“A movie I was in?”
“A movie. A big movie. Surely you remember?”
“Did I die in it?”
“No, you didn’t die in it. Why do you want to know?”
“I was just trying to remember last night, what movies I’d made. I kept thinking if the light has to collect me, and I have to leave, and I have to tell it what movies I made — ” He glanced at the wall beside the bed where he’d scrawled a list — in a large, untutored scrawl — of some of the titles of his films. It was by no means comprehensive; proof perhaps of a mind in slow decay. Nor were the titles he had remembered entirely accurate. Gunner became Gunman for some reason, and The Big Fall simply Fallen. He also added Warrior to the list, which was wishful thinking.
“How many of my pictures did I die in then?”
“Two.”
“Why only two? Quickly,”
“Because you were the hero.”
“Right answer. And heroes don’t die. Ever, right?”
“I wouldn’t say ever. Sometimes it’s the perfect ending.”
“For example?”
“A Tale of Two Cities.”
“That’s old. Anyway, don’t quibble. The point is: I don’t care about what the light wants. I’m the hero.”
“Oh, I get where this is headed.”
“I’m not going, Maxine.”
“Suppose it wants to take you somewhere better?”
“Like where?”
“I don’t know.
“Say it. Go on. You see … you can’t even say it.”
“I can say it. Heaven. The afterlife.”
“Is that where you believe it wants me to go?”
“I don’t know where it wants you to go, Todd.”
“And I’m never going to find out because I’m not going to go. I’m the hero. I don’t have to go. Right?”
What could she say to this? He had the idea so very firmly fixed in his head that it wasn’t going to be easily dislodged.
“I suppose if you put it that way,” she said, “you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”
He put his heel behind a small portion of dirt and pushed it off the edge of the bed. It rattled as it rained down on the bare boards.
“It’s all bullshit anyway,” he said.
“What’s bullshit?”
“Movies. I should have done something more useful with my life. Donnie was right.”
“Donnie?”
“Yes.” He suddenly looked hard at her. “Donnie was real, wasn’t he? He was my brother. Tell me I didn’t dream him.”
“No, you didn’t dream him.”
“Oh good. He was the best soul I ever met in my life. Sorry, but he was.
“No, he was your brother. It’s good you love him.”
“Hmm.” A silence; a long silence. Then: “Life would be shit if I’d just dreamed him.”