The Jerk Who Walks Through Walls

The computer screen displayed the story I was working on:

What was I doing in his closet?  It smelled of cheap and cheesy aftershave. I wanted to throw up. How did I get hooked up with such a loser as Peter? He took anything of value from my apartment when we broke up. I was back to get what was mine.

Aw crap, I thought. He's back.

I closed the closet door, but I could hear every word Peter was saying.

"Of course I can get it from her."

Already trying to hustle some other girl, I mused.

"You don't know my ex. It'll be easy. She doesn't even know I hid it at her place. All I have to do is lay on the charm. The necklace will be in your hands in the morning, I promise."  Or maybe not another girl, but another mark. Ever the criminal entrepreneur, Peter smooshed charm and confidence.

I heard Peter hang up the phone and go into the shower. When I heard the water running, I eased out of the closet and snuck out the front door. I didn't exhale, until I was driving away. Peter hid a necklace in my apartment so it must be hot. And it must be the one I found this morning, cleaning out his stuff. Pawning it seemed like a good idea this morning, but now I'm glad I didn't. The police are going to get an anonymous tip and find the necklace on Peter. After he charms poor little 'ol me, of course.



It was late last night when I finished revisions to my story. Good grief past midnight, I noted.
Noise in the hallway alerted me that someone was out of bed. Time to wrap this up anyway.  As I rose from my chair, the door opened.

“You can’t leave me hanging like this. What did I ever do to you?” A thirty something man dressed as a 1970s lounge lizard, complete with open shirt and gold medallion, busted into my den.

“Huh who are you?’

“Whaddya mean who am I?  I’m Peter, the guy in your story.  Who dresses like this anymore?” His voice had an exaggerated Brooklyn accent.

“Okay let’s say for a moment I believe you, what do you want?”

“What do I want? Are you stupid as well as deaf? Why do I have to be the jerk?”

Not believing what I was seeing, I said, “Somebody has to be or there’s no story. How is it possible I am talking to you?”

“Remember reading Robert Heinlein’s “The Cat Who WalksThrough Walls" and his self aware characters? Well guess who he got those ideas from?”

“You mean I create little worlds with each story I write?” I was staggered at the thought. Motioning for him to take the chair opposite my desk, I sat down in a daze.

“Yeah and the world you created for me sucks.  I’m always a jerk, always badly dressed, never get the girl and end up in prison.”

“I never dressed you like that or gave you a Vinnie Barbarino accent.”

“In your mind’s eye, this is how I look and sound.  I’ve been to your other worlds. The Star Trek bar is pretty cool. Pat the barkeep is a great guy. He wants to know when he can bring out his antennae. I could be a patron in that story. Or the bistro is uptown from me. I could be the new boy friend.  How about I become a new doctor in your Day in the Life story? Hell, I’d even settle for one of your poem worlds.”

“Poems can be worlds?”

“If they are complete enough. The one about the road less travel, I could be the knight/mechanic.”

“You don’t seem like the settling down kind of guy.”

“Shit, after a few years in prison and never really scoring it big, maybe I’m ready to settle down.”

“Technically, you’re only a few months old, so how could you have done time?”

“I’m 32 genius. Back story is my life. What about it? Finding me another story.”

I pondered all of this and I felt a sneaking suspicion creep over me. He could have read all of those stories online and I said as much.

“You want me to prove all of this is true?” Peter asked.

“Yes, if I am going to make a major change to my story, then I want proof. Is there something that you can tell me that’s not online that only you and I would know?”

He closed his eyes in thought for a few minutes and then said, “That time in the jewelry store with the narrator. You need to find her a name, you know. She showed me the ring she wanted someday and suddenly I’m a knight on a white horse and she is my lady. We ride off into the sunset and we kiss and not just any kiss if you know what I mean.”

“Uh, okay that’s enough.”  Good grief, how could he know about that? I had been writing, got bored with the story and then got silly. I deleted everything so...

Could this really be true? And if it was, was I responsible for this guy’s (character’s) life? 

“If I take you out of the story what happens to the narrator? Does she just disappear or what?”

“I don’t know. I guess you need to put some other loser in there”

“Well if I take you out of the story and put someone else in, the problem remains. Someone has to be the jerk for the story to work.” I saw that Peter wanted to protest but I held my hand up.

“What if I gave you a happy ending with the narrator?”

I could see him thinking over the idea.

“What kind of happy ending?”

“What if you didn’t really steal the necklace, but lead the police to the real thieves and win the narrator’s heart.”

“Who would believe that?”

“You had better hope the police and the narrator. Or I could write that you go to prison for the necklace theft, change your ways and realize she is your one true love. After you get out, you find her and win her love.”

“If those are my choices, I'll take the first one. Thanks.”

“Now, how do I get rid you, Peter.”

“Just start writing.”

And I was still writing at my computer when my husband found me this morning.