So they took him back to Fern’s restaurant, opened almost two years ago. Took a booth in the rear for more private talk. Fern and store manager Lichen weren’t around, having remained in Washington state to explore another lead. Another Soo(e)s waterway had been uncovered, the more correct one as it turned out. And at the conjunction of it and tributary Kabusie Ck., they’d found their Inner Place with the Indians. I’m not sure if they’ll ever get back.
“Soo. Tell me *exactly* how you got here… arrived in this world? I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Mikie said, shaking his head.
“Weellll, I went into the Yellow Jack. You know the joint below Sandy Shores, kind of near the alien…”
“For Pete’s sake, we *know* where the Yellow Jack is, Trevor.”
“Strevor. Philip Strevor,” he repeated once again.
“So you walked into the Yellow Jack, yeah,” questioned more convinced Frank. “Then what?”
“Well, Miss Janet, you guys know Miss Janet I assume.”
“Of course we know Miss Janet, Trevor,” said Mikie. “She’s the one who set us up with Grant Price. For protection that time.”
“Well. She told me who I was. In this world. I mean, she didn’t *tell* me tell me. But just by her words.”
“*What* words?” asked Mikie.
“Well, she said I was still banned.” He leaned back squeakily in his vinyl booth seat. “And that did it.” Suddenly Strevor was fading. Trevor was finally returning, coming down from the mushrooms. “And then I was…”
“Trevor,” guessed Mikie.
“Yeah.” He looked at each one, as if he hadn’t seen them all night. “Trevor.”
He was back.
They went out of the building and turned around. Fern’s restaurant was gone. The old Crucial Fix coffee shop had reappeared in its place, alternate history erased. Fern was never in this reality, nor gal pal Lichen. We can move on to another story in another place.
Sunklands 