Chapter Thirty-Seven: Longest Prologue Ever

The friends immediately gave up trying to find Hayes and didn’t receive any pressure from Snow, who knew she’d have to reopen the museum to the public tomorrow no matter what. All the attention the presidents received on the cable new channels would undoubtedly and unfortunately yield museum patrons. Mitch said he’d come into work tomorrow but Seph made no similar promise or really said anything at all.

As it turns out, President Hayes adapted to the future fairly well and got himself a job at Grande Burrito Place as the assistant manager. After two historic presidents dueled each other on live television, Hayes become concerned people would come looking for him. Having received some comments on his goofy name, the former president willing and legally changed his name to something seemingly more modern. The man who ended post-Civil War reconstruction and the Great Rail Road Strike of 1877, won the Battle of the Riders and first allowed female attorneys to argue in front of the Supreme Court would be known at Grande Burrito Place as Adero Kimble. Somewhat ironically, Mitch, Seph, and the others would actually see Hayes/Kimble working at the restaurant from time to time but after learning the man wasn’t called “Hayes” dropped the notion of ever reopening the search for the president. As it turns out, Adero Kimble never returned to his own time. This is why many American historians refer to Rutherford B. Hayes as “The Missing President.”

The day after the Adams-Polk showdown, Blair and her older sister ate at Big Pizza. Over lunch, Blair discovered that the sister she was always jealous of was actually jealous of Blair. Their mutual, broad, sibling jealousy of one another’s lives made each of them laugh. Blair also liked being able to explain her relationship problems to somebody who cared but didn’t know the other parties. Blair’s sister was so removed from Blair’s circle of friends, there was no reason for Blair’s sister to talk to anybody about anything Blair told her. Blair was able to reciprocate this trust when her sister talked about her coworkers, who had a lot of inter-friend problems themselves. Blair and her sister would have kept talking into the closing hours, but more unusual events pulled Blair away.

Knowing Blair was with her sister, Seph went back to the television studio and tried to get a job, perhaps as an associate news producer. He wasn’t hired but didn’t panic. He decided to apply for a position at the other television stations, still under the impression that creating change within the system would pay better than trying to create change by fighting the system. But before hitting the other places, Seph took the bus to Snow’s museum to quit his job in person and maybe play foot-bag with Mitch. But, yet again, Seph was thinking too many moves in advance.

Earlier that morning, keeping a promise to her family, Lily went with her father to one of his shoe stores to see the award he received by the State Shoe Board. Lily wasn’t particularly interested in her father’s shoe trophy but she was pretty good at faking interest. However, when they got to the store, they saw the place had been broken into. Shoes and shoeboxes were thrown around the store. Money was missing from the register. But most importantly of all Lily’s father’s prized, diamond-encrusted, shoe trophy was missing. Skeptical that the police would put much effort into finding a valuable shoe trophy, Lily decided to call someone she knew would actually help her with a rogue investigation.

Because the presidential brawl and ensuing presidential duel were captured on live television, interest in forgotten presidents boomed the next day and the North Town museum had its busiest day ever. Over two dozen people crowded in the lobby and followed the physically bruised and scarred Mitch for his tour of the President Exhibit. Mitch, having personally known many of the presidents, was easily able to keep people’s attention without the absurd lies he employed on his first day. Though his history was still a little blurred.

-Ah, here was have President Franklin Pierce. Now he was actually a rather depressed man. He saw some pretty messed up shit and it affected him throughout his term. I don’t know if he was suicidal, but he was hard to talk down from the edge of a building. Considered a good-looking guy, though. And he was friends with Nathaniel Hawthorne, who obviously wrote Moby Dick, or something. I think Frank Pierce drank a lot, too. Or at least when you gave him a hard frappe it was gone in three seconds—

It was then that a cell phone started ringing from behind Mitch. It was Mitch’s cell phone, still in Pierce’s coat pocket. The audience looked at one another, confused why a wax statue would have a functioning cell phone. Mitch slapped his head for forgetting Pierce still had the phone and pulled it out of the president’s pocket.

-Do you mind if I answer it?

Unsure if this was a part of the tour, the audience offered no rejection and Mitch answered.

-Hello?

Lily explained her diamond shoe trophy situation to Mitch and said they needed to move fast to catch a train leaving for Los Angeles. Why Los Angeles? Lily said she had already found a clue and would explain on the way. Mitch thought for a second then said he’d be at the train station in a few minutes and suggested Lily call the other friends. She agreed and Mitch hung up the phone.

-Sorry everybody, said Mitch. But history’s going to have to wait.

Mitch ran out of the exhibit, through the entry lobby and outside to the street.

After a few moments the stunned audience broken apart, some of whom confronted Snow and told her the tour guide took a president’s cell phone and ran away. Snow decided to re-fire the absent Mitch. It was bad enough that he abandoned the biggest tour audience the museum would ever have, but stealing museum property was too far.

An eighteen-year old girl who just graduated high school walked up to the boiling Snow and offered to finish the tour of the President Exhibit today and everyday after that. She wanted a dollar more per hour than minimum wage but promised not to abandon tour groups. Feeling this was a pretty good offer, Snow accepted and hired the girl before learning her name.

Her name was Savannah Knox and she ended up doing a pretty good job on her first day. She was an affable tour guide who knew slightly more than basic American history and had just enough attitude to be colorfully charming. She was inarguably a better tour guide than Mitch and even developed a small reputation in the city. Savannah ended up having a number of adventures while working at the museum--albeit many self-inflicted.

Over the years, Savannah’s name began to reach slightly more people than she personally did. There was one particular adventure that led her to a rattlesnake farm after an incident involving a particularly irate museum patron. After said adventure, Savannah made a sign for the museum’s lobby. It read:

If you didn’t like the tour you can come back again for free.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Somebody is Missing

Bogart ran out of the street a block away, unseen by everybody at the museum. The dog ran over to the crashed car and jumped in to find Mitch, no longer in the back seat, but crumbled up in between the two front seats. He was smashed in what had to be the most painful quasi-yoga position ever. Mitch smiled at his new in-car companion.

-Hey, Bogart. Sup?

Bogart licked Mitch’s face, urging him to get up. Mitch took the suggestion to heart and slowly lifted himself up enough to move his legs back underneath him. Bogart helped push Mitch into the driver’s seat and then out of the car. Sore, bruised and scarred in more places than not, Mitch collapsed outside of the car into a sitting position against the back door. One of his shoes was missing but Bogart kept licking Mitch back to good spirits.

Mitch watched Todd de-animate the presidents from a few dozen yards away. For some reason, it wasn’t until Mitch was this far removed from the situation that he realized just how weird it was. Not that weird was a bad thing. Mitch figured he was kind of weird himself. And Lily--over there with the others--she was kind of weird too. Maybe everybody is weird, Mitch thought at his most philosophical. Everybody is weird but sometimes two people have compatible weirdness. And that compatible weirdness is called love.

It was then that Lily noticed Mitch sitting against the car and ran over to him. If Lily was only relieved Seph was still alive, she was ecstatic to see Mitch lightly smile back at her. She was so excited she basically tackled Mitch in an uninhibited, lunging embrace.

Lying on the ground, on top of Mitch, Lily kissed Mitch as passionately as she had ever kissed anybody--and Mitch returned the feelings. When Lily finally pulled her head back she looked in Mitch’s hugging eyes and smiled. In the last two days Mitch had been in two back alleys, one homeless shelter, dangled off a rooftop, slept on a city bus, tampered a car’s brakes, been 1/20th of an on-air brawl and crawled from a car wreck only to be licked all over by a missing dog and tackled into the dirt.

-You smell just absolutely awful, she said.

-Yeah, I was expecting that.

Like Lily moments earlier, when Emmit saw Bogart by the car he similarly ran over and nearly tackled the ever-gleeful dog.

-Mitch, thank you man so much for finding him!

-It was no problem.

-When we get home you’re getting so many doggy treats!

-Are you talking to me or Bogart?

-Him, but you can have some too. Treats for everybody!

Todd smiled at the reunion of the friends. He hoped his other revenge scheme worked out this well and even planned on bragging to the friends and Snow about it. As the street punks who had harassed Todd last week had an insatiable itch to obtain a car for free, Todd gave them an insatiable itch every time they ever sat in a car for the rest of their lives. Sure that punishment was a little more direct, but so were their offenses. Driving Emmit’s car across the city, they were all quite itchy at that moment and would later drive into the middle of a fountain roundabout dedicated to Jonathan Mainville.

Before Todd could say anything to anybody though, he heard police sirens and decided to run for it. Without speaking a word, Seph and Snow watched the homeless man ungainly run down the street with his cardboard tube and a plastic trash bag undoubtedly filled with magical wonders or aluminum cans. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Seph knew that he would never see Todd again; that Todd would leave the city forever and change his name, though not likely his lifestyle.

When the police officers showed up, without consulting each other, the friends and Snow blamed the former presidents--who were now back to being statues. Seph added that the wizard had run away, probably for good. Snow pushed the matter further and said the officers could arrest the wax statues but she’d prefer if they just let her put them back in the museum. The officers consulted their manual on procedures and radioed in advice but didn’t come to a conclusion before the news trucks, photographers and reporters from the Jackson Park duel showed up at the museum.

Dozens of microphones were shoved into the faces of Snow and the friends and everybody began yelling their questions over one another. However, the swarm of questions came to an abrupt halt when it was discovered that nobody was dead, nobody was getting arrested and nobody relevant had slept with anybody else relevant.

That was a close one, thought Emmit to himself and as quick as history can be forgotten, all the media people got back into the trucks and cars and drove off. Caught up in the excitement of being on TV, the police officers left with them.

-I suppose that’s it, said Seph.

-Not quite, corrected Snow. We still need to move these guys into the museum.

So Seph and Snow picked up JQA and Blair and Emmit carried Polk up the front steps of the museum and into the President Exhibit. Lily, Mitch and Bogart followed them. Once both presidents were back in their life-size dioramas, everybody took a step back. There were a lot more things to do but this seemed like a good break for everybody.

-So Blair, said Seph. Why are you wearing Emmit’s shirt?

Emmit froze, not daring to look at Seph or Blair. Blair also didn’t look at anybody. Seph, standing in between them, looked back and forth at both, more curious than accusing. Emmit and Blair unknowingly had the same internal admission: they had failed miserably at balancing two of the most important people in their lives. Emmit was afraid of Seph’s astuteness and internally pled the fifth. In any other circumstance, Blair would have coyly substituted Emmit’s name for Frank Gusenberg--who was gunned down in the St. Valentine's Day Massacre and replied "nobody shot me" to the police while dying.

Unfortunately Blair didn’t have the complete coolness to brush off Seph’s interest with an obscure flip-remark. Rather, she took up the challenge of explaining the story as carefully, but truthfully, as possible. She also hoped Emmit would be listening carefully. He was.

-It’s one of those stories where nothing really happened, she said.

-Nothing?

-Nothing.

Seph accepted the somewhat cryptic answer, trusting and loving his girlfriend and best friend. Emmit felt dumped again and lowered his head, but then saw Bogart, smiling that dog smile and looking up at him. Emmit smiled back and rubbed Bogart’s head. Got to love Bogart.

Lily looked down the line of president displays and then gently shook Mitch’s hand to get his attention.

-Mitch?

-Yeah.

-Where’s Rutherford B. Hayes?

-What?

-President Hayes; he’s missing.

Lily pointed everybody to the empty diorama. Rutherford B. Hayes. 19th U.S. President: 1877 to 1881.

-Oh goddamn it!

Chapter Thirty-Five: Look Out, Dog!

The car on an inevitable collision course slowed when it reached the top of hill over looking, among other things, the North Town museum.

-Have we come to a stop?

-Maybe.

-Almost.

-Nope.

Seph and Snow pushed back in their seats in a useless effort to hold the car back. But it had just too much momentum, and while it slowed going up the hill and stalled at the hump, everybody could feel in their guts that the car would go down the other side of the hill. Also, the presidents could still feel the gun wounds in their guts. Then Snow had easily the best idea she’s ever had.

-Wait. Seph. The emergency brake!

-Isn’t that bad for your car, said Mitch.

-You cut the goddamn brakes, Mitch! That was pretty bad for the car, too!

During this last point, the car started going down the hill, picking up speed every second. Like a roller coaster, the people in the seats started screaming in their seemingly free-fall. Unlike a roller coaster, though, nobody put their hands in the air. Seph put his hand on the emergency brake and pulled.

Going down the hill, Seph and Snow looked toward the museum. The emergency brake’s effect was less than they had hoped, in that the car was still rolling down the hill but now smelled like burning car ingredients. To stop the runaway car, they’d have to run into other cars, trees or the museum itself and even then risked the lives of countless civilians. Also everybody in the car could die, including two former presidents—which would then alter history. Seph and Snow’s predictions, expectations and guestimations were all thrown out the proverbial window when suddenly President Polk stopped trying to slap JQA and pointed directly ahead.

-Look out! Dog!

Seph changed his focus from two hundred yard ahead to ten yards ahead and saw the dog walking into the middle of the road he least expected to see this side of Lassie; Emmit’s dog: Bogart.

Seph swerved the car to the right and ramped onto the sidewalk, lost complete control of the vehicle and drove through an abandoned inner-city playground. The car missed slides and ladders by inches and flew into the sand-surrounded swing set. While the sand contained broken bottles, broken needles and a discarded sandwich, it combined with the emergency brake to slow the car down. Also the car ran into the stone exterior of the museum, which also helped stop the car.

Metal bent. Glass flew. Screaming was abruptly silenced.

Seph opened his eyes. He was bleeding slightly from the forehead but didn’t know what cut him. The deployed airbag had burned the side of his face and kept him propped in his seat. He unbuckled his seat belt and stumbled out of the car. The world was surprisingly silent, missing all the city ambiance Seph was used to. No sirens, helicopters, car horns or music. He didn’t linger on the ground for long though and made it back to the car and opened one of the back doors. JQA, who had never heard of a seatbelt, had fallen off the seat and was pressed against the back of the driver’s seat.

-I’m in an uncomfortable amount of pain.

-Can you stand?

Seph helped the president out of the car and put one arm over his shoulder to support some of the president’s weight. On the other side of the car, Snow fell out and threw up. Expectedly, she swore off mushrooms forever, again. She then helped Polk out of the car but Polk could stand on his own strength. The four people slowly hobbled away from the car.

Emmit, Lily and Blair had seen the car roll down the hill, swerve a dog, fly across a sidewalk, go through a playground and disappear around the corner of the museum. The sound of the wreck kept them all from immediately running around the corner to find the car, the presidents and their friends. After a moment though, Emmit broke away from the girls and ran from the front steps of the museum and around the corner. All his frustrations with Seph after the last few months, days and hours were completely ignored. The possibility of his best friend dying was too much guilt for Emmit.

Blair and Lily ran after Emmit and caught up just around the corner. Emmit stopped running and just let himself bask in relief. While obviously injured, Seph was able to help JQA walk away from the car toward Emmit. As an added bonus, Emmit saw Snow and that other president limping right behind them. Lily and Blair ran passed Emmit and up to Seph. Are you okay? Oh my God, what happened? You’re bleeding. Are you okay? Should we call somebody? Is anything broken? Seph shrugged off their concerns. Yes, he was bleeding. Yes, he was hurt. No, they don’t need to call an ambulance. Seph had a more pressing issue on his mind, and on his shoulder: the injured president.

-Where’s Todd?

-Over here.

Everybody looked at Todd the Wizard, who had walked steadily from the front of the museum to the group. He then spread his arms, creating a personal vortex of wind. Seph looked at JQA. The old battered man was ready.

-I’m sorry we couldn’t make the future perfect, Mister President.

-Seph. Perfection is a process, not a destination.

Todd summoned his powers, pointed his cardboard staff at President John Quincy Adams and sent the man back to the 1820s, leaving behind an inanimate wax statue in mint condition and in the original, nonchalant yet noble, pose.

Polk put a hand in his pocket and felt the money he had pick-pocketed from a number of different people when he wasn’t sure how long he’d be in the future. He had stolen a lot of money from a lot of people because he never knew how much he’d need. One bill had an extra zero written in all the corners, but Polk doubted that really made the currency worth $500. He considered giving it to Mitch or one of the others who had helped him, but then he decided to keep the money for two reasons. One, money could become a problem among the people. Two, the money would have some nice novelty value--as it wouldn’t be acceptable currency in the 1840s. And even if the money wouldn't go back into the past with him, these young people didn’t need to know everything about him and eventually somebody will just find it in his pocket.

Lily approached Polk and thanked him for his help the previous day, especially in dealing with Buchanan. She was impressed how calmly the president had dealt with extraordinary circumstances, and would remember him for it. Blair seconded the sentiment and gave Polk a goodbye hug. And for the second time in almost as many minutes, Emmit found himself jealous of another guy being the center of Blair’s affection. He then cursed himself for being so easily jealous.

-Seph.

-Yes, Polk?

-What were those things on your future doughnuts called?

-Sprinkles.

-Sprinkles! Marvelous.

Todd repeated the grandiose gestures as before and sent President James K. Polk back to the 1840s. And just like that, there were two life-like, wax statues outside of the museum. Across the street, there was the big sandwich place--which again, wasn’t exceptionally large, but rather sold large sandwiches. There, by the front window, one diner turned to his two companions.

-Told you he was a real witch.

-Guys can’t be witches. He’s a warlock.

-He’s Todd the Wizard, not Todd the Warlock.

-So what the hell do you call a girl wizard?

-Wizardress.

-You guys are both idiots.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Workingman’s Blues

Immediately after seeing the U.S. Presidents shoot each other on live TV, Blair ordered Emmit and Lily into Emmit’s car. Lily said they should go to Jackson Park, as Seph and Mitch were there, but Blair said the boys would be going to the museum, and so they should all meet up there. Emmit was confused but for a number of reasons, sided with Blair and everybody drove off.

They were almost at the museum when Snow called Emmit via Seph cell phone. Like a responsible driver, or somebody who didn’t want to talk to Seph, Emmit gave his cell phone to Blair. Blair relayed to the others to look out for Todd the Wizard, who could de-animate, and thus save, the fatally shot presidents.

Blair’s voice then changed just enough for Emmit to notice when Snow handed off the phone to Seph. Blair lost her commanding edge and became unusually heart-spoken. Lily asked Blair if everybody was okay but Blair didn’t answer. Emmit asked if she was on the phone with Seph but Blair didn’t answer.

-I’m here! Blair cried into the phone. Slow the car down!

Emmit and Lily watched Blair’s reactions.

-It’s okay, said Blair in a loud, calming voice. It’s okay.

Blair heard Seph admit his love. They had been going out for months and the only thing Seph had admitted he loved was the original Star Wars trilogy. Blair couldn’t believe what she heard but knew she heard it. She looked at Emmit, knowing that whatever said she loud enough for Seph to hear, Emmit would also hear. Emmit stopped at a red light and mutely looked back at the starring Blair. He couldn’t know what Blair was hearing on Seph’s end, but that wouldn’t matter.

-I love you too, Seph.

Blair couldn’t hear a distinct voice after that; only vague and distant screaming and swearing.

-Seph? Seph!? Anybody? Hello?

There was no car crash sound but the signal was lost. Blair closed Emmit’s phone and handed it back to him. Emmit took the phone and put it is his pocket. He didn’t look at Blair, trying to hide his face with a driving determination. Had he looked at Blair though, he would’ve noticed she was looking out her side window, also trying to hide her face. Fortunately Lily was in the car, not trying to hide anything and suggested they pull over and ask some people if they’ve seen Todd the Wizard. Surely people would know if a wizard lived in their neighborhood.

Emmit pulled up to a group of street side loiters that he did not recognize but Seph would have. Blair asked if they knew where they could find a homeless man called Todd the Wizard. The young local held an immediate and short-lived conference. One was actually a moderately famous hip-hop artist who had recently signed a multi-million dollar contract deal. While this was a financial success, it damaged his ‘every man’ authenticity, or “street cred.” This was far from superfluous information when he pulled out a gun in broad daylight, surrounded by his old street gang and demanded Lily, Blair and Emmit get out of the car.

Not helping the situation, Lily pointed out that the car jacker looked familiar, but was interrupted by Blair. Fortunately for Lily, the car jacker-turned hip-hop star-turned car jacker again, was too flattered to consider this a threat against possible persecution and did not shoot her right then and right there. Emmit backed up the car jackers by suggesting the girls simply get out of the car, seriously he added, if there was ever a car worth getting shot over, it wasn’t this one.

The three got out off the car but Lily saw a chance to help everyone. Here, she said, I can give you some money if you just leave us the car. Lily pulled out all the cash her parents had given her the previous night in order to pay for her dead car, still in the surprisingly nearby repair shop.

Unexpectedly to Lily but expectedly to everybody else, the car jackers took her money and her purse and the car and drove off. As soon as all the criminals were in Emmit’s car, the driver yelled back to Lily that the bum who said he was a wizard was asleep on the step of that new museum. While thankful news, Lily didn’t feel like celebrating. Furthermore, she was now positive that car jacker was a famous singer. Was his name Trouble Cleff? Something like that. Annoyed but largely unfazed, Blair said she wasn’t ready to give up and ran to the car repair shop, with Lily and Emmit behind her.

At the shop they discovered Lily’s car battery was fixed but the employees hadn’t gotten around to fixing the radio. At this point though, nobody besides the mechanics cared. They asked Lily to pay for the repairs completed but obviously she couldn’t. Blair nudged Emmit and he finally got the message. He had to loan Lily the money. A loan that would have no interest nor even a promise of getting paid back. Sure Lily’s parents’ had money and Emmit was now fifty dollars away from debt, but this loan would get Lily’s car back, help find Todd the Wizard and restore the continuity of world history. Still, Emmit thought the manual labor fee was excessive and wanted to scold Lily for her poor financial decisions. And even though he saw no reason to try and impress Blair with his generosity, Emmit paid the fee.

Lily was deeply embarrassed but figured excessive apologizes would just be annoying. She decided to take Emmit out for a dinner, or something, after this was all over. Or maybe that was too romantic. Maybe she’d just treat him to a free lunch. Emmit would have been happy with a flat repayment and a Snickers bar but never had the nerve to demand anything.

Sixty seconds later the three friends pulled away from the repair shop. Fifteen seconds after that, they drove passed Lily’s stolen car and eighteen second after that they found Todd the Wizard eating tomatoes on the steps of the North Town museum. He was taking a break from practicing invisibility spells but nobody cared.

Lily parked her car alongside the curb and everybody bounded out of the car to simultaneously explain the situation to Todd. Seph was in danger. Mitch was in danger. Emmit just had his car stolen by some guy Lily thought she recognized from MTV. Thankfully Todd was a wizard and thus understood each of them, for a normal person would have gone insane with the incoherent flood of information, predictions and emotions.

-Please. Will you help us now?

-Yes, I will.

-They’re going to die if you don’t help!

-The presidents? Yes, I imagine they will.

-Imagine? You brought them to life!

-And I’ll send them back.

-You better.

-I said I would.

-Good then.

Blair looked south and saw a car slow down on the top of the hill, not far from the museum. It was Seph’s car and it didn’t come to a complete stop. The car containing two presidents and Blair’s boyfriend was going to roll down the hill. She knew this but couldn’t say it out loud before everybody noticed it too.

Todd the Wizard knew he couldn’t perform any magic on an empty stomach and so took another bit out of his tomato, wrapped it up in a newspaper and put it back in his pocket. He then shook himself and re-gripped his cardboard staff.

-You know, I usually don’t charge people for seeing me perform magic.

-Well we’re not paying you either.

-Oh. Good. Then every will be back to normal. Oh wait.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Moving Forward with History

The sound of the gun shot startled Polk, along with everybody else. He put his left arm across his midsection and felt blood, then he felt the pain. Polk had never been shot before but always thought it’d feel like a strange hollowness, as if a tiny tunnel would be created within the body. Instead it was an incredible burning sensation, there was no heat in the pain, but there was no other way to describe it.

The bullet blew through the right side of his gut, shredding a kidney. Though this might have been a kill shot, it would not be for a while, and allowed Polk to raise his pistol just high enough to shoot JQA in return. Polk’s gun sounded more like a small explosion and created a thin cloud of smoke around the barrel, revealing its age.

Snow showed up just in time to see the gun shots and while not surprised that the presidents actually shot each other, was astounded that Polk’s prop gun actually worked. Seph, meanwhile, remembered President Harrison’s functional pocket watch. Polk, despite never testing the gun, had no doubt it would work. He also had no doubt he had better aim than JQA and took his chances by willingly firing the second shot. And while JQA had better aim than Polk expected, it still wasn’t as good as Polk—who put the pellet bullet from his gun just left of JQA’s belly button.

JQA dropped his gun. He had seen men shot before, when he was a child he had even witnessed an entire battle. A lot of regrets went through his mind. He wished he had fought against slavery harder, he wished he had had sex in the outdoors more often. Standing there, bleeding, he prayed to God to let him go back home.

Fortunately, Seph, Snow, Mitch and, the also bleeding, President Polk had this same desire. Taking advantage of media’s confusion, Snow and Mitch pushed the wounded presidents back across the street and into the small news studio parking lot. Snow trailed a little behind, running in a zig-zag pattern desperately thanking the media for witnessing the performance and dodging the snakes only she could see.

Unconvinced, the reporters and cameramen and random people yelled and chased Snow and the others. Are they really shot? Will someone get arrested? Is this going to change history? Are they going to a hospital? Are they going back in time? Who are you? And who is that? Have you had sexual relations with either president? Seriously, have you?

-It was a prank! Snow cried out. A prank! Ha, ha! Laugh at the joke!

Seph opened up one of the back car doors, allowing Mitch to shove in Polk, then Seph shoved in JQA, cramming Mitch in the back seat between the two presidents. Snow got into the front-passenger’s side and Seph started the car.

-Mitch! Cried out Polk. I thought the carriage wasn’t supposed to work!

-Carriage?

-He means the car!

-Mitch, what did you do to Seph’s car?

-Don’t worry, he didn’t sabotage us right, apparently.

Seph turned around and put the car in reverse. The handful of reporters surrounding the car jumped out of the way at Seph backed out. Mitch ran out of time to explain.

-Well actually--

Seph put his foot down on the brake pedal but the car kept going in reverse until it bumped into another parked car. Polk and JQA cried out in discomfort. Seph and Snow swore in confusion. Mitch remained silent.

-You cut my brakes.

-We didn’t want you to try escaping.

-Well done, Mitch.

-Get us to a doctor.

-No, get them to Todd the Wizard. He can send them back and they’ll be fine.

-And how are we supposed to find a homeless man all the way across town?

-Quickly.

Snow pointed down the street, two police cars were heading straight for the parking lot.

-Cops!

-Oh shit.

-These presidents are going to die!

-Seph, so I have some ganga on me--

Seph threw the car in “drive” and pulled forward and out of the lot after scrapping another parked car. The people standing in the parking lot dodged out of the way again, screaming in a mad panic but capturing the flee on HD cameras. He ran over my foot! Did you get that? Yeah!

Inside the car, everyone, including Seph, questioned Seph’s sanity. Again, Seph found himself acting without explanation to others, so tried to explain himself while driving. He swerved past the cop cars, which then turned on their lights but didn’t turn 180 degrees before he was more than a few blocks ahead of them. Seph said the cops would ask too many questions before helping them all, if they helped at all. No, he knew, their best bet was just to get to the museum and find Todd the Wizard. He had several more points ready, but nobody wanted to hear them. Snow wondered if the sky looked purple because history was changing or if it was because of the ‘shrooms she took earlier.

-What’s ganga, asked JQA cringing and holding in as much of his blood as possible.

-Marijuana.

-I don’t understand.

-It’s illegal nowadays!

-Why?

-Because the government-

-Now’s not really the time Mitch!

Seph pulled out his cell phone but let it fly out of his hand to grab the steering wheel with both hands. In and out of lanes. Green light, yellow light, red light. Through the red light. Snow picked up the cell phone from her feet.

-Call Blair. No. Emmit. Call Emmit now.

Snow looked at the phone and told herself, out loud, to focus. Focus. Power through this drug trip. Drug trip? Now’s not the time, Seph. Focus. Phone. Contacts. Don? No. Emmit. Call. Emmit answered so Snow screamed at him to find Todd the Wizard somewhere in North Town. Seph, Snow and everybody else would be in there in—oh shit! Seph swerved left, then left again, against traffic, then back in the right lane.

-You’re driving faster than usual!

-No shit Mr. President! You assholes cut the brakes! We can’t stop!

-Car!

-This is your fault!

JQA with one hand over his gut wound, swung a punch at Polk, over Mitch.

-Agh!

Polk made an equally full-hearted attempt to swing at JQA. JQA kept his one free arm flinging over Mitch and Polk did likewise. All of the blows were closer to annoying slaps than actual punches, but most of them were landing on Mitch, caught in between the squabbling presidents. The presidents kept swearing and Mitch kept screaming at them to stop hitting each other, and especially stop hitting him. Snow was yelling through the phone at people she barely knew to find Todd the Wizard. Seph was screaming at fellow city motorists in a continuing tirade that blew any previous road rage record out of the water. Also the car radio was playing some song that was kind of loud.

-Stop hitting me!

-Car!

-What’s going on?!

-There’s blood on me!

-Oh shit!

-Some girl is screaming at me!

-There are a lot of people screaming!

-Car!

-Take the phone!

-Carriage!

Seph took back his cell phone. Snow put her hands on the dashboard in an attempt to brace herself in the event of a high-speed car crash. She began think about the museum neighborhood. How could they stop the car when they got close? In the madness and blurred consciousness she couldn’t think about anything other than her own helplessness. She fought against her own panic. Be focused. See a goal. A goal. If it weren’t for that damn wizard, none of this would be a problem. Find the wizard. Need control of the situation. Instead, her life, in several ways, was completely in the hands of strangers. Wait. Wasn’t there a giant pillow outside of the history museum? They could just drive into that pillow! Wait. Is there really a pillow there?

-Blair! We’re in a runaway car! I think the cops are chasing us! Are they? I can’t see them. Also-

-Car!

-Also, Blair, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I love you! And I don’t think it’s because we’re all going to die! I really love you! Oh shit!

Seph dropped the phone and swerved the car again.

-You missed the turn!

Chapter Thirty-Two: Showdown at Jackson Park

Nobody wanted to believe two former U.S. Presidents would really have a duel but nobody wanted to miss it either. Across the street from the TV station, in a city park, three camps formed almost instantaneously. TV trucks surrounded the area. Three dozen people talked through their microphones, megaphones and cell phones.

Neither JQA nor Polk had expected to have the duel immediately after the challenge, as more than half of dueling was about letting one or both men run away. Now that option didn’t exist. The amnesiac news channels didn’t know this though and assumed “pistols at dawn” meant right now.

All of the biggest news personalities were there, ready for the unprecedented live duel. There was Joshua Goode, Chip Brickwood, Jessyca Wynn, Russ Wolfgang, Sarah Mininianapolis, Abraham Bly, Barton Doe and the news director who had been in contact with Seph since “Fire, Shasta and A Dog Sneeze”: Tracy Swift. The channel’s slogan, “The Most Popular Names Are News” was completely lived up to.

In the sandwich shop across the street from the museum in North Town, Snow had seen the fight break out and the following duel challenge all on TV. Her first thought was regret; regret that she just consumed highly unusual mushrooms in a vain effort to escape impeding employment troubles. Her second thought was one of fear; fear that tripping ‘shrooms would hinder her ability to save everybody, including herself. She ran out of the sandwich shop, got into a taxi and gave the driver enough money to drive crazier than usual. If the cops arrest the presidents, Snow thought, I’m going to get blamed for all this somehow.

And while Snow would have been blamed for all this somehow, the police were a non-issue. The news producers hadn’t called anybody because the whole situation seemed too ridiculous. And the cops were too busy with a lot of money-laundering paperwork. Besides, two presidents wouldn’t shoot each other. That’s if they were even presidents. Since no TV science-expert jerk had been able to conclusively prove how JQA had traveled through time over the last two days, some people were becoming skeptical that this was even the real JQA. But wacky or not, true or not, it was good television and that was the point.

In the third corner of the city, Emmit unknowingly agreed with the news producers: this was exciting television. Though unlike the news people, Emmit wasn’t happy there would probably be three or four more commercial breaks before the actual duel. Lily suggested they try calling Seph again but Blair said she was convinced Seph knew what he was doing. In actuality, Blair had sent a text message to Seph.

-[Games over. Saw you on TV.]

-[Can this wait?]

Blair reinforced her calm charade by pointing out that they just saw him and Mitch hug on live television--which actually was quite touching, added Lily. Blair agreed. It was nice to see Seph show a little heart, and even though he only directly apologized to Mitch, it almost felt like he had apologized to all the friends. Blair never had a broken heart before, but now she was beginning to feel it split in half.

-[Can what wait?]

-[This fight.]

-[Is this a fight?]

Back at Jackson Park, Polk began to realize he didn’t like television people, so was thankful when Mitch pulled him away from some reporters. Panicked, confused and still a little high, Mitch, however, ended up asking the same question as the reporters: Mr. President, what are you doing?

-I’m trying to prove a point. Competition, whether it’s between countries or men, will never create the advancements possible with collaboration.

-But isn’t dueling a competition?

-Yes, but I hoping people will come together for it.

-No. They’re going to get blown apart.

Polk responded by looking at the battalion news people--each talking to at least one camera. So much confusion. Polk saw that everybody knew what was going on except himself. The president then opened his jacket and pulled out a loaded 1840s era percussion pistol and started wiping it with a rag.

-You’re going to die!

-Please. When Old Hickory is your mentor you learn how to fix a flint.

-Mister President, I didn’t understand any of that.

-I understand times change, but people like JQA need to be challenged. So if you want a reason for dueling, I’ll give you two. One, don’t compromise until you’ve fought. Two, it’s personal.

-But there are other ways!

-Like what?

-When people nowadays disagree, they do Rock, Paper, Scissors. Now this one time Don and I did Rock, Paper, Scissors but he waited until ‘shoot’ which is crazy because real guys don’t do ‘shoot,’ you throw down on Scissors--

-Mitch, I didn’t understand any of that.

About a hundred yards away, JQA and Seph sat on a bench under a tree. Seph had already mentioned his disapproval of dueling, but failed to influence the President. JQA pulled out a small 9mm handgun.

-So do you have any last words?

-Everybody has last words, but these aren’t mine.

-Great. You’re an optimistic dueler.

-Seph. Is this gun loaded? I can’t tell.

-Where the hell did you get that gun.

-Like you young man, I had quite the adventure before we met.

Seph looked across the field. He couldn’t hear Mitch but he was pretty sure Mitch was trying to talk down the other president when a new thought occurred, causing Seph to stand up and pace in front of JQA.

-It’ll be murder! You have a better gun than him.

-That’s his problem.

-If you kill him, all the cameras and people will disappear.

-I’m sorry, Seph, but I don’t think they will. I’m beginning to understand this world.

-I’ve lived in this world almost thirty years longer than you and I don’t understand it.

-That’s your problem.

-You’ll be destroying our history. He needs to go back in time, and maybe you do to.

-Fine. I’ll shoot him in the arm. Maybe both.

Seph and JQA watched Polk walk away from Mitch and towards them. Just when Seph and Mitch hoped this was a gesture of peace, Polk stopped and pulled out his gun. Seph sat back down. All the news cameras turned to Polk. The commentators, directors, anchors and reporters went as quiet as a broken television.

Polk, standing near the middle of the small clearing in the city park, looked at the sky. Near noon. Polk didn’t consider himself a religious man, but did consider himself a moral man. At this moment he prayed to whatever higher power would answer him that he was doing the right thing. Were his actions in self-defense? He hoped so. It was then that he noticed what he first thought was a piece of trash trapped in the branches of the nearest tree. Except it wasn’t trash, he realized. It was part of a bird’s nest. The bird wasn’t present, but Polk didn’t think the nest was abandoned. He took this as a sign that everything would be okay.

JQA rose from the bench. Seph offered one last argument.

-You think we could’ve landed on the moon if people still dueled each other?

The president pause for a moment.

-Oh? We got to the moon? That’s nice.

JQA methodically walked out of the shade and to Polk. They stood thirty feet away from each other. Seph moved away from directly behind JQA. Seeing this, Mitch mirrored him and moved away from the line of fire. Even being the closest to the presidents, the boys couldn’t hear the older men speak to one another.

-I’m sorry, Mister President.

-I know.

The presidents raised their guns at the exact same time but only one tried to the pull the trigger. (Un)fortunately it was the trigger with a safety lock. Everybody looked at each other, stunned by the unexpected silence. JQA inspected the gun, embarrassed. Polk lowered his gun, relieved. Seph and Mitch looked at each other, thankful.

-Oh wait. There. Now I got it.

With those words, President John Quincy Adams raised his gun and shot President James K. Polk.

Chapter Thirty-One: Stage Fighting

A green room is a room in a theater or studio for the accommodation of performers or speakers when not required on the stage. It functions as a break lounge so that performers do not have to go back to dressing rooms and are still easily accessible for their call. In Shakespearean theatre, actors would prepare for their performances in a room filled with plants and shrubs. It was believed that the moisture in the topiary was beneficial to the actors' voices; this is possibly where the name came from.

Neither Seph nor JQA had been in a green room before this week but now both of them were waiting for JQA’s cue. In their last few moments before JQA went back on TV, Seph wanted to emphasize their deal. Seph could keep JQA on TV, talking to the American people, but the president had to clear his talking points through Seph.

Mitch sat in the studio’s lobby area outside of the sound stage. The room had no less than a dozen televisions displaying at least eight different cable news channels. Most of the channels had people arguing with one another. And even though they were arguing, and even screaming at some points, they weren’t punching each other. Out of ideas, Mitch took out an orange, plastic, smell-proof, pill container. Siting there, with television professionals walking all around, Mitch lit up his first joint of the day.

Seph had a global vision for the future. A new world organization that would be held together, not by a unified military, but by economics. As the world stands, the most powerful countries won’t risk losing influence and the developing countries want fair representation. So rather than granting veto power to dominating nations, representation would be decided by an equation balancing each countries’ economy in terms of buying power and in relative growth from the previous ten years. Each country would choose its own representatives in its own way but the organization would be democratic. The global representatives would serve a single ten-year term, with half of the representatives being changed out every five years. Seph was writing a manifesto on the concept but knew his ideas didn’t matter when he didn’t matter. Making matters more immediately frustrating though, JQA was more his own man than Seph had hoped.

-Your ideas are lacking and I need your watch.

-You don’t know this world, Mr. President. And I don’t have a watch.

-I know the world plenty. I just don’t know why you people don’t have watches.

-Technology, like my cell phone, has made the world smaller and tells me the time.

-Let me borrow your phone.

-As the President of the United States—

-Why not be a representative for the world?

-I have a responsibility to the American people.

-You have a responsibility to all people.

-Give me anything that has a clock,

-Not unless you accept that humanity can no longer be divided as over 200 nations and must come together, united, as one world.

-Shut up, Seph.

JQA left the green room.

Most of the people who walked through the area noticed Mitch sitting there, smoking, but all assumed he knew what he was doing. Perhaps he knew somebody famous. Or maybe he was famous; he looks like an actor. Maybe he’s Westbrook’s son or something. Maybe he has a medical license. Did that matter? You can’t smoke indoors, right? No, they said to one another, I think that’s just cigarettes. That doesn’t make any sense. Why not? You don’t get second-hand smoke from pot. You sure? Pretty sure. Don’t listen to her, she’s not a doctor. Neither are you. Fine, just leave him alone.

Before long, Mitch recognized one of the faces on one of the TVs. When Snow first hired him, Mitch was given a book containing the presidents’ brief biographies for when he had to give the tour. Though Mitch had opened the book up several times with the full intention of reading about the museum’s presidents, he never made it passed the first page. Fortunately, that was all he needed right now because that page contained the biography and picture of the earliest wax president the museum could afford: John Quincy Adams.

Unfortunately for everybody, Polk also saw JQA on TV and was beginning to understand how the technology worked. Polk had been found by Lou and taken back to the make-up room but now walked onto the sound stage without any director or permission and saw the other former president behind a desk with two other political pundits, discussing President Burke’s decision to send troops into Bundai.

Seph was also watching JQA, but on the opposite side of the stage. Seph realized he needed to stop JQA somehow. Something calculated. Something careful. The president was not only going back on his earlier promise, but now was actually doing damage to Seph’s far-reaching ideals. Perhaps the man was deliberately spitting on Seph’s plans. Either way, there had to be a way to get him off TV. While JQA was undeniably spouting his sincere opinions, he was also following the notes he and Seph discussed the previous day. Be passionate, be vague, use short phrases, be a rebel but not a radical and instill a sense of urgency. JQA found it quite easy to recycle rhetoric from the 1820s.

-This world has become increasingly complicated, said JQA. And while America’s survival through centuries of worldly turmoil is a testament to our strength, I fear the status quo will not be enough in these coming years. The government is more corrupt and bloated than every before and now teetering on toothpicks. America can not go abroad in search of monsters to destroy and we can not be divided because of the politics of other nations. We should come together, perfect ourselves within our borders and let that be the example to the world.

-Mister President. It’s time you leave.

JQA and the other two desk jockies looked to the unscripted, outspoken man walking on stage. Seph cringed at this intrusion. He had been planning his own way to interrupt the live broadcast but wasn’t ready to act yet. Seph felt he was playing a game of chess with JQA and now some other old guy was barraging that game--as if dribbling a basketball on a chessboard. Only chaos can ensue. Who was this dribbler? Another president? Did he know JQA before? How did somebody not stop him? Unlike Seph, Mitch did not freeze when the cameras found President Polk and ran into the studio. Indignant, JQA stood up to confront Polk. The other people stood up, too…though with less indignation.

-Who are you?

-I am President James K. Polk and you’re coming with me.

-Polk, huh? Never heard of you.

-You heard of me over a hundred and fifty years ago, so I don’t really care.

-Great, another president.

-That’s right. Another president from another time; which is why we need to go back.

-Absurd. The country needs me more than ever.

-No, it needs new leaders more than ever. Our time is done, Mister President.

-My time is never done.

Only Polk knew how telling this political threat really was. He knew JQA would lose his presidential re-election only to then be elected into Congress and wreak political havoc on his presidential successors. JQA would never step aside. Polk understood JQA saw his own ambition as a patriotic duty. Everything JQA did, he did because he loved America. Whether it meant fighting against taxes or raising taxes, JQA made sure people knew he was willing to sacrifice his life in order to lead people to a better life. Polk saw the opportunity.

-For the good of the nation’s history and future, you must go back to your own time.

-Easy for you to say. Now go away.

Becoming increasingly frustrated, and fearing the confused security would eventually intervene, Polk tried another route. He explained that the world changes faster than people.

-You wouldn’t say that if you truly thought you were the best man in the position.

-I can be the best, but that doesn’t mean I’ll always be the best.

-Mister Polk, the American people will know it and vote you out.

-They won’t have to. I’ll only serve one term as president.

Serve one term as president, thought Seph. Impossible. That’s a betrayal to the man’s political party. It means he has no obligations, it means he can’t put off issues. If he doesn’t care about his own political future or that of his party, how can he be controlled? Even if Polk had similar political views as Seph, he could become a four-year dictator. If you could put a dictator in power who had the same politics as you, would you want to? JQA said Polk’s one-term promise was nothing more than political rhetoric. Polk slammed down his fist on the nearby anchor table.

-All you know is political rhetoric, Polk shot back.

-Oh? So you’re a Jacksonian?

-To hell and back. And the victors in ’28.

-Victors? That whore-marrying, gun-slinging, military chieftain?

Polk grabbed Adams’ jacket with his left hand and pulled him closer while throwing a punch with his right. Adams took a blind, flailing, swing but the other pundits got in the way at this point and someone else took an unintended blow. Security rushed on stage but was foiled by the on-set producers, productions assistants and news commentators--who above all tried desperately to prove their own toughness. Counter-blow after counter-blow in this side-less, televised riot. The more people that tried to break up the fight, the more people that started fighting.

Seph and Mitch pushed and shoved their way to their own respective presidents. Microphones were ripped off and chairs over-turned. Like true professionals, the camera operators stayed behind the camera and the technical director stayed in the booth carefully orchestrating the cameras in a professional effort to catch the most action possible.

It was a few minutes after eleven o’clock and all the way across the city, Emmit, Lily and Blair turned on the TV to see Seph shove the hard-nosed, political commentator Russ Wolfgang backwards over a fallen teamster.

Eventually the on-air, indoor riot was broken apart. Up to six people, including both presidents, were held back and the shouting drained away. Everybody caught his or her breath.

-Should we go to commercial, asked a technical assistant in the editing booth.

-No, the audience can’t think the drama is over, said the director. Keep rolling.

On the set, Seph stepped away from a crowd and really saw Mitch for the first time this day. Seph saw an expression in Mitch he hadn’t seen in anybody for a long time. He saw somebody who was hurt. In the open, in front of everybody, Seph apologized to Mitch. Nobody outside of the half-brothers knew what Seph was apologizing for, but it seemed like a nice gesture. Mitch held up open arms, partially pleading, partially demanding a hug. Seph consented and few people awkwardly clapped, unsure if the cause of the brawl had just been resolved. Eyes and cameras went back and forth from President Polk to President Adams.

-Sir, said JQA to Polk. I am tired of your insolence and grave insults.

-Well I’m just tired of you.

-Fine then. I challenge you to a duel.

-I accept.

Still on screen, Seph covered his face with his hands. Aw shit.

-Okay, said the director in the editing booth. Go to commercial.

Chapter Thirty: Breaking Into the Business

Over the previous night, Mitch and President James Polk fell asleep on the bus and ended up at the bus depot, where they and a few other bums were kicked off the bus. Frustrated that they had missed their stop a couple of times, Polk and Mitch walked to the television studio and got there around mid-morning, though neither knew the exact time.

Mitch recognized Seph’s car and became excited at the idea they were so close to finding Seph, who then could probably help them find JQA. Polk knew the truth at this point, though. JQA wasn’t smarter than Polk, he had just teamed up with somebody from the future first. Mitch was stunned. Seph and JQA? Seph wasn’t dead, he just left everybody to join some former U.S. President. Two people that would do anything to be heard.

-If they see us, they might try to run away, said Polk.

-Don’t worry about that.

Mitch pulled out a pocketknife and got on his back to wiggle underneath Seph’s car. Polk watched Mitch struggle for a few minutes.

-There! Oh shit. No. Wait. Okay. There.

Mitch wiggled back from underneath the car and jumped up, proud of himself.

With a renewed sense of frustration, Mitch boasted that they don’t have to worry about Seph getting away, as he walked to a back entrance of the television studio. The two of them then entered the building and moved down a long, boring, back hallway. Offices with closed doors lined either side of the stale corridor.

Remembering Emmit’s advice, Mitch tried to think like Seph. Where would Seph go? What was he doing? Why was he doing whatever he was doing wherever he was? The lack of answers Mitch could conjure up was frustrating. Seph had abandoned everybody just to get back on TV—and it wasn’t even him on TV. Seph was a puppet master guy, or whatever. Instead of being dead, he was working with one the presidents everybody was supposed to bring back to the museum. Mitch felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in years. He was feeling motivated. Every since he gave a tour of the President Exhibit that lasted about thirty seconds, Mitch had wanted to work at the museum, but now Seph was making that difficult. Seph and I are supposed to be a team, thought Mitch. Also, it was becoming clear that the guys were lost.

-This is stupid Mr. President; we need a plan.

-What do you suggest?

-Let’s light the building on fire.

Polk considered this suggestion but not for long, as the two guys were stopped by an interrupted voice.

-Hey, who the hell are you guys? You can’t just walk around here. What are you, lost from a tour group? You looking for somebody to harass? Trying to sneak your way onto the sound stage? What, huh, what?

Polk and Mitch turned around and were approached by a short woman wearing a microphone headset. Her name was Lou Oakley but the guys would never know this. She waited on the guys’ response while almost twitching from her morning injection of coffee. What’s the problem with these guys, she thought, they take an hour to answer anything? Then she voiced that sentiment. She then apologized to them if they were some distant--or gauging by the old guy’s clothes-- some very distant cousins of a producer.

-We’re looking for President John Quincy Adams.

-Then wait outside with the other fans.

-We are not fans.

-Yeah, he’s President James…uh…

-James K. Polk.

-Yeah!

-You’re a president, too?

-Well I’m not the First Lady.

-Okay, come with me.

Lou started walking back down the hallway, demanding the guys follow her. While walking she made sure Polk wasn’t a president imitator, the studio had gotten ten of those in the last two days—about twice as much as usual. Mitch assured her that Polk, like JQA, was the a former president.

-Your building needs some maintenance, said Polk while stepping over some torn carpet.

Lou explained that the carpet was like that when she started working here. And while it was easy to criticize the building for its flaws, none of them affected the professionalism of the employees. Times just change and so has the building. For instance none of the lights on the third floor west hallway work, but everybody’s been too busy to bother fixing them. Some of the younger employees say that hallway never had light. But of course all the old guys disagree. The way the old guys talk about the news studios from the 1950s, you’d swear the walls were made out of Spanish gold. But back in the 1950s, people only worked four or five hours a days, the rest of the time they were making babies.

-You manufacture babies now? Polk questioned, horrified.

-Not anymore, said Mitch. That was nearly sixty years ago.

Unabated by the baby-diversion, Lou continued to defend the news studio. Yes, they currently had a 130-pound Alaskan mountain wolf locked in one of the offices upstairs after it escaped from a zoo handler, but that was nothing. The other studio across town was being harassed by a 150-pound one. Also there was a third news studio but they got busted by the Feds for some money-laundering operation.

-Who the hell are these people, demanded a man of Polk’s age and stature.

-I don’t understand, said Polk to Mitch. Is that the traditional greeting in the future?

-Yeah, said Mitch.

Lou explained to her superior--Mr. Westbrook--that she found another president.

-Did you check your sources, asked Westbrook.

-Yes, he confirmed it was true, said Lou while pointing at Mitch.

-Okay, take him to make-up. I’ll tell Tracy.

Mitch followed Polk, who was led by Lou into sound stage--a hanger-like room filled with cameras, lights, three-walled sets and donut boxes.

-Seph!

-Mitch?

Seph was surprised someone found him and doubly surprised that it was Mitch. Seph knew that he was going to have to explain himself to the group of friends eventually, but figured he could wait until JQA had his own show, which was already in the works after testing positive with audiences. There was an unprecedented advantage with JQA, Seph knew and was prepared to argue. The man was U.S. President in the 1820s so obviously had a unique perspective on American history and both guys wanted to share it with the world. JQA was smart with his principles but needed Seph to understand the details and controversies of modern society. Together they could get JQA on TV so that he could spread the evolutionary ideas both guys had. Simply put, they could change television forever. But Seph knew nobody would understand until they saw it happening. Accepting change is easier than creating it.

Seph just started expressing his surprise that Mitch was here in the studio when Mitch roundhouse punched Seph in the face and tackled him to the ground. The commotion got Polk to turn back and break apart the guys but the undistracted Lou kept walking.

-What the hell was that for?

-All night I thought you were dead!

-Dead? Why?

-Because I thought that was the only reason you would ignore me.

-Look, Mitch. This is important—

-Fine. But I’m taking JQA back to the museum.

-You can’t just kidnap the president.

Mitch wasn’t ready to give up but also realized he couldn’t just walk onto the set of some opinion news show, pick up a former president and carry him back to the museum. Maybe if he had chloroform. Seph promised that when JQA’s show gets off the ground, the two brothers could just go back to hanging out, play foot-bag or whatever. Though Seph admitted he must have lost the foot-bag somewhere. Mitch pulled the foot-bag out of his pocket and dropped it to Seph’s feet. Mitch walked away.

Polk stayed with Seph.

-Where is John Quincy Adams?

-He’ll be out here soon. Have you eaten any food Mr. President?

-Not in a long time.

-There are some donuts over there.

-Dough Nuts?

-Didn’t they have those in your time?

-Of course they did. I just expected strange future food.

-Well we got sidetracked with a couple of world wars, so give us a break.

With that, Seph walked to the green room, where JQA was waiting. Polk wondered which countries still existed after a bunch of world wars that apparently happened. Prussia probably collapsed by now. And Siam? Hawaii? Italy? Polk began to realize he would die not knowing everything about everywhere, even he spent the rest of his life reading. While Polk never expected to know everything, this was the first time he realized how little he could ever know.

Polk approached the boxes of doughnuts. There was some kind of purple topping on the pastry. And what are these tiny pellets? Grain of some sort? Polk, hoping someone didn’t pour grain on perfectly good treats, took a bite. Wow, he thought, in this crazy future man really has perfected the doughnut.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Encore

Blair and Emmit finally went back to Emmit’s house the next morning. They had been searching the neighbor and surrounding neighborhoods all night when Emmit suggested Bogart might have just walked back to the duplex on his own. Blair knew this was a long shot and suspected this was the only way Emmit could let himself quit searching, even if it was temporary. As she was also tired, Blair didn’t object.

-If I find Bogart, I think I’m going to make this place more dog friendly.

-How?

-I don’t know. Maybe find a copy of the famous painting where dogs are playing poker.

Blair knew the oil painting Emmit was referring to quite well. It was called “A Friend in Need” and was actually one of sixteen paintings featuring anthropomorphic dogs for a series of cigar advertisements. She also knew Emmit didn’t care and so didn’t mention it.

-Blair, if something ever happens to me, I want you to give Bogart a good home.

-You know I couldn’t keep him; my apartment doesn’t allow dogs.

-Oh yeah.

-But I’d find a good home for him.

Emmit felt bad about searching all night, knowing Blair wouldn’t leave him. Or maybe she thought Emmit wouldn’t look hard enough for the dog he originally got because of her. Of course Blair didn’t know that, nor did Emmit know she didn’t know. But Emmit sincerely cared about his missing dog and began to wonder why Bogart ran away. Maybe he felt neglected. Or forgotten. Maybe Bogart just wanted attention and could only find it by disappearing. Or maybe, and Emmit really hoped this was the case, Bogart knew something nobody else knew and felt he had a unique job to do.

Blair sat down on the couch with Emmit; both facing a TV neither wanted to turn on. The silence let her imagine what Emmit was feeling. He probably feels guilty, she thought. He doesn’t know why Bogart ran away. I never had a dog myself, so I can’t possibly know how he feels. How it feels when you turn your back and just like that: they’re gone. Didn’t even leave a message. Wait. Seph’s missing. All of a sudden Blair knew exactly how Emmit felt.

-Why didn’t he ever call, Blair wondered out loud.

-Probably a little difficult, said Emmit.

-Maybe.

-But we don’t even know he’s lost.

-Right.

-Maybe he just saw an ice cream truck.

-Nah, he doesn’t eat ice cream anymore.

-You fed him ice cream?

-I didn’t feed him anything.

-Oh, okay.

Emmit looked at his phone. 11:05? How was it that late in the morning already? Time didn’t make sense anymore. 26 hours without sleep. No. 27. Great, now basic math is difficult.

-It does seem rude though, continued Blair--still thinking about Seph.

-I don’t blame him, said Emmit--still thinking about Bogart.

-Why?

-Think about it. We’ve been running around, doing our own thing.

-What? You mean going to the pet store?

-I guess.

-I’ve never seen him do anything like this before, though. Go off by himself.

-Me neither.

-He probably had to get away because he doesn’t think we listen to him.

-Well I can’t understand him half the time anyway.

-Yeah, but it’s important to listen.

-I guess so.

Emmit looked at his phone clock again, not really expecting anything. It was 11:06.

-It’s strange, said Emmit, to think he could be anywhere in the city right now…

-Yeah.

-Just peeing in a back alley.

-What? Why would he do that?

-I don’t know. He drinks a lot.

-I know but shit; he’s not an animal.

-Except that he is.

-Whatever.

-He could be eating garbage. Or could’ve gotten hit by a car.

-That’s horrible!

-Or he could just be sniffing people’s butts in the park.

--the fuck you say?

-What? It was a joke.

Blair stood up from the couch to tower above Emmit.

-You think Seph has gone insane, she accused.

-Seph? Who the hell was talking about Seph?

-We were!

-What!

-What!

-Dammit Blair! We were talking about Bogart!

-Fucking--

-Shit.

Blair dropped back down on the couch but didn’t look at Emmit. Emmit grabbed the television remote control and held it up to the TV but didn’t click a button. He thought better of it and lowered the remote. He then thought better of that and raised to the remote only to lower it again.

Tired of nothingness, Blair stood up and walked to the front door. She waited at the door for just a second before opening it and leaving as if leaving an empty room. Emmit hunched forward. Seph had once told Emmit that for every 100 girls born in the world, there are 104 boys born. Only somewhat connected to that thought, Emmit realized he had nobody to talk to at this moment and the world seemed a lot bigger, a lot emptier. For the first time since his mom died, Emmit started to cry.

At that exact point, Blair walked back into the room without knocking, thankful that Emmit hadn’t locked the door behind her. Emmit watched the blank TV screen as intently as a falcon watching a prairie field. Blair sat back down on the couch next to him. Blair smiled but didn’t let Emmit see her.

-I’m sorry, Emmit.

-I’m sorry, too.

-It’s been a weird couple of days.

-It’s been a weird couple of months.

Blair looked at Emmit’s drying eyes, knowing he meant more than he said. She had forgotten how much heart he had, how much he cared about the things he cared about. That’s why she had originally liked him and at this point she was glad he hadn’t changed. Blair let her own eyes fill with happy memories.

Emmit turned to his side and saw Blair looking at him. Emmit wondered if he was just becoming delusional after not sleeping in over twenty-four hours or if Blair was at her most beautiful after not sleeping herself in over twenty-four hours. He somehow had scooted so close he could feel her breath. Her eyes slowly closed. Emmit stood up from the couch.

-Blair.

-What?

-We can’t be friends, I’m sorry.

Blair stood up. Why?

-I tried to kiss you, he said.

-Well you missed.

-I mean that I wanted to.

-That’s okay.

Blair took Emmit’s hand in her hand.

-Because I still love you, he said.

-That’s okay, too.

With that, Blair leaned forward and kissed Emmit. But the kiss was more than a peck and at 11:11 in the morning, Emmit decided to swing for the fences. He put his hand under her shirt and waited for a rejection. Nothing. The shirt went flying. Emmmit’s own shirt flew across the room. Then followed his belt. And then—

Two knocks at the front door.

-Emmit? Hello? You awake yet?

Lily? Oh shit. Lily will talk. Oh shit. Seph can’t know. Seph nothing, I don’t want her to know! Why is she here? O shit, I said she could come over. When? Oh shit. Where’d you throw my shirt? I don’t know! Find it! My shirt? You don’t need a shirt it’s your place! Shit.

-Emmit? Can I come in?

Emmit looked at Blair across the room. Great, he thought. The one time he didn’t want to see her topless. Lily turned the door knob and opened the door a few inches before Emmit lunged forward and front-kicked the door closed. The door slammed shut and hit Lily in the head.

-Ow!

Lily stumbled back on to the front porch. Blair gave Emmit a silent, insulted, horrified expression that combined all of the world’s worst swear words.

-Sorry! Emmit yelled. Um…who is it?

-Emmit! Yelled back Lily, it’s me! Lily!

-Oh! Sorry!

Emmit looked back into the room and saw Blair had disappeared. Confused, but trusting, Emmit fully opened the door for Lily and let her finally come in, still rubbing her head. She didn’t accept any ice for her head but she accepted all of Emmit’s apologies. As if timed on purpose, when Lily sat down on the couch, Blair—wearing a shirt—walked into the main room from the front door Lily just came through.

-Oh hey, Lily! Did you just get here?

-Yeah, were you just here?

-No. I mean, I’ve been helping look for Bogart. So kind of.

-That’s too bad you guys haven’t…wait. Blair.

-Yeah?

-Are you wearing one of Emmit’s t-shirts?

-Oh, this? No. Well, kind of. When we were going out, months ago, I made a joke about his shirts…

-Yeah, added Emmi, she’s always making jokes, you know.

-And so, continued Blair, um, he gave me this shirt.

-Did you give him one of your shirts?

-Um. Yes.

-Could you even wear one of Blair’s shirts, Emmit?

-Uh, as a, uh, a muscle shirt.

-Oh. And as a dust rag?

-What?

-There’s a shirt behind the TV.

Lily pointed straight ahead. Blair’s shirt was behind the TV. Emmit slapped his forehead. Of course. That’s where he threw that…old rag. Emmit grabbed the shirt and said he’d put it somewhere safe. Here, on the chair by the front door. Right here. By the door. Blair forced an acknowledging smile so that Emmit would just shut the hell up.

The three of them then sat down on the couch, with Lily in the middle—who never thought anything more than she has weird friends. Emmit lifted the remote control to the TV and this time flipped it on.

And that’s when the friends found Seph.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Staying Home

Lily got home that night late enough to be shocked her parents were still awake. Not just awake either, but laughing and clanging cupboard doors in the kitchen that would rival the noise level of most wars. Also, at least one TV was on. Lily walked into the kitchen to join them, feeling a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

-Lily! You’re home, that’s wonderful, said her mother.

-We’re all home, added her excited father.

Oh, thought Lily. They’re drunk. Her parents had just come back from a party at a friend’s house, but the food wasn’t very good. Aside from making them quite hungry late at night, it also exaggerated the effects of the alcohol consumed and still being consumed. Lily’s mom wanted to make soup but the dad wanted sandwiches. They ended up making both and even shared with Lily. They didn’t share the wine.

Looking across the kitchen at the TV, Lily saw a rerun of a primetime news show. The show’s host ceded the screen to a guest, presumably who agreed with the host, and started ranting about something nobody caught the beginning of. The ranter was an old white man who could have played Ebenezer Scrooge, but maybe that was just due to the permanent scowl.

-I’m not a Republican, he said. I am not a Democrat. Politics is not about parties, it’s about a state of mind. And if you maintain a consistent state of mind, you can understand any political problem. My point is that the American President, President Heidi Burke, is only responsible for Americans and should only be concerned about Americans. It doesn’t matter if General Jackson is pushing Seminoles to southern territories or if General Whoever is battling warlords in Bundai, you need to have the same goal: protecting Americans.

-Well thank you, but our time is up, interrupted the TV pundit, we’ll just have to leave it at that. Thank you again, Mr. John Quincy Adams and we hope to—

Lily’s dad turned the channel away from the news. Lily knew the name John Quincy Adams, a.k.a. JQA, a.k.a. any number of stupid nicknames Mitch created. But it was late already. She was tired. And if it was early and she wasn’t tired, she’d still have nobody to call. Seph won’t answer. Mitch is missing his phone. Blair broke hers. And Emmit is looking for Bogart and said Lily could come over to his place at eleven the next morning, but not before then.

Lily turned to her parents, unsure if they knew who the guy on TV was. They said they didn’t know. They figured it was just somebody else trying to get famous. They were right. Lily was thrown off a little bit by the sneering tone. It was then that Lily realized her parents might not know about their own daughter’s fame. How Lily was what Blair called an instant-meal entertainment hero who helped define a generation lost in a hyper nonsense world fueled by a pop junk culture. She thought about how to ask them, how to bring up the idea that she, not John Quincy Adams, was the center of news coverage just days ago.

Lily and her mom just watched her dad flip through channels. Lily wondered if this is how her normal parents normally watch TV; that maybe they didn’t see Lily’s face and name in lights. Or maybe they saw more coverage than Lily herself saw. Maybe that’s why they weren’t mentioning it.

-So what have you and your friends been up to, her mom asked.

So they didn’t know. They didn’t know anything. Or maybe they knew everything, or at least thought they knew everything. Lily was so deep in her life problems that they couldn’t ever fully know. Lily could sit in the kitchen and explain until her parents both had to go to work (a shoe store and a bank, respectively) and they still wouldn’t know. But then again, Lily didn’t know her parents’ friend who threw the party. By not telling the truth about how much they know, her parents would be lying, thought Lily. That gives me cover if they discover I’m lying.

-I’ve just been catching up with my friends.

-Oh, that’s good, said her dad.

-No, that’s great, countered her mom.

Her parents then made a case for Lily coming home more often to spend time with old friends and her family; especially her family. Maybe everybody could get lunch tomorrow? Just because family will always be family doesn’t mean it should be taken for granted. Her parents continued to try to sell Lily on the idea of family while still watching TV. The family had some great vacations when everybody was younger, they said. Austin, Dallas, Galveston; all great places. Remember learning how to drive? I can’t believe that car still works. Me neither. Of course maybe it’s time to talk about the future.

-You mean a new car, asked Lily.

Her mom stopped pressing the cryptic issue but her dad kept pressing the channel button. Lily saw her parents were getting tired and decided if she ever had to make a confession, she’d better do it now when their weariness could subdue any possible outrage. This would be especially important if her parents started talking as one unified voice. I need help with something, started Lily.

-Oh my God. You’re pregnant.

-What? No. How many times—every time—just, no.

-Sorry, it’s just you got all serious.

-How long have you guys thought that?

-Well, you’re 29 and had your first boyfriend when you were 15, so for the last 14 years.

-Come on, guys!

-One of these days—so what’s the real problem?

-It’s about money.

-How to pay for a baby—Thomas, don’t interrupt. Sorry.

Lily explained that coming home wasn’t a vacation. She had lost her job when her boss got arrested. It wouldn’t have been as immediately devastating, but she was already past some of her bill payments and frankly just flat ran out of money. And her car is in a repair shop in North Town. Her life was in the proverbial outhouse.

-You’re like the Prodigal Daughter, they said.

-What?

-The Prodigal Son is a Bible story.

-What does “prodigal” mean?

-“Returned”? I think it’s “wasteful.” Maybe. You’ve told better stories, dear. You haven’t.

-Mom. Dad. Please.

-Sorry.

-I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier.

-Well…our love is unconditional. No, it’s got conditions.

-What?

Lily’s mom explained that when Lily moves out, and she will move out again sometime, she’d need to call home three times a week. Lily’s dad took up the negotiations for his daughter. Lily needed to call home once a week. No, said her mom, twice a week. Okay, conceded her dad, how about one call and one text message a week?

-You don’t know how to text message, Lily pointed out.

-No, but we can read the messages.

-Deal.

-We’ll give you some money to get your car fixed, but you need a job.

-Deal.

Lily’s dad suggested everybody stop watching TV and go to bed as he held up the remote control, but then the TV popped, crackled and went blank. The TV broke.

-Hm, he said. I don’t know why they’d put that button on the remote control.