[Chapter Thirty-Three has been broken into two parts while the second half of the chapter gets finalized]

As I sat on the stage beside Ryan Gosling and David Letterman I wondered how it could have been that I’d be in such a position and yet be so uninterested in the feeling of awe and sheer star-worship that any normal person would have been under.

Of course, I knew it had something to do with the situation taking place that nobody else except me, my nemesis Knell, the man-wolf and the only woman I ever truly loved knew about.

The fact I was trapped on stage during a taping of a live national television program meant I couldn’t act in the manner I wanted from the core of my being; which was to leap from the stage up to the catwalk and rip Knell’s head off. Despite my raw base instinct to do just that, something was keeping me from acting out.

Was it my worry that my secret would get out. That people would realize that I was a man who, during certain phases of the moon transformed into a wolf. Given the threat to Gail, why should that even be a thing?

As I sat there, stirring in my seat, I realized why it mattered. And it was a small thing, when you think about it. But it was my thing and something I could hold fast to.

My personal secret wasn’t all that big a deal; except, perhaps for the manner by which I knew that life would never be the same – that didn’t bother me. No, what worried me was how general knowledge of my affliction might affect the average person. America had enough threats, enough outside opposing forces to concern itself with; to wonder and worry about. What terrorist organization would be the next to threaten the American way of life? Almost every week there were incidents and threats just looming from the shadows, threatening to change everything permanently, again. To make the average citizen fearful of walking out their front door; fearful of trying to living a perfectly normal life, because they would know that, in their midst walked humans that could transform into vicious beasts during certain phases of the moon.

My childhood love of Spider-Man taught me the basic elements of what it meant to have a great power; of the responsibility inherent in possessing that power. I knew I had to put the good of mankind, of my fellow Americans, ahead of my own personal needs.

Odd, too, that I thought of the people around me as my fellow Americans – particularly when I was a transplanted American from Canada. But perhaps that was what the Great American Melting Pot was all about; perhaps that was what the American Dream could truly be – allowing people to feel a part of something big, something much bigger than themselves.

And I was damn-well going to respect that.

But first I had to figure out a way to get my ass off of this stage and up into the catwalk. Knell not only had Gail hostage, but he had threatened to kill her in front of me while I watched. Likely while I was sitting, like an idiot, right here on this stage.

“ . . . what do you think, Michael?” Letterman’s voice suddenly came to me, and I realized that I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts, in focusing on Knell and Gail, that I had absolutely no idea where the conversation had gone.

My mind did a few backflips to where I recall the conversation had been. The last thing I remember was David had brought up Ryan’s sexy style likely bringing women in droves to the local bookstores, in the hopes that their local bookseller displayed even an ounce of the sexy appeal that Gosling exuded.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I agree. Definitely. One hundred percent.”

I had no idea what I had just agreed to, but whatever I had said seemed to have put a playful smirk onto David’s face. Ryan’s too. The audience was tittering.

Just then, Knell spoke again, in that voice he know only I could hear. “I’m going to count down from ten, Michael. And when I reach the end, Gail reaches her end. Are you ready? Ten!”

David smiled at me and said. “It’s good when a man can whole-heartedly admit his attraction to another man. I trust you’re doing this in a heterosexual manner and that you’re not in the process of admitting that Mr. Gosling here is inspiring you to bat for the other team.”

“Nine!” Knell said.

“Uh,” I paused and looked at Ryan. His face was just as red as my face felt. “Yeah. In a heterosexual manner. I’m not . . . uh, batting for the other team.” And then I added, conjuring up the sentiment from a classic Seinfeld episode. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Eight!” Knell said.

This brought a roar of laughter from the studio audience.

 “Listen,” I said, trying to cut through the crowd’s laughter. David raised his eyebrows, understanding I was about to quickly change the subject in the middle of a crowd-pleasing moment.

“Seven!” Knell said.

“I’m sorry to do this, but my stomach is still not all that good.” I held my hand over my belly. “I’m going to have to ask you to excuse me once more.”

“Six!” Knell said.

“Again?” David said, throwing the pencil he held in his right hand into the air behind him. A glass smashing sound-effect rang through the air, bringing another burst of applause and laughter from the audience.

“Five!” Knell said. “I’m going to punch through her chest and rip her heart right out.”

“Well, thanks for coming back, Michael.” David said as I got to my feet. He gestured at me. “Please, a round of applause for my fleet of foot guest, Michael Andrews; author, purveyor of the world’s weakest bladder and president of the ‘It’s okay for a man to have a crush of Ryan Gosling’ fan club.”

The audience roared with laughter as I ran offstage.

“Four!” Knell said. “You’ll watch her die right in front of you with her heart in my hands.” Then he cackled madly.

[Chapter Thirty-Three Part Two is coming soon . . .]