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

promise not to talk shop.” 
    “I don’t think so, Miriam.” 
    For a moment I’m tempted to put Lily on the line. Miriam’s a good lady but she’s being nosy. I can hear it in her voice. Two minutes with Lily would give her plenty to talk about down at the office. 
    And now Zoey’s standing in the kitchen doorway, yowling, her toy -- her little stuffed tuxedo-cat -- sprawled at her feet. Thought I’d hid the damn thing. 
    “Good god, what’s that?” 
    “Our cat, Zoey. She does this sometimes.” 
    “Sounds like somebody’s murdering her. So, can I talk to Sam?” 
    Insistent. Zoey’s insistent too. 
    “Not a good time, Miriam.”  
    “Will you have her call me, then? We’re concerned about her.” 
    “I know. Wait. What do you mean? 
    “We’re…concerned. That’s all.” 
    “I’m taking care of her, Miriam. I’m not holding her prisoner or anything.” 
    “I didn’t mean…of course you’re not. Just…have her call me when she’s up to it, okay?” 
    “Yes. Fine. I will. ‘Bye.” 
    I reach down and grab up the toy. Zoey gives one last long yowl as it disappears behind my back and into the pocket of my jeans. 
    I don’t know whether it’s Miriam’s call or Doc’s call or Zoey’s whining or all three of them together but right now I’m boiling. 
    I take a few deep breaths and sit back down at the kitchen table. Zoey ambles over. 
    It’s not her. It’s never her. I stroke her fur. 
    I just touch her. 
     
    Lily’s outside playing with her Barbies in the sandbox I built for her, pretending it’s a beach and the girls are out sunbathing drinking piña coladas or whatever Barbies drink these days while I’m at the drafting table trying to figure out what the hell is wrong here. Everything looks wrong to me now, not just Samantha’s look and Doctor Gypsum’s and the various loathsome members of the Abominations’ League but perspective again, the framing of the panels strikes me as flat, dull, something I could have done better twenty years ago. I’m well into the third act and it’s just not working for me. 
    I keep thinking of that conversation with Miriam. I’m not holding her prisoner or anything. Where the fuck did that come from? Why did I have to say that? 
    Screw this. This isn’t going anywhere. 
    I lean out the window. 
    “Hey Lily! Want to go for a swim?” 
    She looks up, seems unsure at first. Maybe I was a little loud there. 
    “Okay, Patrick.” 
    “Suit up.” 
    Skippy peanut butter and Smucker’s Concord Grape this time. I’ve got them wrapped and packed away in the cooler along with the beer and Pepsi but still no Lily. 
    She’s not in her room. She’s not in the bathroom. I peer into mine. Found her. 
    “What’s up, Lily?” 
    She’s been in the bedroom drawers. Sam’s drawers. She holds an orange and yellow two-piece out to me. 
    “Could I wear this one instead of the blue?” 
    “Whatever one you want.” 
    “This one’s pretty.” 
    “Well. You should wear it, then.” 
    She opens the closet door. Sam’s closet. Fingers a strapless blue and white silk dress. Sam bought it in New York City. 
    “All this stuff,” she says. “It’s really, really pretty. Do you think I could play dress-up later, maybe?” 
    There’s a buzzing in my head. A disconnect. I think she says something else to me. I’m not sure. 
    “What?” 
    “Later maybe, Patrick? After the swim?” 
    “I…I guess so. Yeah, if you want. All right. Go put on your suit.” 
    She hurries out of the room and I’m left standing there looking at Sam’s clothes hanging neatly in the closet and disheveled where Lily’s been pawing through the open drawers. 
    I’ll straighten them out. Only not just now. 
     
    I’m halfway through my first beer when I see the snake. 
    The beer hits the deck and I’m up on my feet with the rake in my hands and it’s coming toward her, its body a black undulating streak in the water behind a raised