Free Repo Madness by W. Bruce Cameron

silence for a moment. “And we’ve got another problem. Or at least, I do.” I explained to him about Dr. Schaumburg’s insistence that I take medications to silence the “voice.”
    â€œThat’s absurd. What difference would it make to take pills? I’m a real person!” he declared indignantly.
    I was quiet.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œThere’s something not right. It didn’t seem to bother you at all when I told you about the eighteen months. You’ve been gone, vanished, for all that time, and you just accepted it. As if you already knew. And all the questions you’re asking me, they’re the same questions I’ve been asking myself. There’s nothing uniquely … Alan … about you. It’s as if—well, Dr. Schaumburg said he was concerned I might want you back so much that I would sort of invent you in my mind.”
    â€œThe man sounds like a quack,” he sniffed.
    â€œI did just have a head injury,” I mused. “Maybe that’s what did it.”
    â€œWhat was I supposed to say when you told me I’ve been gone eighteen months? What could I say? There’s nothing I can do about it. To me it feels like I was taking a nap—I have no sense of time passing at all. And I’m asking logical questions . ”
    â€œYou’re getting a little shrill in there, Alan.” I was grinning, though—getting this cranked up was exactly like Alan Lottner.
    Except, of course, I knew that this was how Alan would react. If he were a mental figment, he would have the personality I remembered.
    He asked about the rest of the people in my life. He shared my opinion that Strickland was too good a lawman to have resigned, but agreed it was just like the man to have held himself to such high standards. For some reason, Alan was very approving of Becky and Kermit getting married. I told him about the Wolfingers believing they were headed to Hawaii and that Jimmy had “sort of” started sleeping with Alice Blanchard again. That one shocked him.
    â€œShe hates him though,” Alan protested in disbelief.
    â€œI know. But that’s just … Jimmy.”
    Alan was thoughtful for a moment. “So, how much do you get for a repo?” he finally asked.
    â€œAlan, for God’s sake.”
    â€œFive hundred?”
    â€œYes. Well, for skips. I get two fifty for a regular repo. And lately we’ve been getting these people who forget that they have to turn in their cars at the end of the lease. I get fifty bucks for that. Same deal as always, Milt splits the fee with me fifty-fifty. Oh. Yeah. Milt.” I told Alan about Milt sitting in his garage, his motor running. “I wanted to believe it was an accident, but Kermit said Milt had cancer and that it had gotten into his liver, poor bastard. They’re investigating it as a suicide. It looks like he drank a quart of vodka, engine going, until the fumes got to him.”
    Telling Alan about Milt punched a hole through the wall of denial protecting me from the reality of his death, and I went quiet while Alan processed his shock. Eventually Alan said all the right things about being sorry for my loss, but soon got right where I knew he would go. “So with Milt gone, do you even have a job now?”
    Exactly the question I’d been asking myself. Again, nothing to suggest Alan was anything but my imaginary friend. “Trisha gets the business, I guess. I can’t see her running it, though. I don’t know what is going to happen. Maybe she’ll put me in charge, who knows.” I shuddered. “Just saying that gives me chills. Sit at a desk all day? I’ll take my chances with Repo Madness.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do if the business closes?” Alan wanted to know.
    I didn’t have any sort of answer to that one.
    *   *   *
    Katie poked her head in around four o’clock. “Hey,