Trevor nodded in agreement. “I can understand that. Totally.”

“I hope you do,” I said.

We didn’t speak for a moment. Trevor broke the silence. “So, you’ve written some SF.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve done a few sci-fi novels.”

“I like sci-fi. But as much as I like the scientific aspect of it, I find there’s something mystical about it, too. There are forces other than those of nature at play. I don’t think science rules everything in the universe.”

“Maybe not,” I said.

“And I believe, sometimes for reasons that we can’t possibly understand, that certain things are meant to happen.”

“Okay.”

“And that there are people out there that we’re destined to meet up with. That everyone has, from the moment they’re born, a certain other person that they’re supposed to hook up with for them to fulfill their destiny.”

“I don’t know much about that,” I said. “It’s not the sort of thing I’ve written about. But it’s one point of view.”

Trevor smiled knowingly, nodded slowly. “It certainly is.”

I tilted my head in the direction of the black Chevy. “That’s your car, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t see a lot of those around,” I said. “They haven’t made that model for quite a few years, have they?”

“I don’t suppose so.”

“And yet, with so few of them around, I saw one at the mall last night, at Midtown? Same color as yours, parked right by the doors.”

Trevor swallowed. “Huh.”

“And then, I was heading out of town, toward Oakwood? And I saw another one, just like it, same color, everything.”

This time, Trevor didn’t even have a “huh” to offer.

“Isn’t that a coincidence,” I said. “That I’d see two cars exactly the same, in different places, in the same evening.”

I couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses. Couldn’t tell whether he was looking away.

“Trevor, take your glasses off for a sec.” He sat rigidly, made no move to do what I’d asked. “Trevor, just for a second.”

Slowly, making a ritual of it, he removed the glasses. I eyed him intently.

“I would never want anyone, ever, to hurt my daughter, or scare her, or cause her any trouble.”

“Of course not,” he said, not looking away.

“I just wanted to make myself clear about that.”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“So we understand each other,” I said.

“We do,” Trevor said. I nodded my farewell to him, and moved on.

“And don’t buy my son booze anymore,” I added.

“Whatever you say.”

I turned and walked away.

I had two surprises shortly after that.

The first: As I walked by Trevor’s Chevy on the way back to my car, there, asleep in the backseat, was Morpheus.