry about the docks for now. Let’s talk about after the docks,” he said.
“Well, as you can see, I’m obviously in my home, attempting to enjoy myself. Alone,” I said putting emphasis on that last word.
“Enjoy yourself or research me?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice shrill and guilty sounding.
“Amethyst, you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met,” he said.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
It was annoying, intimate in a way I had no interest in now. And him calling me that made it impossible for me to pretend this was some kind of elaborate joke. It left no doubt that whoever this man was, he wasn’t my friend Josh Kelley.
“Amethyst is your name.”
“Well, no one calls me that,” I responded.
“I think I will,” he said.
“Fine. Forget my name. Let’s talk about your name,” I said.
“Let’s,” he responded, his voice cool, unbothered, in a way that made me that much more afraid.
“Well, it’s not Josh Kelley,” I finally conceded.
“Why do you say that?” he asked, though we both knew he knew the answer.
“Because,” I said, getting pissed because he was dragging this out, “as far as I can tell, Josh Kelley isn’t real.”
“No, he’s not,” he admitted far too easily. “What have you found out about him?”
I shrugged. “Oh, lots of shit. Where he went to college. His perfectly curated social media profile. One that’s detailed enough to make you think he’s a real person but that doesn’t have any real information. A couple of utility bills. He even has a speeding ticket,” I said.
