“Shades!” Amos could barely contain himself. He had an easy smile projecting a sense of trust and genuine interest.

I climbed into the back of his taxi. “You approve of this look?”

“If you were a little grubbier, you could pass for a blind beggar.”

“I think I prefer ‘Professor.'”

“Duly noted. Home again, home again, jiggety-jig?”

As we left Baybrook Mall on the way back to Texas City, I began thinking through my encounter with Eren. With assurances I hadn’t been hallucinating, there was evidence of tampering in my back story. Amalthea called Amos, and Amos directed me to Eren; Amos was always nearby whenever I called, almost as if waiting for me. Even the neighbor across the street from my assumed residence might have been involved, and I was beginning to feel manipulated.

It was time to see what kind of influencer I could be.

“Amos,” I began, “how long have you known Amalthea?”

I was careful to sound casual about it as if it were an accepted fact, but Amos hesitated as I expected he might.

“Oh… you mean the nurse?”

I concentrated as I stared at him, imagining my own voice as his inner monologue. He already knows. Eren must have told him.

Amos let out the breath he was holding. “We go back a ways. She asked me how you were doing.”

“I’d probably still be sparring with my neurologist if it weren’t for her, so I owe her that.”

Then again, maybe not. As the drugs were wearing off back in the hospital, the final encounter with my neurologist’s shiny head might have been influenced by my will and not merely words. Could it be I had unwittingly compelled the doctor to sign my release?

I thought about the online maps from earlier. We weren’t that far from the water, which was my initial fascination with Kemah Boardwalk, but Galveston Island was just to the south.

“I need a change of scenery,” I told Amos without any influence. “I’d like to see the Gulf of Mexico today.”

“Are we cruising the seawall this evening?”

“Indeed we are.”

Detouring off the expressway onto Highway 3 and merging onto I-45 South, we drove to the end of the interstate past the quaint Old City Cemetery before crossing the island to the aptly named Seawall Boulevard. Amos turned left, heading east in the far right lane closest to the beach and minimizing an obstructed view.

I shuddered upon seeing it. The gulf might as well have been an ocean. Not the clearest waters, but the vastness of it captivated me. I had no recollection of swimming, but I felt drawn, wanting to be immersed or even drowned in it — a spiritual connection.

“You’re awfully quiet back there, Professor. Did you want to stop somewhere along here?”

“Is that an amusement park up ahead?”

I heard him chuckle; it was comforting. “The Pleasure Pier, if you’re into carnival rides.”

I caught a reflection in the side mirror of the low sun. “Turn around and drive west, please.”

The view heading toward sunset was better. Evening lights were coming on, contributing to the aforementioned carnival atmosphere. It’s noteworthy to mention there were people everywhere, but my mind disregarded them, as if Amos and I were the only ones there after some terrible apocalypse.

Ahead I saw a glass-front restaurant with a giant blue crab decoration on the rooftop like in an old monster movie; how could any tourist resist such a sight? “Let’s stop there. I’m famished.”

“Sure thing. Call me for a pick up when you’re done?”

“I’m afraid not, Amos. I’ve been dining alone for weeks, and I would enjoy the pleasure of your company. My treat, of course.”

Or start from the Beginning

. . .