E.M. Rutt sounded pleased to hear from me the following day, November 2. I phoned him from my cellular, above the pub. Early in the morning hours, I informed him of the obvious: that Jase was alive, and I saw him with my own eyes, that there wasn’t a nonfiction book or piece to write, no story, no disappearance, and no mystery. “Trust me,” I confidently whispered to him, sharing my discoveries, bending the truth ever so slightly. “He was never missing. Not for a second.” I told him: that Jase and Ravenrock were lovers, that they had a romantic spat of sorts, nothing important, nothing significant or mysterious, something quite mundane, actually, and that Ravenrock sent the man away, to Seattle for the summer, but Jase was back now, safely returned. I added, “I don’t want to be curt or rude
