Free I'm Not Sam by Jack Ketchum, Lucky McKee Page A

line. Their bodies are heavily armored and their jaws are filled with long sharp teeth. You catch a gar, you don’t touch the damn thing, you cut away the hook, leave it to him as a souvenir. I’ve seen gar with three or four of them hanging from their jaws like some kind of Goth mouth-jewelry. 
    You can use practically anything as bait -- chicken liver, frozen shad, dough balls -- but I prefer nightcrawlers myself. There’s a ravine about a half mile from the house and at night after a heavy rain there are hundreds of pale fat bodies wriggling through the grass trying to keep from drowning. All you need is a flashlight and a jar with a perforated lid and some dirt inside and you’ll have your bait in no time. 
    So that’s what we do. 
    Sam never liked this part. I mostly did it alone. But Lily’s delighted at discovering this strange living world writhing under our flashlights at her feet. Even more so at finding some of them stuck together. I’m not going to try to explain to her about hermaphroditism. 
    She has no problem at all picking one up, examining up-close and then dropping in the jar. 
    The problem comes the following day when we start to fish. 
    She hates worming the hook. Won’t have any part of it. Hates to watch me doing it too. 
    She’s feeling the worm’s pain. 
    I always wondered exactly how much pain is really involved in this. It’s not as though a worm has much in the way of a nervous system. But it’s important to push the hook through the flesh of the worm several times so it doesn’t slip off in the water. Usually three will do. But after the first invasion of that flesh the writhing can get pretty intense. As though the worm were angry, indignant at this unwarranted piercing. You can look at the worm and imagine you’re seeing torture up close and personal. 
    Lily really can’t stand to watch. So our fishing expedition is a short one. We go home with a perch and two crappies. 
    I guess that’ll do. 
     
    When Doc calls I’m unprepared for it. 
    It’s past 10:00 a.m. I’ve just gotten up. I’ve slept late again. I’m on my first cup of coffee. Yesterday was our grocery delivery and some of the Frosted Flakes Lily requested are scattered across the kitchen table. Bowl’s in the sink, though, so I suppose that’s something. 
    “I just spoke with Trish Cacek,” he says. 
    Doctor Cacek. The shrink. 
    “She says you haven’t brought her in.” 
    “No. I haven’t.” 
    “Why’s that?” 
    “I want to wait and see, Doc. See if she comes back on her own.” 
    “I’d advise against that, Patrick. She needs to be in therapy. You seeing any improvement at all?” 
    “Sometimes a look, a gesture. She was yelling in her sleep a few nights ago and I could swear the voice was Sam’s. But you know, we don’t sleep in the same room anymore, in our room, and by the time I got there she was asleep again.” 
    He sighs. “Take her to Dr. Cacek, Patrick. You can’t do this alone. You’re too close to it. How are you holding up, anyway?” 
    “I’m fine.” 
    I’m staring at the Frosted Flakes. 
    “I’m really just fine. We’re doing stuff together. Things we used to do. We watched SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE night before last. One of her favorite movies.” 
    “And?” 
    “Well, she paid attention. Smiled at the end.” 
    “I’ll say this once again. You’re too close to this. It’s not good for either of you. Get her into therapy.” 
    “I’ll think about it, Doc. Honestly I will. I want to try, though, just a little while longer. Thanks for calling. Appreciate it.” 
    We hang up. I wipe down the table. Sit and drink my coffee. 
    I’m unprepared for the second call too. It’s not a half hour later. I’m just finishing up the dishes. 
    “Hello?” 
    “Hi, Patrick.” 
    “Oh. Hi, Miriam.” 
    “How are you? How’s she doing?” 
    “Better. A little better, maybe.” 
    “Good. That’s great. Can I say hi? Just a quick hello? And I