Apparently so, because later, she's not only dried and dressed, but out and about. In a parking lot, she double-checks the address Nina Sharp gave her. Yep, this is the place, even if it is a bowling alley. Inside, the place is all but abandoned and an old Traffic song is playing (I originally thought it was Blind Faith, which would have been an appropriate selection for a scene in a place Olivia went to just because Nina Sharp said to). A lone bowler with a gray ponytail is sending ball after ball down the lane. Behind Olivia, the guy with the graying goatee at the shoe counter says they close in fifteen minutes. Olivia asks him if Sam Weiss is there, and the shoe guy says he's gone. "Atlanta, Georgia. He met a girl. Moved away." Disappointed, Olivia makes to leave, but the shoe guy asks if she's giving up that easily. "You're Sam," Olivia realizes. Can't fool the FBI. "Nina Sharp said you'd be coming by," Sam confirms as she sits down. "Have the headaches started yet?" She says no. "They will," he warns with grim certainty. Yeah, this guy's a real ray of sunshine. Thanks a fuckload, Nina. But at least he sets her up with a pair of size-eight bowling shoes, so the evening isn't a total loss. Unless of course she's a size nine and a half, in which case when the headaches come she'll be even on both ends.
Charlie's back at his trans-dimensional typewriter. "TARGET VISITED OTHER SIDE BUT REMEMBERS NO DETAILS. PLEASE ADVISE." He sits back and waits, and soon the typewriter in the mirror taps out a response. "UNACCEPTABLE. IF SHE CAN'T REMEMBER ON HER OWN THEN DO SOMETHING TO HELP." Charlie looks up from this wildly helpful advice, thinking, Where's that goddamn Microsoft paper clip when you need him?"
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.