III: Epilogue
The man sits in his room, puzzling over the story he has to write, wondering if it's even worth it. Would anybody really be interested in a skirmish between an Indian army patrol and a group of bandits holding an unidentified western hostage?
It's the sort of thing you hear about all the time. What's the phrase he found the other day in the jumble of notes that had filled every corner of this room he now considers his own? Like an "urban legend", that was it. The story that's told so often it takes on a life of its own.
Where is his evidence for this story? How can he prove it?
Even now, as he thinks about it, he begins to wonder just how much of it really took place. Is it possible that some kind of modern legend had somehow taken on a physical reality of its own for a time? Legend given flesh by some act of collective will? Have the bandits and their victim — even as he ponders their fate — simply slid back into their netherworld, just as they had earlier emerged?
He smiles. It's a nice thought, but he can't bring himself to believe it. You can't just appear from nowhere and slide into the real world without someone noticing. It's just not possible.
~
Afterword
For some reason I have always loved setting stories in mountainous settings. Bizarre, because I'm terrified of heights... I'm not so keen on armed kidnappers, either, come to think of it.
This is a deliberately ambiguous tale. On some readings it could almost be a mainstream piece; on others... well, just who is this un-named man in the epilogue? Is he Leahy, somehow escaped and returned and puzzling over his experiences? Or is he the anonymous kidnap victim, escaped from the kidnappers and now sidestepping into someone else's reality? The title was deliberately chosen to imply the latter: legend segueing into reality, one person into another. I'm happy to leave it loaded with ambiguity, though: I'd far rather unsettle than explain everything away.