Stranger Than Fiction Page #3

...in the hallway out there?

- What?

You were counting them

as we walked, weren't you?

No.

Of course.

What bank do you work at?

No bank. IRS agent.

- Married?

- No.

Ever?

Engaged to an auditor.

She left me for an actuary.

- How heartbreaking. Live alone?

- Yes.

- Any pets?

- No.

- Friends?

- No. Well, Dave at work.

I see. The narrator,

exactly what does he sound like?

It's a woman.

A woman.

- Is it a familiar woman?

- No.

Someone you know?

No.

Did you have enough time

to count the tiles in the bathroom?

I wasn't counting the tiles.

- Coffee?

- No, thank you.

- Sure?

- Yes.

So this woman, the voice,

told you you're gonna die?

She didn't tell me.

She doesn't know I can hear her.

- But she said it.

- Yes.

And you believed her.

She's been right

about a few other things.

- Such as?

- How I felt about work.

- You dislike your work?

- Yes.

Well, not the most insightful voice

in the world, is it?

First thing on a list

of what Americans hate: Work.

Second, traffic. Third, missing socks.

See what I'm saying?

Sort of.

I told you you were gonna die,

you believe me?

- No.

- Why?

I don't know you.

- But you don't know this narrator.

- Well... .

- Okay, Mr. Crick, I can't help you.

- Why?

Well, I'm not an expert in crazy,

I'm an expert in literature theory.

And I gotta tell you, thus far...

...there doesn't seem to be a single

literary thing about you.

I don't doubt you hear a voice,

but it couldn't possibly be a narrator...

...because, frankly, there doesn't seem

to be much to narrate.

Beside that, this semester

I'm teaching five courses.

I'm mentoring

two doctoral candidates...

...and I'm the faculty lifeguard

at the pool.

- I just thought you could possibly--

- Perhaps you should keep a journal.

Write down what she said

or something.

That's all I can suggest.

I can barely remember it all.

I just remember:

"Little did he know that this simple,

seemingly innocuous act...

...would lead to his imminent death."

- What?

- "Little did he know that this--"

- Did you say, "little did he know"?

- Yes.

I've written papers

on "little did he know."

I used to teach a class

based on "little did he know."

I mean, I once gave an entire seminar

on "little did he know."

Son of a b*tch, Harold.

"Little did he know" means there's

something he doesn't know...

...that means there's something

you don't know. Did you know that?

- I want you to come back Friday.

- Okay.

No, "imminent,"

you could be dead by Friday.

Come back tomorrow at 9:45.

Ten seconds ago

you said you wouldn't help me.

It's been a very revealing 10 seconds,

Harold.

Harold was deep in thought.

For a few, brief moments, from

Born Boulevard to Euclid Avenue...

... all the calculations

and all the rules...

... and all the precision of Harold's life

just faded away.

How perfect then

that in this space...

... Ana Pascal would appear.

Ms. Pascal.

Ms. Pascal, it's Harold Crick

from the IRS.

Excuse me.

- Hi.

- Hi.

- Would you like a seat?

- Nope.

There's 11 open ones.

I don't care.

Sorry about that.

How are you?

I'm lousy. I'm being audited.

Of course.

By a real creep too.

I think I owe you an apology.

- Really?

- IRS agents...

...we're given rigorous aptitude tests

before we can work.

Unfortunately for you, we aren't tested

on tact or good manners...

...so I apologize.

I ogled you.

Sorry.

Okay, apology accepted.

But only because you stammered.

So you're a frequenter of the

metropolitan transit authority too?

No. I'm just late.

Big flag-burning to get to?

Actually...

...it's my weekly evil-conspiracy

and needlepoint group.

You wanna come?

I left my thimbles and socialist

reading material at home.

So... .

Harold nervously made small talk.

You have very straight teeth.

Very small talk.

Thanks. They're real.

Harold quickly calculated the odds

of making an ass of himself...

... in ratio to the amount of time

he stayed to chat.

This is my stop. I should go.

- He was elated and surprised...

- See you soon.

... by his somewhat flirtatious

encounter with Ms. Pascal.

So elated that he exited

the Transit Authority bus...

... a good 27 blocks too early

and would now have to walk.

- "You ain't down yet."

- That's right.

Tell us, what is You Ain't Got

Nothin' On Me about, Emmett Cole?

What does this mean?

Well, it's about being around

in the world, doing different things...

- ... doing what you wanna do... .

- Come in.

Mr. Crick. Come in, come in. Please.

How are you?

I'm fine, actually.

You can turn that off.

Looks like our narrator

hasn't killed you quite yet.

- No, not yet.

- Good, great. Have a seat.

- Count the stairs outside?

- No.

Course not. I've devised a test--

How exciting is that?

- Of 23 questions...

...which I think might help uncover

more truths about this narrator.

- Now, Howard... .

- Harold.

Harold. These may seem silly,

but your candor is paramount.

Okay.

So.

We know it's a woman's voice,

the story involves your death...

...it's modern, it's in English.

I'm assuming the author

has a cursory knowledge of the city.

- Sure.

- Okay, good.

Question one:

"Has anyone recently left

any gifts outside your home?"

Anything? Gum? Money?

- A large wooden horse?

- I'm sorry?

- Just answer the question.

- No.

"Do you find yourself inclined

to solve murder mysteries...

...in large, luxurious homes

to which--?" Let me finish.

"To which you may or may not

have been invited?"

No. No, no, no.

All right. On a scale of one to 10...

...what would you consider the

likelihood you might be assassinated?

Assassinated?

One being very unlikely, 10 being

expecting it around every corner.

- I have no idea--

- Okay. Let me rephrase.

Are you the king of anything?

- Like what?

- Anything.

King of the lanes

at the local bowling alley.

"King of the lanes"?

- King of the lanes. King of the trolls.

- "King of the trolls"?

Yes. A clandestine land

found underneath your floorboards.

- Anything.

- No.

No. That's ridiculous.

Agreed. But let's start with ridiculous

and move backwards.

Now, was any part of you at one time

part of something else?

Like do I have someone else's arms?

Well, is it possible at one time

that you were made of stone...

...wood, lye, varied corpse parts...

...or earth made holy

by rabbinical elders?

No. Look... . I'm sorry. What do these

questions have to do with anything?

The only way to find out

what story you're in...

...is to determine what stories

you're not in.

Odd as it may seem, I've just ruled out

half of Greek literature...

...seven fairy tales,

...and determined conclusively

that you are not King Hamlet...

...Scout Finch, Miss Marple...

...Frankenstein's monster,

or a golem.

Aren't you relieved to know

you're not a golem?

Yes, I am relieved to know

that I am not a golem.

Good.

Do you have magical powers?

May I ask what we're doing out here?

- We're imagining car wrecks.

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