“Three times,” said Carol flatly, disbelieving.
He shrugged. “It’s the magic number. Haven’t you ever seen the Simpsons?”
“The Simpsons doesn’t have three people in it, it has five. Six if you count grandpa.”
“No one ever counts grandpa,” he said. “And that’s not what I meant. Marge told Bart something three times, knowing he’d remember, and he did. Three has a funny effect on people. It’s a powerful weapon. Beware of it, and use it wisely.”
“Dude,” she said. “I think you’re nuts.”
“It’s a triumphant trifecta. And it’s no lie –”
“But what does it have to do with your level of honesty? Nothing. It can’t be anything else but a lie! Repeating something three times only proves your desperation for it to be true! It’s not; it’s just some superstitious nonsense that you made up.”
“Made up?” he sounded offended, as if she had just attacked him.
“We never are what we intend or invent about ourselves,” she reasoned, “Just because you can’t face the truth…”
“But I didn’t make it up. Lewis Carroll said it.”
“Oh, haha,” she retorted, “very funny. Lewis Carroll.”
“It’s not a joke. He was a real person!”
“He?” she scoffed.
“Yeah, he was!”
She felt like her words shot right over his head. “Screw you.”
Instead of continuing to appear offended, he simply smiled back at her wryly. “Three is the magic number. Three is the magic number –”
“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary!” she screamed. She looked around, smiling back at him. “See? No bloody Mary–” She was cut off by her own scream as a blood-soaked woman grabbed her shoulder.
Owen smiled back at her as he registered the sight before him, noticing Carol catch her breath. “Three is the magic number.”
One of three prompts at Trifecta.