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A story could change direction all the way up to the end. Why was this important? Solomon stared at the empty patch of green felt on which the cards had been laid out. He wanted clarity around the reading, and was thus surprised and disappointed when the dealer refrained from dealing him another hand. He watched the dealer with some intensity, waiting for the dealer to look up and realize he had missed a patron, but the dealer failed to meet his gaze until after the first hand was dealt.

"I don't think there's much more I can do for you, Mr. Garcia."

"I would like another reading."

The dealer tilted his head as if examining an anomaly at his table. "That's very unlike you, Mr. Garcia," he said. "You get the reading you are capable of understanding and accepting. You know that."

Solomon looked at the others seated at the table. "And them?"

"'Them's' not here for readings, Mr. Garcia. 'Them' are here for the love of the game! Though I fear some of them have been out of the game for some time and have yet to realize it."

The dealer drew Solomon's attention to the lack of chips in front of two of the players. The others appeared to have only a few chips left. Solomon looked into the face of the man sitting next to him only to find him wearing a vacant expression; rather than be engaged, he appeared to be doing nothing more than going through the motions. Solomon returned his attention to the dealer who shrugged.

Solomon turned in his seat and began scanning the casino floor. Indifferent servers moved across the floor in mechanical fashion. Patrons at other card tables played their hands with apathy. Those seated at slot machines glared into the screens without blinking, and were lethargic in their movements when pulling handles or pushing buttons. Instead of drawing excitement, the lights and noises of wins and losses appeared to place everyone into a stupor. Or, perhaps kept them there.

What kind of casino was this? Solomon imagined he was surrounded by zombies; he felt any emotion he revealed would set them all on him. He slowed his movement and turned back to the dealer who was managing a betting round. The man seated next to Solomon scooped up a handful of imaginary chips and tossed air into empty space in front of him.

Continued after the break

Though the only thing different was the realization of emotional vacancy across the floor, Solomon endeavored not to attract attention. He slipped out of his chair and began moving across the casino, slow and deliberate, to make himself appear as listless and empty as everyone else. He paused to allow servers to pass, who failed to acknowledge his presence. He walked behind players where possible, and scurried across their field of vision otherwise. He angled toward a set of slot machines who appeared to have few people seated at them, where he might pass through without disturbing anyone.

Solomon passed through and out of the casino floor without appearing to raise any attention, though the tension he felt within was wringing him dry and making him sweat. Relief flooded his body as his feet cleared the lush carpet and landed on the cold marble of a broad hallway. He shivered at the prospect of staying any longer, of any of those vacant expressions turned on him. With this out of this system, he began the long walk down the hallway to ...

Where? Where was he going? Again, the thoughts at the edges of his mind began their attempts to grab his attention. Again, each time he reached for them, they escaped his grasp. He had somewhere to go, something to do, and he could not remember what it was.

Solomon walked on, the dealer's words accompanying him: "There never is just one story, is there ... the myriad of endings disappear one by one as you move through the story." Many stories but one ending, and the ending is unclear until the moment it is experienced. This made little sense to Solomon, who rolled these ideas around in his mind in between furtive attempts to catch the thoughts on the fringe.

The hallway was lined with shops, though he paid no attention to them, his thoughts wholly devoted to solving the riddle presented by the dealer. Solomon had no idea where the hallway would take him, nor did he care, so enraptured was he with his thinking. Thus was he unaware of the gradual dissolution of the shops into a solid marble and plaster corridor with naught but an open elevator awaiting him at the far end. He was absentminded in his approach to the elevator; but stopped short of stepping inside. A thought unbidden rose in his mind and sent a chill down his spine:

It's dangerous to roam these halls without a strong foundation of your own, Solomon.

He looked around as if he had heard the words outside of himself, as if the hallway echoed with them, but he alone. Even the casino floor was a long way off, to be gone from his field of view. He shook himself in an effort to dispel the creeping feeling he had of being watched. The thoughts at the edges became more raucous, as if this single line triggered some memory demanding to be recalled. He considered the thought with intention, hoping the recall would come of its own accord.

It's dangerous to roam these halls without a strong foundation of your own, Solomon.

How long he stood there playing this line on repeat in his mind, he did not know. But his frustration grew such that he put it out of his mind. Nothing was recalled. Nothing remembered. There was only the way forward, the elevator yawning before him, ready to take him back to his quarters. With a sigh of resignation, Solomon stepped into the elevator.

He turned around to face the panel of buttons, but was confused to find none. He considered stepping out of the elevator but was given no chance. The doors slammed shut and the elevator plummeted.

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