A Walk in the Park (Sunny)

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

Danny kept the weirdest hours. There was never any rhyme or reason to when he ate, slept or worked. Some days he slept all day. Some days he slept all night and day. Some days he never went to bed at all ... for days. He often had insomnia and he often became obsessed with something he was working on or creating.

One night he couldn't sleep and tossed and turned until far into the early hours of the morning. Finally exhausted, he fell asleep at 5 am and slept until late in the afternoon. When he awoke, he was a bit hungry. He saw that things had been cleaned; his housekeeper had obviously been in. He looked to see if she'd put anything in the refrigerator. He paid her to do his shopping and cleaning in addition to cooking several times a week, as Danny could not be bothered to do any of that. In fact, he had often admitted that if he hadn't hired her, he might well starve. So he found some breakfast items and orange juice even though it was long after breakfast.

Danny glanced at the street below from the picture window of his breakfast nook. He lived on the 25th floor of a condominium building, his penthouse occupying the complete floor. It was large and lavish with windows through which he could see anywhere in Manhattan and out into the Atlantic.

The sun was still bright and would be for an hour or two. It was a month into spring and although it was still a bit chilly, that didn't deter Danny when he wanted a walk. He didn't like the cold of winter, but a breezy cool evening in spring was lovely. Danny put on a brown jacket over his dark brown trousers and white shirt, open at the collar. He had an Indiana Jones style fedora in brown that was one of the hats he often wore when outside in daylight to keep the sun off his face and also keep it a bit in shadows so his prosthetic skin on the right side of his face would not be in evidence. It was a good prosthetic and matched quite perfectly, but Danny feared anyone noticing anyway.

He put on a pair of sunglasses and looked quite anonymous as he set out to Central Park, one of his favourite haunts. He took the lift down to the ground floor and started walking at a good clip. It was not far, but a good walk and he soon arrived at the park. He ambled past various tourists, many readying themselves to leave the park. No one gave him any attention, which was as he wished. He kept on walking until he reached the lower part of Bethesda Terrace and took the staircase to the top. He stopped and looked pensively at the view. Numerous people walked pas, behind him, but he barely noticed. He was enjoying the view. But then he started to become melancholy when he turned around and saw families walking together and men and women holding hands and children playing. He sat on the edge of the railing and watched everyone wishing that once in a while he had someone with whom to talk.

Danny stood up again and started to walk toward the fountain. The energy of the water and the sound and smell of the fresh water always perked him up a bit. He drew closer and stood watching the water cascade down. He sat down on a bench across from the fountain and continued to watch, almost being hypnotized. He took off his hat and bent his head over a bit, rubbing his left forehead. Why was he feeling so melancholy? Lack of sleep perhaps? Or something else?

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Some days were harder to find entertainment in than others. It was part of the human condition – always looking for more, not finding it, feeling bored, ordering a pizza, putting on weight, becoming too big to fit through the door, then a lonely death...It was one of the many reasons why Sunny Crusoe never let himself be for more than a few moments at a time. Between writing and exploring, he didn’t often to find those moments, though.

Today seemed to be full of them. He’d already finished his latest drug running novel with the Irish cop, been to therapy, and torn apart the apartment looking for a quarter he was sure he’d lost between the couch cushions. Apparently he’d driven Tuesday nuts. Well, not nuts, but “to the point of distraction”. He didn’t know the man could be distracted. Lord knew Sunny had tried time and time again when they were doing something he didn’t like, like therapy. So the man had decided that they needed fresh air. No one needed fresh air. Air was air. He wasn’t going to get it any fresher with all the pollution outside, after all. He hated that. Hawaii and the open sea had always been clear of the smog that enveloped them all. He was probably going to die of lung cancer from breathing the ‘fresh’ air.

Tuesday hadn’t bought that one, either.

So that was how they’d ended up in Central Park. The idea was to get exercise and entertainment from being outdoors, but it seemed that he was the only one who was getting the exercise. Tuesday had brought a news paper and seemed to be content to sit on the bench and read. Now, that was boring. How could he just...he wasn’t about to go into that. He didn’t need the aggravation of wondering over it. So instead he was going to find something interesting the great outdoors so that he could say he did and go back to his usual daily routine.

But it was just so boring. People were walking and reading, strolling and jogging, pushing baby carriages and wheel chairs...It was all so quaint that it could be found in a Robert Kincaid greeting card. You know, the ones where everyone is perfect and the sparkles attack whomever you send it to? Yes, that was the park. Maybe he should call in a bomb threat to liven things up...but then, Tuesday had taken away his phone last week when he’d tried to call the president of the USA about how the price of illicit drugs was starting to make the addicts edgier than usual. He thought it was a valid concern, but then, he wasn’t Tuesday.

It took some time, but finally he managed to search out something interesting. There was a man sitting on a bench in a coat, fedora, and sunglasses. He looked so non-descript that he had to be doing something. Maybe he was a member of the CIA...no, they would be wearing ties, no matter what. No, he was a member of the Czech mob! Excellent, that played right in with his current work in progress idea for a novel about them. He was in the park, doing something...

Sunny frowned when nothing came to mind. Well, that just wouldn’t work. Standing up, he left Tuesday to his paper and sat down beside the spy.

“Alright, who are we spying on? Is it the daughter of the Russian mob boss you’re rivals with? Or maybe you’re trying to figure out where the trap door is under the fountain? I got news for you – they hid it really well. I’ve looked,” he informed the other man, studying the fountain. “But if you’re willing to help me look, I’m game to search for it again.”

And with any luck he’d figure out what this man’s game was. Hopefully it would be something interesting.

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

Danny was still somewhat mesmerised by the fountain, so it took him a bit to realize someone had sat down next to him and had spoken. He looked at the man curiously. He was tall and dressed casually, nice looking chap with a square jaw and blue eyes. He acted as if he knew Danny.

Danny looked at him with a confused look. He took off the sunglasses and frowned. "Spying?" he repeated. "I'm no bloody spy." Then the fellow said something about a Russian mob boss's daughter. That made him vaguely interested. But the man went on, mentioning a trap door under the fountain. Somehow that interested Danny quite a bit. It was very intriguing.

"A trap door under the fountain? I haven't heard, but I'd be jolly well pleased to help you look. Does it lead to a tunnel? How does one get underneath the fountain?"

"It's not very often I'm asked to get involved in an interesting project." He pointed to the fountain. "Did you know that it's 26 feet high and 96 feet wide? Plenty of space down under to put in a trap door." His architect's eye kicked in and he could visualize a trap door leading to miles of underground passageways that went in all directions all over the city. A quite fascinating thought!

He lowered his voice. "So are you a spy for our side?" He looked slightly puzzled. "What exactly is our side?" Then he smiled. "Sorry, old chap, I haven't been polite. The name is Danny. An you are...?"

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Well, apparently he’d gotten the other man’s attention when he took off his sunglasses and leveled Sunny with a confused look. Oh, he was used to those. People had been pulling that on him for years.

"Spying? I'm no bloody spy."

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” Sunny commented, thinking no spy would actually admit to being a spy. It was like Fight Club – the first rule was that you didn’t talk about it.

But then, this guy seemed to be trying to catch up on the non-important part about the fountain, so Sunny let it go.

"A trap door under the fountain? I haven't heard, but I'd be jolly well pleased to help you look. Does it lead to a tunnel? How does one get underneath the fountain? It's not very often I'm asked to get involved in an interesting project."

Jolly well? Well, jolly good then.

“If you knew anything about the fountain, you’d know exactly how and what was under there,” Sunny pointed out.

After all, if he told the other man that there was a room full of old timey stuff down there and he didn’t already know, he could ruin it by taking it or telling the Russians or something. Sunny wasn’t too keen on being the schmuck who gave that away. He had no desire to sleep with the fishes. Well, he might like to swim with them, but not in this water. The water was COLD in New York. He could see why no one ever went in it. That, and the pollution.

"Did you know that it's 26 feet high and 96 feet wide? Plenty of space down under to put in a trap door."

Alright, maybe he did know something about the fountain. Show off.

"So are you a spy for our side? What exactly is our side? Sorry, old chap, I haven't been polite. The name is Danny. An you are...?"

Sunny blinked at the guy. He didn’t know what his own side was? Either he was awful at this...or brilliant. Either way, there was nothing he was going to give away. He wasn’t a snitch, after all. He would have done well in the mob. Maybe. Probably not.

“Pfft, I’m on my side. Your side is your business, so I’ll leave it there. As for names, Danny, there are no names in this game. Call me...Tuesday, if you must.”

Sunny nearly snickered to himself, glancing over at where Tuesday was still reading the paper. Yes, he could definitely be a Tuesday.

“You still haven’t answered my first question, Danny. Who are you spying on?”

He was determined to get to the bottom of this after all. No man was an island, or however the saying went. He’d crack and tell the author his secrets. He had all day to dig them out, after all.

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

For some odd reason the fellow to whom Danny was speaking seemed to think Danny was a spy. That was an odd thing to think. Rather amusing. Danny couldn't imagine why the man would think so. He smiled then. Perhaps he had Danny mixed with someone.

He didn't like to tell too much about himself to strangers, but if they were going to investigate the fountain, perhaps he ought to give him his credentials. "I'm an architect. Not a spy." Well, not much information there, but what more did this chap need to know?

"So I expect the first thing to do would be to turn off, and then drain the fountain. I don't propose getting in that freezing water. I rather hate the cold. Winters here, make me wonder why the hell I didn't immigrate to Florida instead of New York. But the summers here are grand." Danny put his sunglasses on, then took them off again. "Oh, I understand now. The sunglasses...you thought I was a spy because I was wearing sunglasses. And the hat. Well, yes, that would do it, old chap." He smiled and put the sunglasses back on.

"Now to the fountain problem. I say we wait till after dark and explore the thing wearing wellies and carrying a torch. And we might well need some tools, I expect, to pry up the trap door. Do you know where they have the water turn-off?"

The other man pointed out that Danny should know what is under the fountain if he had any knowledge of it. "This is the first I've heard, old chap. I had no idea there was anything below it but a few pipes for water. You are the one who told me. " Danny narrowed his eyes. "You must be the bloody spy. You know a bit too much."

The man said he was on his own side in answer to Danny's query of which side he was aligned with. "Same here. I work for myself and myself only." He indicated himself by placing his hand on his chest, his palm side toward himself.

The man told Danny to call him "Tuesday." Danny gave him a strange look, then smiled and pointed his index finger at him, sort of flipping his hand over in a graceful gesture. "Now if that's not a spy's name, surely this isn't Central Park." He laughed, but not at his witticism. It was hardly that. It rather fell flat.

"Who am I spying on?" The fellow repeated the question. "Mr Tuesday, how would I even be able to answer that question, unless I truly were a spy. I am not a spy, have never met a spy and I don't even care for bloody 007. I have a terrific aversion to spies. I don't want anyone to know anything about me. Outside of the fact that I'm an architect. That's all right. But no more. I don't even tell anyone that I'm a musician, unless they ask. Or that I write computer games." Danny paused. "Oh, now I see why you think I'm a spy. I wrote a spy game once. Completely a knock off on Bond." He laughed. "So that's why you think I'm a spy. Oh, very good! Bloody good!"

The man still looked as if he were waiting for an answer to the question of whom Danny was spying. "I'm not spying on anyone. Just looking at the bloody fountain. And hoping the idiots would leave me alone." He looked at the man who called himself Tuesday. "But you're not like that. Not barmy at all; quite sensible. I expect that your name is just to throw off the real spies, Mr Tuesday. Am I correct?" He smiled.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"I'm an architect. Not a spy.”

Uh huh, likely story. Sunny had already come to the conclusion that this man was trying to throw him off. Architect...likely not. No, if he weren’t a spy, he wouldn’t have been so quick to claim that he was in such a boring job. The boring part was the cover.

"I rather hate the cold. Winters here, make me wonder why the hell I didn't immigrate to Florida instead of New York. But the summers here are grand."

And now he was trying to appeal to Sunny’s love of the hot weather, like that of his native Molokai. Right. Very clever spy, but he wasn’t going to fall for that. No, this guy was foreign and not the kind who was going to make friends with Sunny through their shared love of the hot.

He went on and on about the fountain, clearly trying to keep Sunny from thinking about the key part of it all – the fact this guy was a spy. Why he wouldn’t admit it was beyond Sunny. It wasn’t like he’d tell...well, he would, but who believed the guy with Schizophrenia? Well, allegedly.

"You must be the bloody spy. You know a bit too much."

Sunny narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Reverse Psychology does not work on me. And Tuesday was my father’s name, passed onto me, not that I need to explain myself to you. Nice try, Comrade.”

Yes, that would set him straight. Honestly, who did he think he was? He was Robinson Crusoe! Even his own mind couldn’t get the truth out of him...
And it was a good thing that he hadn’t said that aloud.

"Who am I spying on? Mr Tuesday, how would I even be able to answer that question, unless I truly were a spy. I am not a spy, have never met a spy and I don't even care for bloody 007. I have a terrific aversion to spies. I don't want anyone to know anything about me.”

‘Me thinks the lady doth protest too much...’ he thought to himself, remembering his Shakespeare. The man was a little too insistent that he wasn’t a spy. Yes, he wasn’t going to believe that for a moment. The fellow was odd, and the fact that he was so busy trying to convince Sunny that he wasn’t a spy was just...well, weird. Most people told him to shut up by now. In fact, that would have been the sane thing to do.

“Oh, very good! Bloody good!"

But this guy wasn’t sane. He should know – he was the expert on it.
Sunny tilted his head slightly. Now, he might be onto something with this guy being crazy. He was all over the map. Video games, 007, and music and mumbo jumbo...This had to be a hallucination. Yeah, that explained it all. Reaching out, he poked the other man on the shoulder, surprised when he made contact with something solid. Damn.

“How are you even real?” Sunny asked, thinking that his brain was playing tricks on him. “I know for a fact I never took my medication today, so again, how are you real?”

It was a valid question. Usually the opposite seemed to happen when he didn’t take his meds. People he thought were real turned out to be otherwise, and then there was trouble. This guy felt real enough, but there was only one real way to tell.

“Tuesday!” he hollered, not even getting a twitch behind the newspaper. “Come here and tell me if this guy is real or not!”

Still nothing. He was going to remember that. Turning back towards this guy, he watched him suspiciously.

“I’m on to you, buddy.”

Not a spy, no. Worse...he wasn’t sure what was worse, but he was sure that there was something wrong with this not real person who was apparently real.

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

The fellow who called himself Tuesday looked very skeptical of Danny. He wondered why. Certainly he was being quite up front with everything about himself. Well, Danny hadn't told him everything, nothing about the mental hospital, nor about the episodes where he went into a strange state of mind. But that was no one's business. In fact, maybe those spells wouldn't happen any more. He was probably cured. Why he hadn't had an odd thought in quite some time. It might be as much as three weeks. Yes, likely he was completely cured. So he wondered why this chap didn't believe him that he wasn't a spy.

Danny had an honest face and a ready smile. Why was Mr Tuesday not believing him? After all, Tuesday was the one with the odd spy name. Reverse psychology? He thought a moment, pondering Tuesday's words. "Oh, I see what you're up to. You think that I think you are not a spy because you are accusing me of being a spy, which I'm not. But you are the one with the odd name." Danny pulled off his sunglasses again and looked the fellow in the eye. "I know what it is. You have a spy name because your father was a spy...that's it, isn't it?" Danny smiled. It was interesting trying to untangle the strange workings of the spy's mind.

Then Tuesday said, Nice try, Comrade! Danny put his sunglasses on again, jumped up and pointed a finger at Tuesday and started to laugh as if Tuesday had said something incredibly funny. "Comrade! You called me Comrade! Only Russian spies call others Comrade! " Danny stopped a moment to think. "Although you could simply be an innocent Russian citizen, but I think you would have told me that before if you weren't a spy."

The other man appeared to be thinking about what Danny had said. Apparently Danny still hadn't convinced him. What could he do to convince him that he wasn't a spy. Then he thought a moment more. Danny didn't even like spies. Well, to be honest, he didn't mind spies. What he didn't like was 007. The man had too many women fawning over him. Danny would give anything to have just one woman fawning over him. The truth was he was a bit jealous of someone like 007 with all his women.

He became a bit quiet and then the fellow Tuesday poked him. He looked at the man and said, "So what was that for? I'm still here; I didn't go anywhere." Then the man mentioned he hadn't taken his medicine today. Danny laughed. "I didn't take mine either, might be a few days, or even a few weeks. " He giggled. "I can't seem to remember that. But it doesn't matter. Today, I'm perfectly fine. However, I am worried about you, old chap. You seem a bit out of sorts."

Then, unaccountably, the fellow yelled his own name. Danny frowned, then laughed and then looked puzzled. Why would he do that? And who was he calling...someone with his own name. The only logical explanation was that he had a twin who was invisible...

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Sunny was quickly losing patience with this game. He didn’t like it when people didn’t do what they were supposed to. Consistency was how he new things were normal, that he wasn’t inventing ideas in his head, inventing people, inventing...well, just inventing. People who didn’t act right were suspicious. Suspicious was not what he wanted to deal with. A spy, and a clever one, apparently.

"Oh, I see what you're up to. You think that I think you are not a spy because you are accusing me of being a spy, which I'm not. But you are the one with the odd name. I know what it is. You have a spy name because your father was a spy...that's it, isn't it?"

Sunny blinked, not at all happy with the fact that this man was looking him in the eye. Eye contact was rude in some cultures. Maybe his culture. He really should learn more about Hawaiians....But whatever it was, he wasn’t happy when it came to this man’s insistence that they look each other in the eye. His own pale blue eyes darted away glancing back a few times to make sure that there was nothing weird going on. Or well, weirder, he supposed.

“My name is a nice name, thank you. I couldn’t have made up a more apt one,” he replied, thinking that was the case. He had met Tuesday on a Tuesday, after all. “And my father is a Botanist, thank you very much.”

Marlon Crusoe was the more boring person in the entire world. He studied plants, for pete’s sake. And when he wasn’t doing that, he liked to sit in trees so developers couldn’t chop them down. He vaguely remembered being slung along with his folks on a few of those and being only three years old, he’d nearly died a few times. Yeah, his parents weren’t the smartest people out there, despite what the PhDs on the wall declared. His grandmother had never had more than a high school education and she was miles ahead of them.

She was light years ahead of this guy. Trying to bring up Russians...did he have no idea what an actual Russian even said to an actual Russian? He was tempted to spurt off in his best Russian, but that would have been playing into someone else’s delusions, and he wasn’t the kind who bothered to help others along in that respect.

"I didn't take mine either, might be a few days, or even a few weeks. I can't seem to remember that. But it doesn't matter. Today, I'm perfectly fine.”

Oh, how Sunny begged to differ. If this guy was fine, then Tuesday was dressed in drag and doing the Hula at nights to support his cocaine addiction...wait...He glanced over at Tuesday again, mentally shaking his head. No, that was his imagination, not reality. He really needed to keep the two straight.

“However, I am worried about you, old chap. You seem a bit out of sorts."

He was a bit out of sorts? Oh, this guy was really barking up the wrong tree. He was so far up the wrong tree that this dog was a cat.

“Let’s get something straight here, buddy. I am perfectly in sorts. I have my sunny day, my babysitter, and my imagination. You seem to have taken leave of your senses by trying to get me to talk.”

He narrowed his eyes at the other man, glad he had finally put sunglasses back on. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m fine.”

Sure, he had a mental disorder – Schizophrenia with paranoid tendencies, or so his doctors like to spout off. Sunny didn’t believe that for a minute. If there was something wrong with him, he was sure that it was the Navy’s fault, not some genetic defect. He was willing to sit and be sick, but he would not be a label. And because he accepted that, he was so much more functional than anyone else he’d ever sat in group with. God, he hoped he never had to sit through group with this guy.

“So, Mr. Spy, I suggest you either figure out your story, get back on your meds, or at least try to act like a respectable mental patient and pretend you belong.”

Because, really, this just gave them all a bad name.

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

This fellow was rather no fun anymore. He kept acting like the spy he was and accusing Danny of being a spy. And who had a name like Tuesday if they weren't hiding something? Quite strange indeed! He didn't have time for people who spoke inanities and wouldn't even respond to a decent question. Danny knew he should simply walk away and let this strange fellow accuse someone else of being a spy. But he didn't want to be rude. So he decided not to listen to him anymore. He turned his face away from the fellow, pulled his fedora over his eyes and sat down, crossing his legs. He started to hum an opera aria. Rather hard to hum, but he didn't hum loud. Just loud enough to drown out the strange rantings of this fellow.

Mr Tuesday went on about his name and then said his father was a botanist. Danny stopped humming for a moment. "Oh your Dad is a fellow who loves plants. Jolly good. My father is a musician. Mum too, and she's an actress. No one I know has ever been a spy though. You are the first person I've ever met who's a proper spy..." Danny wasn't about to mention that his great-grandfather had had the job of being the Opera Ghost at the Paris Opera House...this fellow would undoubtedly think Danny was lying on that account...

I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m fine, said the other fellow. Danny turned around again and stood up, facing the taller man. He frowned. This bloke was becoming annoying. He had thought to have a nice talk about interesting things, and the look under the fountain had seemed quite a rollicking time. But now the fellow had done it. "Are you accusing me of being insane? It's bloody untrue! You're the one who's off his bleedin' trolley!" He pulled off his sunglasses again and glared at the man. "Who told you about my stint in London? Who told you?" Danny, quite paranoid and touchy about his stint in the mental hospital, assumed for some odd reason that Mr Tuesday knew all a bout it and was accusing him of still being insane, which he wasn't, exactly...at least not most of the time....or at least not completely insane... "And I have not taken leave of my senses! Or at least not all of them..." He stopped to take a breath. He was starting to sweat a bit and breathe heavier, a sure sign he was in some mental distress. He couldn't handle accusations that were a bit too close to home.

Danny turned around again and sat down, hunched over, his head down, trying to recover gracefully. Of course it was too late for even a bit of grace. The only saving feature of this episode was that there was only one other person involved. Danny tried desperately to remain in control of himself. In the worst situations, he would completely go inside himself, unable to talk or think at all. He didn't know what to call that, but his mother had called it his "spells." It had something to do with social anxiety and panic and probably half a dozen other things that the doctors hadn't told him. They never told him anything. Luckily, he was half a world away from them. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to make a sound and not think about how uncomfortable he felt.

He vaguely heard the other man say something about getting back on his meds... Now he knew who the man was, he was no spy... he was a doctor, a physician or psychologist trying hard to put Danny in a bad state so that he could put him back in the mental hospital. Danny looked up at him, rather fearfully. "No, no...you can't do that to me...I won't go back!"

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

This guy was just...weird. Humming and trying to pretend he wasn’t paying attention? Oh, Sunny knew those tactics. He was completely and utterly obnoxious. Yes, that was a fine word for it.

"Oh your Dad is a fellow who loves plants. Jolly good. My father is a musician. Mum too, and she's an actress. No one I know has ever been a spy though. You are the first person I've ever met who's a proper spy..."

Sunny rolled his eyes. “Aside from when you look in the mirror.”

It was a pain in the ass to have the other man still trying to get him to proclaim he was a spy. He wasn’t a spy, even if he did sometimes spy on people for the purpose of learning and helping along his imagination, thus helping along his writing. And sometimes his curiosity just got the better of him, but he wasn’t generally just spying for the sake of some secret agenda.

It made him wonder what this crazy’s agenda was. Or if he even had one. Talking about his crazy parents who had crazy careers...and now he was standing, towering over Sunny. Great.

"Are you accusing me of being insane? It's bloody untrue! You're the one who's off his bleedin' trolley!"

“Hey, buddy – I am accusing no one of nothing. But, if the shoe fits.” He shrugged.

After all, this wasn’t exactly sane behavior, and he was an expert of not-sane behavior.

"Who told you about my stint in London? Who told you? And I have not taken leave of my senses! Or at least not all of them..."

Oh for god’s sake...

“Yeah, you really need to get back on your pills. I can’t see why they let you out of London in the first place if you’re going on and on about this.”

Sunny stood up, thinking that there was a better chance of things going his way if he was on his feet. He didn’t like being at the disadvantage. The one thing the Navy managed to beat into his head was that if you were in a bad situation, you could always command it. He had the skills, he had the no-how, and there was nothing that this jerk could do that would intimidate him.

"No, no...you can't do that to me...I won't go back!"

Oh, what the hell was wrong with this guy? Sunny had absolutely no intention of taking him anywhere. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do with this guy was get away. He’d had his daily allotment of sunshine, fresh air, and interaction with others. Tuesday couldn’t give him any grief on this point. Maybe they’d go and get ice cream or steaks or something. That would make up for all this mental trauma he was enduring.

“Listen, I don’t care where you escaped from or if you should still be there. I’m so disinterested that I couldn’t even tell you how disinterested I am in you right now. You’re not even interesting enough to be a character in a book, and that’s saying something. So, why don’t you go try and sell crazy somewhere else? We’re all full up here.”

Alright, so he plagiarised that last line, but he highly doubted that there was any way that this guy was watching Jack Nicholson movies around all the electroshock he was apparently skipping. No, he probably sat at some desk somewhere and played Opera music and stalked young women....hey, that would be an interesting idea for a book or a play or something. He could try his hand at being a play write.

“Tuesday!” Sunny clapped his hands sharply. “I think I’ve had enough of the park for today. Let’s go get something to eat.”

He turned back towards where he’d left his assistant, figuring that there was nothing left to say to this crazy.

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

Aside from when you look in the mirror, said t he other man. Danny looked at him in surprise? "How did you know that I don't like looking in the mirror? Well, not all the time. Most of the time I look normal. But sometimes....it's just too painful. How do you know all those things about me? Has your invisible friend been spying on me too? There are two of you named the same thing, aren't there?" Danny's voice went quiet as if he were telling a secret. "How does he do it? Remain invisible, I mean. Is it some sort of cloaking device?"

It would be lovely to be invisible, Danny thought. No one would stare at him... And Danny really did think the fellow a bit off. He had seen it all at the mental hospital. Quite a few fellows had invisible friends there too. He really wondered how they managed that. He had never met anyone invisible. But he did have enough experience with mental health problems to know that this fellow could use a bit of help. But that didn't make Danny dislike him. In fact, it made him feel they had something in common. Both of the surely were misunderstood by society at large. Of course this fellow with which he was talking was making himself rather misunderstood by Danny as well. He was bloody confusing. But that was fine. Danny hadn't understood most of the other people in the hospital either. In fact, he hadn't much idea of what they were talking about most of the time.

Then the man called Tuesday said Danny needed to get back on his pills. Now he knew he was a doctor. Most likely a psychiatrist sent to keep an eye on Danny here in America. It had been a long time, but they had finally caught up with him! "Are you going to report me to the hospital? They let me out legally, you know. I didn't escape. Although I most certainly wanted to do so...Please...please, don't make me go back...Really. I'll do anything you want."

The fellow purported to be disinterested, but Danny knew that was just a ruse. Certainly he could just walk away from this fellow and disappear somewhere. But if he knew that Danny had been in the hospital, surely he knew his address in Manhattan too. He would undoubtedly show up one day with the NYPD in hand to drag Danny off somewhere to another horrid hospital. Danny was getting upset about the whole thing. He took a couple deep breaths and forced himself not to run away. He must make friends with the man or else bribe him, or anything to keep him from going to the authorities.

Then unaccountably, the fellow called to his invisible friend and they started walking away. Danny knew it was another ruse. He must get the fellow to acknowledge who he really was and then promise not to go the the authorities. Why if the NYPD caught up with Danny, they might find out about some other slightly...against the law....things he'd been doing for quite a while. He had to stop this fellow!

"Mr Tuesday, don't go...what if I give you money. I am wealthy, you know. Or I can write you a computer game...or a symphony. Or paint your girl friend's portrait...or something else...Name it...but I don't wish to go back there..."

//OOC: I loved the part about the opera music and stalking young women!!! LOL!!//

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

“How did you know that I don't like looking in the mirror? How do you know all those things about me? Has your invisible friend been spying on me too? There are two of you named the same thing, aren't there? How does he do it? Remain invisible, I mean. Is it some sort of cloaking device?"

Sunny frowned. Invisible friend? He didn’t...Oh fuck.

His head snapped in the direction of Tuesday, hoping to high heaven that he hadn’t done it again. His assistant was far too...well, assistant-like. He couldn’t have invented him. No, he was cured. He was utterly and unequivocally cured of that. He wasn’t inventing people anymore. Well, aside from Osric and maybe the man with the Parrot...

"Are you going to report me to the hospital? They let me out legally, you know. I didn't escape. Although I most certainly wanted to do so...Please...please, don't make me go back...Really. I'll do anything you want."

“Quiet. I have more important things to worry about. Tuesday, if you’re a hallucination,” he muttered, glaring at the newspaper.

"Mr Tuesday, don't go...what if I give you money. I am wealthy, you know. Or I can write you a computer game...or a symphony. Or paint your girl friend's portrait...or something else...Name it...but I don't wish to go back there..."

Sunny stopped moving. He was reaching the end of his patience. Only he could manage to run into someone crazier than he was by chance. He hadn’t even needed the group meeting to pull this off. His crazy radar must have been better than he thought. He hadn’t thought he even had it, so it was something. Still, this was not something he was enjoying. There was no playing with this mook. He wasn’t the type of person who got along well with people like this. Sane people were fine, but other crazies just...no. no, no, no. Most assuredly, undoubtedly, NO.

He turned to glare at the other man, wondering where he got off being such a...crazy. He leaned a bit closer than was socially acceptable, but he figure that it would get the point across.

“Listen, Bub. I am not a doctor. You want the truth? I’m a Naval Officer who specialised in mechanical repair, specifically with the touchy stuff like SONAR and the like. Well, ex-Navy. They tend to discharge you when they find out your head doesn’t work quite right.” He tapped the side of his skull to make that point as clear as crystal. “It was an honorable discharge, but that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. Now I write.”

And he was damn good at that, too. He was world class when it came to writing. He’d only been a regular classed officer.

“I have no control over anything to do with your hospitalization because damned if I’m not looking for a stay in a padded room myself at this rate. So why don’t you keep all your favors and scuttle off to whatever abandoned...opera house you came from!”

He threw opera house out there, even if in his head he had intended to say cave. Eh, improv always was his strong suit.

“And now, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I have to go figure out if my assistant is a real person or just some figment of my imagination,” he grumbled, not happy with that thought. “Pleasure to meet you, have a nice trip, see you next fall, etcetera, etcetera, and so on.”

He turned away again, walking over and yanking the paper out of Tuesday’s hands. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the man.

“I hope you’re happy. If you’re a product of my imagination, I’m going to invent a painful way to kill you off in my next novel.”

And he would stick to that promise or his name wasn’t R.B. Crusoe.

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

The strange man named Tuesday told Danny to be quiet and said he had more important things to worry about. Danny frowned. The fellow was a bit rude. "Yes, invisible friend. Or perhaps he's a bit transparent so I can't see him. But you called him Tuesday and you also called yourself Tuesday. Logically, I would think the odds are quite against two people having such an odd name and being close friends as the two of you seem to be. As I said before, perhaps the two of you are twins." Danny frowned again. "Didn't your mother have any imagination? Or was she quite enamoured of that name?"

Danny sat for a moment in silence. "Could you introduce him to me, please? I would like to ask him some questions about how he keeps invisible. Even if I can't see him, I am sure I could hear him. Or if not, you could tell me what he's saying." It didn't completely add up, but Danny knew there had to be a logical explanation....unless....Mr Tuesday were simply telling tales.... The fellow looked honest, even if a bit strange...

Tuesday didn't seem to be swayed by Danny's offers of money or other things. And he still seemed bent on leaving. Danny was so fascinated by him and his invisible friend...who could, when he thought about it, be a spy....that he was willing to bribe the fellow to stay and talk with Danny. But for some odd reason he was acting as if he didn't like Danny. Not that that was uncommon. A lot of people thought Danny odd and stayed out of his way. Danny couldn't think why that would be. There were certainly some strange people in the world.

Danny made a face of distaste. "Please don't call me Bub. That rather offends me. My name is Danny. Or Dan if you like. Or Daniel. Or you can use my first name Erik. But please don't call me Bub. I hate that name." Danny paused. "But...I am delighted to know you're not a doctor. A Naval Officer is much more prestigious. So you were in the Royal Navy? But if you live here, you being American , I suppose I could guess that you weren't in the Royal Navy, probably the US Navy. Well that's lovely too. But they discharged you because they thought you were....." Danny didn't want to say crazy, although the man did sound a bit crazy..." So they thought you a bit off....different from the rest. Well that's a good thing. I'm considered a bit off, but it's those doctors who think so. No sane person would say that I'm insane, would they?"

Then Tuesday said that he was a writer. Danny grinned. "That sounds splendid. What sort of things do you write about? Perhaps you would let me read your work..."

And now, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I have to go figure out if my assistant is a real person or just some figment of my imagination, said Tuesday. "Oh, I can help you there. Just have him speak to me and I shall be delighted to tell you if he's real or not..." Danny smiled, glad finally be of some help.

But then he said something stunningly surprising. He mentioned opera house...how did he know? This fellow seemed to know just a bit too much about Danny. And he said he wasn't a spy. Ha! Danny stood up in surprise and took off his sunglasses again, looking the other man fairly straight in the eye. "How do you know that? Opera house, you said. Yes, it was at the Paris Opera House that it happened. My ancestor lived there. Oh...I shouldn't tell you that. He might be quite angry with me. And one does not wish to make him angry. " Danny came a bit closer to the man and almost whispered. "He's a bit touched in the head, you know, probably insane."

Suddenly Tuesday arose and walked toward the fountain. It seemed to be where his invisible friend was. He said, I hope you’re happy. If you’re a product of my imagination, I’m going to invent a painful way to kill you off in my next novel. Danny wasn't sure if Tuesday were speaking to his invisible friend or to Danny. He jumped up to follow him to find out. He was so curious about this fellow who could make himself invisible...

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

What was wrong with this guy?

Bringing his mother into this stupid fantasy he had going on was definitely not the way to make friends and influence people. Sure, she was a bit dull and had no imagination, but she hadn’t named him. No, that had all been his father. Marlon had a great grandfather named Barnabas who apparently was a pirate, and then there was some scientist named Robinson and...

Why was he even entertaining the thought? That was just what that Danny-Dummy wanted him to do. Well, he wanted him distracted enough so he’d introduce him to Tuesday. Tuesday wasn’t going to meet anyone crazier than he was. It was a rule – spare the assistant from mental anguish or something. As it was, calling Danny ‘Bub’ seemed to make the guy think he was being caused mental anguish, so Sunny would have to keep that in mind for later. If he was still talking to this guy. As it was, the moment Tuesday got to his feet they were leaving. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred hookers. God, where would he have the time for all those women? No wonder no one won Monopoly...

"Could you introduce him to me, please? I would like to ask him some questions about how he keeps invisible. Even if I can't see him, I am sure I could hear him. Or if not, you could tell me what he's saying."

“Tuesday is not my invisible friend. Well, maybe he is, but he’s not a play thing to be bothered at every turn unless I’m doing the bothering or there’s nothing good on TV.”

Right then, Sunny knew there had to be something pretty great on TV. He was missing it by putting up with...this. Where had his life gone so wrong? It was all Tuesday’s fault. Fresh air was a farce, and so was this entire situation.

“No sane person would say that I'm insane, would they?"

Oh, right. He was talking to Captain Loony Toons. He shouldn’t forget that.

“Actually, all sane people would say you’re insane,” Sunny corrected, thinking it was the truth and he didn’t need to be dealing with this. Especially when he could be writing a story about a guy getting stabbed to death in the park for bothering someone with an advanced case of schizophrenia...

Hey, now. That might make for a good short story. Stress relieving, too...

But before he could tell the guy about that idea, he carried on like Sunny was the one who wasn’t really there.

"Oh, I can help you there. Just have him speak to me and I shall be delighted to tell you if he's real or not..."

“Right. And just what am I going to do if you’re not real, either? I’ve seen A Beautiful Mind, pal. I know how crazy Crazy gets.”

He was actually regretting ever having seen that one. It just made his own paranoia about his mental disorder worse, thinking everyone he met wasn’t real. He didn’t want to be Russell Crowe. He didn’t want to wear his pants so high that they were tucked under his arm pits while his wife walked him to and from work. His wife had been hot, but that wasn’t the point because he could have made her up, too.

He really hoped he was making this guy up. He was going off about an ancestor who lived in an opera house like some mauled freak wearing a mask. Then he was invading Sunny’s personal space again.

"He's a bit touched in the head, you know, probably insane."

“Like ancestor, like descendant,” Sunny muttered, kicking Tuesday’s shoe. “See? This is why I told you fresh air was a bad idea, Tuesday. All the other babysitters think that it’s good for their crazies and look at what happens. We sniff each other out and have a convention in the middle of the park.”

He glanced back at Bub and wondered where this guy’s babysitter was. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be wandering the city alone. Even the doctor with the parrot had the parrot. He kind of missed the parrot...

“I want to go back inside. Now. If I have to stand here another minute talking to this guy, I’m going to bite him.”

He’d done it before, he’d do it again. After all, it was either that or snap his neck, and he didn’t think Irish and Detective Pan would be too pleased with him if he did that, not to mention Jack. His publisher really wouldn’t be able to get him out of that kind of trouble.

“Don’t test me, Tuesday – you know I’ll do it. Then you can explain that one to Jack.”

Check Mate.

[ERIK DANIEL LENOIR]

Mr Tuesday denied that the other Tuesday was his invisible friend. Then he said that maybe he was. And then he said something about television. Danny smiled. "Oh, a splendid idea. I know there are some lovely programs on the telly. I don't watch much of it myself, but I do catch the History Channel and PBS once in a blue moon. Say, I'm a bit hungry. What about you? I could have my housekeeper whip up a sandwich and some soup for us and we can have a go at the telly." Then Danny thought to add, "And of course your friend is invited. " That of course brought up another question. Always logical, Danny asked, "Do I have to make the food invisible for him to eat it?"

Then Mr Tuesday called Danny insane. What he said was, Actually, all sane people would say you’re insane. Danny frowned. He also felt a bit hurt. Danny was hardly the insane one here. All of his arguments were quite logical and sensible. But perhaps he should put all that aside. If Mr Tuesday were a bit off, that was surely not his fault. Just as it was not Danny's fault when he couldn't think straight sometimes because he was anxious. He sometimes went into a depression or a manic phase too, but Danny felt he had these under control. Or at least that they didn't show. No one ever thought his moods were off. At least they never said anything. And people surely would tell Danny if he were acting strangely..... wouldn't they?

But now Tuesday was telling him that sane people would think Danny insane. There seemed to be a fallacy there somewhere. Surely Mr Tuesday had some sort of insanity. He certainly wasn't acting normal. So if Tuesday, who was surely insane thought Danny insane, then according to his premise, Danny would be sane. Of course just because the fellow couldn't follow simple logic and came to wrong conclusions didn't mean anything. Danny still thought him quite an interesting person. Especially his invisible friend, the one whom he didn't seem to want Danny to know about. He may have been invisible, but it was all too obvious that he was there. Mr Tuesday even talked to him.

Then Tuesday mentioned something about the movie A Beautiful Mind. Now he understood! Tuesday was under the delusion that he had schizophrenia like the man in the movie. Poor fellow. Bad delusion to have. Still a nice movie and a sandwich could do wonders to relieve stress. "Are you sure you won't take my offer of lunch and a movie at my place? You can invite a girl if you wish. I could invite my girlfriend too, if I had one."

Tuesday made a comment that Danny was probably insane like his great-grandfather Erik who had lived below the Paris Opera House back in Victorian times. "Yes, he was probably insane. But I have his mask at my apartment. Would you like to see it?" Then Tuesday said something to his invisible companion about a convention of crazies in the park. "That would be quite splendid to see, Mr Tuesday. When are they coming? Will it be a picnic or just a dinner dance?"

Tuesday continued to speak to his invisible friend and ignore Danny. That annoyed Danny a lot. Yet, there was something that Danny really liked about this fellow. He just acted so insane. Danny did know he had a few oddities about his personality. This fellow was much worse off. But there was a kinship, an understand that they both were a little off, even if Danny didn't want to admit it. And Danny thought they would make great friends because of it. Of course there was only one problem. Tuesday seemed to abhore Danny...