The candor bug was in her that day, and as Eli prepared their noodles and vegetables in his small kitchen, she sat at the table and recounted, apologetically, her stream of thinking over the last ten days, shaping the story the best she could to avoid suggesting any romantic attachment on her part. Looking back, it all seemed silly, even paranoid, and she wasn't sure what he would make of her, because she wasn't perfectly sure what to make of herself. She finished the last of it just about the time they were sitting down to table.

"So, two things," he said as he passed her a glass of tea. "First, what would ever lead you to imagine me hooking up with Ellen? Forget her and her husband ...."

"Well, she's an attractive woman ... and willing. And it's pretty clear you are a rampant heterosexual."

"Kate, I've just diagnosed your problem. You have terrible taste in women. I know she's your friend, but that woman is a fright."

"She has very nice skin," Kate protested.

"It isn't just her looks. It's ... no. Forget I said that. I'm not going to say anything else against her, but the idea of my 'porking' her, as you so delicately phrased it earlier, is ... nauseating."

It was poor choice of words, one that had nearly caused Eli to spill a pot of noodles when she'd first used it. So, she didn't blame him for laughing again.

"I don't know where I got that from," she grumbled. Her language lately had been shameful, as had been her behavior. "What was your second point?"

He responded after a long slurp of noodles.

"The idea ... and correct me on this. You're saying that you were worried that you would somehow get lost in my shadow?" It was remarkable how his tone had changed; his voice now was gentle and reassuring.

"I don't know," she replied. "I wasn't thinking ... and you have to admit, you cut a pretty impressive figure."

"Kate," he said in that same quiet and gentle way, "don't let these palatial surroundings fool you." He glanced up and around the modest room. "This is just temporary. I live out of a pickup truck. The only person lower than me on the social ladder is pushing a shopping cart down Melrose."

"Well, when you say it like that." She tried not to laugh. "Do I get my story now?"

He took a few more bites, motioning politely for her to do the same.

"Mmm ... I'm not sure what to tell you. But you tell me ... why did you just share that bit with me? ... the part about how you've been thinking."

"I don't know. You've been really good to me, and I've been sort of an ass. I just want my life to get to ... well, not normal. I don't know what that is anymore ... especially after ... you know. Yesterday."

"Kate, you'll find your feet again soon. I promise. But, come to think of it, I have a story for you. It's one I've never told anyone, about something no one else has ever known ... well, except for Rachel ... and only because she was part of it. But I have to warn you, it is completely fantastic."

"More fantastic than the Monkey Man?"

"In a way, I think so." He did that scratching thing again. "Look, maybe I was wrong about the Monkey Man ... or whoever that was in Baghdad. Maybe he was a normal guy with exceptional skills. It's not unheard of. I was hit by a bus, and despite the odds ... I survived and even turned out better than I was before."

"You think Monkey Man got hit by a bus."

"I have no idea, but maybe he's just exceptional. Hey, are you almost finished?

"Mm-hmm."

"Let me put a few things away, then we can sit outside."

When they took their places on the veranda, he was scratching his cheek again, and she was feeling less anxious about being outdoors. There were a few minutes of pleasant silence, which Kate reminded herself not to make anything of. When Eli began, it was in his usual tone.

"Okay, I've never told this story before. I know I just said that, but I just want you to know it might not make any sense at all."

"Again, the Monkey Man?"

"Ha. I guess that didn't either. But ... um, all I'm about to tell you took place around the time I can first remember, when I woke up in the hospital. So ... it's all a little jumbled, even to me. And it involves me telling you about at least one thing that I remember that I could not possibly remember. That's why .... Okay, I know you said you wanted a true story. All I'm saying is this is as true as I can make it. Are you ready?"

"Yeah ... good job building mood," she whispered.

"Umm ...," he stopped to laugh quietly. "The accident really shouldn't have been all that bad, or so I was told later. Other than some cuts and scrapes, and a lot of bruises, the only injury they could find on me was a broken ankle and leg from where the bus impacted. But there must have been brain trauma of some sort, because not long after I made it to the hospital in Peoria, I slipped into a coma."

He took a sip of tea and again seemed to gather his thoughts.

"They ended up shipping me to a hospital in Chicago that had a reputation for dealing with such things, and Rachel took a room nearby so she could visit every day. I never understood the specifics, but the doctors in Chicago told her from day one that I was never going to recover, that it wasn't a coma at all but some other condition ... which no one ever figured out, because the second I woke up, the so-called specialists began to back-pedal and change their stories. The upshot was they said I was essentially brain dead ... and, yes, let the jokes commence."

A laughing Kate bit her lip so hard it hurt.

"Only one doctor said different, a woman by the name of Kate Lennox, who is one of my heroes ... and who I still see every year or two. I'm sort of her own personal guinea pig. Not only did she save my life, but she really was a great friend to Rachel during that time, for which I will always be hers."

"You have a thing for Kates, I knew it."

"Really? ... okay, maybe. But that's not part of the story."

"Ha."

"Anyway, it was a hundred and fifty or sixty miles to Chicago, so not a whole lot of friends came to visit. My old man was still around but mostly absent, and Mom didn't have any close family left, so the only other support she had was from the family of the man in the next room, a guy named Lazlo."

"I,  um ... I can't remember Lazlo's family name to save my life. I think he was Hungarian and part English ... or something like that. Anyway, he was in his nineties, and Rachel said that he'd fought in both world wars and had spent most of his professional life as an aircraft designer. Even though his daughters all lived out of state, one or all of them were in town at any given time to keep Lazlo and his wife company during what looked like his final days ... like a normal family would. All of this I heard afterward from Rachel, who got to be pretty close with Lazlo and his wife. I guess their family kept mom afloat during that time."

"Well, that's the backstory," he said quietly. When he continued, it was even more deliberately. "One day, Rachel came to visit, and I don't know how she came to know this, whether she overheard Lazlo speaking, or his wife told her after, but Lazlo said something after Rachel passed his room. He said, 'I'd do anything to ease that poor kid's pain. I'd give my last little bit to give her son back to her.'"

When he paused, Kate saw that slight tremor in Eli's face she'd seen once before. When he continued, it was gone.

"People say things like that sometimes," he said, "but ... when Rachel told me that story months later, it was like I'd heard those words before, as clear as I can hear you speaking today. But that's not the strangest part. The strangest part is that about an hour after Lazlo said that, he just passed away. He wasn't terribly sick. He was just old, and it was his time. Rachel went in to comfort the family when she heard, and about five minutes later, she came back in and saw me sitting up in the bed, wide awake."

"Oh, my God," she whispered, her hand again at her mouth. "Please ... please tell me you didn't make that up. That would not be fair."

"Those are the facts as I know them," he said calmly. "But it doesn't have to be anything miraculous. There have been a lot of years for me to think on that. That story always gets me choked up, but you know what, I remember waking up fairly clearly. I can't say I remember every detail, but I do know Lazlo's wife came and cried over me for a few minutes after the fuss died down. My waking up was an enormous comfort for her, and she may have mentioned his words to me then, which is why they seemed so familiar later."

"But come on ... he did say them, didn't he?"

"I have no doubt what Rachel said was true. But I didn't know Lazlo. Maybe he was the kind of guy who voiced those type of sentiments all the time. He just happened to die after he said them that time, and I just happened to wake up a few minutes later."

"That's a hell of a coincidence."

"What? Because our rooms were next to one another? Just imagine, I had to wake up sooner or later ... and it was in a hospital that treated the critically ill and dying. Some old man, several old men, probably, were dying at any given time ... in that hospital or in one nearby."

"So, you think it's all bunk?" At that point, Kate had no idea what to think, but events of the previous day had left her so confused that ... well, anything seemed possible now.

"I don't know," he said. His words seemed honest. "Rachel swore by it, so it means a lot to me." He gave her a queer look. "She claimed that the sudden personality changes I had after I woke up were somehow the influence of Lazlo, who was a tinkerer, a great mechanic, a real wizard with numbers, and who spoke six languages."

"How many languages do you speak?" she asked, biting her lip.

"It's relative. French and Spanish pretty well, decent street German, and I can make myself understood in three others. But all that means nothing. A lot of people are good at math, a lot of people tinker, and folks who travel a lot tend to pick up foreign languages. Now, if I would've woken from the coma speaking fluent Hungarian ... that would have been a miracle."

"You have got to admit it's strange."

"It's very strange." He gave he another look. "There is one thing Rachel said that I can't explain .... oh, fuck." That look passed over his face again, and it took longer for the trembling to stop. "She said ... that when Lazlo's wife came in that day ... I had a message for her from Lazlo." He looked at her imploringly. "I don't remember any such thing, but Rachel swore it was true. She didn't catch exactly what I was supposed to have said, but it seemed to be something Lazlo's wife understood."

Kate reached out and took his hand in hers. He was his self again in a moment.

"I don't really believe any of that stuff," he said, "but I couldn't let go of it. Almost twenty years later, right after I made major, the army paid for me to get a master's degree. It was supposed to be in international relations, but, umm ... I ended up, somehow, getting accepted to Georgetown University's department of theology."

"You're kidding."

"No, I was .... Oh, jeez." "He chuckled weakly. "I was interested in the transmigration of souls, but I ended up writing my master's thesis on demonic possession. Did not go down well with the Uncle Sam, not ... at ... all."

"I know you're screwing with me, now."

"My thesis is in the university library," he said with a smile. "It gets cited sometimes four or five times a year in various books and articles. I even get the occasional phone call or e-mail asking questions."

She laughed. "You're teasing again."

"My laptop is on the desk. You don't need a password."

She jumped up and dashed inside only to return five minutes later, her mouth wide open.

"It appears I am in the presence of scholarly greatness," was all she could say. "Unless there's another Elijah T. Pitt-Rivers out there somewhere."

"Wait, wasn't he the guy who invented the guacamole gin?"

Kate immediately turned, fled back into the cottage, and locked herself in the bathroom. She spent the time it took for her blushing to recede applying some more makeup. After ten minutes, she emerged and braced herself for the blistering campaign of teasing that would come. There was none, for which she was again grateful, as she was thankful he'd mostly distracted her from thoughts of the Flying Guy since his return.

"Was I telling the truth on this story?" he asked instead.

"Most of it, I think. I can't check on the parts about Lazlo might have said." Though it did cross her mind to check the Chicago obituaries from that time. "But, you know what, your credibility so far is passably good. To my knowledge, you've only jerked my chain once, and that's considerably better than most people I've known, including a respectable number I've called friend."

"You see, Kate, 'trust, but verify.' It's a mantra for some people, and it should be for all of us."

"Tell me how to do that."

"What? Trust and verify?"

"Teach me how to be a better observer. And I want to know how to ferret out when people are lying. And I wouldn't object to some hints on improving my memory."

"We can start right now if you want. But don't you actors get lot of memory training?"

"That would be too reasonable."

The two spent the rest of the day and most of the evening chatting about the various ways Eli had learned to observe and analyze the world around him. None of it was terribly complex but merely required patience and systematic application. The simplicity of it astounded her. They goofed off for an hour or more before they went to sleep, and when they did finally retire, they merely curled up on top of the bed next to one another, without thought or discussion.

Throughout that time, there was no mention of Monkey Men, Flying Guys, or miraculous Hungarian healers, but such things were seldom far from her mind. The last two days had been strange and wondrous. And they'd been frightening. Tomorrow, she would return to her home, and, Flying Guy or not, she was going to take back her life.