Out of Frame - Flavor text and short character fiction.

[cassbackward]

[And now, with permission and everything. . . . ]


Alicia had known it was inevitable.  Eagle's Nest, always short on the magically inclined, had sent her and Meme out to consult with Donald Douglas, premier expert on something the trade journals called cybersorcery.  None of the others could understand why they wouldn't want to reunite with their old pal, and not to put too fine a point on it, the whole team was a little chickenshit about chasing him down in Arkham, the place where that whole convergence-of-improbability crap wasn't just a disembodied concept but could sometimes hunt you down and eat you.

Alicia had used that possibility, and her need to watch out for it, as her lame excuse to hang out on the campus green, sunning herself, while Meme went to talk to Donnie in his office.  He had his window open, and she had good ears, which meant she could hear most of what they said without straining.  Of course, by the end of the conversation the whole quad could hear what they were saying.

Donnie--always such an excitable bitch, that guy--seemed to be in good voice.  "Hey, did I ask you to leave?  Did I tell you it was over?  You're the one who always kept me fenced out.  You're the one who didn't even try to come back.  I would've forgiven you if you'd given me half a chance."

Wait.  What?  Alicia rolled off her back onto her belly and paid acute attention.

"What can I say?" Meme said, her voice dry, remote, and cool.  "I thought you'd be better off with someone who could really love you the way you deserved."

"That's bullshit," he said angrily.  "You know who you remind me of?"

"No, who?" Meme asked with insincere curiosity.

"My dad, that's who.  You split town.  You gave up on us.  I loved you.  We could have worked things out.  We could still be together."

"Take me back?" Meme said with baffling dispassion.  She could be a cold fish, but not this cold, not to her friends.  It was weird and kind of creepy.

"No," Donnie said.  "Not a chance.  Too many years gone by for that, Sylvia.  I've moved on."

"Good," Meme said, sounding like herself again.

Minutes later she exited the building, and Alicia fell into step beside her.  "What the hell was that?" she asked.

"What?" Meme said.

"That stuff Donnie was saying about it all being your fault.  I remember what went down.  He drunk-dialed me--all of us--for two months, trying to track you down.  'Please, where is she?  Tell her I'm sorry.  I'm sorry, Syl.  Oh god, I'm such a fuck-up!'  He slept around on you, and he has the nerve to try to make it your fault?"  Alicia clawed her hands, feeling a little righteous indignation on behalf of her girl.  "I should go back and--"

"No," Meme said, touching Alicia's shoulder.  She sounded grateful, but firm.  "He thinks it was me.  That's fine."

"But--"

"He thinks I slept with Rob."

"Rob?"  Alicia found that hard to believe--although, to be honest, she could see how Meme might be a chubby chaser.  "You slept with Rob?  Why Rob?"

"Because Rob could defend himself if Donnie did anything crazy."

"So you're telling me you slept with Rob, and what, nothing happened?"

"No," Meme said, scanning the sky, and Alicia did the same, guarding against the sound of little wings and the smell of chocolate chip cookies.  "But that's what Donnie remembers."

Comprehension popped like a firecracker.  Alicia felt a chill roll up from the pit of her stomach.  It was Meme--Sylvia, whom she'd known for eight years, who could be an icy bitch, but not that kind of bitch.  "Madre de dios, what the hell, chica?  Why would you do that?  Why would you fuck with his head like that?"

Meme sighed and pressed in a little closer as they walked.  She spoke in a hush, which was kind of her.  Telepathy would have freaked Alicia out right then.  "Donnie's mother was an alcoholic."

"Uh-huh?"

"His dad basically up and left them for his secretary."

"Okay," Alicia said, not quite familiar enough with the details to put things together.

"So. . . . "  Meme shrugged, then shook her head, maybe in regret.  "Donnie's a good guy.  He was even a good boyfriend, most of the time."

Alicia clamped down on the urge to cringe and focused reflexively on, oh, the alphabet song.  A, B, C, D, E, F, G.  Not thinking about it.  Not thinking about it.  Not thinking--  "Uh-huh?" she said, maybe a little too brightly.

"When I found him," Meme said, "he was in a bar in Tucson, smashed, telling the waitress about how he was just like his dad, an asshole who couldn't keep his dick in his pants, and I kind of thought, if I didn't do something, he'd be sitting there on that barstool for the rest of his life, telling that same damn story and feeling like shit."

"Like he didn't deserve it," Alicia said with the requisite solidarity-between-girlfriends sneer.

"Yeah, but like I said, he's a good guy.  So. . . . "  Meme shrugged again.

"You made him think it was your fault, and like that, everything was fixed?"

"Now, instead of thinking he's like his dad, he thinks I'm like his dad.  It's better this way.  He doesn't cry as much, and he smells better."

"Okay," Alicia said, reaching into her pocket and passing Meme a tattered Girl Scout-green badge with a snarly face embroidered on it.  "You win Scary Bitch Of The Day.  I owe you a drink."

"Thanks," Meme said lightly, tucking the badge in the breast pocket of her jacket.

And then, after a pause, Alicia had to ask, "So that's the only time you've done that, right?  Just once, just to Donnie?"

Meme slid her an arch look.  "You know that thing you keep trying not to think about?"

Alicia bit her lip.  "No?"

"As long as you remember it, you'll know I haven't messed with your head--'cause trust me, mami, that'll be the first thing to go."

Alicia cringed for real.  "You know, I always wanted to tell you, but--"

"Ah," Meme said, snapping her fingers together like a duck's bill.  "Let's not talk about it."

"But I really just want you to know I'm so, so sorry--"

"I could use that drink now," Meme said with warm aplomb.

Alicia didn't always know when to shut up--it wasn't one of her strengths--but she decided now might be a good time to give it a try.  Forgive and forget, as they liked to say.  And she knew, if she ever needed a little help with the forgetting part, whom she should ask.

[BaboonBill]

Donald Douglas the 3rd, BorderLord of the Dragon Reach, Magus of 4th Circle, Dragonrider and Knight Draconis of the Summerwild throws his battered leather briefcase on the equally scarred table, knocking some of the items from his messy desk into the chair and onto the floor. Without stopping, he walks to the corner of the room where his locked bureau loomed, darkly stained draconic wood carvings poking out like gargoyles from an ancient cathedral.
A gesture and the door pops open, a stream of golden symbols running down the door before disappearing, the pale light the only illumination in the dark classroom. Don loosens his tie and hangs it carefully amongst the other ones, including the bone necklace he had made from the fingerbones of the enemy that slew Pip so many years ago.
The old pain pinches in his chest and he flicks the necklace, bones rattling against hardwood. The interior of the bureau is steeped in darkness, and Donnie reaches his hand into the otherworldly cold interior and pulls out a corked bottle, pestle and mortar, and a couple sealed tin cans that rattle quietly in his grasp.

He turns around and places the items atop his briefcase, and closes the bureau back up, golden symbols running upward as it magically seals against intrusion.

Don pulls back his shoulder length hair once again and ties it off with a sinew band, reciting the words for the spell in his mind. He steps over to the corner of the room opposite of the bureau where an immaculately clean area waits, a podium with a splotched and flame scarred top in the center of a copper loop sealed in the floor. Donnie does not activate the circle though.

“Hey Colin, light the brazier, would you?”

From his casual position on the windowsill, lit only by the faint light of the thin moon overhead, Colin smiles, his teeth startlingly white in the near darkness of the classroom.

“You knew I was here?”

Don smiles at his old friend. “When my wards told me of another living thing in my chambers and the alarm spells had not gone off, I figured it might be you. Locked doors never were really a problem for you, even magically sealed ones.” 

Colin’s face is lit by the flame from the worn silver lighter that was as much a part of him as his hand or foot. He blows a puff of air out, and the flame disappears, only to reappear in the brazier, flickering among the coals.

Don looks at Colin passively as he takes pinches of seeds and reagents from the tins, combining them in the old stone mortar. “I know we haven’t seen exactly eye to eye over the years, but you know I’m here to help you if you need me.” He begins grinding the components together, scraping and crushing with the pestle to turn them into a fine and well mixed powder.

Colin Crow steps into the light generated by the glowing brazier. “Actually, Donnie, I’m here to help you.”

Scrape scrape
Pause
Scrape scrape

“Me? What do I need help with?”

Colin runs his fingers across the varied arcane and sundry items on the desk, tasting the memories and emotions embedded in each. He doesn’t look at Don while he does this, until his fingers pause over a crumpled bit of cardstock.

He picks it up and bounces it in his palm. “You had a visitor recently, didn’t you?”

Don stops his ministrations with the stone, tapping the edge of the pestle against the rim. He pours the concoction into a small silver bowl, lips pursed and jaw clenched.

“Yeah. Sylvia and Alicia came a few weeks ago to ask me some questions about cybermagic. A new flavor has appeared, cybersorcery. Demons in the chips, hunting through the internet for weak souls. Possessions and random cultist killings are on the rise. I figure that’s why you’re here, demons being your usual foe and all.”

Donnie winces slightly, whether from the memory of their first joint experience dealing with the demon possessed boy Leland, or the memory of the unpleasant visit by his ex-girlfriend.

Colin shakes his head, face sympathetic. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

He tosses the balled business card into the brazier, and Don looks up, annoyed. He doesn’t let the sarcasm past his lips though, because of the serene look on Colin’s deeply tanned face.

Don puts down his arcane implements and turns fully towards Colin, giving him his full attention. “Okay, shoot.”

Colin leans back against the desk, at looks deeply at Don for a few moments before beginning.
“There are truths you need to know, and truths you need to face.”

“About Sylvia? What about her? She left me for the last time after I raged at her for sleeping with Rob.”

Colin shakes his head. “Does that sound like the Sylvia we knew?”

Don shrugs, his broad shoulders hunched. “No, which is why I was so pissed. I always suspected her and Logan, but never Rob.”

Colin runs his fingernails along the woodgrain of the desk. “You weren’t an angel yourself, especially when you went the Reaches.”

Donnie shifts uncomfortably and sighs.

“That’s true.”

Colin says quietly “But it’s what you did when you got back that was the real issue.”

Don straightens up, body tense with anger. His eyes leaked into the lurid green as his emotions began to bubble and boil. “I came back and she had slept with Rob. That’s what happened, Colin. You and Sarah were off traveling the world, you didn’t know.”

Colin steps close to Don. “No, Donnie. You need to remember.”

He taps him on the forehead and sweeps away Sylvia’s overlain memories. It was simple, having been in Donnie’s head before and worked alongside Sylvia often when in another’s mind.

Donnie’s reaction was predictable.

After vomiting in the garbage can until he was dry-heaving, Don looked up at his old friend, his blue eyes hollow and in pain. “Oh god. Goddammit. How could she.. How could I..?”

Colin looks down at him dispassionately. “You are not your father, Donnie. You are not your mother. You are not a dragon, but a man. A man of big appetites, emotions, and power. Your work in this life will change the world long after you are gone. But you really need to get over yourself, pal.”

He helps the big blonde professor to his feet, Colin’s wiry frame holding a surprising amount of strength beneath the denim. “Why do you think none of the girls spoke to you after you went off to college? After Alicia and Sammy and the others, no one wanted to trust you anymore. John wanted to wring your neck. Half of the Midwest lost power when you and Sammy hooked up, and for three days magic phenomena bedeviled Chicago.”

Don leans against the desk weakly as the memories flood his mind, the bingeing, the voracious appetites of all kinds he had after returning from the Reaches, still thinking like a dragon. The things he did and said to his friends.

“I’m so, so sorry, Colin.”

Colin shakes his head again, ever patient. “Life has moved on, Donnie. We all have grown up. Some have forgiven, some will never forget. I forgave you long ago, but until recently never knew why you had just pretended it never happened. Because to you, it had never happened the way the rest of us remember.

No, you don’t need to apologize to me. Some of them might accept apologies, but the best way to earn forgiveness is by actions, not words. Give me the bottle.”

Don looks sharply at Colin, who stands with his palm outstretched. He glances over at the wide bellied decanter in his sacred circle workspace.

“No, Donnie. The one in your desk.”

Don smiles sadly, breathing sharply through his nose. “The things you know..”

He walks around to the desk drawer, unlocking it with a thought. He pulls out the unopened and dusty bottle of gin, handing it directly over to Colin.

“Just because I rarely visit with you doesn’t mean I don’t watch over you, Donnie. Despite all our angry words and disagreements, we are still and always will be friends.”

Donnie, feeling fourteen again, reaches out and embraces Colin, tears in his eyes. Colin returns the embrace, letting Donnie decide when to let go.

As Colin walks out the door, he turns back to Don and says, “Don’t dwell, Donnie. Don’t let yourself get submerged in your selfish guilt. Tomorrow one of your students will make a major mistake in their work, and you need to be on your game, or people will die. Next week, somewhere a demon will gain access to a little girl through a mistyped web address, and I will be there to stop it. You need to find the source while I deal with the results. We have duties and people suffer if we are derelict.”

He waves as he exits the room and Don can hear the flap of dark feathered wings in the hall. Colin’s voice echoes down the empty corridor. “Don’t make me come back here to kick your ass.”

Don Douglas, man and teacher, chuckles and wipes the tears of anguish and anger from his eyes.

[AlleyCat]

ROADSIDE PICK-UP

The scene begins with a camera shot from low to the ground of a country bar. It's happy hour, and the sounds of voices and laughter waft out from the modest neon-lit structure.

Chris Isaak's "Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing" starts to play as a finely tooled cowboy boot comes into view, crunching on the gravel.

As the owner of the boot begins to stroll towards the bar, the camera follows along, rising high enough to admire the tight denim pants tucked into the boots and delineating the shapely legs underneath.

The door opens, and the camera's POV switches to eyeball-height, showing us what our subject sees. The bar is crowded, conversation blurred into a cacophony of sound overlaying the music, which is now coming out of speakers in the bar itself. The camera continues following our subject as it moves through the room, noticing people's odd looks as it passes by.

The camera, and our subject's attention, centers on a scruffy fellow sitting at the counter, swigging a beer. A gloved hand reaches out from off-camera to pull the man around.

Our perspective now switches so we can see the man and our subject. It's Alicia, accompanying the boots and jeans with a motorcycle jacket over a bustier, goggles resting on her neck. Her yellow cat-like eyes regard the man with lazy appraisal.

"Jim Weatherbee? I'm Special Agent Vega. You need to come with me and answer some questions about a transaction you made with some rather unsavory people two weeks ago. I'm bound by law to ask you to come quietly and cooperate."

She leans forward to speak in a low conspiratorial tone, "But I'd consider it a special favor if you'd try to run away." She grins, displaying visibly prominent canines and a disturbingly hungry look.

Jim looks at Alicia in recognition and, after a few seconds of shock, shakes his head vigorously.

Alicia pouts, "No? You're not going to try and escape or resist arrest?" Another nervous headshake from Jim.

"Damn," grumbles Alicia in disappointment.

"Hey bitch!" an obviously inebriated voice calls out from the crowd.

Alicia lights up, looking like a kid who's just walked downstairs on Christmas Day. She doesn't acknowledge the voice, though, keeping her pose facing Jim.

"Didn't you hear me, bitch? I'm talking to you!"

Alicia can hear the owner of the voice approaching. The noises he makes as he lumbers up lets her accurately estimate his height. It doesn't hurt that the mirror behind the bar gives her a pretty good view behind her, either.

She waggles her eyebrows coquettishly at Jim and licks her lips in anticipation as she stands still, seemingly ignoring the loudmouthed lout coming near.

"Why don't you get your skinny freak ass out of here before I..."

Alicia waits until the drunk is close enough then slides one foot back, twists her body at the waist, and snaps her arm out, driving her elbow deep into the man's solar plexus.

With a strangled choke, the man drops like a sack to the floor, wheezing in pain as his lungs decide to take a five-minute break.

Alicia straightens up and calls out in a voice loud enough to be heard in the suddenly quiet room. "Anybody else want to lodge a complaint?"

The silence is thick enough one can clearly hear the buzz from the fluorescent lights.

Alicia grumps, "Didn't think so." She jerks her head at Jim, indicating the door, and he quickly jumps to obey.

Outside, two other agents wait to escort Mr. Weatherbee to an interrogation room, where his acts of arms trafficking will come to light.

Alicia ambles up to an official-looking car, where another woman waits, looking at Alicia with some amusement.

"I'm telling you, Syl. We need to find a better caliber of criminal or we're going to die of boredom," Alicia tells Sylvia in disgust.

"I like easy jobs," replies Sylvia with satisfaction.

"Huh," Alicia says, still annoyed. She stops to looks at her partner expectantly, "Well?"

Sylvia arches her eyebrow, "Oh please, that hardly qualifies."

"Aw, c'mon! It's not my fault they're all chickenshit in there! I could go back in and start a fight!" Alicia whines.

"Nope, sorry. It stays with me a while longer," Sylvia states primly, patting the pocket where the Scary Bitch of the Day badge is safely tucked.

Grousing, Alicia goes around to the passenger side and gets in. Sylvia gets in behind the wheel and they depart the premises, their mission accomplished.

Alicia tries to console herself, "Well, at least we'll make it back to base in time for dinner. It's taco night, and Alicia wants her guacamole!" she gushes happily.

"Bullshit," Sylvia counters. "You just want to flirt with that cafeteria guy again."

"Hey, what can I say? With a body like that, it would be a crime not to appreciate it." Thoughts of the young man and a tub of guacamole blend delightfully in her mind.

Sylvia stares at Alicia as she sits there smiling dreamily. Without a word, she takes the badge out of her pocket and hands it over.

Alicia is startled. "What?"

"You earned it. Trust me. And next time, try not to think so loud." Sylvia goes back to focusing on the road.

"Wait. What? Hey!"

[motley]

Changes in 60

There are references to extracurricular activities which the uninvolved will overhear:  Laney is hanging out with Sarah and Colin (not necessarily at the same time), training at Jack’s with Alicia (she does not mention studying unless Alicia does), continues to try (and continues to fail) to socialize with Sammy outside of drama club events, and meets with John on the weekends (They haven’t gone into detail about what precisely they’re doing).    Other than that, Laney doesn’t expand on her projects unless asked directly.   

She does her best to dodge questions about what occurred during the spring break.

She’ll never tan.  Frequent outings under the sun only served to darken and multiply the spray of freckles across her perpetually wind-burned cheeks and pull red highlights from her black hair.  That’s not to say she hasn’t physically changed.  She’s become a wiry creature, healthier, no longer the skeletal shade of what a girl her age should be.  Indeed, the sixteen-year-old filled out in naturally attractive ways that make it difficult for her to remain unnoticed, especially when she pulls her hair back from her face in the warmer weather.

Jean re-asserted control over her niece’s wardrobe using similar tactics John described his own mother resorting to, allowing Laney to select three colors and that was that.  Lime green, all shades of blue, and scarlet.  Fortunately, asymmetrical patterns and bright colors are acceptable in the spring season; so, for once, Laney isn’t a walking fashion disaster.  Although she still wears those heavy-toed shoes and typically has paint dried under her short fingernails.

She usually rides her bike to school, now, but odds are in her favor that if she has need of the car it’ll be on a day she happens to have it.

It’s during that last week in April Laney exhibits the most dramatic change in her behavior.  Even so, her teachers and classmates probably failed to notice, and only the exceptionally observant may.  The crowds, faces and voices, the ever-present threat of collision or distraction, even the chaotic chatter of her own cluster of companions at lunch (for the two days she is present at their table)…Nothing bothers her.  Not only her footsteps, but every move seems choreographed like she is truly navigating through the world without a strained reliance on her physical senses.  There are no embarrassing verbal outbursts, no apparent distress when she inevitably fails to connect to a conversation; she’s not late for any classes, and there are no accidents… Oh, yes, she’s still a challenge to communicate with, but there is a serene resignation in her gentle manner, as if she’s been cut adrift and is past caring.

Happy?  No, one couldn’t accurately use that word to describe the young woman.  Content, perhaps, to work towards an undefined goal. 

[BaboonBill]

A Darker Path

Five minutes ago

Don screamed in pain as the claws tore into his side, blood and flesh spattering the snow behind him, already trampled with the speed and fury of the battle. He spun away from the blow, sword of the Border Lord flashing through the air, reality ripping in its wake. A satisfying resistance shivered up his arm as wafer thin edge clove through flesh and bone. The demon-bird fell in pieces, shimmering into visibility as it died.

Don drew in a ragged breath as the rest of the flock circled him, half seen in the wan light of the moon overhead. Beneath his feet, the riven creature collapsed into ash, as had the numerous ones before it. Don stood in a wide circle of churned ash and snow. Once again, he strained mightily to break the wide magic circle around him and summon aid from the Dragon reaches, but the barrier still stood strong and his draconic protectors could do nothing.

As the demon-birds whipped through the air towards him again, their broad wings beating at him and two-inch talons grasping for him, he screamed a wordless challenge and threw his reserves into the fight, body bursting into flame as he opened the floodgates of his heart open, hylokka erupting into a conflagration.

As he cuts and burns, he looked for the source of the magic circle, hoping to get close enough to break free or take out the enemy magician.

Burning his reserves would only last so long.


Twenty Minutes Ago

Don rode silently on Althea in the cold, cloudless night. He was following a wordless cry of desperation that had interrupted his meditation an hour earlier. It had been magically sent, fueled by anger and fear, and had ‘tasted’ familiar to Don. He immediately leapt into action, hopping atop Althea and winging away from the dark campus of Miskatonic University. His teaching position at Miskatonic took hours of drudgery grading and reviewing students’ spell formulae, but he felt it was his duty to make sure his students never accidentally blew themselves or each other up.

Preventing others from going nuclear had been his priority, since Sammy disappeared.

The attack on Don had been sudden, well-orchestrated, and precise. A point above him had flashed into light, and he felt his connection to the Dragon Reaches instantly severed. Althea disappeared instantly and the blonde warrior-magician had plummeted towards the ground below, but had not panicked. Instead he was immediately searching for the source of the attack, and testing the barriers, will flashing out in alternating hammer blows and precise pinpoint strikes. The trap was spectacular and tailored specifically for him, Don quickly realized. The crafter was a practitioner of some power, and had somehow acquired a reagent of Don’s, perhaps hair or skin sample.

He willed his wings into existence and the ephemeral draconic wings whipped out from his shoulders, slowing his decent. As he neared the ground, he heard bird-demons on the ether, screeching in nigh-inaudible ranges as they burst through the filmy and weakened barrier between this reality and that of some other darker one. They descended in a near silently howling flock, and Don dropped to the ground as they struck at him. He roared his challenge back, and was happy to see the bond between him and his badge of office was not prevented by the trap, the red-sigiled Sword of the Border Lord erupting into his hand with a tree shattering boom. The first three invisible creatures died in less than a second, but there were so many more coming.


Now

The last of the flock tried to escape, leaping upwards, but the fury of the Border Lord would not be slaked. Fire leapt from the Blade and burned it from the sky in an oily cloud of ash.

Panting, Don held his arm close to his side to prevent his bulging entrails to slither from his rent abdomen. The pain was incredible, but he used the many hours of meditation to shunt it aside for the moment, as he searched for his foe.

A crack of foot on branch spun him around, and the flames surrounding him rose as he pointed the sword at the sound.

Colin stepped out, face flushed and alive.

Don gagged as blood worked its way up his throat. He spit it aside and said “Colin? What is going on? I heard you, somehow. Are you trapped here too?”

Colin shook his head. “No, Dragon Lord. I am not trapped here.”

Donnie is shivering from bloodloss as his hylokka slowly spins off center, his balance beginning to fail. The fires around him begin flickering uncertainly, reflecting the confusion of his mind. “What? What is this Colin? Why am I here?”

Colin closes his eyes and breathes deep, a gourmand drinking deep of the scents of a bountiful feast. “Your emotions are so strong, Donnie, so powerful. It’s intoxicating.”

Donnie’s brows knit together as he tries to understand. “Did you.. do this?”

Colin smiled and Donnie Douglas felt cold.

Colin paces slowly around him, feet hop-stepping in a vaguely Native American dance as he murmurs. Don feels magic flit around him, and his sweat-plastered hair lifts off his brow, as tiny strands weave out from Colin and pluck at Don.

“It was Laney that taught me this, Donnie, that we are all connected somehow. Even before we met her and learned how, all our experiences at Oak Park and after tied us inexorably together. I knew you were still there, just as I know Sammy is gone. Sylvia stripped away all her connections, so she is lost to me. But you and the few remaining others? Still tethered. Some by thin wispy strands, others by thick cords.”

Don’s lip curls in a snarl as a growl trickles up his throat. “I suppose I’m one of the latter.”

Colin bobs his head, shaggy hair covering the thick black whorls of sharp edged tattoos that cover his face. “Three deaths bind us. Leland was our first shared death. Hollowed out like a gourd and refilled with demon, his was the first touch of true evil we faced. It scarred us both. We felt guilty, helpless. It was a shared bond.”

Don nodded. “I guess Jane Spofford was the second?”

Colin missed a step in his dance. “That bitch’s soul is screaming in some hell. That I know. That was our second death, and the first murder. You were there, trying desperately to save me and Sarah, but you just weren’t fast enough. Sarah fell from the tower, and I felt her body hit the ground, just as our connection snapped. Jane stood there gloating, exulting in her stolen power. I couldn’t let her keep it. It was mine, and she had perverted it. You flew in, just a little late like always, and saw me rip it back from her, and use it to destroy her.”

Don remembered it vividly, the incandescent explosion of spiritual energy that had caused him to nearly fall from Althea’s back. Colin using his totem to rip Jane’s eyes from their sockets as he leaped upon her, his rage warping the air as he reached his healer’s hands into Jane’s chest and ripped his power out of her, shattering ribs and bursting her heart. Her victory had been short-lived.

Colin after Sarah’s murder had been brooding and remote, as he wrestled with what he had done, horror mixed with exultation over the death of his cruel hated foe. Donnie couldn’t reach him, and only Sylvia could break past the barriers and restore some equilibrium to Colin’s tortured soul.

“I told you, Colin. The spite was not yours. When you took your power from her, it came away tainted with Jane’s own putrid desires and emotions. It wasn’t pure anymore.”

“Fuck that Donnie. She was filth and the world is better off without her.”

Donnie nodded. “Like Torrance?”

Colin stopped in his tracks, looking up at Don with fever-bright eyes, deep in shadow.

“How can you say that, Donnie? How she used you, flayed your mind like she did, then sent a van to smash you against a brick wall?”

Donnie sunk to his knees, the effort to remain standing costing him too much. “I remember, Colin. I spent two months in traction, and it was only your power that let me walk again. I am always grateful for that. Until now.” He gestures around himself with the sword. “Until this.”

Colin began his dance again. “Torrance swallowed her tongue while in solitary, Donnie. How could I have done that? I had already begun to understand what I could do. I feel emotions, I am empathic, but I have perfect memory, even emotional memory. I took away Darla’s humiliation, rape and pain, and even now, if I open that door I can feel the abuse, the violation, and the helplessness. I felt Sarah die, Donnie. I felt Jane’s death even as I perpetrated it. Can you imagine? Taking a life and experiencing both sides at the exact same moment, giver and receiver?”

Don gags a little as the pain seeps through his mental barriers, or perhaps at his attempt to envision Colin’s experience.

Through blood spattered lips, Don says
“kālo 'smi loka-kṣaya-kṛt pravṛddho
lokān samāhartum iha pravṛttaḥ.”

“Time I am, destroyer of the worlds, and I have come to engage all people.”

Colin tsked. “The Bhagavad Gita does not apply here. You are not the Pāṇḍavas.”

His dancing became more animated, and through luminescent green eyes, seeing the arcane world around him, Don realized that Colin was not dancing alone. Shadows danced with him; barely formed, but mimicking his movements exactly. Colin’s solitary dance had somehow become a Ghost Dance.

“The third death was Sammy, of course.”

Don grunted, watching Colin and the dancers through slitted eyes. “I thought it would have been Hamilton.”

“No, old friend. Hamilton’s death was not yours to share. If I were talking to Sylvia right now, it would be true. But she was never the same after nearly drowning in Hamilton’s mind as it died.”

In his memory, Don recollected clearly the aftermath. He had, as usual, arrived just too late. He found Sylvia catatonic in the arms of John, who found nothing physically wrong with the girl, but who seemed unaware of the world around her. Hamilton’s death took something from Sylvia, and left a dark hole in its place. A part of the joy in Sylvia’s life had snuffed out. She threw away all her ‘Hello Kitty’ paraphernalia. She had stopped sewing pretty designs on her bags and jackets.

And she had stopped confiding in Donnie.

Worse still, Sammy had lost Elrod in the conflagration. After saving over two hundred students near the busses, she found out one of the two men she cared most for had died instead. It broke her for a long while, and she had sought consolation in the arms of Nick, who had been overwhelmed with her grief and poorly prepared to shoulder everything. Donnie had been too preoccupied with Sylvia’s predicament to lend much of a hand, but John had tried. Sammy never trusted John the same as she once had though, and John’s misery had added to the overall mélange of sorrow and strife.

Now Don began to see how Colin had become this way. Buffeted with the powerful emotions, sorrow and strife of his friends, he began to absorb it all. In trying to heal the others’ suffering, he himself fed the poison within, the well of hate that started with Jane Spofford.

“Why now, Colin? Why ten years after we graduated?”

Colin whipped his hand through the air, and Donnie’s face split, as if ravaged by the claws of a hawk. He cried out and barely stayed upright.

“Shut up Donnie, I’m soliloquizing.”

“Do you remember the day, Donnie? Remember when Sammy lost it all? Laney said something. I don’t remember what, but Sammy just freaked out and Alicia got all in her face? Then John tried to step in, and Sammy blew her top, flinging them both out the cafeteria wall. John got up, Alicia didn’t. That was it for dear old Sammy. She freaked out getting madder and screaming, and pretty soon we all were being tossed around the cafeteria like bowling pins. Somehow you had missed that Sylvia had once again been talking to Smith, and she said she was going to turn Sammy off to save us.”

Donnie pushed himself back up to a full kneeling position, one hand using the sword to stay upright. “I saw how you helped people Colin. I saw what happened sometimes. I didn’t want you to lose it like you did with Jane or Leland. Sometimes your helping was worse.”

“Oh and that ended so well, didn’t it Donnie?”

The Dragon Lord grimaced. It hadn’t ended well. Colin had tried to stop Sylvia, and Donnie had delayed him, fearful of the consequences and ignorant of what would happen. Sylvia turned off Sammy, but her power continued to escalate. Sylvia had turned off her ego, but her id remained.

Finally, as the bricks on the walls of the school had begun to rattle, John took her. He leaped and caught her, and kept going up and away from the school. Some sort of explosion happened far in the sky, and neither Sammy nor John had been seen again.

“How do you know she died Colin? No one knew.”

“I did, Donnie. Connections, remember? Threads of fate. Laney knew. And through her I found out how to see them, and use them. I had connections to everyone. I heard Samantha’s last words because of that link. Want to know what she said as the air thinned and some of her consciousness came back at the last few seconds? John, you can fly.”

“And then she died. Supernova in the sky.”

Tears leaked from Don’s eyes. “I know I fucked up. I know people died because of me. Why do you think I struggle to keep students from destroying themselves and each other?”

Colin continued to dance, tsking again. “To little too late, Donnie. I know what you did later. I know you summoned infernal powers, seeking a cure for Sylvia’s deadness, her unfeeling wall that surrounded her. I tried to get past it, tried to get the demon inside her, but she kept me out. Every time I tried to renew the strands of fate, she cut them off. I don’t know how she knew what to do, but she did it.”

Don laughs, rasping voice bubbling into a bloody cough. “You condemn me for summoning demons? What arrogance. What were the invisible crow demons that attacked me, Colin? Manifestations of your will? No. I know you have Jane’s book, you lying sonofabitch. You said it was destroyed, but now I know. You used it, or it used you, whatever. But now the souls of the dead dance to your tune, and they power you. Their agony and suffering fuels you, and you grow powerful by it.” Don’s legs had gone numb and he fell to his side with a grunt and an involuntary gasp of pain.

Colin doesn’t disagree as his dance becomes more frenzied.

“Why am I here, Colin?”

Colin, voice strained as he speeds up the dance. “You don’t deserve to live, Donnie. Too Late Donnie. You were never there for any of us, never on time. We all suffered because you came just after you were most needed. You’re one of the most powerful of us left, one of the ones I have the greatest ties to. Well, I think it only fair that YOU die so that I can bring back my only love. I will use your death to bring back Sarah.”

Donnie could only lie there, shocked. The Ghost Dance was to bring power to the shaman, and with that power, the shaman was rumored to bring back the power of his oppressed people. This was a perversion.

Don’s tears form runnels down his face from the ash and blood.

“You fool.”

Colin’s only response was to dance harder, and Don could feel is life force being drawn out of him, spun away faster than his blood was leaking from his rent wounds.

“You forgot,” Don gasped. “One person you can’t detect. No strings, Colin.”

Sylvia stepped up behind Colin and laid her hands on either side of his head.

“I made a phone call before I left.”

The world goes dark.

[opensesame]

You've Been Served.  A story that happens somewhere along the way...

Sarah walked down the street to one of her favorite spots in Oak Park, BhodiJava, a small cozy coffee bar that sold amazing fair trade coffee and perfect biscotti.  She had been in a sweet and childish state of mind that morning and was dressed to reflect her mood.  She had on a plaid jumper, a warm long sleeve shirt, matching tights and a blue pea coat with huge buttons.  To top off the adorable factor she'd put her hair up in pigtails.  She'd grabbed the green bag she'd taken to school the day before.  Sarah had her mind set on one of the house blends with loads of sugar.  Jake behind the counter always called her a barbarian which made her giggle.  Her spirits soared at the sign of the Bhodi tree growing out of a coffee mug.

The front doors of the place blew outwards and from inside came cries of terror and a deep roar as from some huge animal.  Sarah stood frozen in amazement.  I thought this stuff only happened in designated war zones like high school.  A middle aged man wearing an apron flew out the opening towards the street and into traffic.  Jake!

*zwip*

Sarah appeared in the middle of the street to intercept her favorite barista in mid flight.  A bright Blue Nissan Murano rolled towards them.  The drivers face was hidden behind a tipped back double grande cup of Monopoly coffee.

Jake slammed into Sarah just as the Nissan's front fender banged her hip sending her and the man she was attempting to save under the front of the car.  *zwip*

"Ow!  Ow... ow. ow. ow."  The two lay on the sidewalk a half a block up from BhodiJava.  There was a screech of tires in the street and a car door opening.
The bruise blossomed up Sarah's side and the pain was amazing. Oh god that hurts!  Ow.. crap Ow!

She rolled to her side to check on Jake.  The Barista was sitting up, blinking in disbelief.  "Sarah?"  He asked in startled amazement.  "Are you okay?  What happened?  That guy threw me out into the road and now I'm here.. what happened?  Did I land on you somehow?"

"Yeah, must have right?" grunted Sarah in pain.
More cries came from the coffee house and another roar of anger.
"You stay where you are Sarah.  I've got to get back to the shop and stop that thing somehow.  Call the police.  Everyone is still in there."

"No!  Call them from the shop next door.  It won't be safe to try in there.  The faster the cops come the safer everyone will be." Sarah panted a little and Jake noded.  "You're right.  You'll be okay Sarah.  Help is on the way!"  The coffee shop owner ran into the trendy little shop selling women's fashions and Sarah ported to the door of the coffee shop.  Still lying on the sidewalk saved her from catching one of the heavy leather chairs in the face.  The furniture flew over her head and smashed into a parked car.  The alarm siren started blaring and Sarah winced.

The inside of the shop was wrecked.  The patrons hid beneath the turned over tables.  More of the comfy chairs were tossed all around and the counter was a disaster area.  One of the coffee machines looked like it had been crushed like a beer can and Jake's staff was nowhere to be seen.  Hopefully they were safe behind the counter or in the back room.
In the middle of the room stood the problem.  The biggest person Sarah had ever seen in her life.  Not just large but massive.  A man maybe seven feet tall and easily more than five hundred pounds was holding the cash register in one hand like a paper weight.  She watched as he smashed it down on the granite counter top.  Pieces flew everywhere and the drawer spilled out.  Sarah fished for the cell phone in her pocket to call in the crew.  She pulled out the top half of the flip phone, it's face cracked.  "Stupid driver." she muttered.

Sarah was on her own for now.

She pulled herself up slowly while the giant inside scooped up bills and shoved them in into one of a string of fanny packs that were tied around his waist like a giant sized utility belt.

Gritting her teeth she was finally able to stand on both feet and yelled out, "Hey!  Kate Moss!  Yeah I'm talking to you Slim!" Witty was something for people not in a lot of pain.

The huge thief turned at the sound of Sarah's voice and squinted at her as if in disbelief.  In a voice as large as he was the man said, "Beat it little bitch before I step on you and your mommy has a pancake for a kid."

"You tossed my friend out into traffic.  That doesn't work in my town."
"Your town?  Just shut up!"  Big Gulp hurled the remains of the cash register at Sarah's head.  She had been ready for that and ported just in front of the flying register only to meet an approaching fist from this man who was quicker than she thought.  "Crap."

The punch sent her sailing across the room to crash into one of the few remaining upright chairs before sending it tipping backwards.  A faint squeal from behind her startled Sarah out of the haze of pain. 
What the???
Her pack squirmed and wriggled until a small head covered in sugary crumbs popped out of the side through a rapidly expanding hole.
Yeee! "Pip!" she whispered excitedly.  The small lizard quorked and pulled itself out of Sarah's sadly dissolving backpack.  "I'm in trouble.  Tell Donnie to get over here pronto and then find some cover till he gets here.  We'll jump this guy all at once!"

The lizard wriggled down to the floor and disappeared in a moment amidst the piles of tossed furniture.  The floor creaked alarmingly as the giant strode towards Sarah.  She looked up in time to see his foot descending towards her.  Apparently the man planned to make good on his pancake promise.  Sarah vanished and the chair was crunched into the floor.  "You better run girly.  The Mountain will flatten you."
Sarah calls from the granite countertop. "Seriously, you're speaking in the third person now?  The Mountain?  Listen to yourself.  OMG I mean are you some super hero comics fanboy that drank a radioactive Big Gulp or something?"

The piece of broken furniture that flew at Sarah was expected but the force behind it was tough to deflect.
"Maybe you should go with Mongo or Double-Wide.  Something a little more down to earth until you build up some street credit.  I don't think you get to call yourself 'The' anything until you've fought some major heroes or escaped from a super max security.  Or managed to rob a coffee shop without a little girl foiling your plans."  She caught a glimpse of Jake's employees crouched safely behind the sturdy bar.

The Mountain bellowed and charged but Sarah moved again to lean against the wall by the front door.  A chunk of the granite counter flew at the redhead and she brought her staff up once more.  The force behind the throw was more than she could manage this time and she was knocked back out into the street to land on the sidewalk again.  "Double crap." she groaned and slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position.  She could see inside that The Mountain had hefted another piece of counter.  "Face it kiddo.  You're out matched.  Just run home and stop bothering me before you really get hurt."

That was when something fabulous happened.  Pip rose up on silent wings from behind the counter.
"You might be right," Sarah acceded.  "But I've got something you don't big guy."
"What's that?" sneered The Mountain.
Donnie appeared next to Sarah and said, "Friends, asshole."
Pip screeched from behind The Mountain who turned at the noise and caught a face full of acid for his troubles.  He staggered back with a cry and kept going, suddenly weightless.  He drifted towards the opening where the front doors had been.  Sarah and Donnie grabbed the back of the man and hauled him through the doorway and out into the street above them where he floated helpless.

The massive man screamed and swore at the top of his impressive lungs.  The daisy chain of fanny packs had ripped loose and dangled from a back loop of The Mountains pants.  Sarah gave Donnie a huge hug.  "My heroes!" she cried with joy.  Pip flew out and spiraled around the giants body, hissing and snapping.   

Donnie returned the hug before asking, "Are you okay Sarah?" She nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I'm just messy and a little sore," she lied a bit.
Donnie looked at her with obvious suspicion at her words but said instead, "I called Chris on my way over and got the proper authorities on their way over here.  He said the regular cops would stay clear until then."

"Oh good.  I can clean up before they get here," she said with a perky note.
Donnie offered, "We can just tie him to a car and leave a note if you want to clear out.  The spell will last for a while and we can get you checked out.  Or I can wait around.  Althea's up on top of the building just in case."

Sarah shook her head, "Thanks, maybe in a little while.  I want to deliver this package personally."

Her friend, her teammate and her GM looked at her and was suddenly able to appreciate the imagery of the situation.  He started laughing and said, "I've got to watch this."

A short time later three large vans pulled around the corner to find a young girl standing in the middle of the street holding the strangest balloon in the world.  Hard eyed men approached cautiously with weapons at their sides.

Waiting for them to come reach easy speaking distance Sarah blew a large pink bubble.  After sucking it back in she called out.  "Scuse me misters.  My b'loon caused a lot of trouble today.  He broke up the coffee shop, threw a nice man out the door and stole stuff.  He's really strong so careful 'kay?"

She skipped over to the startled police and handed one of them the end of the belt that held on to the floating, twisting, swearing Mountain.  "Bye now."  She waved cutely and vanished.

Donnie put down his camera and laughed.  Down on the street the two lead officers stared at each other dumfounded. 

Later that day the photo he submitted to the paper landed him some solid cash.  The picture was taken from a higher angle and showed the back of an adorable young girl under a massive human balloon just as she was handing the tether over to gaping police.

A blurry phone camera photo further down the same page showed a dragon soaring over the city in an unrelated blurb article about another Dragon sighting with speculation on it's effect on everything from crime to the pigeon population.     

[opensesame]

A 'what if' leaving unanswered questions and unresolved possibilities


Process of Elimination



Sarah ran up to Sylvia and called out, "Sylvia! Quick!"

"What is it Sarah?" asked Sylvia with a worried expression. 

"Let's go surprise Donnie and Colin and go out for a soda or something normal!" Sarah says with a grin.

Relieved that the world didn't apparently need saving at the moment she gladly stuffed her things in a bag and took Sarah's hand.

In a heartbeat the near freezing waters of Lake Michigan engulfed her. The pressure on her lungs was intense.

What? Sarah! What went wrong?

The glowing green of Sarah's staff was the last thing Sylvia remembered seeing. Her body slowly sank to the bottom. 

Twenty minutes later a dried off Sarah found Samantha Jameson sitting on the edge of the stage. 

Sammy smiled at Sarah, "Did you just take a shower?"

Sarah grinned and said, "Yep. Wanted to freshen up a bit. I felt like the bottom of the lake. I dropped by to ask if you wanted to see something neat."

"What?" asked Sammy with a suspicious, but curious tone.

"It's a surprise!" said an exasperated Sarah.

"Okay, okay but this had better be good. I have to be back in about twenty minutes. Nick is meeting me here." said Sammy.

"Ooh. Anything tasty or just some school stuff?" Sarah asked clearly hoping Sammy would dish.

Sammy replied coyly, "A little from Column A a little from Column B."

"Sweet," said Sarah, "Then no problem. I'll get you back here quick as I can."

She held out her hand and the two teleported...

Into blackness. They were pressed together and Sammy asked, "Sarah? Where are we? A boys locker or something?"

Sarah responded in the dark, "Nothing so boring. I found a small metal tube with no air holes. Bye."

The body next to Sammy vanished. "Sarah!!!!!"

Her voice echoed and pounded in the small tube deep beneath the earth far away from any light and friends for a very very long time....

"Where is she John!?!" Sarah yelled across the library. John, Donnie and several other library residents looked up, startled at the angry tone of the young redheaded girl storming across the room. The librarian was making a bee line to intersect her and Sarah told her in an angry tone, "You didn't hear anything." before walking on to John, leaving a dazed and slightly perplexed woman standing behind her. She eventually drifted back towards her desk while Sarah slapped her hands on the table in front of John. "Where is Sylvia, John?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Sarah. She's missing? I'll start looking right away. You call everyone." 

Sarah slapped John. A move so out of character that John couldn't even begin to dodge it. "Sarah, what the hell? I don't know where Sylvia is. Let me go look..."

The second slap was stopped with a lightning fast, iron grip.

Tears started pouring down Sarah's face. Donnie rose slowly from his table and walked over. The moment he'd heard Sarah ask he'd started sending out a mental call for Sylvia and dialing her number all at the same time. There was no answer.

"Just tell me John. Is she hurt? Sammy said you two were having a screaming fight about something earlier and she told you to leave her alone. She said she heard you tell her it wasn't over by a long shot."

She used her voice and said, "You want to tell me what happened between you and Sylvia, John."

John blinked and sagged. The memories all came back to him now.  It was all too much.  He let go of Sarah and started crying. Shaking his head he said, "But it doesn't make sense."

Sarah stepped back a bit, worried that something was going wrong.

"I love her.. loved her. Why didn't she just understand that? Why did she always have to fight it?"

Donnie's fists clenched together, turning white. 

"Sarah," Donnie said in the coldest of winter voices, "Make him tell you where she is right now."

Sarah blinked at Donnie wide eyed. She nodded and looked at John, "John, tell me where Sylvia is."

John shook his head, "She's gone. She's gone. She can't come back from there. It had to be that way. I couldn't let her talk. It would only be worse..."

Sarah interrupted, "John, where is Sylvia?"

"The Lake."

"Where on the Lake dammit!!" screamed Donnie. His eyes flamed green and outside a dragon roared.

John looked up at Donnie and said in a hollow voice, "The bottom."

The fight was short and one sided. John barely struggled. Sarah stood back and let it happen. Colin raced in to see Donnie burst outside, bloody sword in hand. A dragon claw scooped him up before they both vanished. 

Colin quickly realized that John was beyond healing. He looked to Sarah who stood with tears in her eyes and blood spattered on her clothes. "What happened Sarah?"

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around Colin. She cried into his shoulder and told him, "John killed Sylvia. She's at the bottom of the lake. Donnie killed John and I think he's gone looking for Sylvia. Sammy is already out looking. I don't know what to do!"

"We'll find her Sarah. God and Great Spirit how did this all happen without me hearing something? We'll find Samantha and start looking across the lake. Smith could help us find her."

"No! Colin no! If Sylvia is ... If he finds out... very bad things."

Colin nodded, "You're right. We'll try on our own for now. You call Samantha and I'll call Chris and let him know we need to search the lake. 

Sarah and Colin stepped apart and made their respective calls. Sarah got a voicemail box after being told the caller was out of range. 

"I can't get a hold of Sammy. Maybe her phone is off or she's too far away?"

"If Sylvia is dead I can try and reach her. Her spirit may be lingering or my friend might be able to relay a message."

Sarah nodded. "That's worth a try. Should we go to the cemetery. That way if you can't reach Sylvia you can pass on the message right?"

Colin nodded and agreed. "That's a good idea. Do you want to try and find Samantha?"

Sarah shakes her head, "I want to stay with you if that's okay? I want to know if Sylvia is... okay isn't the right word is it? If her soul is... I don't know.. at peace?"

Colin smiles and hugs Sarah, "We can hope wonder-girl. If she's not, maybe we can fix it."

"Come on." Sarah holds out her hand. 

Colin twines his fingers in hers just as a raven starts flapping against the library window glass. *zwip*

Free falling over Chicago Colin looks at Sarah with alarm. He wonders at the appropriateness of this during an emergency. But figured she was doing it to remind herself of life. He starts to say, "You're crazy won..." but she was gone and he was alone in the wind. 

It is the middle of the night and Donnie stepped off a Coast Guard boat. He said a few words of thanks and saw Sarah waiting for him further down the dock. His eyes were dark and empty. "I think she's really gone Sarah. I can't... I don't want to believe it but there's no answer. I couldn't get a hold of Sammy either. Do you think John killed her to?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, he couldn't have. I spoke with Sammy not long before I found you and John in the library. Unless... how long had he been in the libary?"

Donnie shook his head, "I don't know.  I wasn't paying attention."

Sarah offers some hope saying, "She might have heard from Colin about Sylvia and gone off. Or maybe she's down there looking for her..."

The two walked away from the water but Donnie paused to look back towards the lake. "No. She couldn't see anything. If she was going to try that it would have been earlier or tomorrow morning. Even then it gets pretty dark towards the bottom." Sarah led him away and towards the road. 

All the anger had burned off from Donnie during the hours of searching. He was exhausted, scared, confused and vulnerable. He'd sent his dragons home because in some way each was wrapped up in memories of Sylvia. Even standing next to Sarah was painful. "I just want to go home for a little while," he said. 

Sarah nodded and put her hand on his back in comfort. "Next stop home, Donnie."

He wasn't expecting the sudden shove that sent him under the wheels of the late night express.

The bus squeals to a halt and Sarah walks over to Donnie's mangled form. A puddle of blood is rapidly growing around him and he can barely move at all. He wheezes blood and looks up at Sarah. "Why?

She rolls her eyes at him and says, "Duh. Irony? The girl who saves you from a bus throws you under one?"  Donnie's will, already stripped bare from the day surrendered under the raking of Sarah's staff across his chest.  She vanished as the bus driver came stumbling out clutching his hands over his mouth, stifling the cry of horror at the sight of the boy. 

She sat on the edge of the building swinging her feet. Sarah said into her cell phone. "That's it. All done here. I'll catch the red eye and meet you at the airport in a few hours? Great. Love you to."

She flipped closed the cell phone and stood up.

"Why Sarah?"

She turned at the familiar voice and found Colin walking towards her across the room. Bloody and beaten to hell but alive. "Well aren't you just the resourceful one," she says with a touch of wonder. "I guess there was something to what She saw in you after all."

"Who are you? Where is Sarah. What have you done?!?" Colin ran towards her but she vanished to appear on another part of the roof. 

She waggled her finger at Colin and said, "Naughty. I've done exactly what you think but I'm not inclined to go into a villainous monologue as to the reasons why. It needed to be done and it has been accomplished. I'll just have to let you go because I really haven't got the time. No doubt you've got help on the way or already here so... bye.

"NO!" Alicia leaped out of the darkness a moment too late.  The couldn't find her at the airport but she could have gone to any. 

None of it made sense to Colin. He was able to contact some of his friends.  John, Donnie and Samantha one by one. John and Donnie were truly past on. Their souls in the afterworld. Sammy he found as well. Or at least what was left of her. Her mind had shattered though. What he found lunged for his very soul and he had to flee for his life. Someday he might find a way to fix things. There might be a way to bring back at least a bit of Sammy to the air spirit that screamed for revenge beneath the earth.  He met with only a vast and angry darkness on his search for Sylvia.

He found Sarah last of all.  Mostly because he was so afraid to look.  So afraid at what he would find.  She was alive but far away and all he could find was a direction. East. He traveled that way but always further east until he stood on the Maine shoreline realizing that it was still pointing East, North-East.

As he spoke on the phone with Chris and his mom about booking a flight to England he glanced at the TV. The BBC news was on with a picture of Donald Howell. The phone fell from his hand and he walked across the hotel lobby to the set and turned up the volume. "The body found in the police vehicle was believed to be that of Donald Howell, also known as Emille Vandross, the teenage boy suspected for the crime spree in Chicago last year. His mental powers had been unknown to his family and utilized to manipulate dozens if not hundreds of people without their knowledge. He had been in a Special Maximum Security holding until this morning when he was scheduled to be transferred to Heathrow Airport for a flight back to the United States to face prosecution. During the transfer unknown assailants with metahuman powers attacked the transport, setting the vehicle on fire. The remains of the bodies within were very badly damaged but medical autopsy has revealed that none were Donald Howell. Police now suspect that they never actually took Donald Howell into custody and that the teenager arrested was a plant by the boy. 

Colin's phone started to ring.  He picked it up and the screen read: Logan. 

[AlleyCat]

I saw this scene in a movie and I just couldn't help stealing it. At least I'm willing to give credit to the source.

Good Night's Work

It was early evening in a Hispanic neighborhood near Humboldt Park, the few lampposts still working just starting to turn on.

The blinged-out Hummer rolled to a stop in front of a small bodega. A young hoodlum, gaudily attired in gang colors, hopped out of the vehicle and sauntered into the store, while his equally dangerous-looking friends waited by the car.

The old lady behind the counter looked warily at the youth, but was still surprised when, without warning, the punk drew a handgun and pointed it at her. In Spanish, he ordered the woman to hand him the money in the till.

Shaking, the woman pulled out an envelope containing the day's take. Brusquely, the hood grabbed the envelope and stuffed it inside his jacket, enjoying the way his victim wilted at the sight of his weapon.

Confident that he was in no danger from being accosted, the young criminal strode out of the store, smiling, feeling quite proud of himself. It was a good night's work.

His reverie was interrupted as someone barreled into him, spilling the contents of a soda cup down the front of his jacket.

"Whut the f**ck? You stupid…" The youth sputtered, wiping ineffectually at his ruined clothes. He looked up to see who'd run into him and saw a young Hispanic girl wearing a pretty dress and dark shades, cringing. She was rather attractive and looked quite fetchingly remorseful.

In a halting voice, the girl stammered, "Perdoneme, por favor. No lo vi." ("Please, forgive me. I didn't see you.")

The boy peered at the girl and waved his hand in front of her face. Seeing no reaction, he grinned, unwilling to lose the good mood he was in. "Sin problema, ciegita. Dame un besito de perdon." ("No problem, little blind girl. Give me a kiss and I'll forgive you.")

He laughed as the girl blushed in embarrassment. He returned to the car, yelling at his friends to stop snickering at his mishap. The group climbed back into the Hummer and sped off.

Alicia stood on the sidewalk, watching the car head down the street. She smiled as she adjusted the dark shades she was wearing, then bent down to pick up the cup she'd used to distract the punk and dropped it in a nearby garbage can.

Walking into the store, she approached the old woman being consoled by two other employees. Without a word, she drew the envelope full of money from the inside of her coat and handed it back. The storepeople stared wide-eyed for a few seconds, then the lady recovered from her shock and began thanking Alicia effusively.

Alicia graciously refused the offer of a reward. The contents of the boy's wallet, which she'd skillfully picked while retrieving the envelope, was enough of a reward for her. Especially since it would provide her with enough information to track this particular gang down and remind them who really owned these streets.

With an anticipatory smile, Alicia exited the bodega. It was a good night's work.

[motley]

Placing this here because I'm vain enough to want it to be archived with the rest of the game, where it belongs.

January 4, 2009
The Lucky One - Intro.doc

Past

She rose from the grasses, a shining thing; in golden armor, bearing a sword held high, with eyes lit in the radiance of the sun.  The seraph set the plains afire, fanning the blaze in an expanding circle with her glorious wings…

Patrick Brennan mused over the ghostly fragments of his dream while he fumbled for his personal phone and car keys.  Inspiring, the surreal imagery clinging to the corners of his mind was reminiscent of one of Laney’s paintings.  With a wry smile, he grudgingly admitted appreciation for the girl’s talent.  At least, her creations weren’t in the morbidly grotesque style teens often favor.

He knew why Laney was on his mind, though.   His message was brief, “It’s Brennan.  We’re wrapping things up on the Lark case, but I need to talk to you about something else.   Give me a call at this number.  Thanks.”

Snapping the phone shut, he turned the ignition, and the world ended in a flash of burning light, bright as the sun.

When the debris was cleared and the victims extracted, it was determined that the eldest child fifteen year old Delaney Brennan was the sole survivor of the bomb attack - and the subject of much speculation by curious witnesses and paramedics.

“Hardly a scratch on her.”

“Lucky kid.”

“Yeah, lucky.  Wasn’t Mr. Brennan a cop?”




Present

Earlier this day, the sixteen year old sat stiffly between her aunt and uncle, during the guidance counselor’s determination of which transfer credits would be accepted and what courses she must complete for graduation.  It was her uncle’s stern and graveled voice which raised her from the quiet trance she’d lapsed into while her attention was fixed upon the soothing tones and false smiles of the school representative.  He asked why his niece, with her 3.9 GPA and college credits, must attend freshman courses in the middle of her junior year and was given a well-rehearsed answer which provided no real explanation, only vague references to school board requirements.

After the helpful orientation tour through a maze of hallways, rows of doors, Laney could not recall a single detail, save the hollow sound of her aunt’s heels striking the newly waxed floors and the horrifically loud squeaking of her own tennis shoes.  Humiliated by curious looks from the new faces their small group passed, Laney closed her eyes in relief when she finally slumped into the shadowed back seat of the family sedan, her dark hair a long, untamed curtain to mask her pale features.  It was a recent and unattractive new affectation, her aunt noted with a disapproving grimace.

“What do you think, Laney?  Larger than your old school?  At least, you don’t have to wear uniforms.  Honey, how about I take you shopping for a new outfit or two?  You want to make a good impression on your first days.”   The older woman glances at her husband at the wheel, ready to cut short any protest.  The wise man said nothing.

“That would be great, Jean.  Thanks.  I’ll be alright. Everyone was very nice.”  Very nice.  Very normal.  Very calm.

Calm like the house that morning she was fetching Andy a second bowl of cereal while her mother changed Denny.  She casually glanced up and saw the hall flood with fiery brilliance.  Andy’s screams she could not hear over the sudden and thunderous sound.  She felt them shaking her chest when she pulled her brother close and dove towards the porch door.  Then the sharp pain in the center of her skull and the clarity of vision, as if she were watching - no, directing - the siblings shoved violently outside by the hot force of an explosion.   

It was the only way.  They were safe.  She had made  them safe.

As the pain overtook her and pulled her into a senseless, black place, Laney released her hold on Andy.  Her brother’s unconscious form rolled away from her lax arm and folded over remnants of their home: tiles, sheetrock, and glass, which silently sliced through the boy’s cheek and then his vein as his weight gently settled. 

A strange association. 

Laney’s therapist warned her about these moments - months of counsel the girl was only beginning to appreciate, now that their mandated meetings were completed.  She resolved to postpone crying until tonight, and then it would be alright.  While not exactly what she was instructed to do, Laney found her way more efficient.

Her relatives were well-intentioned, and she found no fault in their fair treatment of her. Even the younger cousins were excited about their new guest, their enthusiasm infectious.   
Distanced as Laney was from the ongoing investigation, the relentless calls from reporters, the stares…

Yes, she’ll be alright. 
Besides, wasn’t she the lucky one?



Notes

This is a quick and dirty write-up to give you a view of Delaney Brennan.  Details intentionally absent for easy adaptation.  Others intentionally included, giving a personality profile.   I can provide much more.   It’s a simple character with a simple background.

I was originally using this as a background for Laney in the project we’re discussing in MeanStreets. She would be much older, jaded, with a background in law enforcement and a few colorful contacts (other characters I had in mind.  I’ll be typing them up next).  Her ability serving her well in online research; as the odds of finding a proverbial “needle in a haystack” are skewed in her favor.  That’s how I envisioned her power being used, although it could work well in combat if she were trained.

But a younger version of Laney is an offering for your PBP.  I would need a training course on the rules to spare you from having me send each of my posts to you for review before public posting (which, I probably would do at first)  What I’ve read so far is vague. 

This character may not fit at all or you may not want me involved - and that’s alright.  This type of power is a pain in the ass;  I personally wouldn’t allow it.    I’m having fun reading old posts on your forums. :}  I haven’t come across a character with Laney’s ability, yet.

The power?    When she pushes, the odds stack in Laney’s favor. 

Payback’s a bitch.  The higher the percentage she beats, the worse for her.  A day when Laney is not sporting bandages, casts, or bruises is rare.  Thus, this ability is entirely in control of the GM:  if it works and what the “side effect” is.    When is also in the GM’s control.  I think it should be within the hour, but for dramatic effect could be delayed.

Lesser incidents I can handle if the GM prefers. Laney’s not a genius; using her power to pick the right answer on a history test might earn her an embarrassing tumble over her shoelaces in the hallway and a bloody lip.  That sort of thing.  It needn’t be physical bad luck.  She may have inexplicably lost paperwork, spills, bad hair days, etc.

No, I don’t want her to be a constantly tragic character vying for sympathetic attention with her perpetually unfortunate injuries.  It was meant for humorous element. She may actually not be powerful enough in this first design.  I can either add another power or adjust the bad/good luck ratio.

And, yes, I’m babbling.  Sorry for the length of this document.

[motley]

Here's the other:

If it weren’t for the fact that this is Colin’s birthday, it might be any day of the week, as casually as Laney hands him the “gift.”   Nothing in her demeanor relays any sense that it is a gift at all.  There is no ceremony, no well wishes.  When she looked into her purse and saw it, she could not look away; Colin’s voice and the thin battered feather inextricably merged into a pattern.   It’s as if she’s recovered something he’d dropped and was merely handing it back to him.
 
The mottled white pigeon feather isn’t in good condition, lying as it had been on the very bottom of Laney’s purse for a week. 
 
A week ago Saturday it was given to her for luck by her four year old cousin.   This is what she was told.   It carried love, pure and unconditional.
 
He found this feather in the summer grass.  He thrust it into his box of treasure for future use.  A wondrous box full of the kinds of things children collect, things coaxed from the earth or discovered in secret places where adults can’t reach.  The box carried all the thrill of mysteries.
 
It also carried a marble.   It was a black marble, larger than most and notched where it struck a surface too hard for the glass.  The boy was given this marble by his older cousin, in the late summer when she felt her heart was the marble itself, gouged and ruined.   He thought it dull, but then she showed him magic through this imperfect sphere.  So he would not throw it away like she was willing to do.
 
He saw the sun splintered into a thousand fragments of light.  He turned the marble slowly, and before his eyes the fragments bled together into shapes and colors like he’d never seen before.  It was Laney herself who created the kaleidoscope and thought to share it with him.
 
In the garage she was looking for a tool, and there, underfoot, was the marble glinting in a single beam of sunlight through a side window.  Before she reached down to pick up her discovery, she stepped into the sun.  In this dismal, closed part of a strange house in a foreign place, the sun was familiar and comforting.

It was enough light to sprout a bold blade of grass through a crack in the garage floor, beside which the marble hid for who knows how long.  Even in this cold place of concrete and steel life prevailed, resilient and hopeful. 

But not alone.  Years of dust settled within this crevice, things discarded and unappreciated.  A supportive collection of unlikely debris; a foundation for growth.
 
Where there was tucked the spongy remnants of a down feather.  It was no longer recognizable as the soft bit of fluff it once was, but it served a purpose now, knitting the elements together. 
 
It was snug beneath the warm wing of a song sparrow.  The skyline became a blur of silver and gold as the small bird followed the wind, soaring higher and higher…
 
…and like many things she does and many thoughts she has, Laney gives Colin a pigeon feather without knowing why.

[opensesame]

Message From A Distant Shore

First day of Spring Break of Senior Year

Colin Crow finds a message in a bottle sitting on the night stand of his bedroom.
It's written in Sarah's hand on a material that looks a lot like paper but seems sturdier.  As he starts to read, pictures of Sarah and the whole gang slowly drift across the page.


-Goodbye.

Since halfway through sophomore year I've been holding back from you and everyone.  Not letting you get too close.  Not telling you everything that's been going on in my life.  I know you've sensed that and felt hurt by it.  You still loved me and held me whenever you could.  You gave everything to me and asked for nothing in return.  You are proof that the world is in good hands.  When I disappeared from time to time you all thought it was my depression.  You were all supportive and kind and I appreciated your words.  I was sad from time to time but I didn't leave because of that.  I was working for the Ahn'Zhanti.  I've been sad because I knew this day was coming.   

My gifts have increased exponentially in the past three years.  Being anyplace on Earth is like standing still now.  I've played it down because I didn't want anyone to freak.  I always gave just enough to help save the day.  A little more sometimes.  I know Sylvia wondered from time to time.  She's too smart to lie to.  She could have stepped into my head anytime she liked and found out the truth but she didn't.  Give her a hug for me for that.

The truth is that I can travel to the stars Colin.  I've crossed the nothing and stepped onto other planets.  Those odd seashells I gave you that you never could quite identify?  They are from a beach on a planet that orbits a star that isn't visible to Earth, lost amidst a cluster of clouds and brighter stars in it's system.

The truth is I've been living a lie with you and all my friends.  The only one who knew anything is ... something else I never talked about.  There are two of me... or there were.  Back in Freshman year we had a problem with dimension hoppers.  One of them was me.  Dave knows about her.  She went to stay with Megan in London for a while.  Her powers grew as well but in a different way.  She can teleport but her abilities with staff and mind alteration are the strong ones.  If you ever need help with a mental clean up give her a call.  Smith knows her now.  You can't make that big a ripple in the mind pond without another big fish coming to check it out.  Huh...Sylvia probably knows because of that.   That girl really does play her cards close to her chest.  Brat.  I've included her number.  Give her a call anyway.  She had to say goodbye to her Colin a long time ago.

Tell Donnie I said to be cool.  Tell Rob and Greg that I still think they're dorks but the best and most amazing dorks in the world.  Give Alicia a big hug for me.  She never lets anyone help carry her baggage and she doesn't put any of it down.  Doesn't mean she still isn't strong as hell.  Just hope she figures it out someday.  If you can find Sammy punch her in the arm for me and tell her I said knock it off.

Dave knows.  Dave knows everything on some days.  Ha.  See if he knows what I left for him at his apartment.

I'd say goodbye to Laney but I just got a message from her ... it's complicated and I'm not sure I can explain and you can't tell her because she hasn't sent it yet.  Totally Laney huh?

Sylvia... She's too smart for her own good.  She's opinionated.  Rude.  Exasperating.  Intimidating.  If she hadn't gotten so good with her mental shields I think I'd have died of embarrassment by junior year.  I kind of had a crush on her for a little while.  I hope that doesn't make you feel weird or anything.  Um.. tell her..  y'know I think I'll have to get back to her a little later?

I'll try and drop in from time to time but I don't want to bring too much attention to Earth.  There are people out there that can track teleports.  Some good and some not.  If the bad ones noticed a regular route to Earth they'd come looking and that's trouble that the planet doesn't need.  Trouble I wouldn't wish on you guys.  I'll write.  Send pictures.

As for you Colin Crow, I want you to be happy.  You can walk away anytime you want.  Remember that and only do it as long as it makes you feel good.  The world will keep working.  You can make the world better without doing all this super hero stuff.  You could be a teacher or a healer.  I know you Colin.  You could make the world a better place running a hot dog cart or working a paper route.  Just walking down the street you make things better.  Keep yourself well and the rest will be okay. 

Love, Always and Everywhere -

The words fade and the pictures vanish one by one.  At the end all that is left is the tattoo design that Colin himself had given to Sarah.  The henna mixed with his own blood that never faded or grew weak.  A tattoo that Colin never realized was far more powerful than he ever intended. 

[Doc]

The old letter Sarah finds hidden among the few things she took with her when leaving the planet.

Dear wondergirl,

happy birthday. If things go as planned you'll be far away when you find this. It's a big if, considering I'm asking Laney to use her powers in a way she's never considered, but something tells me the universe likes this kind of things, and that it's gonna find its way to you.

I said happy birthday. I'm writing this letter on your seventeenth birthday. It's very late. The gang threw a huge party for you, and everyone had so much fun we all nearly passed out from too much laughing. I thought Donnie would die for sure, for instance, 'cause of all the punch that went through his nose. I'm sure you remember it. Well, I got home, and somehow I heard that Rose was awake before Chris or mom did, so here I am now, cuddling her with an arm and writing with the other.

But I say happy birthday also because when you'll read this, it'll be a different kind of birthday for you. It'll be the time you'll take your ticket to the stars. To where you're meant to be.

"God and Great Spirit!" (Yeah, I know you'd say something different, but I try to keep my writing expletives-free). "Colin knew all the time!"

Not exactly. I don't really know things, you know. But I get some glimpse, every now and then, even when I try to look away. On the roof, the day I thought, for those horrible seconds, that you were dead, I could see nearly everything. Donnie called them the Threads of Fate (you know how he talks, and when you can really hear the capital letters in what he says). If I had but looked at you that way, I could have known if we were going to stay together, to marry, to have children, to die, anything. I chose not to. And I don't regret it. Surely, at the time, I wouldn't have understood what it really meant. And I had more than a little penchant for drama, back then, that I'm sure wouldn't have helped either. I got a feeling though, while holding you. I felt like I could fly among the stars. With time, I realized it came from you, from your future. From what you were meant to be.

That's why I can't be angry at you. Even though you never told me, and you'll likely never told me. We've been keeping hard poker faces, and danced around this elephant so many times, it's almost become a game. I never called you on it, because I didn't want to worry about the future, or make you worry about the future. In every moment in time I had you with me, that was more than enough to me.

So, now that this secret is out of the way, there's something else you should know. I never gave you the full explanation.

The turtle is for protection, but also she carries her home with her, wherever she goes. Wondergirl, I don't know if there's going to be a place you'll call home. I do want you to feel home wherever you go. And I'd like for you to remember, and carry with you, this place, that has been your home for a while.

The lioness is for strength. Strength non for itself, but for the sake of the pride. And to protect her cub. I know you go away because people need you out there. They need someone to protect and defend them. Like you protected and defended us. With you, they're in good hands.

The cub stand for playfulness. Or better, for learning by playing. For growing up and becoming more. Because we're never done growing. And because sometimes, you'll have to say your goodbyes and leave again. The cub is that playful, ever happy part of you that I love so much, so that you might never lose it. When in doubt, Sarah, always start fresh with a smile and play your game.

The star is for direction. For finding out one's true way, and not losing it even in the darkness. The stars will always be your friends. Out there, among them, you'll never get lost. They promised me as much.

And the phoenix, more than anything, is you. She's for rising brighter after a fall. Always. Today you are born again, and begin a new life. One of many. It's the strength to leave and begin anew. It's a fire that never dies, and will keep you warm even in the cold cold space.

Let me say it one more time: happy birthday. Rose is asleep now, and I'm really tired too. I know I'll see you tomorrow. But after you'll read this letter, I don't know if we'll ever meet again. I know that every time I'll look up to the sky, the stars will be brighter. You will make them brighter for me.

I cannot claim you. You're not mine. And I wouldn't want you to be mine, and less than you could be. Fly free, and find joy and love and happiness wherever you go. I'll never forget you, and that is my treasure. A part of me will always be on the roof of the library, looking at that sunset, and will always love you. Forever.

Goodbye, wondergirl.

Happy birthday.

[BaboonBill]

Hunting Grounds

The man raged, shaking back and forth and thrashing on the ground before them. Three pairs of eyes, not a single set completely human, stared pitilessly down at him as he tried to talk from behind the gag. His arms and legs were zip-tied expertly, and he was hogtied, making escape a virtual impossibility.

One of the figures crouched down before him, a black-gloved hand reaching out, deadly sharp claws pushing through the leather at the end of each fingertip. The man froze as the figure, plainly female, ran a single sharp nail across his cheek, pausing as if it were deciding whether to plunge it into the soft eye or not. Her eerie cat-like eyes narrowed.

The claw flashed downward, slicing through the gag and part of his cheek.

"murr-GAH!" he cried, as the strip of dirty cloth came free. The figure stood up and backed away, pale and shaking with disgust and fury in equal amounts, her fists clenched tightly enough to crack her knuckles.

"You have no FUCKING idea how much trouble you’re in, you little shits!"

The second figure chopped downward with a sword that wasn’t there a moment ago, runes glowing hot crimson in the black night. It buried itself half a foot into the loam of the ground, softened by years of leaves and active moles. The place was chosen carefully for that very reason.

Thunder echoed in the clear night.

The man snapped his mouth shut as the blade quivered inches from his nose. The second figure, hand resting gently on the leather wrapped handle, crouched down, inhuman green eyes glowing in time with the runes on the sword. A heartbeat slow and steady.

"The same could be said for you, Officer Haggerty."

The trussed up man glowered, saying "Look kid, you have about ten seconds to untie me before..."

He didn’t finish, because the third set of eyes appeared above him, and there was a dangerous and sibilant hissssss of warning.

The young man spoke, voice quavering with emotion.

"These were our woods. We don't own them, anymore than the hundreds of other kids that have played in these woods for years. But for the last four years, these woods have been ours. Nearly every Saturday morning for the last four years we have stalked this place, playing, learning, teaching and being taught. Kids call these the Dragon Woods, and for good reason. They knew not to come here on Saturday mornings, but by noon it was theirs again. It became noisy with the sounds of paintball guns, adolescent cursing, and cheering as they played soldier.

"You knew this. You watched from your unmarked squad car in the parking lot of the school or down the street. Every Saturday they were here, and so were you. Watching, waiting, planning."

The dragon above hissed again and acidic spittle dripped on his cheek and collar. His cheek immediately went numb, and his collar unraveled and melted as the spots grew.

"We know, Officer Haggerty. I have a friend, a very dear friend who looked into your sick mind and began vomiting uncontrollably. She said curse words I didn’t even know she could utter, and cried for hours afterward. She saw into that cesspool of your head, and saw all the names."

He pulled out a small spiral bound notebook and began reading.

"Andrew Zimmer, age 11, went missing walking home from school in April of 1989. Hunter Gibson, disappeared off the playground two years later over in Gary, Indiana. Fredrick James never made it over to his friend's house in the late afternoon of August 1993. Seven more gone since then, including Jose Chavez, age 12, who never made it home from his paintball game last Saturday. Which brings us to now."

He stood up, drawing the sword from the ground.

Officer Haggerty panted in a sudden spurt of fear, and he saw both the woman and the man in front of him breathe it in, as if drawing out the taste of his fear. Urine stained his pants.

"He's buried five feet behind you, Officer. Sunk deep and covered in dirt and leaves. Where you buried him, probably on Wednesday or Thursday. He wasn't here Wednesday morning, because we came looking, because that's what we do. When we came back on Saturday morning, my friend here knew something was wrong and it didn't take us long to find him, despite your efforts."

"I-I don't know what y-you're talking abou-EEEEEEE-aughglglgl..."

The small dragon hopped back up the tree, chewing the earlobe he had just viciously snipped off. Officer Haggerty spasmed as the dragonette’s poison slithered through his veins, paralyzing him. His eyes showed white as he shook.

The woman spoke, hands and claws clenching and unclenching. "You're fucked beyond repair, puñeta. She saw that in your head. You cover your tracks too well. You hunt in multiple areas, and hide your victims in different places. There's nothing to connect you. You just made one mistake. You came here, you sick fuck."

The man, resting his sword on his shoulder, turned to the young woman. "You don't have to stay for this. The dragons will take care of it."

"You shitting me, Lagartijo?" The girl snapped. "Hell, I'm barely holding back from doing the job myself. You staying to watch, aren't you?"

"Yes."

She glided over to rest her hand on his shoulder and spoke softly, "So why would I bail? We found him together; what happens next is as much on me as you."

The young man, seeming to deflate a bit, leaned in and rested his forehead against hers and they closed their eyes for a moment. "I wish this didn't stain our times here, but it will never be the same, will it?"

With a shared sigh they turned back to the child-murderer.

"Let's take him down to the creek."

Later that night, the police received nine simultaneous electronically generated phone calls, each stating the name of a missing adolescent boy and where he would be found.

No one plays paintball in those woods since the body of the missing boy was found, and there was never again a dragon seen hunting squirrels on a  Saturday morning.