Plot Twist

man overboard.

The sun has risen, and so has she.

Elle's fiddling around with her camera, taking it off of the tripod and slinging it around her neck. She folds up the tripod, then notices that I'm awake.

"Good morning!" She says happily.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You were fast asleep. Believe me, I tried!" She laughs quietly. "We should head out - I think you've got to be at the coffee shop soon."

"What time is it?"

"Around six."

"Oh."

"Can you take the tripod again?"

"Yeah." I pick it up gently, being careful not to pinch my fingers in the folding mechanism.

We walk back to her campsite in near silence. She tucks the equipment inside her truck carefully.

As we take the trail leading back into the village, she says, "You know, I was thinking how weird it was that your book is so much like my life. Don't you think so?"

I can't answer that question.

"Yeah, I guess," I reply, trying my best to brush it off.

"What's your main character's name?"

I can't answer that question.

But I can't lie to her, either.

I pause, looking at her. "This is going to sound really weird."

"What?"

I can't go back now. I can't. A voice inside of me is screaming no! man overboard! and I know that's exactly it. Man overboard. I've jumped off the boat and there's no going back.

"Her name is Elle."

She stops walking in stunned silence.

"Like me? Like, she has the same name as me?"

"Yes." I sigh. There's no going back; I might as well tell her the whole thing. "And the same backstory, same family, same problems, same everything. Except it was all fictional - and then you walked into the coffee shop a couple of days ago."

She's rooted to the ground, speechless, eyes wide. Then finally, she opens her mouth to speak. "Does this mean you know everything?"

"Well, yeah."

"Like everything? Everything that's ever happened to me?"

"Yes."

She turns to me, and the ever-present smile is gone now. "You lied."

"No, I didn't. I just didn't tell you."

"That's freaking creepy. You knew everything, everything, and you didn't tell me, and to think I actually liked you -"

"I liked you too!" We're both yelling now, and the only ones to hear us are the trees. "It's not my fault! What would you have thought if I'd said 'hey, I wrote about you and I know every single thing about you!' What would you have thought then?"

"Still really, really creepy."

"I can't help it!"

"Then how did it happen?"

"I don't know!"

Cue the silence again.

And then, "Show me everything. All your outlines, character descriptions, everything."

"I can't do that - you'd be reading into the future, messing up everything -"

Her eyes are stone cold, red hair like fire. "I'll show you the backstory," I compromise. "When we get to the coffee shop."

She breaks out into a jog, and I have no choice but to follow.

...

"Latte." I set it out in front of her, and she nods in thanks.

"Show me." I pull out a sheaf of papers I'd printed out a week before and sort through them."Here," I say, giving her one. It's the paper labeled backstory.

She skims it, and I swear I can see tears forming in her eyes as she reads the detailed description of her own life.

"How?" She's crying now, and I offer her a napkin. She takes it, grateful.

"I don't know. I don't know how any of this happened."

I glance down at the sheaf of papers. The one on top is my outline, and a time is highlighted.  7:53 a.m. I look over at the clock. it reads 7:52.

As soon as it switches to 7:53, Elle's phone rings in her pocket.

She stares down at it oddly, taking it out, saying, "This never rings. Ever. No one calls me."

She picks up and listens silently, and the tears begin to stream anew down her face and into her coffee.