Shane looked up from the trunk of his mother's Lexus—where he was roughing up Jerry's suitcase in an attempt to make room for one of his own—at the sound of the horn. Renee's Sentra pulled into the driveway behind him. From behind the windshield she threw him a warm smile, and a look of comfortable affection that made his heart hiccup. God, she was beautiful. God, she was wonderful.
       God, he was an idiot.
       It was seven-thirty on the morning of December seventeenth. Shane could actually see his breath before him, a sight one could only encounter for a brief part of the year there on the North Scottsdale street where he'd grown up. Phoenix's winters were laughable by most of the nation's standards, but, contrary to popular folklore, it did actually get cold. Up and down Vista Street, the expensive homes were decked out in holiday costume—roofs and walls dressed in multi-colored lights, lawns adorned with nativity scenes and Santas and reindeer—in preparation for the coming consumer-friendly season. And even at this early hour, a couple of neighborhood kids were already out playing, taking full advantage of Christmas vacation, wrapped in coats their drowsy mothers had probably forced them to put on. Shane had never been this early of a riser in his childhood, but he, like them, had spent his two-week holiday time out on the street, riding bikes with his pals and practicing on his skateboard. He felt a sudden and painful longing for that time. Life had been so much less confusing then. Ridiculous as the thought seemed, staying home and goofing off was sounding a lot better than getting on a private jet to California.
       Renee cut her engine and climbed out of her car, the one she had bought with her own money from senior year and post-high school jobs. She was in her favorite, most comfortable jeans, an ASU sweatshirt, and Shane's brown leather jacket—the one she ended up wearing more than him these days. Not that he was complaining. He liked seeing her in it. It made him feel like she was proud to be with him, like she was wearing his letterman sweater or something. It was a sign of something secure in a relationship that she still, after three months, refused to refer to as anything else but "dating". He never felt anything but genuine affection and appreciation from her, but putting the dating label on them kept Renee from feeling that she'd reneged on her promise to herself to focus on school and not get caught up in emotional distractions. So, they were dating. Fine with him. He enjoyed the dates—even more so since the dates had turned from movies and dancing to them spending most all of their free time together (not that there was much of it, between classes, his work, her student leadership groups, and that occasional super-hero thing he was apt to do). Renee had definitely been an unexpected, and welcome, surprise in his life.
       Which made him feel even more like an idiot, and more weighed down in guilt and indecision.
       Shane walked down his mother's driveway (which he still thought of as his driveway, since he hadn't been living away from home all that long) and met Renee at the hood of her car. Still smiling and giving him a coy look, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly. They hugged, and he held her longer than he'd planned, just letting everything about her wash over him. She didn't seem to mind at all.
       They finally did part, and she adjusted her glasses, keeping close to him.
       "She's all packed," she said, regarding her car briefly. He could see her bags and cases and hanging clothes overwhelming the back seat. "I just need to gas her up on the way out of town, and I'm gone."
       "Yeah, we're about ready here, too," he said back, his hands on her waist. Finals were over, Christmas break at ASU had begun, and he and his...he and the girl he was dating were taking off for the holidays. Only they were going in different directions. Renee was driving back home to Denver to spend Christmas with her exceptionally large family, something Shane in his only-child, single-mother family had little experience with. And instead of driving northeast with her, Shane was flying west with his roommate and best friend, Jerry. West to California. To Hollywood. Why was he going there at Christmas time, where he had no family to carve turkey and exchange presents with? Well, there were two answers to that. The real one, and the lie he'd fed to Renee.
       "You don't sound too excited about it," she noted. He felt a sudden warm flush. It was usually just when he thought he wasn't putting out any kind of vibes when she could pull meaning from his words or body language that even he sometimes didn't know was there.
       She perked up a notch. "Come on, I think it's going to be an adventure. I wish my mom had old friends in Hollywood that offered to fly me and my roommate out for the holidays to check out the town. If you guys want to get serious about the business, that's your door. A lot of actors and writers don't have built-in connections like you spoiled brats."
       She smiled up at him, and he smiled weakly back. She gave him a soft, supportive kiss.
       "I think you guys are going to have a great time," she prophesied, "and you're going to meet a lot of people, and you're going to impress them to death, and you're both going to be major Hollywood players before you know it. You may not even come back. This may be the last time I see you. Sure, there'll be postcards from time to time, but soon you'll forget all about me, and I'll be left a whimpering mess in the back row of the theater, watching your latest summer blockbuster and pathetically trying to convince strangers sitting next to me that I once knew you..."
       She stuck out her lower lip and made it quiver, and pretended to be on the verge of tears. This made Shane laugh, and she laughed with him as he held her to him again.
       "All right, all right," he said, rolling his eyes and smiling. "Save it for the stage, missy."
       They held their hug for a while, and she sighed contentedly against his cheek. They kissed some more before she spoke again.
       "I wish I was going with you," she said, her breath coming out in bursts of thin winter mist. "But you don't skip out on Christmas at the Weathers house. Grandma will hire hitmen to hunt you down."
       "And I wish I was going with you," he said, and heard a little too much honesty in his own voice. He quickly covered with, "I wish we could have spent the whole break together."
       "I know, me too," she agreed sweetly. "But it's only a couple of weeks. I think we can struggle through. And besides, there's no way I would have let you pass this chance up."
       Not even if I'd offered you a lot of money to?, he thought, wryly.
       "And don't think the family didn't ask about you," she said, wrapping her arms around his back and looking up at him. "They wanted to know if I'd be dragging this mystery man from Arizona home for Christmas so they could all check you out."
       "Oh, really?" he grinned. "And what did you tell them?"
       "I said this flaky actor was off to Hollywood to seek fame and fortune—"
       He rolled his eyes again, playfully.
       "—and that they'd just have to wait for another major holiday if they wanted to meet my boyfriend."
       Shane stopped breathing. In that weather, it was easy to tell.
       "I know," she whispered, confidentially. "I said the 'B' word."
       All at once, he regretted the donuts he and Jerry had stopped for at Dunkin's on the way to Mom's place. He could feel one of them reforming in his stomach, pulling itself back together into a perfect chocolate-covered whole.
       She laughed at the look on his face, unable to help herself. "Don't pass out on me, now. I just wanted to try it out and see how it felt."
       "Wow," he breathed, feeling like he should be selling tickets to the circus going on in his abdomen. "You just kind of caught me off guard with that."
       "I noticed," she giggled.
       "I just thought..." he said, trying to collect himself. "I mean, you were to one who said..."
       "I know," she conceded, smiling sheepishly, looking not at his eyes but at the collar of his jacket. She straightened it with her hands as she began to show a little blush. "It's just that we've been spending a lot more time together than I thought we would, and..." She turned her eyes up to his now. "And I think we've gotten really close, and you make me very happy, and you're sweet, and you're wonderful..."
       Fireworks and stormclouds in the same emotional burst. An interesting sensation. And not necessarily in a good way.
       "And...I just thought I'd see how it sounded. Just for fun." She gazed at him with doe eyes from behind her prescription lenses. "How'd you like it?"
       Oh, how mightily he cursed the god of donuts. "Well, um... It's hard to..."
       "Want me to say it again?" she asked quietly, putting her arms back around his torso.
       Um, no? Please no? Please, God, strike this beautiful, sweet girl mute real real fast?
       "Boyfriend," she whispered, spelling the words out clearly with her lips, which were now closing in on his.
       Please, don't—
       "Boyfriend," she whispered again, then pressed her lips into his.
       "Ew," a voice behind them said. "Love scene."
       Their kiss broke, and Shane turned his head. Jerry had come out of the house, through the garage, and was putting his camera bag in the Lexus's trunk. He was grinning. He wore knee-length shorts and a stylish button-down shirt—one of several he'd bought for the trip. Even his light jacket was much more sheik than his usual look. Seeing him look this Gap was a little strange to Shane.
       "Hi, Jerry," Renee smiled over Shane's shoulder, laughing a little.
       "Hey, Renee," Jerry returned with one of his finger-flicking waves. "Trying to talk Farmer Shane here into staying away from the big city?"
       "Tempting," she sighed, looking back to Shane. "But no. I'll just have to trust you to keep him out of trouble."
       "Yeah, that's a safe bet," Jerry chuckled.
       Shane was thankful for the distraction, but it didn't help much. Out of nowhere, it occurred to him that Jerry was being really good about the Renee relationship. One of the surest ways to cause friction between roommates was for one of them bring a girl into the situation. And that was doubly so if the roommates also happened to be best friends. There was always that lurking chance of jealousy, either at one of them being hooked up and cuddling on the couch with a chick while the other was currently single, or just said chick taking up all the lucky one's time and leaving the other guy out in the cold.
       But Jerry had been completely cool with her, and Shane, now that he thought about it, was impressed...and grateful. Maybe it was because Jerry was so wrapped up in writing the screenplay he was now carrying off to California with them. Maybe it was just because Shane had had quite a number of girlfriends in the many years that he and Jerry had been friends, so Jerry had just gotten—
       Oh, God.
       He'd just thought the "G" word.
       "Oh, hi Renee," Shane's mother Lana said brightly, stepping out of the garage door Jerry had used. She was dressed for work, since that's where she'd be going after dropping the guys off at the Scottsdale Airpark, and she looked professional and stunning as usual, the middle-aged blonde that everyone in the Phoenix real estate business knew and respected. How this beautiful widow of twenty years had stayed single for so long remained an oft-discussed mystery.
       "Hi, Lana," Renee waved.
       "Looks like you're all ready to hit the road," Lana said pleasantly as she walked up.
       "Yep," Renee agreed. "And, speaking of which..." She turned her gaze back to Shane. "I'd probably better get on with it so you guys can go catch your plane. I've got a long drive ahead of me."
       "Yeah," Shane nodded, smiling regretfully.
       "Well, I'm glad you were able to catch Shane before he left," Lana smiled. "Jerry and I will let you two say good-bye."
       "Aw, come on, I wanna watch," Jerry said from behind them.
       "Jerry," Lana chastised. "Bye-bye, honey," she said, and hugged Renee. The two exchanged cheek kisses. "You have a great Christmas with your family, okay?"
       "I will," Renee promised. "Thanks."
       "Come on, Jerry," Lana said, putting her arm around Jerry and leading him back up the driveway.
       "Happy holidays, Renee," Jerry grinned. "See you when we get back."
       "Bye, Jerry," Renee waved.
       Lana and Jerry disappeared into the expensive home, and Shane and Renee were left alone.
       They smiled at each other, and Renee gave a sad little moan, and then they held each other, rocking slightly there next to her car.
       "I'll miss you," Shane said into her ear.
       "I'll miss you, too," she said. They didn't speak for the next couple of minutes, instead just trying to soak up enough togetherness to last until after New Year's.
       Renee, the sensible one, finally pulled back. They both knew Shane was on a schedule, and Renee was a big believer in schedules. They kissed, and after, she smiled and looked into his eyes. And then, another of her uncanny, and sometimes discomforting, moments of insight.
       "You've got that look again," she said, bluntly.
       "Look?" Shane asked cautiously, tensing up. "What look?"
       "That look I've been seeing every once in a while for the last couple of months," she said, holding his hand. "The one that I can't quite figure out. The one where I've only got about half your attention, and the rest of your brain is off somewhere else. Somewhere pretty heavy, I think."
       For a moment he couldn't look at her. His eyes drifted away as he shrugged, and he searched for some smooth, dismissive words to convince her it was all in her head. He couldn't find any. She was right...they had gotten close. She was smart and perceptive regardless, but she also knew a lot about him. But not everything, and that's what was killing him. To be this close to someone, and to still have secrets. Secrets led to lies. Lies led to shame. And not all of his secrets could be justified by super-hero secret identity stuff that he could tell himself was for her own good. At least one of them affected her directly, and he'd never wanted things with her to get this far while that shadow was still hanging over them. But things had, and that shadow, she had no way of knowing, was waiting in California.
       "I'm just..." he said, quietly. "Thinking. You know?"
       She studied his face as he turned his eyes back to her. He tried to look indifferent, casual, tried to deflate her suspicions. But he felt like she could see right through him, right into his mind, and she was going to open her mouth and recite for him everything that was there.
       Finally, she just nodded, and smiled a little. It wasn't a happy smile, or a nod that suggested she believed him. It was just a look that said this wasn't the time or place, and she knew it.
       "Okay," she said, taking his other hand, too. She looked down at his feet for a moment and then back up. "I just want you to know, Shane. If there's anything that's on your mind, anything you need to talk about, anything you want to tell me...you can. You can trust me. You know that, don't you?"
       "Sure I do," he said, honestly, squeezing her hands. The weight of his life and all the weirdness going on in it seemed to press down hard on him just then. She had no way of knowing what she was asking of him. He thought of the neighborhood kids again, and he could hear them shouting and laughing down at the end of the street.
       "Okay," she smiled, and the smile was more genuine this time. She sighed, and he smiled back at her. "I'd better go," she said.
       "Right," he said, and kissed her once more. "You drive safe, okay? There's a lot of snow between here and Denver."
       "Please," she grinned, opening her car door. "I learned to drive in snow, desert boy. I'm not like you Phoenix people who freak out and run off the road when a little rain comes down."
       She crawled into her seat, closed the door, and rolled the window down as Shane stepped up and leaned over.
       "You guys have fun," she said. "And try not to go too Hollywood on me, okay?"
       "Deal," he said, his hands resting on her door. "As soon as we get back, I'll have my people call your people. We'll do lunch."
       "Ha ha," she smirked, and turned her key in the ignition. The Sentra's tailpipe poured billows of exhaust and mist out into the street. She put it into reverse and smiled up at him one last time. "Bye," she said, softly.
       "Bye," he said back, wanting to say more. He took his hands off the door and let her back out onto Vista Street. He stood at the driveway's edge and watched as she shifted and started pulling forward. She waved, and he waved back, and she drove off and disappeared as she took a right onto Seventy-First. He put his hands into his coat pockets and listened until the familiar sound of the Sentra's engine faded away into the morning, and all that remained was the laughter of two Scottsdale boys that neither knew nor cared of the worries that life had waiting for them.

       Shane walked back through the garage entry, closing the door behind him, and crossed the laundry room set off the kitchen. He found Jerry and his mother chatting by the refrigerator, each leaning on a different counter. They turned to him as he stepped in.
       "We good to go?" Jerry asked. For not being a morning person, he certainly had a lot of energy in his voice. He'd been that way since they'd gotten up and left their apartment, locking it up for a two-week hibernation. He'd been doing his best to contain his excitement, but his best wasn't quite good enough.
       "All set," Shane said, trying to put some perk into his own voice and share in the expectation. His best was nothing to write home about either.
       "Great," Lana said, clapping her hands once. "Then let's hit the road."
       She took her keys off the counter and held them out to Jerry.
       "Um, Jerry, why don't you go out and get the car warmed up? Shane and I will be out in just a minute."
       "All right!" Jerry said, taking the keys. "I get to drive?"
       "You get to warm," she said. "Don't push your luck."
       "We have to work on our trust issues, Mom," Jerry grinned, and then he left them and went back out through the garage. Jerry had called Lana 'Mom' for years. With the amount of time he'd spent at their home since he and Shane were kids, Lana often felt like she had two sons.
       Shane leaned back against the counter where Jerry had been and waited patiently for his mother to speak. He knew her too well, and knew that there was a big talk coming. He'd been waiting for it, actually, and it seemed she was getting it in just under the wire.
       She turned to him and smiled, but he could see the nervousness behind it. "So, you got Renee off okay?"
       "Yeah," he nodded.
       "I like her, Shane," she said. "She's a very sweet girl. I can tell she cares a lot about you."
       "I know," he said, smiling mildly. "I care a lot about her, too."
       "I know it must be hard for you, having to keep things from her like this," she said, that motherly understanding he knew and loved so well in her tone. "Having to bend the truth. But that's just the way it has to be right now, so don't tear yourself up over it, okay?"
       Geez, did every woman have the power to stare right into his brain? His annoyance with realizing he had much less of a poker face than he'd thought was small, though, and he felt instead a warm gratitude. Twenty years old, and he still needed his mother's approval. Her giving him permission to fib for the greater good took a little of the weight off. But not all. She only knew half the story.
       "How did things go with Porter last night?" she asked.
       Out with the good feelings, in with the bad. Last night had been the night he'd had to tell his mentor and friend, Porter, that was he was going off to Hollywood at the invitation of the legendary Terrance Cross. More to the point, he'd had to tell him why he was going, and like a coward, he'd waited until the last possible moment. He'd had to tell Porter how Cross and his publicist wanted to 'manage' him, to set up a whole plan for marketing the now world-famous super-hero. And how they had plans to make a Windjammer movie. Before they were through, there would be Windjammer action figures stuffed into Happy Meal boxes, and they'd have him singing the National Anthem at the Superbowl. If they had the latter in mind, though, he thought, they were in for a pretty unpleasant surprise.
       "Um..." Shane thought, trying to figure how to put things the right way. "Okay, I guess. Kind of. No, not really. I told him, and he listened. He sat there thinking and let me ramble on until I was through."
       "And?" his mother asked, very interested.
       "And he wished me luck and gave some Porterly advice and that was about it."
       Lana read his face and looked sympathetic. "You think he was disappointed?" It was more statement than question.
       Shane felt a dark shadow sliding across his heart as he remembered that look on Porter's face again. What had made it worse was that it was exactly the look he had imagined all the many times he'd gone over the words he'd planned to use, had run them through his head and tweaked them, adding some, deleting others, trying to decide on just the right facial expressions and tone of voice (having to remind himself along the way that tone of voice wasn't going to help him much, Porter being deaf and all). For a while, the logic he used to justify the trip to himself seemed like it should work just fine. It was just like Jerry had explained to him. It wasn't like he was out seeking fame. He had it, whether he liked it or not. All Terrance was talking about doing was controlling it, making sure it was done right, insuring Shane was taken care of while the world got exactly what they wanted—more of him. More of Windjammer. That way, everyone would win. It made perfect sense.
       So if it made such sense, why had he been sweating when he'd been explaining it to Porter? Why did he still feel so torn now? And how much sense could something coming from Jerry's brain actually make?
       "Yeah," he said, quietly. "Yeah, I think he was. He didn't say so, and he tried to hide it, but I could see it. I know he doesn't think being a hero is about money and fame. I think he thinks I'm selling out. I think I let him down."
       Lana joined him at his counter and leaned next to him. "Porter's a good man, honey. He's a godsend, really. When I first found out about your powers, all these things you can do..." She shivered a little with the memory. "I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I'm your mother. I'm supposed to teach you manners and to keep out of trouble and tell you to do your homework. What mother has ever had to deal with a son that can fly and pull winds right out of the sky? I was scared to death."
       Shane looked at his mother. She'd never really discussed this with him before.
       "I was," she repeated, reading his look. "Being a single mother's tough enough without all your hocus-pocus to deal with, too. I didn't know what was going to happen to you. Those first couple of years, I started missing your father all over again, thinking how much I needed him. How much you needed him. I know fathers aren't trained in this kind of thing either, but I just kept thinking, 'He needs a father. He needs his father to help him and guide him though this.'"
       She smiled, and he got her point before she said it aloud.
       "And then Porter came along," she said. "There's no chance that happened by accident. Someone else, right here in Phoenix, who had powers, too? It was meant to be. He was meant to come into your life at just the right time. Someone to help you with all those things I couldn't understand. He's your teacher, your friend, and in a lot of ways, a father to you, too."
       Shane shifted a little uncomfortably at that. Not at the thought of Porter as a father figure, because that seemed so natural to him that it didn't even require someone else pointing it out. It was just a fact of his life, and one of the better facts, too. But Porter wasn't his father. Shane's father's name was Stephen Doleman, and he had died before Shane had even been born. He'd sired his heir, and then left this world when his small twin-engine plane had gone down somewhere near Palm Springs. Shane knew him only from the few photos of him that existed, and from fanciful impressions created in the mind of a young boy. But for his mother, the memories were real. She'd loved the man, even though their time together was short, and the thought of this was what made Shane feel guilt at the idea of someone else "replacing" him.
       Lana took her son's hand. "And your father would have liked him very much," she said. Man, she was good. "And he'd be grateful for everything he's done for you. Porter's just worried about you, that's all. He's not disappointed. He's got his own way of looking at things, but he knows it's your life, and you've got to make your own choices. That's why he didn't say anything to you. He trusts you, honey. He knows you'll do the right thing, whatever that may be."
       Shane nodded and smiled weakly. It sounded good, but it didn't make him feel much better. He still couldn't ditch the hard, inescapable truth about this whole trip. He was screwed either way. He hurt people he cared about if he went (even though one of them wouldn't even know it, he thought, trying to imagine which street Renee's car would be on by now). He hurt people he cared about if he didn't go. And if he didn't go...
       He swallowed, not meaning to. There it was again. That feeling. That knowing. That sense of impending darkness, tied to a palpable pull of destiny. The dream...
       He heard a sniffle. His mother was crying.
       "Mom?" he said worriedly, coming back to the moment.
       "I wasn't going to do that," she said, angry at herself. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and one had spilled over. She wiped her face, sniffed again, and steeled herself. She squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes.
       "I trust you too, Shane. I'm not just worried like Porter. I'm scared. I've been scared of this for years."
       This was the talk he'd expecting. He was just unsettled, maybe a little alarmed, at how deep her feelings were about it.
       "I know what Hollywood can do to you," she said. "I've told you plenty of stories over the years, but not all of them. When I went out there, I was younger than you, but only by a couple of years. It wasn't anything I'd expected. You couldn't trust anyone. Everyone had an agenda. You weren't people to them, you were commodities. I got lucky. I know that. I got very lucky very early, before things could get bad. A lot of girls I knew there didn't get so lucky."
       Lana's 'luck' had come in the form of a part on the popular daytime drama, Sparrow Crossing. At an open audition, with no referrals and no debts to anyone, she beat hundreds of other hopefuls for the part of the young and beautiful Rishon Fallow. America couldn't get enough of her. For one amazing year, she was on Hollywood's A-list, the toast of the town and the cover girl on every magazine from Soap World to Vogue. And just when her life seemed it couldn't be any more fairy-tale-like, along came the handsome prince—the dashing young doctor named Stephen who swept her off her feet, the only man in town who wanted a romance with her outside the spotlight, away from the cameras. He loved her for who she was, not for her fame. Their courtship was lightning-fast, their wedding small and quiet and wonderful.
       And then, soon after, the fairy-tale ended.
       "When I left," she said, "after your father died, I did it because I didn't want you growing up in all that craziness. But I did it for me, too, Shane. I couldn't go back to that life, to those people. I needed to be somewhere real again. Somewhere where I could trust people. Phoenix just ended up being that place."
       She sighed. "And then, at the age of five, my little Shane starts telling me he wants to be an actor, just like his Mom was."
       She smiled at him. He winced a little in comic guilt. But there wasn't much comic going on inside him right then.
       "Not a real estate broker like Mom was now," she went on. "Oh, no. He wanted to be an actor. Well, kids get a lot of ideas in their heads, and most of them pass, so I didn't think much of it. And then you started going for every lead in every play your elementary classes ever had. And then you met Jerry, your partner-in-crime, and the next thing I knew he started writing plays for you two to put on in the back yard. Then high school theater, then Scottsdale Summer Shakespeare, and next thing I know, my son's a college drama major. Kid, when you get an idea in your head..."
       She ruffled his hair, and he blushed a little. He was just happy to see that her tears had stopped. The last thing he needed added to the emotional baggage he was taking on this trip was I made my Mom cry, too. It was bad enough he was leaving her alone on Christmas.
       "And you're good," she said, putting her hand on his face, her voice an emphatic whisper. "You and Renee in that play, Shane." She took her hand back on put in on her heart, closing her eyes for a moment as she let out a quick emotional exhalation. "I couldn't believe that was my son I was watching."
       Lana had attended both the opening and final performances of Hostages, the play that Shane and his...that Shane and Renee had met while auditioning for. Since he had started acting as kid, Shane had never been afraid of having her in the audience. Knowing she was there seemed to give him extra courage, and local critics pegged the first and last nights of Hostages as his best stuff.
       "I think that's when I really, really knew," she said. "I've been worrying for nothing. You're doing exactly what you were meant to do in life. You chose acting, and you love it, and you're great at it. You didn't choose these powers, but they happened, and you took them in stride, like it was all just part of the plan. Look at you now. You save people's lives, honey. You make people believe that anything's possible. The whole world loves my son, and I just can't believe it took them this long to figure that out."
       She hugged him and laughed—an affectionate laugh.
       "I know your heart," she said next to his ear. "I know why you have to do this. You want to do the right thing. And if it is the right thing, you'll know. You always do."
       "I always do?" he asked incredulously, hugging her back, laughing a little at the thought of that.
       "You do when it comes to the important stuff," she conceded. "Yes, you torture yourself for an eternity with indecision first, but you figure it out. You just have to learn to trust your compass. Your life is taking you where it wants you to go. Where you were meant to go. Just believe in that."
       "Mom?" he said warily. "You're...getting a little metaphysical on me here."
       She let him loose and ran a hand through his hair to straighten her ruffling. "My son makes tornadoes," she said, matter-of-factly. "They call him a miracle of nature. That makes me Mother Nature. I think that gives me some slack."
       "Good enough," he grinned.
       "I'll be scared," she said. "But I trust you. You do what you have to do, and I'll always be behind you, all right?"
       "Okay," he said, and suddenly, he could never remember a moment when he loved his mother more. He was the one to hug her this time, and to say the words he didn't use near often enough.
       "I love you, Mom."
       "I love you, too, honey," she said, and he could hear her sniffle again.
       Jerry started honking the horn.
       Shane and his mother both laughed, and hugged for a moment more before letting go. Lana wiped a stray tear from her face, and could see that Shane was close to a couple of his own.
       She sighed comically. "Now if only both my sons had turned out so well."
       "I really think the shock treatments are helping," Shane said back, deadpan. "Just a couple more years, I think Jerry'll be ready for real kitchen utensils."
       They joined Jerry in the Lexus, and left Vista Street, and Shane's childhood world, behind them.

       The Scottsdale Airpark, unlike Phoenix's Sky Harbor International Airport, was not a jumbled chaos of humanity. It was a smaller commuter airport, located in North Scottsdale near the Dial Corp and Rising Technologies. It was used by businesses, government, or just anyone well-to-do enough to have their own private plane.
       It was the Airpark's 'rush hour' when they arrived, so there were a few dozen men in expensive suits coming in and out of the terminals, most of them with briefcases in one hand and the other wrist turned up to their faces so they could see their watches. Lana was now running tight on time, so she reluctantly agreed to just pull to the curb and let the boys unload their gear.
       "Now you promise you'll go to the Scotts' for Christmas?" Shane asked, sounding the mother in this situation, standing with her as Jerry slammed the trunk shut.
       "Of course I'll be there," she said. "They were very nice to invite me, and I know Porter would come banging on my front door if I didn't. Don't worry. I'll have a wonderful time. I always do with them."
       "Okay," he said. He checked his watch and looked up at her a little sadly. "You'd better run."
       "I know," she said quickly, and hugged him just as fast. "You have a great Christmas, sweetheart. And good luck."
       "Thanks," he said. "I'll call you guys Christmas morning. Promise."
       "We'll expect a lot of stories."
       Jerry stepped up. "Some you'll have to make the kids leave the room for," he winked.
       Rarely even affected anymore, Lana turned her hug to him. "Happy holidays, Jerry."
       "You too, Mom," he said. "If they give him a star on the Boulevard right away, I'll take a picture for you."
       "You just watch yourself out there," she told her semi-adopted problem child. "You're a young writer with a hot property, Jerry. Lots of people are waiting to take advantage. Don't let them push you around, and for God's sake, read everything they try to make you sign."
       "Yes, ma'am," he saluted. "No prisoners, Mom. You're talking to Jerry Lowell here."
       "Yes," she sighed. "I know."
       They watched her climb back in her car, and Shane and Jerry waved as she drove away. Then it was just them, their luggage, and the childhood dream.
       Jerry cocked his head toward Shane and grinned widely. "This is the day, Opie. You and me, taking on Hollywood."
       "Taking a vacation," Shane reminded. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's just a couple of weeks of seeing the town, talking about the future..."
       "Talking about my screenplay that's all about you," Jerry added, laughed, and clapped his hands. "This is it, baby! When we were kids, remember? You the star, me the creative backbone? Difference is, there's no clawing our way up the food chain. You are the star already, man! You got the whole system right where you want 'em and your best bud at your side to back you up! We, collectively, are the man!"
       "I guess..." Shane sighed.
       "No you will cheer up," Jerry ordered, losing none of his good nature, as he started collecting his bags. "You're leaving the cares, the girl worries, the Porter thing, all that here, on the ground, in the desert. You're going to focus. You're going to enjoy. And we're going to have the time of our lives."
       "I think the last time I saw you this happy this early in the morning was that last day of summer camp," Shane commented, reaching for his own bags.
       He stopped before he grabbed the leather handle. He spotted something by the terminal doors.
       "Dude," he said to Jerry. "Check it out."
       Jerry turned and looked. A very tanned, very well-groomed man in a very cool suit and a goatee had just come out the door. He was looking around, and he was holding a sign they could clearly read. It said (not in some handwritten felt scrawl but in elegant type): Jerry Lowell.
       "Depends," Jerry said, dreamily. "Must...buy...Depends."
       The tall man spotted them and quickly surmised who they were by their stares. He jogged quickly over, a wide smile lighting up his face.
       "Mr. Lowell?" he asked.
       "That...would be me," Jerry said, his grin started to grow.
       The well-dressed man extended his hand to Jerry, and Jerry shook it.
       "Pleased to meet you, sir." He turned to Shane. "And you must be Mr. Johnson?"
       "Uh," Shane said. "Yeah." He shook the man's hand, since it came his way, too. "But you can call me Chris."
       "And you can keep calling me Mr. Lowell just as long as you like," Jerry said, his grin now in full bloom.
       The man laughed (just enough. He was good at this, Shane noted). "Yes, sir. I'm Gerald. I'm with KnightCross productions. Mr. Cross sent me to meet you. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to meet your car, but—" He started to point toward the terminal.
       "We were a few minutes late," Shane smiled. "Our fault. No problem."
       "And certainly no problem here," Gerald assured with his winning smile. "Your schedule is our schedule, gentleman. Here, let me get those for you."
       "No, really," Shane started to protest. "We've got them."
       "No, no, no," Gerald said brightly, already taking their bags from them. "That's what I'm here for, gentlemen. All you need to have on your minds is Christmas in L.A."
       Within seconds, he had all their bags over his shoulders or in his hands, and was leading them through the terminal, making pleasant conversation with Mr.'s Lowell and 'Johnson'. This was worked out ahead of time between Shane and Terrance Cross during one of their most recent phone calls. Shane was trying to do the smart thing and keep his identity to himself, even though he felt he could trust the Hollywood legend with any secret. Coming with Jerry would still have been a problem if someone were really doing a probe on him (and knew that he hung out with Jerry...but who the heck knew who Jerry was anyway?), but Cross assured him they'd be as careful as they could. They'd use Jerry's name when they had to, but for the most part, all reservations and arrangements were made under Cross's name, and all the particulars were handled by his people. As far as guys like Gerald knew, Cross was flying in a young writer for some talks with the production company, and that writer was bringing a friend along. A friend named Chris Johnson (not too exciting, but Shane had just made it up during the phone call). Hopefully, that would be enough. It wouldn't be as though photographers would be waiting for the plane in L.A. because some unknown college kid writer was coming in, right?
       Still, though it had sounded good to him at the time, now that it was actually happening, it was all starting to make Shane a little edgy.
       "Gate Three, gentleman. That's us."
       Shane and Jerry's jaws both dropped. They'd expected some Cesna or something to be waiting for them. There was a freaking jet sitting outside the doors and on the runway, rolling stairs pushed up against it, awaiting their arrival.
       "I'm going to have to kiss you," Jerry muttered dumbly in Shane's general direction. "I promise not to use the tongue, and I did shave this morning."
       "Thank you for being sensitive to my needs," Shane said back, equally stunned into near hypnosis. People were sending jets for him. At what point did his life take this turn? And for that matter, what on Earth was he getting himself into?
       "Your chariot awaits, gentlemen," Gerald invited from the doors.
       There was more shock as they boarded the plain. It was plush. The seats were luxurious. There was a spacious table to sit at, a large television screen, and scaled-down Terrance Cross movie posters hanging at different intervals.
       Then the cockpit door opened, and Amy stepped out.
       Amy was Japanese, slender, tall, and shoot-yourself-in-the-head gorgeous. The suit she wore had a skirt...a short one.
       "Good morning, gentleman," she said, her voice sweet and sure. "My name's Amy. I'll be seeing to your needs on our short flight to Van Nuys this morning."
       If he says it, Shane thought, sending psychic daggers Jerry's way in hopes of a pre-emptive warning, I'll kill him dead.
       "Good morning, Amy," Jerry said, clearing his throat first. "I'm Jerry."
       "Mr. Lowell," she smiled, extending her hand. "Of course. Pleased to meet you."
       "And this is my friend...um..."
       "Chris," Shane said, shaking her hand, too.
       "Mr. Johnson," she added, dazzling him with her eyes as she had Jerry. "It's a pleasure to have you both aboard. If you'll just take any seats you'd like, we'll get our takeoff process underway. We'll be starting just as soon as Gerald gets your baggage stored. I'd recommend the table, if I could, as I'll be serving breakfast for you as soon as we reach cruising altitude."
       "Table," Jerry nodded, giving the word great approval and meaning. It was about the only word he could say at the moment.
       "Great. And I'll be getting you both some coffee straight away."
       "Thank you, Amy," Shane said.
       "My pleasure, Mr. Johnson," she told him, and the look she gave him nearly burst a vessel in his head. He quickly started running an image of Renee's face through his head on a continual feedback loop, his only holy water in a situation like this.
       In minutes, they were cleared for take-off and in the air. Shane watched the desert through the window by his seat, watched it melt from sharp detail to broad colors, and then disappear into a world of white as their jet breached high clouds. He and Jerry sat facing each other at the table, and Amy brought them magnificent cups of imported coffee the likes of which they'd never had down at Coffee Plantation on a Saturday night. After another check to make sure they were comfortable, Amy disappeared behind the forward partition to begin their breakfast preparations. After looking over his shoulder to watch her walk away, Jerry turned back to Shane.
       His grin was still there, but it was a calm one now. Shane understood. They were in it, now. These two Scottsdale dreamers, for reasons neither of them could have foreseen, were seeing their dream come to life. They were playing in the big leagues now. Shane and Jerry, on top of the world.
       Jerry raised his cup (with the logo of KnightCross Productions, Terrance Cross's production company, on it), and toasted his best friend.
       "To Hollywood, my brother."
       "To Hollywood," Shane smiled, raising his own cup. They clacked their steaming cups together, and the look on Jerry's face alone was enough to lighten Shane's mood. At least on one level, he'd made the right choice. He'd done it, in part, for friendship, and was glad. As for the rest? His hero career? A possible movie? A reunion with Delight, the mysterious girl who had literally fallen into his life and seemed destined to be part of it? That would come. There was no turning back now, so he would take his mother's advice. He would sit back and let his life take him where it willed.
       In the middle of his positive thinking, the dream came back to him. He saw the images now clearly as reality, he'd seen them so many times. The same dream, the exact same dream, coming to him again and again for months now. He could see the dark king's face—all obscured in blackness but for his hideous, laughing, hungry teeth. He, and his queen. And the fall of the city of angels, the piles of bodies rising up to the heavens. And Shane standing against them, the last hope for the world. He, and the others. The enigmatic symbols that stood by his side.
       The Eagle.
       The Knight.
       The Lightning.
       The Witch.
       The Avenger.
       And then, at the end of it all, the dream world would melt away, and a hauntingly real but simple vision would come to him before he awoke. A view from an outdoor cafe. Across the street, a bank. The sign on the bank said "Pacific Federal". Below the sign was a digital clock display. It flashed back and forth from "3:37" to "12/31/96" to "83 F".
       New Year's Eve day.
       And as it faded, the voice would speak. The same words each time.
       The journey must come. The king must fall. Remus has spoken.
       He'd stopped believing he was going crazy. Now, he wasn't sure what to believe. But he couldn't not believe.
       New Year's Eve.
       Los Angeles.
       For better or worse, Windjammer was going to be there.
       The jet banked west, cutting through the endless isles of white. Far below, Arizona melted quietly into California.

TO BE CONTINUED