“Never better,” I reply, dazed by the vision. Who was Six protecting?

“Good,” he says. The detective sits, a pen and legal pad in front of him. He carefully displays the tablet on the left side of the table.

“So,” he begins, slowly drawing it out. “Six what? What do you have six of?”

“What?”

“You were yelling the number six in your sleep. You want to tell me what that’s all about?”

“It’s my golf handicap,” I say. My mind tries to conjure up the faces of the two girls behind Six in the valley, but they’re fuzzy.

Detective Murphy chuckles. “Yeah, right. How about you and me have a little chat? Let’s start with the birth certificate you gave to Paradise High. It’s counterfeit, John Smith. In fact, we can’t find a single thing about you prior to you showing up in Paradise several months ago,” he says, squinting as though expecting some reply. “Your social security number belongs to a dead man in Florida.”

“Was there a question there?”

His grin turns into a smirk. “Why don’t you start by telling me your real name.”

“John Smith.”

“Right,” he says. “Where’s your father, John?”

“Dead.”

“How convenient.”

“Actually, it’s probably the most inconvenient thing that’s ever happened to me up until now.”

The detective writes something on the notepad. “Where are you originally from?”

“The planet Lorien, three hundred million miles away.”

“Must have been a long trip, John Smith.”

“Took almost a year. Next time I’m bringing a book.”

He drops his pencil on the table, interlocks his fingers behind his head, and leans back. Then he pushes forward again and holds up the tablet. “You want to tell me what this thing is?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. We found it in the woods.”

He holds it by its edge and whistles. “You found this in the woods? Where at in the woods?”

“Near a tree.”

“Are you going to be a wiseass with every question?”

“That depends, detective. Are you working for them?”

He sets the tablet back on the desktop. “Am I working for who?”

“The Morlocks,” I say, the first thing I remember from English class.

Detective Murphy smiles.

“You can smile, but they’ll probably be here soon,” I say.

“The Morlocks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Like from The Time Machine?”

“That’s the one. That’s like our Bible.”

“And let me guess; you and your friend, Samuel Goode, you’re members of the Eloi?”

“The Loric, actually. But for our purposes today, the Eloi will be fine.”