12: The Boys Are Back In Town

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I returned to the bar with a fly trap in each hand, and as I sat down in the seat I left earlier, Logan turned to me.

"You're back. I thought you ran away," he said.

"Happy birthday. I got you a new Racecar," I said and held out one of the plants to him.

He looked at it. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a Venus flytrap. They're really cool." I smiled.

"I know what it is. What about the ginger or peppermint?"

I looked down at the plant and lowered it in shame. "I, uh, shit. I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't apologize. I love it."

I stared at him for a moment, trying to determine whether he was being serious or not. There was something a bit unsettling about him not calling me absent-minded or lecturing me about paying attention for once.

Logan smiled and rested his hand on my shoulder, sending more of those electrical impulses down my spine. "Really. I really do like it."

The fact that he had just seemed to read my mind was slightly more unsettling, and I was nearly certain that as soon as the alcohol left his system, he would get back to being constantly irritated by my presence.

"I'm glad I could finally do something right for once," I said, but even after his hand left my shoulder, the electricity didn't stop.

Observation: What the fuck just happened? That's not normal.

"You said its name is Racecar, right?" he asked.

"You can change it if you want something different, but I just thought—" I trailed off when he nodded.

"This little dude right here is definitely a Racecar. I hope the original Racecar is watching from seal heaven, because this is so sweet." He pressed his hand to his face, hooking his finger. "So fucking sweet."

Hypothesis: Somebody replaced the real Logan with a much friendlier look-alike.

Data: Significant changes in behavior were shown in the specimen after the consumption of alcohol. Extreme emotional discomfort was exhibited in those who interacted with him (myself included).

Conclusion: After extensive research and statistical analysis, the hypothesis cannot be rejected. One possible explanation for this phenomenon is that this was an alien Logan.

"Now that Reagan's back, why don't we get out of here and head back to Paradise City? Somebody is going to have to drag Jia out of here, and someone else has to keep Brett somewhat upright." Darrell shook his head. "You people are absolutely ridiculous and can't be trusted with anything."

With my hands full with my new flora companion (who, unlike its counterpart, had yet to be named), those responsibilities were taken by Carter and Darrell himself, who were "by far the most responsible out of the six of us."

I just let them think that.


With one (and as far as I knew, the only during our allotted months on the island) birthday in the books, life as we knew it had to resume at the lovely Paradise City.

With no data to analyze, I was left to my own devices, so to make the most of such downtime, I chose to read whatever was on the bookshelf. Identifying Maine Copepods seemed like a thriller, so I grabbed some coffee and cuddled down on the couch, where hopefully, everyone would leave me alone, besides my fly trap, who sat on the coffee table in front of me.

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