As Mika was about to leave my office, I suddenly asked, "The name Alex. Was that the first name that came to your mind when you were writing this?" Mika looked at me, an expression of confusion on his face. "Oh..um, no, actually. But the first name was my own, so I came up with a different one."
"Change it to your own."
"Oh. Um. Why?" he asked, now seriously confused. "It just... works better." He shrugged, "Whatever you say, you're the publisher, not me."
I didn't have any dreams I remembered for a few days. Then, on a Tuesday, Mika called up and said he wanted to schedule an appointment for Thursday. I asked him if he had written anything more, and he said, "No. But I have this feeling...I don't know why, but everytime I write, I get this weird feeling before, like...I'm really tired. All I want to do is sleep. And then when I wake up the next morning, the next part of the story is in my head, waiting to be written. It's really weird, but hey, whatcha gonna do." I took a quick breath in, trying not to make anything of this. It didn't mean anything. Plenty of writers have...rituals...before they write. I went home and told myself if I dreamed tonight, it wouldn't mean anything. I told myself that I wouldn't dream a follow-up dream again, and if I did, Mika wouldn't write it. Myself didn't believe me.
"Hello, children," the woman says, slipping off her sunglasses. I recognize those eyes. "Hey!" I exclaim, "You're me!" The woman stares me, and her eyes narrow, her lips thinning. I gulp. "No," she says, taking off her gloves casually, then looking back up at me, "I'm not. That wouldn't make any sense, now would it?" I shrug, feeling scared. "You're right there," she says, motioning to my position next to Mika. He tightens his grip on my hand. "And I'm right here." She motions to herself. "Therefore, I could not be you." I'm not convinced, but I don't want to argue with the cold glare this woman is now giving me, waiting for me to reply. "Oh," I say, quietly. She look me up and down, and then does the same to Mika. "Do you kids need a ride?" she asks. My eyes widen. "No, ma'am, I don't think so," Mika says, his voice strong and brave, though I can see the fear in his eyes. "Oh, it's no problem," the woman says, looking away from us, towards the road in front of her, slipping her gloves back on, and then her sunglasses. She looks back at me, and though I can't see her eyes, I find myself narrowing my own, and I see the reflection of my eyes in her sunglasses, icy and disturbing. I shudder and pull back. "No problem at all," she says now, looking back towards the road again. Mika glances at me and tugs on my hand. I look at him and find myself leading him to the backseat of the car, opening the door and pulling him in with me. "Wait," he says, tugging on my hand, trying to get back outside, "what are you-"
"Shhh," I whisper to him quickly, looking back at the woman. Mika looks at her too, and pulls his door closed, reaching over and buckling my seatbelt for me. He leans back in his seat and does his own. "What's your name, miss?" I ask as the woman turns her key in the ignition, and the car rumbles a low noise. She glances at me in the rearview mirror from behind her sunglasses. Then she looks back at the road. "That's not important," she says, and pulls the car back into the road. I watch as she reaches a gloved hand over to the radio and turns the dial, turning the radio up. "A White Demon Love Song" by The Killers booms out of the car speakers.
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