become. He drove north. He stopped for gas and coffee somewhere, gas and a sandwich somewhere else. He tried to avoid seeing himself, but every couple hours he couldn’t help looking or catching a glimpse by accident. Every time, he looked different. The further north he drove, the more he resembled Doug. He guessed it was only natural to become himself, and left it at that. By the time he arrived in Portland, he’d become Doug again. He drove directly to the bait shop. He did not open up for business. Instead, he locked the door after him and went up to his room above the store. He climbed into bed and fell fast asleep even though his back ached from the miles on the road. He had driven very far.
Doug woke in his bed. The young man who’d caught the strange fish sat in a chair beside him. When the young man noticed Doug was awake, he put the book he was reading aside and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“How do I feel?” Doug said, and laughed painfully. “I feel as shitty as the day I was born.”
“You fainted, so I brought you up here.”
Doug shook his head, mumbled, “I didn’t faint. I became someone else.”
“What was that?” the young man said.
“Nothing. You didn’t call an ambulance, did you?”
“No.”
“Good. I don’t have health insurance. What time is it?”
The young man looked at his watch. “It’s four in the morning.”
“Good,” Doug said. He groaned and sat up in bed. “Then it’s about time we got started.”
“Started with what?”
“Fishing.”
“You can’t be serious—”
“Look, boy. You showed up here almost twenty-four hours ago with a freak fish in your ice chest. Next thing I know, I’ve lost a day of my life, and trust me, I ain’t got many left. You owe me for that day. You’re going fishing with me.”
But as soon as he’d said it, Doug realized the young man was not in the room with him. He was alone. He’d no idea how many days had passed, one or ten or none at all. He’d no idea how he’d managed to get upstairs to his room.
Gray light filtered in, but not enough to tell if it was early morning or late evening. He moved to the window and looked out. The young man’s Dodge was still in the parking lot. Now it was nearly submerged. Doug’s chest tightened. A flood had rolled in and swallowed the earth. His car had already gone under. He knew his shop was flooded. He’d lose his fish mounts and so much else. His only phone was down there, so that was gone. No chance of calling anyone. The rain continued falling heavy. Soon the truck would also vanish under the roiling waves. Somewhere in a distant town, a man who wasn’t Doug had a wife. Somewhere in this floodwater, the blue-eyed fish with human limbs and such sharp teeth must have dwelled. Maybe it was dead. Maybe not. Maybe a million more like it existed, ready to emerge from the river in this time of flood. Somehow he knew the creature had gotten the young man who’d caught it.
If only he could will himself to be that other man, but he could not. He locked the bedroom door and retrieved the Smith & Wesson from the safe. He sat in the rocking chair by the window, the revolver on his lap, staring out at the strangely desolate world. No people or rescue crews out there. Only dark water, dark sky.
I. The Best is the Worst
They chose to spend Christmas in Japan. She had longed to revisit Tokyo ever since a childhood trip, but cities exacerbated his anxiety, so they’d compromised. Two nights in Tokyo, drinking sake in clubs and eating the best ramen of their life, before traveling north to the island of Hokkaido, where they fished for yamame trout using tenkara rods. On Christmas morning, they walked down to the clear and frigid creek by the lodge. Within the hour they landed two trout apiece and returned to the lodge and cooked the trout over an open fire. They ate the trout with miso soup and green
Doug woke in his bed. The young man who’d caught the strange fish sat in a chair beside him. When the young man noticed Doug was awake, he put the book he was reading aside and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“How do I feel?” Doug said, and laughed painfully. “I feel as shitty as the day I was born.”
“You fainted, so I brought you up here.”
Doug shook his head, mumbled, “I didn’t faint. I became someone else.”
“What was that?” the young man said.
“Nothing. You didn’t call an ambulance, did you?”
“No.”
“Good. I don’t have health insurance. What time is it?”
The young man looked at his watch. “It’s four in the morning.”
“Good,” Doug said. He groaned and sat up in bed. “Then it’s about time we got started.”
“Started with what?”
“Fishing.”
“You can’t be serious—”
“Look, boy. You showed up here almost twenty-four hours ago with a freak fish in your ice chest. Next thing I know, I’ve lost a day of my life, and trust me, I ain’t got many left. You owe me for that day. You’re going fishing with me.”
But as soon as he’d said it, Doug realized the young man was not in the room with him. He was alone. He’d no idea how many days had passed, one or ten or none at all. He’d no idea how he’d managed to get upstairs to his room.
Gray light filtered in, but not enough to tell if it was early morning or late evening. He moved to the window and looked out. The young man’s Dodge was still in the parking lot. Now it was nearly submerged. Doug’s chest tightened. A flood had rolled in and swallowed the earth. His car had already gone under. He knew his shop was flooded. He’d lose his fish mounts and so much else. His only phone was down there, so that was gone. No chance of calling anyone. The rain continued falling heavy. Soon the truck would also vanish under the roiling waves. Somewhere in a distant town, a man who wasn’t Doug had a wife. Somewhere in this floodwater, the blue-eyed fish with human limbs and such sharp teeth must have dwelled. Maybe it was dead. Maybe not. Maybe a million more like it existed, ready to emerge from the river in this time of flood. Somehow he knew the creature had gotten the young man who’d caught it.
If only he could will himself to be that other man, but he could not. He locked the bedroom door and retrieved the Smith & Wesson from the safe. He sat in the rocking chair by the window, the revolver on his lap, staring out at the strangely desolate world. No people or rescue crews out there. Only dark water, dark sky.
I. The Best is the Worst
They chose to spend Christmas in Japan. She had longed to revisit Tokyo ever since a childhood trip, but cities exacerbated his anxiety, so they’d compromised. Two nights in Tokyo, drinking sake in clubs and eating the best ramen of their life, before traveling north to the island of Hokkaido, where they fished for yamame trout using tenkara rods. On Christmas morning, they walked down to the clear and frigid creek by the lodge. Within the hour they landed two trout apiece and returned to the lodge and cooked the trout over an open fire. They ate the trout with miso soup and green
Similar Books
