"I'm not saying you can't make a package weigh less by stuffing it with helium balloons. I'm saying that the cost of actually doing that would far outweigh the savings on shipping."

Jay balanced two bags of groceries, one in each arm, as he closed the car door with his foot. "It hasn't been tried. How would you know?"

I took the keys out of my purse and searched for the house key. "What would you even ship that would be light enough to be lifted by helium balloons?"

He shrugged. "How about a magazine?"

I unlocked the door, leaving it wide open so Jay could enter. "I'm done with this conversation. Close the door. Don't let the hot air get in."

Jay set the groceries down on the kitchen table. "Did you remember to put the car keys on the hook this time?"

I groaned. I knew what that meant. "Probably not."

"Tsk tsk tsk. You keep leaving them stuck in the doorknob."

"Sue me."

I looked around my living space. Clearly, it was inhabited by a dozen people.

A half-eaten slice of toast was still on the table, along with an empty bottle of 5-Hour Energy and a glass with a few drops of clear liquid inside.

"It's too quiet. Kids, get in here and help Jay put the groceries away," I called out.

One by one, imaginary people came out of my duplex's nooks and crannies. As always, Protagonist was front and center when I called. "Did you clean out my sub-conscience like I asked?"

He made a face like he was bracing himself for pain. "No."

I shook my head. "What on earth were you up to all day?"

He looked down apologetically.

"There's still an hour of sunlight left. Get to it before dinner."

As he ran out of my sight, I looked around the room at the rest of my characters. One, two, three... "I'm missing one. Where is she?"

Two of my characters looked at themselves, clearly hiding something.

"Well?"

They looked down at their fiddling thumbs.

I sighed. "Jay, check my room, will you?"

"She's gone," one of them finally tells me.

Gone? That could mean anything. "What?"

"She said she had a mind of her own now and didn't have to listen to you, so she left."

The words didn't register at first. Surely, this was a joke. I felt an odd tickle, enough to make me laugh. "No, that's impossible. Everyone here is following a well-structured plot outline."

I went back to the groceries, pulling out a jar of peanut butter from the paper bag and setting it down on the table. "Jay, where is she?" I cried.

Nothing.

Maternal instinct told me something was wrong. I took careful steps to the hallway.

Jay looked at me like we had just been burglarized. "She's gone."

My mouth fell open. "She's gone?"

He nodded. "And my plot's missing."

My stomach sank, then got twisted up in knots.

The entire place was quiet. Slowly, the sound of a vibrating phone entered my ear's radar.

I wasn't in the mood for text messages or Facebook updates, not when Jay's plot was in danger. It should have just been that one vibrating pulse, but it wasn't. It kept vibrating.

I was getting a call.

Everyone ran back to the kitchen, but I was the first to get to my purse and dig the phone out of the sea of old receipts, coins, and make-up.

My iPhone didn't recognize the caller's number.

I swiped my thumb across the bottom of the screen and held the phone up to my ear. "This is Elle."

Through the fuzziness, I made out a voice. "Ah, my favorite amateur writer."

I gasped. It was her.

"Tell me, did I unplug the iron before I left?"

I quenched the phone so tight, I nearly cracked the cover. "Where the hell are you?"

"Your lucid dreams."

I kicked a nearby chair. Damn.

She giggled. "That's right. Good luck trying to access those. You've been trying since college to no avail."

Without realizing it, I started pacing the living room in near anguish. "Did you steal Jay's plot?"

"Of course. I needed some kind of leverage."

Leverage? Was she trying to work out a deal? With me? Her creator? Perhaps it was a defense mechanism to all the insane junk happening around me, or maybe I just felt too powerful to be messed with, but I couldn't help it. I laughed, genuinely and from deep within. "I don't negotiate with minor characters."

"You're going to be singing a different tune when you hear what I have in mind for Jay."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You think a pink and purple book sleeve would look good on him?"

My smile fell. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would. I'll turn Jay into such a big piece of Chick Lit, mommy bloggers will find it camp."

My brain couldn't handle the horror of such a possibility. "You're a monster."

"No, I just outgrew your character arc."

I took a deep breath. "Okay, what do you want?"

"Sexual tension in the second act and moral ambiguity in the third."

You want fries with that?

No, hold your tongue. Focus.

I cleared my throat. Anything to keep me from laughing. "You were born of a Shakespeare heroine. I'm not turning you into Evelyn Mulwray."

"Hm. I could always turn Jay into an after-school-special teen fic-"

"Alright. Alright," I interrupted. "Fine."

"Groovy. Meet me at our special spot, right after work. Toodle-oo."

I stood still for a moment. Another re-write. Why does this always happen when I'm so close to finishing it? "Jay, get me my laptop."

***

I toyed with the USB drive between my fingers.

Jay was next to me on the "Bard Bench", just outside the Old Globe in Balboa Park.

So many days and nights writer's block would rob me of inspiration, but a stroll around the outside of this theater always brought me back to life.

If my favorite playwright could inspire the construction of this theater, surely he could inspire me.

Jay checked his smartphone. "It's been forty-five minutes. I think we have to cut our losses."

I put a hand up. "Not yet. I'm getting our plot back."

Just as I was about to pull out a stick of gum from my bag, I saw her.

The three of us were in a scene straight out of an old Western. We stared each other down from several yards away, each of us ready to take back what we wanted, but hesitant to give anything up.

"Where's the plot?" Jay asked her.

"Where's the re-write?" she said.

I raised the USB drive high above my head. "Here it is. Hand the plot over."

She rolled her eyes as she made her way towards us. Her arm was stretched out in front of her, holding the plot. "Enough clichés."

From afar, the plot appeared to be intact. Could she have done something to it before handing it over? Hopefully, it wasn't something I couldn't fix.

She handed Jay his plot. I handed her the re-write. It was easy. Too easy.

"It was a pleasure doing business," she said.

Jay and I watched her walk backwards, eventually disappearing back into my imagination, where she belonged.

I looked down at the plot, examining every inch of it. "It looks undamaged to me."

Jay took it from my hands. His scrounged-up forehead told me he saw something I didn't. "That's not the ending you wrote, is it?"

I brought the plot close to my face. The rascal. "This isn't my ending. She changed it. This ending is... kind of dark."

"And ambiguous," said Jay.

"Yeah, I'll say. But considering where you'll be showcased, maybe no one will notice."

Jay shrugged. "You're right. It'll just fly over my readers' heads."