2 comments/ 7781 views/ 8 favorites Summer's Warmth: A Winter Reunion By: MayorReynolds DISCLAIMERS: 1). All sexual participants in this story are of legal age. 2). This is a direct sequel to "Summer's Warmth: A Winter Encounter," the first story I wrote for this site. This installment stands on its own, but check out the original for Leon's first encounter. 3). There is a larger abundance of 'story' here than sex, but stick around! Whoever's in charge of cleaning this street should find new work. The wind creates a hell of a mess out from the trash littering the gravel. Every step lands my foot in discarded paper. I don't know how I got here or why; I just accept it. Closed storefronts are on either side of me. There's no moonlight; the path is lit by dim streetlamps. The wind rises to hurricane levels. A sheet of copy paper slaps my face. I pry it off and get a moment's glimpse before it tears away. There were notes scribbled on it. I couldn't tell for sure, but I think they were in my handwriting. Further down, the town...ends. Not only does it end, it transitions into a completely different place. The road becomes a two-lane blacktop instead of this one lane path, flanked by scattered pine trees on either side. And there is snow, thick snow. It doesn't cover any of these buildings, but down there thick white blankets everything. The wind continues its ferocity; I fight against it, inching closer to the snow. The air chills. I'm not dressed for a bitter winter, but thirty feet ago I didn't need to be. I reach the snowy road. My eyes have adjusted enough to see the dividing line. To my right, the roadside dips into an embankment. I'm drawn toward a shimmering object in the snow. Another paper smacks me in the face. There's a single message, written in a carefree, artsy, spattered kind of font: I can do anything I want. And so can you. Before I can remember where I heard that, the sound of a banshee's piercing wail flies in from the opposite direction. **** I rub my eyes and check my clock radio: 3:41 AM. Great. Of course it was a dream. And that sound isn't a banshee, though it may as well be. This is tonight's fourth wakeup call. Jen responded to the first and left me to handle the second and third. Kara isn't just a crier. She's a screamer and a shaker, and one of these days she'll destroy her crib. Her wailing is incorporeal. It travels through walls, vents and closed doors, reaching us no matter where we are. This is especially true when we're sleeping. I press a pillow over my face. "For Christ's sake, she's two now. Why does she have to cry like that!?" "Hmm. Everybody cries like that," a half-asleep Jen replies. The screaming and rattling continues. I keep the pillow in place, determined to wait this out and let Jen handle it. I squeeze my eyes shut. Jen's cold foot nudges my side. Nope. I'll wait it out. That's what the books say. The foot jabs into thigh, my harder, hurting. I jump up, still clutching my pillow. "Alright, I get it! Fuck!" I toss the pillow on the bed for emphasis. Jen stirs and returns to sleep. **** Kara's eyes fill with tears. "No! Not you! Want mama! Want mama!" She punctuates her points by slamming the bars with the impact of a goddamned tanker truck. Hurt strikes my heart. This is typical whenever I'm put on Kara Patrol. It's typical in every situation. Kara never wants me to fix her food, read her stories, or take her to the park. It always has to be Jen. I'd once asked Jen about it over breakfast. "Why does she hate me so much, Jen? I don't get it." Jen shoved a spoonful of Coca Puffs in her mouth. "She doesn't hate you, Leon. Come on, that's ridiculous." "Then explain to me why it's the end of the world when it's me and not you?" "You're really upset about this, aren't you?" I gave her a funny look. "Yes! Wouldn't you be if she treated you the same way?" Jen smiled. "Sit down Leon." I pulled up a chair at my kitchen table. "She acts that way because you're a big, tall man," Jen explained. "Think of how big you are in contrast to a small person. Honestly, your voice probably scares her." "My...voice?" Jen deepened her own voice to that of some low-pitched space overlord's. "Yes. Your voice. You are a man and your speech makes children cower in the bleak night." I chuckled. "I do not sound like that." "Maybe not to you or me, but to a small person..." "So what, do I talk like you?" "How do I sound?" "Softer, I suppose," I replied with confusion. "Like a woman?" Jen went back to her cereal. "Well, there's one thing you can try. Seems to quiet her when I do it." "What's that?" Through a mouthful of Coca Puffs Jen said, "sing." I was baffled. "I'm sorry, your mouth's full. Did you say sing?" Jen swallowed her food and drank a swig of orange juice. "Yep." "What do I...sing?" Jen shrugged. "Anything you can think of." She wagged a finger. "As long as it's language appropriate, mister." So here we are again. "Mama! Want mama! Maaama!" I struggle to restrain tears. "Kara!" I monitor my tone. I don't want to yell at a child, my own child at that. "Mama's...resting," I say more carefully. And damn you for it, Jen. Kara sniffs. "Want mama." I open my mouth. Words don't come out. I think a minute. And then: "You can't, always get, what you want..." It's nowhere close to Mick Jagger, but I doubt Kara understands tone deafness, and my put-on singing voice is softer and higher-pitched. Kara looks at me, puzzled, still teary eyed. "You can't, always get, what you want..." She twists her head, reminding me of a puppy. "You can't always get, what you want...but if you try sometimes..." I cautiously move toward the crib on eggshells. "You just might find..." I stand over the crib now. Kara is silent, no longer crying, just curious. "You get what you need." I hoist Kara over the bars and pick her up. Her head rests on my shoulder. I sway back and forth. "New boy in the neighborhood, lives downstairs and it's understood, he's there just to—" "—daddy?" Kara interrupts. "Mmm?" She points at something I can't see. "What that?" "What's what, K?" "That." I turn to look. My mouth drops. Kara is looking at the window. It's snowing. **** Half an hour later, Kara finally lets me put her down. I'm long past exhaustion. I climb back in bed and aim a resentful glance at the mother of my child. "Kara okay?" Jen mumbles. I roll over, my back to her. "Fine." Jen shifts. "Good." "She wanted you again," I say bitterly. "Nmmph." I close my eyes, and then reopen them. "You know it's snowing hard right now." "Cool." I decide to try a test, see what reaction I'll get. Call me unfair, but I didn't appoint myself the Unappreciated Night Lackey. "It snowed hard that night I met Summer." "Mmkay." Frustrated, I drift off to sleep. The snow patters against the window. **** Of course I told Jen about Summer. It was crucial information in an obligatory discussion about past sexual encounters. Since Summer, since that night so far away and long ago, there have been three more partners; well, two are technical. The first gave me a handjob at a party Senior year. The second went down on me in a Wendy's stall on our second date, a year after college. She spat in the toilet instead of swallowing, which in retrospect was hot in a filthy sort of way. The third was of course Jen, and our sex life led to a pregnancy in a rather short amount of time. I met Jen at an Asian buffet. She sat at my table while I was working toward my chopped steak. We started a conversation, and it occurred to me that she was acting familiar. I didn't recognize her at first. Then it hit me. I had met Jen Junior year, but our encounter had been brief, fleeting and ultimately disappointing. I'd referred to her by another name back then: Bathrobe Girl. "I was such a bitch back then," Jen said regretfully. "I can't justify what I did to you. I had just gotten out of a bad relationship. I was so pissed that week that I got lazy with my laundry. I was out for blood, I guess. And in the laundry room, there was this boy who said he'd watch my clothes if I flashed my tits. But his only reward was an old number I'd changed to cut off my ex." I smiled. That wound had long since healed. "And you really had no shame?" She returned the gesture slyly. "That part was true, I'm afraid." She gave me her number—a real one—and the dating began. Then came the sex. Jen, a practicing psychologist, must have known that there was a part of me, deep down, that harbored feelings for Summer. Jen never grilled me beyond a few questions. "Did you ever run into Summer again?" "Nope." "Did you ever look for her, like on Facebook or Twitter?" A reluctant "yes, but nothing aside from searching for her name a few times or just looking around me every now and then." "So you didn't use a condom." "We did at first." "But she took it off of you." "Yeah." "Did you ever get tested for STDs, Leon?" I have, twice. Both tests were negative. Nothing from Summer or Blowjob Girl or even Handjob Girl. I'm clean, and so is Jen, who has me bruised and beaten in the partner department by nothing less than group sex at a college party that included a few girls. That was the end of it. Jen never brought up Summer, and neither did I. Five months into our relationship, despite our habitual condom use, Jen skipped a period and a pregnancy test revealed the truth. We discussed termination; I left it entirely up to her. She decided that since we both had decent jobs with health plans, we could support one little bundle of oops. Kara swelled Jen's belly over the ensuing months, to the chagrin of both our families. They insisted that we get married, that was the proper thing to do, a child needed a mother and a father in the confines of monogamous and holy bla bla bla. We gave into their pressure, and decided we were in love enough to take that final step: we married. A year after Kara was born, Jen and I divorced. We were granted joint custody of Kara. But the status of my relationship with Jen has confused me ever since. She dates. She breaks up. She gives her man of the month a call back or she doesn't. In-between, Jen comes over and sleeps with me. **** I bring my car to a stop outside The Town Report, Archton's local newspaper. The cold air is in sharp contrast to my heated vehicle. The sun beams brightly on me as I trudge through melting slush. The snow struck without warning—not even the weather service was clairvoyant enough to inform us about it—but now it's halted, leaving a blanket for the daylight to turn into a gross mess. I've been a writer for The Report three years running, and for three years I've been fluff piece guy. Personally, I prefer fluff news over politics, crime or the economy, the three things that depress me the most when I read the news. I figure I'll be assigned to cover the sudden snowfall and get sent out to drum up quotes from a few yokels. As I sit at my newsroom desk, my heavyset boss Randy hands out assignments to the usual people. "Lauren, a GPS was lifted from another car last night. That's the third one this week. See what you can get on it. Terry, Stevenson's back to his guns on refusing to fill birth control prescriptions. I'm expecting a state-wide blowup. Cameron, the governor just took a 'job research' overseas trip on the state's dime. Go for it." Finally, Randy reaches me. "Leon. Looking a little bleary-eyed today." I shrug. "Kids run you ragged." He nods. "Well, Leon, we got us some snowfall." "We sure did, sir." He nods again. "See what you can get on it. Have it ready for the Sunday edition." Randy shuffles off. The Town Report has no Saturday edition. Less people reading newspapers means less sales revenue, so we skip Saturday, my only day off. I don't consider unexpected snow days 'fluff.' Snow's a very big deal in this state. Our entire infrastructure and way of life shuts down as everyone scratches their heads over this strange, cold substance they'll see maybe three or four times in their lives. Plenty of people will want to talk about it. Tired as hell, I grab the energy drink I've been keeping on hand for Jen Nights, and down the whole concoction. The caffeine shakes my system harder than Kara does her crib bars. I go find Lewis, my friend and favorite Report photographer. He's in the conference room, shuffling through some digital camera shots. "No. No. Oh, hell no. Maybe?" He looks up. "Rabbit! Somebody put a battery up your butt?" Rabbit. Fluff. Get it? I hate that nickname, even when people I like call me that. I repress my frustration and frantic state as I shake Lewis' hand. I've gone from dead tired to dangerously hyper in a matter of seconds. "Not quite. But I just got a special assignment," I explain. "You know that stuff that's all over the ground outside?" "Cigarettes and used condoms?" "No, on top of that. Randy wants me to interview the locals about the snow problem. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me? Snap some scared faces?" "Sure," Lewis agrees. "Let me just pick some good stuff out of here and run it to Terry." He disappears. "Maybe you could interview me too," Lewis says when he returns. "I don't know what the hell brought all this on." He follows me to my car. **** "Craziest thing. I woke up to the kids all crazy about it being cold and snowy." "I guess the best way I'd sum it up is to say 'I'm not used to this.' It's good to have a White Christmas—that is, if the snow's even here next Wednesday—but the last thing I expected when I woke up this morning was snow." "Move. I'm busy." By 11:00, I've got enough quotes to build a story around. The rest I can embellish in that special Leon Rollins way, capping it with a good catcher for the opening paragraph. I'm brainstorming ideas when Lewis puts a hand out to stop me."Hey Rabbit, think you got room for one more?" He's pointing at the Old Archton Coffee House, more specifically at an 18-year-old brunette who's leaning against the window. I shake my head. "I dunno, man. That's Cammi Marshall." Lewis looks at me funny. "What's your problem with Cammi Marshall?" "I wouldn't call it a problem. It's just, I don't think she's looking to give quotes if you know what I mean." "And why's that a problem?" "Oh, for God's sake Lewis, she's..." I'm about to say "young," but Lewis is already walking over. I trudge behind like his absentminded sidekick. Eighteen is fair game. I'm aware of that. Call me crazy, but maybe age deluded my hunter/gatherer sex drive. I'm 27 years old, and the idea of hooking up with a girl as young as Cammi just feels wrong. Cammi breaks out into a big, wicked smile. She tosses her hair back and pushes out her generous gifts as far as they'll go. "Hi, Cammi," I reluctantly greet her. Her eyes narrow and she bites her lip. Cammi's not dressed for a random December snowfall, with her tight top cut low enough to expose her cleavage and a little miniskirt that barely covers her crotch. Her protection against the cold is a jean jacket she's thrown over her exposed midriff and naval piercing. "Well hey there, Mr. Rollins," she says in a Southern accent. "How can I help ya'll?" "I'm doing a piece on the snow," I explain as fast as possible. "Do you have any thoughts on that?" "Mmm, well it sure is cold, ain't it?" She shivers as a fake reaction. Lewis grins. I roll my eyes. "Yeah, it sure is nippley," Lewis comments. I want to hit him. "Yeah," I agree with disdain. "It's cold. What do you think? Do you mind if I use my tape recorder?" "Oh, you can record me any way you want to, Mr. Rollins," Cammi replies, tasting her finger. "But how about we go someplace nice and warm to talk about it more?" "Hey, she's got a point," Lewis says. "I wouldn't mind— "—the coffee shop," I interrupt. Cammi looks disappointed. The 'warm place' she wants to go is her parents' house. "Alright," she says. "I'm gonna order me something to warm me up!" We go inside. She orders a mocha, making sure to throw in a "gosh, I sure do love hot stuff in me" before I get some goddamned quotes out of her. Cammi makes sure to brush against Lewis as she leaves. His expression tells me she has his approval in a way I'd rather not know. Lewis tsks-tsks. "You see the way she did that?" "Oh I did." "Between you and me, I think Cammi's got a thing for dark meat." I smile in spite of myself. "Did you see the way she looked at me? I don't want to disappoint you, but I don't think she's picky about her 'meat,' Lewis." He grins. "Why would I be disappointed?" **** Nobody's at home. There's an unspoken agreement between Jen and I that she call or text before visiting. Although I rarely have plans, she always gives me prior notice. That way there's no misunderstandings or disappointments before she drops a toddler on my floor. I've got the story worked out, and common sense tells me to finish it up; it won't take long. Instead, I fall in my favorite chair and relax. I'll start work after I stop being cold. Cold, hungry and thirsty, that is. I wonder if one of those flavored waters are still in the fridge. Those energy shots don't live up to their promise of 'no caffeine crash.' I'm so woozy that one could call me drunk. I could soak in a hot bath. Or zap a frozen mini-pizza. Or... I check my phone, just to ensure there's no text from Jen. Then it's off to my room to rummage through the 'special box.' I had this same 'special box' in college. Its contents have dwindled over the years. Jen's anti-porn stance forced me to eBay out most of my stash. But I held onto a few DVDs and magazines that Jen wasn't aware of. One in particular catches my attention: Forbidden Sorority Initiations 3. There's a barely-legal blonde on the cover, her hair done up in pigtails. She has a finger in her mouth and a look on her face halfway between innocent and naughty. She's surrounded by other equally aged women who are either scantily-clad or topless. The case is heavy in my hand. This is the same DVD I watched with Summer. I tend to avoid delving into anything that reminds me of that night. It brings up too many memories and unanswered questions. Plus, this 'naïve college freshman' theme reminds me of my run-in with Cammi, and how getting pleasure from an 18-year-old in any way would violate my scruples. Should I? Should I not? A short time later, I'm watching the barely-legal blonde being given a tour of a sorority house. Her guide is an attractive redhead. "This is such a nice house!" the blonde comments. "I know," the redhead replies. "You'll love pledging Et Mi Pi." Her eyes narrow. Her voice drops. "But there's...an initiation involved." The blonde is all too eager to join. "What kind of initiation? Oh, I'll do anything!" "Really?" the redhead replies, her voice growing husky, hunger overtaking her. "Anything?" A taller, dark-haired girl enters the frame. The others double-team the blonde. One slips a hand up the blonde's white blouse. The other plants kisses along the blonde's neck. My phone vibrates. I check it. It's not Jen calling, but Randy. Randy calling me on a Friday night means "kiss your Saturday goodbye, Leon." Summer's Warmth: A Winter Reunion I pause the DVD and answer the call. "Hello?" "Leon?" No shit. Who else would it be? "Yes sir?" "Got a special assignment for you. You up to the task?" No. No, I am not. I have one story to write for the Sunday Edition and that's it. Sorry, it's very cold and I'm tired. Fuck you very much. "Sure. No problem." "We got us an author dropping into town," Randy says. "Dirk Frierson. You heard of him?" "Can't say that I have, sir." "Well, he's gonna be doing a little book signing, presentation thing at the library tomorrow night. I'll e-mail you the flyer. That workable for you?" No. "I'm on it." "Oh, and in the meantime..." "Right, the snow story. It's already halfway done." "I'm sure." "Later, sir." "Goodbye, Leon." Son of a bitch! **** My evening drags on in perpetual loneliness. The surprise Saturday assignment won''t be too tough, but its randomness has killed my sex drive. Forbidden Sorority Initiations 3 has been returned to its container as I help myself to 22 minutes of ridiculous Sicily stories and four grannies insulting each other. Daylight Savings has brought on early darkness. Outside, the snow falls in flurries. Since cold and shitty weather affects my energy level, I'm drained. A knock on my door jumps me awake. I squint, wondering who could be visiting me this late. I stumble to the door on tired legs. There's another knock. "I'm coming," I grumble. "Just..." I open the door, revealing Jen. Snow clings to her brown hair and winter armor. Behind her, the wind howls like an injured animal. "May I come in?" Jen asks. I step aside. "Sure." She removes her mittens. "Sorry. I know I usually call, but something told me to drop by." I close the door. "Where's Kara?" "Found her a babysitter," Jen smiles. "Not Cammi," I state rhetorically. "Yes, Cammi. What's your problem with her, anyway?" "Just her job performance." Jen shrugs. "Everything's always fine when I get home. Kara's been bathed, fed, and put to sleep." "Bathed, fed and put to sleep fast so Cammi can bring over a 'friend,'" I rebuttal. "Never caught any 'friends' leaving whenever I got there," Jen argues back. "Because it's Cammi," I say. "She's like clockwork. Assembly line." Jen chuckles. "Like you'd complain if she invited you over." She stops my counterargument with a kiss. Pregnancy was kind to Jen. Her figure quickly returned, and she doesn't look any different than our first meeting. If I were to picture this Jen walking into that laundry room, it would be the same image. She's still two inches taller than me. Her fresh and youthful has that little freckle northwest of her nose. Her hair is shorter, stopping at her shoulders instead of flowing down her back. We divorced because we got tired of each other. Sharing the same space worsened until we could no longer stand it. We had to split for Kara's sake; we didn't want her growing up in a house where mommy and daddy were always harboring ways to kill each other. But whenever Jen kisses me this way, slow and patient, drawing out the moment, I suffer a memory lapse. I forget about the fights and the tension; I wonder why we ended our marriage. She takes my hand and we walk. I remember the bridal suite in Mexico City on our wedding night, and the bride herself, then eight months pregnant. Jen strips her shirt off. I get rid of my pants. She removes hers. My own shirt goes. Her bra falls along with it. We used to do this as a game Jen called "Hurry N Go." We're both nude when we reach the shower. Jen's tits are large and milky white. Her aureole are light pink color variations that take up under half of each mound. Her actual nipples are tiny, no bigger than ant bites. She's always shaved her pussy, and what's always struck me is how small her twat is in height and width. The hospital staff must have thought along the same lines, as Jen's C-section scar can attest. She has the scar covered with a tattoo, a phoenix with red, fiery wings that makes the affliction difficult to spot. She tests the water and steps under it. I follow suit. There's not much room in the tub/shower ensemble, but we won't be in here long. Jen presses a palm into my chest, guiding me to the far shower fall. It's ice cold against my back. She kneels and then spits on my hard cock, spits on her hand, and takes me into a warm, inviting mouth. She's had plenty of oral experience, with me and others. She knows her way around a cock, mine especially. She's fine-tuned to my rhythm and makes expert use of her tongue, dividing attention between my glans, shaft, corona, and balls. Jen is also good enough to almost deep throat, but never mastered it. She sucks a while, using her tongue whenever my cock is in her mouth. She pops it out, strokes it, and licks around the shaft before repeating the process. And she does the one thing that always drives me wild whenever I get head: she stares up at me. It's hard to resist blowing it with that doe look of hers, especially when she's flicking my opening with her tongue. Her eyes are naturally shaped into slits, and it doesn't take any effort to make her face arousing. I hear slurping and sucking under the stream's fall. I cradle her wet head. Testosterone spills into my bloodstream. My balls tighten. An orgasm looms. "Jen..." I moan. She plops my dick out of her mouth. "Oop!" The finger in her cheek tells me shes tastes pre-cum. Jen isn't averse to swallowing, but the blowjob is only the warmup. I stride to my bed. Behind me, the shower shuts off. It doesn't take long for a naked Jen to appear. Anticipation is another part of the game. By the time she's strolled over to the bed, pushing out those big tits, stopping to dip a finger in her pussy and taste herself, my dick is throbbing. I've never had a problem with cumming too early, but in this routine we always avoid that pratfall by prolonging penetration. Jen straddles either side of my face. In addition to her tits, she's been blessed with a clit that's so vulnerable, she prefers I tease, kiss and suck the rest of her twat before attacking her bud. Otherwise, flicking her clit throws off her orgasm. Once I've kissed and licked every inch of her pussy and run in every direction through her inner folds, all it takes is a few seconds on her clit to make her cum. Sticky juices coat my face in the aftermath of Jen's orgasm. Her scent intoxicates me, driving me wild. She savors her climax, doing smaller grinds and juts to stretch it out. She slides away. My cock is at full-mast, veiny, threatening to explode without any input. Jen reaches over, giving me a side glimpse of her curvy ass as she fumbles through my nightstand. She pulls out a condom. I never have special visitors, so I buy protection primarily for her. She's on the pill, but in our current situation we'd rather avoid another pregnancy. Another thing Jen has perfected is the art of applying condoms with her mouth. Watching Jen do this is as stimulating as her blowjobs. She puckers the unwrapped condom in her lips and lowers herself onto my shaft, lingering a moment before ascending. Then she pinches the reservoir tip and straddles my cock. Pleasure surges through me as I'm enveloped by Jen's pussy. She slowly sinks onto all my six inches, then bucks and grinds. Although I'm average-sized, that miniscule twat makes me feel like I'm defying physics. Jen cums again. It's not uncommon for her to get off four or five times when we fuck. That's a perk of being a woman. After I've blown my load I have at least a 20 minute recovery time. Not Jen. Jen grinds wildly as I push up my pelvis to meet her movements. She moans and curses and cums and cums some more. Her gaze fills with a deep, longing need and she throws her head back. Her tits fly up and down with every movement. My stamina holds steady, but my control wanes. To counter that, my mind wanders. Abstract thoughts keep me occupied while Jen and I continue grinding and thrusting as one. Soon a familiar build begins. Jen is covered in sweat, and despite her animalistic desires, is slowing down. I let loose, struck by an orgasmic lightning bolt. I grimace and groan. As pleasure continues its rampage, my cum meets the latex barrier with several thumps. Jen slows to a stop but doesn't dismount until the condom is full. We cuddle under my ceiling light. I leave the condom on, letting my cock soften inside of it. I mentioned my mind wandering. It always drifts to the same place when I'm with Jen, serving as a good safeguard against cumming but disturbing me all the same. When our frantic rutting fills the air with screams, moans and pussy scent, there's always a moment or two where I'm in love with her again, where I wonder if we could start over anew, try dating again, maybe remarry. I return to those blissful days when we were dating and those precious, happy few months of marriage before all went sour. The sex brings those memories and possibilities into my head, but after I've cum my rationality recalls that hellish living situation. We cuddle a few minutes more, and then Jen gets up. She stretches, emphasizing her naked, spent body with its flushed face, neckline and tits. "I guess I need to go home now," she says. "Maybe you'll catch Cammi in the act," I woozily respond. "Will you be okay?" Jen asks. She always asks me this before she leaves. It baffles me, frankly. I always have the same answer. "Yeah, I'll be fine." She gives me a quick kiss and then leaves my room. A few moments pass as she gathers up her clothes, and then the front door opens and closes. I lie back in bed, exhausted and ready to call it a night. The nagging thoughts rush back. What if there's a chance? No, Leon. No. It's just sex. Sex scrambles the mind. I'm still dwelling on this tangled problem when I fall asleep. **** I'm on the littered street again. It's the same setting as before with one key difference: instead of that strange transition into snowy blacktop, the storefronts form a cul-de-sac. "Hey." A female voice nearly throws me out of my shoes. The street's opposite direction ends at a large courtyard that's walled by old European architecture. There's a big square block in the courtyard's center. Sitting atop it is a young woman. When I walk closer, she hops off the block and meets me halfway. The girl's appearance throws me. She's in her early 20's at most. Her brown eyes, brown hair and girlish face make her look almost—no, exactly like Ellen Page. "Who are you?" I ask. The girl shrugs. "I have lots of names." "Can I call you Ellen or Juno?" I'm half-joking. "Not if you want to keep living, Leon," the girl scowls. "Y-you know my name?" "Is it that surprising? You've been here twice, Leon. People don't get to wander through here without my permission." The girl climbs back onto the large block. "And where's here?" I ask. "You're pretty good with observation," she replies. "Look around and I'll give you a guess." I do. The first thing I notice is that her 'block' is a huge clock. Its face is of antique craftsmanship with roman numerals. I peer up at not-Ellen Page. "How many guesses do I get?" "Oh, just out with it," she snaps. "Alright, I'm guessing this is some point outside reality and you're some kind of time guardian goddess something-or-other." "Well, you're half-right," she says more politely. She drops and steps backwards to view the clock face. "I'm more of a guardian goddess something against time paradoxes. You can call me Para." "Nice to meet you, Para...doxes, huh?" "Yep," she acknowledges. "Leon, you understand the implications of a time paradox, right?" I shrug. "Depends on the source." "Okay, well, let's go with the Doctor Emmett Brown school of paradoxes. As in the universe being destroyed if the space-time continuum gets confused?" "And your job is to prevent them." Para chuckles. "My job, is to sit on my ass until there's a problem." I raise an eyebrow. "And I take it there's a problem now?" "There could be," Para replies. "What does that have to do with me?" I want to know. Para is quiet a moment. "She's coming back." "Who?" Para rolls her eyes. "Come on. You know who, Leon." The revelation slugs my chest. "Summer." I follow Para as she walks toward the street. "But wait, how does that cause a paradox? There has to be time-travel or parallel universes collapsing for that to happen, right?" "I didn't say it would Leon," Para responds. "First I have to figure out if it will or won't." "That doesn't answer my question, though." "Well maybe I don't feel like answering it!" she retorts with such fire that I lose a step. Para holds up her hands. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I-it's just this has never happened and now it's crunch time for me. You spend, untold millenniums sitting on your stupid clock and all of a sudden the bell rings and it's not a drill." I don't know whether to pity her or keep asking questions. I go for a mild one. "You said Summer's coming back. When?" Para looks toward the sky. "By my estimation? Three days, starting now. Expect to see the countdown and understand what it means." "Why three days?" I ask. "Why not now?" Para shakes her head. "It's not that simple. As for me, I'm glad it's three whole days. I need to plan." She turns toward me. "But right now? You need to wake up." 02:15:49:09 [2 days, 15 hours, 49 minutes, 9 seconds] I'm not used to lucid dreams. Normally I'd describe them as a blend of faces and noises that leave my memory the second I'm awake. But in this case I remember everything: not-Ellen Page, the giant clock, and the talk of paradoxes. Para—that's what not-Juno called herself—mentioned Summer, and that Summer was coming back. Normally I'd wave it off as a twisted mental concoction, except I've dreamt of that same place already. "You've been here twice," Para said. Two dreams about the same weird world. Clarification that I've 'visited' twice. Something's off. I look at the white apocalypse outside my bedroom window. It reminds of that morning when I woke up and Summer was gone. 02:14:30:07 I do a Google and Amazon search for Dirk Frierson. He's 42, a decade-and-a-half my senior, and started his career as a writer of illustrated children's books. After his forth work he suddenly switched to the supernatural, a subject that now dominates his bibliography. Amazon's official reviews laud him as "the Ghostspert." Not a Ghostspert but the Ghostspert. He'll get a nice crowd in Archton. I phone his publicist and set up an interview an hour before Dirk's presentation, which gives me enough room for several good quotes. I'll have to stick around for the show in order to pad out the rest. The Report will probably send Lewis to get snapshots. 02:05:00:13 Dirk arrives right on time. We find an empty round table near the back. He's a lot older looking than 42. There are patches of light blond but the rest of his head is gray. He's working on a widow's peak. He has wrinkles that mostly show when he smiles. I have my old tape recorder and my notepad on me. "You don't mind if I record us, do you?" "Not at all!" he beams. "Long as you don't play it back right now. I hate the sound of my voice." I smile, look at my list of prepared questions and begin. It starts with the usual preliminaries: what's your name? What do you do? Where were you educated? What got you into writing? When did you get started? What's your book about? 'Is publishing a book difficult?' After this I can ask more in-depth questions. "So you wrote children's books for a while and you were very successful. Why the change?" "Oh, what lies beyond's always fascinated me for one," he answers. "For another I felt it was time for a change." "Have you ever seen an actual ghost?" "I have, actually." That intrigues me. "Really? When?" "Twelve years ago," he plainly recalls. "Twelve...? But you've been writing ghost books for..." I check my notes. "...four years. This happened eight years before that?" "Damndest thing I've ever seen," he replies. "Sir, this is good stuff," I say honestly. "If you don't mind, could you explain it further?" "I was a single man," he recalls, "living on my own. Saw her on my way back from a get-together." "Her?" "Yep. Young woman. Early to mid-20's maybe." "What happened?" "I watched her walk down the street. She turned, smiled and me, and vanished in front of me. I hadn't turned away. She was a pretty thing. Striking pretty thing." "Wow. Have there been any other encounters like that?" Something comes over him. Distress? A sore spot? "No, but...I've heard plenty from others, enough to fill up four..." Then he drops whatever else he's about to say. I get an inexplicable chill. "Alright Mr. Rollins, you're a nice fellow," he says. "I'm gonna tell you a secret. But if you would, could you stop the recorder?" I comply by hitting pause. "It's stopped." "My first supernatural book was called Moon Nymphs. That's what I called her. Call them. Y'see, I didn't just watch that girl vanish. She walked up to me. I took her home. I, hope you don't mind my frankness but I was a virgin. No other woman since was quite like her. Not a one. Not even my wife. We were together all night, she and I...but when I woke up the next day, she was gone. Not a note left, nothing." The chill becomes a full-on freeze. My eyes widen. My fingers twitch. "It hadn't been a dream," Dirk continues. "There was clear evidence she'd been there. At first I thought it was a typical one-nighter. We'll have a good time, but don't call me in the morning, that sort of thing. But no one in town had ever seen her before. No one saw me talking to her or picking her up. It was a small town, small enough that everybody knew everybody. Anyway, when I started on ghosts I heard lots of stories from men and women who claimed people laid down with them in the night and then disappeared. And there was always one telling detail." "What...telling detail would that be?" "They'd appear with unusual weather. Heavy rain, sandstorms, snow." "Snow," I whisper. He goes on. "That night I met this girl it was raining like God's punishment. It was because of her that I wrote Moon Nymphs. Of course I left my own account out of it. It's too personal." I gulp. Might as well. "Sir...something like that..." The timer on my cellphone goes off. "Oh. It's time for your presentation." I unpause the recorder. "I-is there...anything else you'd like to say?" The somber reflection leaves him and he grins. "Just that it's a pleasure to be here in your town, and I hope people enjoy the new book as much as I did writing it." 02:03:57:13 After the presentation I head to my car. Dirk Frierson's story has shaken me to my very center and I need to think. Outside, small flurries are drifting again. "Wait!" Dirk runs up to me. Want to grab a drink or two?" "I wish, but I can't," I decline. "I've got business at home." "Oh." Dirk reaches in his pocket. "Well, I'll give this to you here, then." He hands me a small round object, a little bigger than a fifty cent piece. It's colored gold and bronze and there are strange carvings on it. "What's this, sir?" I ask, turning it in my fingers. "I picked it up from a fellow during one of my travels," Dirk explains. "Never could figure out what it was even with all my research. But I want you to have it, as a token of my appreciation and our friendship." Summer's Warmth: A Winter Reunion I smile, pocket the thing and shake Dirk's hand. "I'll treasure it. And I'll give you a great writeup." His grip is firm. "Good luck with everything, my friend." With that, we part ways. I quickly get in my car and crank the engine. I put the round object in my cup holder and peel out. 02:01:12:14 The first step is transcribing the interview. With a tape recorder it's much easier to quote the subjects word for word. I rewind the recorder, then stop it. There's significantly less tape remaining than I thought. I rewind it a little and press 'play.' "...raining down like God's punishment. It was because of her that I..." Shit. Apparently hitting 'pause' didn't stop the tape. I go back further. "...saw me talking to her or picking her up...." Yep, I've definitely captured Dirk Frierson's secret confession. I rewind the interview to the beginning and leave the forbidden part out of the transcript. But as I build the story, writing important background information and inserting quotes where they're appropriate, I leave the recorder playing. Y'see, I didn't just watch that girl vanish. She walked up to me. I took her home... I roll the weird coin in my hand and continue typing with the other. We were together all night, she and I...but when I woke up the next day, she was gone. Not a note left, nothing... It's unlikely that Summer was a 'moon nymph.' In all probability she's as she appeared: a girl who got fucked and left at dawn. Still, it's unusual for this part of the country to ever get snow, and that muchbesides. They'd appear with unusual weather. Heavy rain, sandstorms, snow... I'm arguing with myself. It's a coincidence. But Dirk described an exact replica of my meeting with Summer. But that still means nothing. I curse and hastily delete stream-of-consciousness about Summer from the document. That night I met this girl it was raining down like God's punishment... I stop the recorder and pull out the tape. The room is so cold that I wrap a blanket around myself. My small house has fallen into an odd, eerie quiet where I hear nothing but snow hitting the windows. The story's nearly done. I type a couple more paragraphs and then read the article over from the beginning, fixing and tweaking whatever I need. Halfway through the reread, I walk to the living room window that looks over the backyard. Snowflakes fall in droves. "Are you out there?" I whisper to the darkness. I wait a moment. When there's no response, I return to the computer. After another half hour of typing I do another read and a spell-check. What I have is suitable enough. 01:16:58:43 "Leon," Randy greets me, "do you know a Mrs. Fara Jenkins?" I almost cringe at the thought. "Yes sir. She's my next door neighbor." "Well, she called the paper. She's worried about her cats out in all this snow. Who better than you, her ol' neighbor?" I fake a smile. "I'll get right on it!" Shit. Fara Jenkins and her fucking cats. Animal Control's already been to her place at least twice. I've chased her beasts off my car and property dozens of times. If it's my job to interview her about those little monsters, we'll conduct it outside. God only knows how that house smells. In the meantime I conduct extra research. Dirk's recording plays over and over in my mind. Curiosity leads me to Amazon, where I search for Moon Nymphs. Sure enough, there's a cheap Kindle Edition. I do a one-click delivery. I pull out my Kindle, which I've brought to work with me. This one has a 3G connection, so I don't have to ask anyone for the wireless password. Moon Nymphs almost instantly appears in my collection. "Uh oh, Rabbit's reading for pleasure at work," Terry says in a sing-song voice. "Not really," I respond. "Just getting something I ordered is all." "Well don't let Randy catch you with that," Terry warns. I look around. Randy's disappeared into his own office. 01:05:07:29 God, she smells like cats, as in cat piss. I survived the interview without asking one burning question: "how the hell can you live this way!?" I take a shower and throw on clean clothes. I check my phone and find no calls or texts from Jen. That's good. It means I get to be alone with the book. I skip over the acknowledgments, skim Dirk's introduction, and start reading. Moon Nymphs is a collection of short stories, with Frierson's observations sandwiched between each one. Every story has the same framework: guy or girl meets girl or guy, sex is involved, and then the one-night stand ends with a mysterious disappearance. The one sign that it was a 'Moon Nymph' is always weird weather the local meteorologist never predicted, like rain, hail, and in the third story, an eclipse. As if to emphasize my growing weird feelings, the wind howls. The snowstorm got particularly brutal toward the interview's end, and I was thankful for it. I was sick of Jenkins and her cats. The bluster peaks my curiosity. I open the Kindle's toolbar. Don't do it, my conscience begs me. I'm apprehensive, but my hands work before my uneasy gut feelings stop me. I open the search bar. I type 'Summer Madison' with the onscreen touchpad, making four mistakes in my haste. The Kindle starts to search. Results. There are results. There's an entire chapter at location 2390. "Summer's Warmth," it's called. I start reading. "Her name was Summer Madison," he told me. As we sat on his pool deck, sipping his wife's homemade lemonade, he described her to me. Oh my God. Oh my holy Christ Jesus God. I'm so shocked that I stand up. I wander, clutching the Kindle, scanning, reading. My heart races. ...met her at a college party... ...was vague about her past... ...was dressed rather unusually for the weather, a blazing blizzard that had come out of nowhere... I back into my bookcase, knocking several volumes to the floor. I'm breathing heavily. My palms are swampy floods. "...She was everything I'd ever wanted for a first time..." "...I was naked, the sheets were tangled, and her scent lingered in the room..." Fleeting blackness overpowers me. 00:21:14:36 "Not just your ordinary recurring dream anymore, is it?" Para asks. I'm trembling. "You again." "And you again. Where the hell else would I go?" "Never mind that!" I protest. "The book, Para. I typed her name. It showed. She really is coming back, isn't she?" "She is," Para clarifies. "And she's, what, a ghost? One of these Moon Nymphs?" "It's better to ask her," Para says. "Great," I grumble. Para stares inquisitively. "Why are you so angry, Leon? Isn't this what you've always wanted? To see her again? To get answers?" "Yeah, but..." "...but you're confused," she answers for me, "and impatient. And you need your answers right now. Kind of like me and my problem." "Right," I remember, "your time paradox thing. Can you explain something? If, I mean when, Summer comes back, how is meeting her supposed to cause a time paradox?" "It's not your reunion with her that's the problem, Leon. It's what could happen after," Para replies. "What do you...? Oh, right. You can't tell me." Para sighs. "Look. I apologize for confusing you. I'll tell you what's going on when the time's right. I'd rather not say anything until I'm sure things are solid. Can we leave it there?" She holds out her hand. We shake it on it. "Deal," I agree. "I won't bring it up again." I'd like to, though I change the subject anyway. "So Para, is this is all you ever do?" "Let me think...giant clock. Guardian of time paradoxes. You're calling me 'Para,' out of. Yes. That's all I ever do. It's all I've ever done. There was literally nothing before this." "Do you enjoy this line of work?" Para is taken aback by the question. "Wow. No one's ever asked me that." "How many people have ever been here?" I wonder. "It's more interesting than you'd probably realize, Para says. "When you have as much time on your hands as I do—heh, time, no pun intended—there's lots of room to think. About life, the universe, everything." "I'm guessing the answer's not 42. Here's another question: can you see into the future?" "No," she replies. "But I can see the past and the present. And I can see where past events influence the present. If the slightest thing changes, the whole structure of everything either rearranges or tumbles down, a great cataclysmic Jenga puzzle. That's why it isn't boring. I have feeds on every event that's ever happened on Earth." "I'm sure you're not bored, then." "Not really." "But aren't you lonely?" She's surprised again. "What?" "Lonely," I reiterate. "Aside from the people you're always watching, am I the only one who's ever been here, talking to you?" "Yeah." "Wow. I'm sorry." "Sorry for what?" "For me," I answer. "I'm always bitching and moaning about my own situation, calling myself lonely." "Even though you've got an ex-wife and a child between the two of you?" "Well, yeah, except you might have noticed that they're not exactly the best company. But I hear your story and I...well, you understand." Para smiles. "I think I understand why she's coming back." Now it's my turned to be confused. "What?" "You've got a good heart, Leon." Para gets off her clock and takes my hands into hers. "And I am lonely. I can watch and study the world as much as I want. There's still some things I don't understand." "What kinds of things?" I ask. I have an idea about where this is going. I smile. "You've still got a while before you need to wake up," Para whispers in my ear. "I do?" "And no attachments," Para reminds me. "You're single and free." She leans in for a kiss. I lean in as well. 00:19:52:12 Snow slams into the living room window, startling me awake I'm on the floor, where I apparently fainted. The Kindle landed safely beside me. During my bout of unconsciousness the e-reader went into 'sleep mode.' I don't find any damage. I, on the other hand, am in serious pain. Aside from the blow the back of my head took, my joints are strained and achy from the hardwood floor. I manage to stand. Clutching my ailing back, I stagger toward bed. My pants have tightened. Under normal circumstances, this hard-on would receive immediate attention. But it's past 3:00 AM and I've got work in the morning. I fall into my empty bed and for the next couple hours, struggle to go back to sleep. The wind ferociously roars. Not just your ordinary recurring dream anymore, is it? Is that wind Summer, calling out to me the only way she can? 00:11:27:14 I didn't dream about Para again. Too bad. My nerves could have been calmed by sex with Ellen Page. This entire morning has been a struggle to do, well, anything. Over coffee I read the rest of "Summer's Warmth," and wouldn't you know it, it didn't calm me down. Dirk's interview subject had my Summer's mannerisms down 100%. It's the same Summer Madison. I have no doubt of that whatsoever. How can I describe my feelings? My emotions are so jumbled up and Boy Scout knot complicated it's impossible to pick one from the clusterfuck. I'm excited that Summer is coming back. I'm terrified that there are spirits in this world and that I lost my virginity to one. I'm apprehensive about what meeting Summer under these circumstances means for me, and what could happen to me. I'm curious about Para's mystery dilemma. I'm debating over whether to tell Jen any of this. I've returned to the coffee shop, which boasts the best lunch counter and sub sandwiches in town. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Lewis observes. "If you only knew the half of it, Lewis," I respond. I take a badly needed bite out of my Italian Sub. "You wanna talk about it?" I shake my head. "I dunno, Lewis. It's a hell of a story." "You in some kind of trouble?" he asks worriedly. "Trouble? No, not trouble." "Alright, all this suspense is messing with my head," Lewis says. "Now you have to tell me. Otherwise I won't be able to quit bugging you about it." I gather my courage. "Lewis, remember when we talked about our college days, and how I met this girl at a party, took her back to my dorm, and said hello to manhood?" "Summer?" "Yeah, her...name, was Summer." I exhale. "Well, I just found out some stuff." "What kind of 'stuff?'" "Lewis..." I look at him with eyes that plead for him to take me seriously. "...what if I told you that Summer was a ghost?" "A ghost? Then I'd ask you to explain it better." I explain everything: Dirk Frierson, Moon Nymphs, the Summer Madison chapter. He insists I'm lying. I let him read my Kindle. "And she's coming back?" Lewis asks. "That's what I've been led to believe." "You're sure this isn't something you need to see a doctor over?" "I'm not sure about that at all, actually." "Maybe you should discuss this with your psychologist girlfriend," Lewis suggests. "Okay, first of all, she's not my girlfriend. Second, she's not my psychologist. And third, I don't think that'd be a good idea, Lewis." "Why not? What are you worried about? Jealously? You said she's not your girlfriend." "I know. It just doesn't feel right." Nearby giggling makes us both turn. Sitting at a small table are Jess Callahan and a girl I've never seen. They're holding hands and staring at each other in a fascinated way. They continue giggling as they leave. "Speaking of not right," Lewis mutters. "What do you mean?" "That pretty redhead, Jess Callahan. What do you know about her?" "I know her mom is pretty famous for her erotica," I say. "I see Jess in town during holidays. Why?" "I heard a rumor about her," Lewis says. "Something wrong." "Wrong? They looked like lesbians. That's not something I'd call strange." "Not what I meant," Lewis says. "I've heard other things." "Now I'm in suspense." "Between you and me, something's going on in her family. The women, they do things that sisters, mothers, daughters shouldn't do with each other." I finish a sip of Sprite. "You mean, incest?" "Lesbian incest." I shake my head. "You're nuts, Lewis. But thanks. Now I feel better." He chuckles. "How's that?" "I'm not the craziest one sitting here." 00:04:49:35 I drive slow. The roads are iced over, and the storm doesn't help. I was going to replace my wiper blades after Christmas, but I should have done it much earlier. The blades just turn my windshield into a sludge painting. Jen texted me before I left work. She's at the house with Kara, which means I need to hurry home to play The Game of Nuclear Family. Still, this storm is no comedy special. When I first met Summer, it was snowing. Now I'm booked to meet Summer again, and it's snowing like a frozen hell. I suppose if Moon Nymphs are tied to weird weather, blizzards are Summer's signature pattern. Why, I wonder? What's the significance? 00:01:32:05 Kara is finally asleep. Now Jen and I are alone, our bodies tangling and meshing under the sheets. I've just entered her missionary; her big tits quiver with each thrust. Normally I'd be giving it my all, but something's different tonight. Part of it's the whole Summer thing, and the fact that I haven't told Jen the truth. I hate holding back information. To me it has the same impact as a cruel lie. Except I'm not in a 'relationship' with the woman who's writhing under me. She has her need-to-knows and I have mine. We're just friends with benefits, nothing more. Or are we? "You alright, Leon?" "Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She's caught on. It's impossible to fool this psychologist; I know that from experience. My rhythm must be off. Normally I can give Jen an exhausting fucking. I try to get back into it, save face. "No, something's definitely up," Jen says. I stop thrusting. "No, I'm good. I swear." "Okay, Leon..." Jen moves, breaking us apart. She props herself on an elbow; in the darkness, her milky tits hang downward by gravity. "What's on your mind?" There's no escaping this. There's no way out. "Just thinking." "Thinking about what?" "Do I need to give you my insurance card?" "Come on, Leon," Jen insists. "I don't want to leave this a problem. Let's just talk it out so we can move on." "Move on." I gulp. "Okay...here's what's bothering me, Jen. You and I are divorced. You come over here and you bring the baby, which is fine. But then you put the baby to sleep, and we come in here and I fuck you. I'm just, I'm starting to wonder, what it all means." "What do you mean 'what it all means?' I thought it was sex." "I know it's sex," I exclaim, getting frustrated, "but I can't help, but, wonder..." "Wonder?" "Wonder if..." "Just say it, Leon." "I wonder if it means you want to get back together. And, and I guess..." There. I said it, at least part of it. The rest is impossible. "So the sex is confusing you?" Jen asks in disbelief. I shrug. "If that's the word you want to use." "Leon, we split for a reason." I grimace at the ugly memories. "I remember." "Well, it was a nightmare for both of us. It taught me a pretty harsh lesson, and I'd rather not risk dating, or marrying again." "But the sex is fine?" I ask. Jen sits up. "The sex, Leon, was the only good thing that was still left. I, thought you felt that way too. So I was bringing it over, for what I figured was a favor for both of us. I...I guess I figured wrong." She gets off the bed and collects her clothes. I stand as well. "Jen, wait. Don't go." Jen reapplies her bra and slides her panties back on. "I think I should," she says with some detected resentment. She continues getting dressed. "I'll keep bringing Kara over, butt we shouldn't do this anymore. It's going to hurt us." Fully dressed, Jen walks to the door, but then stops. "Or hurt you, rather." Jen storms out. 00:01:21:09 The front door slams shut. I throw a pillow over my face, intent on sleeping the rest of this terrible night away and starting Christmas Eve afresh. I'm also anxious to see Summer again. Sleep takes me by the hand and I start fading into a peaceful black. Clattering and clamoring from the kitchen, followed by a child's "uh oh!" forces me awake. Goddamnit. No. Jen left Kara here. Not only did she leave Kara here, Jen woke her up, put her down, and dumped the burden on me. I curse and grumble as I dress in the dark. Then I rush outside to deal with Hurricane Kara. Sure enough she's in the kitchen, sitting amongst a pile of fallen plastic bowls and containers. "Stuff fell," she explains. I clutch my forehead, already suffering a mean headache. "I see that," I say carefully. "Kara, it's late. You should go back to bed." "Don't want to go to bed. Want to play." "You can play all you want in the morning, okay?" How can I describe this? She folds her arms, inhales a lungful of air, trembles, throws her head back and screams "PLAAAAAY!" like the most frightening and nameless creature from three levels beneath the ninth. "Alright, goddammit!" I snap. "Bad word." "Whatever. What do you want, Kara? Blocks?" "No." "A glass of milk?" "Nope." It's a kid. It's only a kid. Get a grip, Leon. Be patient. Summer's Warmth: A Winter Reunion "TV? Cartoons?" "Noooo," she sing-songs. My arms fall to my sides. "What then?" She grins at me. "Read to me." "Read?" She bounces like she's lit on fire. "Yay, a story!" I'm frustrated, but at the same elated. This is the first time Kara's ever asked me to read. What's changed, I wonder? "If I read you a story, will you go to sleep?" I ask. "Maybe," she replies in that sinister toddler way. "Okay. It's a deal, Kara. We'll go pick out and book..." 00:01:16:12 I wake up on the kitchen floor. Kara is shaking me, hysterical. "Daddy, daddy! Is daddy okay!?" I sit up. "What the hell?" "Daddy fell!" Kara almost screams. "I...did?" "Is daddy okay!?" Kara repeats. "Daddy's fine," I reply, not at all convinced that I am. "Call mama," Kara suggests. "There's no need to call mama," I assure her. "I just fell. Let's go pick out a book for you." Kara's mood is barely lightened as I take her back to her room. Halfway there, I stumble over. A blackout sweeps me away. I'm back just as quickly. "Daddy?" "Daddy's fine," I insist. Seriously though, what the hell is going on? Should I raid the fridge for an energy drink? No, I can't. Summer's coming. I have to be asleep for that. When Kara is safely behind her crib bars, I have another weird blackout. Then I select books off her shelf. "Oh, The Places You'll Go?" "Nope." I sigh. "The Polar Express?" "No." "The True Story of the Three Little Pigs?" "Nope." This game is old. I'd rather have Kara asleep before these blackouts get worse. "Alright, Kara. Name it and I'll read it." "Tell me a story!" Kara beams. I chuckle. "Seriously?" She grins and nods. I think a moment. Something comes to mind. Jen will be pissed. But Jen isn't here, is she? Jen has pissed me off to where I don't care. Screw it. "Alright, Kara." I clear my throat. "Once upon a time, there was this spaceship..." 00:00:58:11 "...and that, was when she not only discovered the company's plans for the monster and the crew, but that the android had gone rogue, and..." Kara is in a deep slumber. "Good night, Kara." I start walking away. 00:00:57:15 "What the hell!?" I demand. "Why do I keep falling asleep!?" "It's not me, Leon," Para explains. "It's the Time Nexus pulling you here. You keep waking up." I collect myself. "Could you, kindly ask the Time Nexus to hold on? It's scaring my kid to death, Para." "Doesn't work that way." "Oh, for God's..." 00:00:52:43 Cold water splashes my face. "What the, what!?" Kara bawls and stands over me. An empty glass is turned upside down in her hand. "Daddy's, sick!" she sobs and stammers. "Kara? Kara, how did you..." I examine her crib. The bars are scattered all over the floor. Holy shit. She finally did it. I survey the damage. Most of the bars can be fitted back in place. I repair the worst damage with duct tape. All the while, Kara cries and cries and worries over me. I put her back in her crib. "Kara, listen to me." She continues crying, but I have her attention. "Daddy's not sick, okay?" I tell her gently. "I'm just really, very tired right now. I've had a long week. I need to go to bed, and when I wake up, I'll be fine." Kara sniffles. "But you need to go to sleep too," I continue. "If you go to sleep then I can go to sleep. Okay?" Kara frowns and nods. "Do you want me to finish the story?" She shakes her head 'no.' "Okay." I sing. 00:00:04:27 By the time I reach my bed, I've fallen over and passed out three more times. "Just hang on," I told Para after the first blackout. "Just let me lie down." But then it happened again. And again. I collapse on my bed. 00:00:03:00 I'm Summer. Summer Madison. In the middle of the street, electrical currents crackle. A colorful maelstrom of clouds circle above my head. "How long?" I ask Para. "Two minutes, forty three seconds," she replies. I gulp as I witness the chaos. A walk in the snow wouldn't hurt anybody. "This is happening, isn't it?" "Two minutes, twenty seven seconds," Para says. As if to emphasize her point, the electricity intensifies and the wind whistles with the pitch of a tea kettle. I really hope you find what you're looking for. After Summer, there was graduation. There was Blowjob Girl. There was Handjob Girl. There was my job at the Report and my new moniker as 'Rabbit.' There was Jen, our marriage, our child, and our divorce. Seven years of milestones and major changes, yet I've spent of those years waiting for this moment, waiting to find out who Summer Madison was, where she came from, where she went after our night together, and hoping that I would see her again. A hand clasps my shoulders, making me jump. "Nervous?" Para asks. "A little," I reply. "You?" "Not as much." I can't see her face from this direction, but I feel like Para's smiling. Could you rub my back? The clouds explode and spread outward in a blinding glow. For a second, night disappears and becomes day. "What was that?" I ask Para. "A Dimensional Clash," Para says. "The Mortal Realm, the Time Nexus and the Beyond merged together." "Is she here?" "Not yet. Soon." "Give me an update?" "One minute, forty-nine seconds." You have a boner. Something else I always wondered was what I'd want if I ever saw Summer again. Nobody forgets their first. No matter how terrible or wonderful it is, no matter how fast or slow it goes, regardless of whether or not he/she stays after it's over, it's a special moment, bronzed and frozen in time, painfully out of reach. I've never known what I wanted more: to relive that first time, recapture that moment with her, fuck her...or ask the entire list of questions I started in my mind after it happened. Or maybe I want to be that dumb college kid again. Better yet, maybe I want to wake up in 1992. Why not start over from the first day of first grade? I would make amends for everything I didn't do. I would make better grades. I'd get out more instead of letting that chronic bout of social anxiety keep me a prisoner by choice. I'd let friends and family be my guides to the world, not comic books or video games or movies. I would graduate high school with a 4.0. I would graduate college with a 4.0. Instead of being content with working as Rabbit, I'd have my first novel on the market by age 23. If Jen and I met the same way, maybe I could prevent the fights, the tension, and the bitterness. I could save our marriage instead of letting it die. I want Summer Madison again. I want to spend another night with her. And I want to fix the mess I've made of my stupid life. I want so many things that I can't have because I didn't reach for them when I had the chance. Leon, I gotta ask. Are you a virgin? Para breaks me out of a trance. "She's closer. One minute, six seconds." Thunder claps and lighting bolts crash to the ground, slow at first but then faster and faster. In the midst of this, a miasma forms and shapes. "Leon," Para says, "that's the gateway." I'm too fixated on the theatrics, and the meaning behind them, to reply. Closer. The gateway. Summer. Summer is almost here. Do I really turn you out that much? The shape seems to have trouble figuring out what it wants to be. It lessens and smooths out into a vertical oval. Then it glows with a pulsating baby blue. Less tongue. That's where it stops. The wind, thunder and the lightning cease. Now there's silence. I stare, wide-eyed, at that gateway. One step at a time. Don't rush. The gate brightens. Don't you think you need a condom? Para touches my shoulder again. "Thirty seconds. I'll leave you to it." She walks away. It's shaved. I take two steps forward and stop. Does that feel good? Two more, and then I stop again. Fuck me. That's right. Come on. Fucking fuck me! The light is brighter now, intensifying by the second. I have to close my eyes. You were pretty backed up, huh Leon? There's an explosion. A wind current on a Cat-5 hurricane scale flies into me, strong enough that it knocks me down. I fall backwards, hitting the pavement hard. All I see is white, blinding white. And now you'll spend your first Christmas as a man. The wind gradually recedes until there's silence again. I know about rough times. Darkness. I open my eyes again. What does this mean to you? The light dissipates. 00:00:00:00 Summer Madison's blonde hair, still the same length, blows in the light breeze. She is silent, just looking at me with those familiar green eyes. I pinch myself. I don't wake up. "Summer?" I climb to my feet. Summer cracks a smile when I stand and walk toward her. I leak tears. "Summer." Her smile widens into a full one. "Leon," she responds. "Leon Rollins." I choke. "Summer." I'm close enough now that I can see she's crying too. "I found you," I force through sobs. "I spent, so much time, wishing I could...and I found you." We hug in a tight embrace. "I'm sure you have lots of questions," she whispers. "A billion," I weep. "Follow me." She breaks our hug and I trail behind her, in total disbelief, as she tries one of the storefront doors. "Do you have your key?" Summer asks. I notice that the door doesn't have a standard lock or knob. Instead, there's a key card slot, the same kind I used back at Hartland U. I reach in my jeans pocket. Amazingly, next to the object Dirk Frierson gave me is a keycard. I run it through the slot. There's a whirring sound and a click. The door opens. I glance down the street, toward the big courtyard. I see Para's silhouette, sitting on her clock. **** After the show earlier and Summer's reappearance, nothing should shock me anymore. Then I step into the room. It's an exact replica of my old college dorm room. There's my PC, which crapped out not long after I graduated. There's the Forbidden Sorority Initiations 3 case, sitting on my desk. There's my twin-sized bed with its dark blue comforter. There's my desk chair. There's the window. There's the carpet with its tiled design. I've traveled through time. Summer is dressed exactly as I last saw her: white puffer coat over an off-white thermal shirt, jeans, winter boots. plaid cotton mittens, a black toboggan, and eyeliner. She takes off her coat, hat and mittens, tossing them on the chair Then she sits on the old bed, resting her back against the wall. "Where should I start?" Summer asks. I pull the desk chair close to the bed. "Do you mind if I..." "No problem," Summer smiles. I move her winter attire to the floor and take a seat. Then I consider my options. Where do I want to start? After all this buildup, I still can't believe I'm in this situation. "Is your name Summer Madison?" I ask. She nods. "It is. Was." The was registers with me. I know she's a Moon Nymph. That makes the next questions easier to determine. "Where did you come from, Summer? What happened?" Without stopping to think about it, Summer begins. "I'm the thing that Dirk Frierson told you about. But we don't call ourselves Moon Nymphs. That's just the name he uses. Leon...I'm dead. I've been dead since December 24, 1998. I was 19 years old, on my way to see my parents, driving home from college. It was a long trip, and I'd been warned about the snowstorm. I was on a long country road. My cellphone battery was dead, but that wouldn't matter anyway." She sighs for the next part. Her tone darkens. "A deer ran in front of me. I slammed on brakes. The car skidded through the snow. It flipped. I was trapped underneath the wreck with broken bones. I couldn't move, couldn't call for help. When they found me, I'd died of exposure." As I visualize these horrible images, more tears come. "I'm so sorry, Summer." "After I died," Summer continues, "well, what you should know is that there is something beyond this. And there are options. I was offered a job." "As a Moon Nymph." "The proper word is 'Sexlin,'" Summer corrects. "We're sex fairies. We seek out men and women who need to get laid and we break through the Barrier to visit them." Her teal eyes captivate me. "And the people we visit are almost always virgins." "And I got picked?" I ask. "I picked you," Summer says. "After Jen stood you up, I saw that you were angry and frustrated. But I saw something else, too: your heart. I knew you needed something special. All I had to do was be at that party." Summer scoots forward. Memories of the body that lay underneath those clothes stirs my blood. Her thermal shirt is a size small for her. It shapes her breasts. "Do you remember what I said to you before we got to your building, Leon?" "I do," I answer. "You said, 'I hope you find what you're looking for.'" She shakes her head sorrowfully. "After we're done with our partners, we have to leave at dawn. That's why I was gone when you woke up, and why I didn't leave a note. I knew, Leon that you were going to get everything you wanted from me, but that your heart would break. I hated that more than anything. That's not how to treat good hearts." I sit on the bed. Summer moves closer to me. "You said you were 19," I recall. "If my math's right..." "I was 27," Summer answers. "Sexlins don't age. No one in the Afterlife does. I gave you that number to keep my story straight." "Why didn't you tell me the truth?" I'm not angry or accusing, just curious. "I's sort of against protocol," Summer replies, stretching out on her back. "I wanted to tell you the truth, but I didn't want to scare you, or make you think I was crazy." She lets out an infectious chuckle. I prop my head on an elbow. "Can I ask you something else?" "Mmm?" "The storms," I point out. Whenever these Moon Nymphs, Sexlins, visit people, there's always weird weather. In your case it's snow. Why is that?" "It's an effect of crossing the Barrier," Summer explains. "We all have our own signature weather pattern." "And you mentioned Jen," I point out. "I guess that means you know everything that's happened." Summer smiles and nods. "You're a father now." "I guess," I sigh. "Biologically, anyway." I look around the room again, continually amazed. "This room. Did you, do this, Summer?" "No, it's generated by your memories," Summer says. I walk over to my desk drawer. The DVDs are in the same order. The clothes in my college are arranged as I remember. The special box is under the bed. It's all exactly the same. "You know, it's weird," I say. "After seven years and everything that's happened, the one place I wanted to be was here." I turn to her. "This is the one place where, no matter how I might have felt, I was perfectly happy." "And that's why you're here," Summer says. She smiles warmly. "Leon, there's something else I have to tell you, too." "What's that?" I ask. She pats the bed, still smiling. I'm drawn back to her like a magnetic charge. I can't resist the opportunity to be with her again, in the same way that I couldn't resist her the first time. I retake my seat. She puts her arms around my neck, sending shivers through my body. "The reason I came back," Summer says with warmth and sincerity, "is because you're my favorite, Leon. There have been lots of guys since I became a Sexlin. But there was one thing you had that they didn't." "Yeah?" "A spark." We kiss. The fragrance of her hair and soft skin fills my nostrils. As our lips mesh and find a rhythm, I'm overwhelmed with emotion. All at once I'm happy, peaceful, and triumphant. Above all, I'm complete. My erection balloons to full mast. I want Summer again. I want to be inside her. I also want to hold her tight, relive every moment of that night through sex and closeness. I want love and the act of love. Our kissing heats up. We collapse on the comforter, she exerting forward and me falling. Her tongue finds mine and mine hers. I remember this taste; it's the sweetest candy. I stop to ask, "Summer, do you have to go again? When the dawn comes?" "There's no dawn here," Summer whispers. We fumble and kiss passionately. I guide her to the other end of the bed, where her head rests on the pillow. She hisses and moans as I plant kisses down her neck. I slip my hand up her shirt and fondle a small left tit. Her breasts are a little larger than handfuls, but their size and shape perfectly fit her figure. Desire overruns my rationality. Reuniting with Summer Madison, kissing her, feeling her, tasting her, and smelling her shuts off my upper brain, and my cock struggles to take over. I calm myself to stay cool and be gentle. "I've learned, a few things while you were gone," I say, my voice restless and deep. "There's something I never did for you that I'd like to now." "Show me," Summer grins. I pull up Summer's shirt enough to kiss down her flat stomach. I unsnap her jeans. I lift her legs to remove her boots, then continue kissing down her thighs. Moisture forms in the center of her pink cotton panties and spreads outward. I press my nose to the fabric, taking in a lungful of that wonderful pussy scent I've missed so terribly. I suck that growing wet spot. Summer goes wild, grabbing her tits through her thermal shirt. "Leon. Oh God, Leon!" I pull a corner aside, exposing an inner thigh. I kiss it and then do the same to the other side. I slide her underwear down, past her knees, over her socked feet. Her pussy is slick, red and distended, and there's not a stitch of hair to be found. "Still shaved," I chuckle. Jen has been a good teacher. I lower myself to Summer's cleft, breathing it in and reacquainting myself I kiss circles around her outer labia, getting heavy breathing and groans with every application of my lips. I splay her outer folds apart with two fingers. I tease and play with Summer's pussy, getting it heated and stimulated with attention to her pubic mound, thighs, legs, and perineum, maintaining a steady rhythm and a pattern. When Summer's on sanity's edge, I run my tongue through her slit, up and down, side to side. Her flavor is overpowering. I never tasted her juices before. Now I know what I missed. As I eat Summer's cunt with wild abandon, I rub her clit with my thumb, She goes berserk and yanks her shirt the rest of the way off. Her tits and round and symmetrical in her black lace bra, which drops next. "Leon, I'm, I'm close," she stammers. "Don't, don't stop, don't fucking..." Her words are reduced to half moans and chokes as she cums. The twat beneath my working tongue spasms and floods. I continue to lick, savoring Summer's flavors. I give her pussy small finger rubs while waiting for her to return. Summer grabs my collar pulls me to her face. Her tongue invades and violates my mouth. Suddenly I'm shoved down the opposite way. Summer hurriedly unbuttons and unzips my jeans. She grabs my hard cock with a closed fist and pulls it from my boxers. She devours it, coating it in warmth and raw pleasure. She plops it out to stroke it with her saliva serving as lubricant. "It's your turn," she whispers huskily. "Show me what an experienced man can do." "H-how?" I sputter as Summer bobs up and down on my prick. Summer's Warmth: A Winter Reunion "Fuck me," Summer demands. Summer lies down and spreads her smooth legs. I stare at that sloppy, swollen center, the center that took my virginity. I get into position. My cock easily finds her entrance. I push down. We're one again. Welcome home, Leon. I move at a medium rhythm, a pattern of all the way in and then halfway withdrawn. I resist the temptation to lose all rationality and and pound away, instead finding a speed that she responds to while I steadily fuck her. I pull her tightly to me and kiss her face and neck. I love every aspect of this. I love the way her tight muscles grip my cock yet yield to its movements. I love the mixing scents of her pussy, her sweat, her skin and her hair. I love the way she moans and begs for "more, yes, more,"with little whimpers. I love her puffy aureole, and the way the engorged tips poke and rub against my chest. And I love her, all over again. "Behind," Summer utters. "What?" "Do me, from behind," she clarifies in a weak voice. I'm barley able to break from her pussy, but I comply. When I withdraw, my juiced cock aches to be inside her again. Summer pulls the comforter and pillow from the mattress and tosses both on the floor, creating a hasty makeshift palette. She bends over, resting her arms on the bed. "Come on," she begs. "Hurry." I take a moment to admire the smooth, round, inviting ass that's raised in the air before sliding into her pussy from behind. We groan in unison. "Don't hold back," she manages to say. "Take it." I thrust at a faster pace, enraptured by the sensation that her tightness produces. My cock makes wet slapping noises in her moistened hole. Between us is a flood of her juices. "Do it harder. Please. Please." I grab her hips with both hands and push myself in deeper. I'm being milked and squeezed, like her pussy is begging me to cum. But I want this to last. I want it to last forever. "Is this what you wanted?" Summer hisses as I pound away at her. "Seven years? Seven years away from this pussy? You wanted this?" "Yes!" I growl with lust and longing. "It's yours," Summer moans. "It's all yours. Make it yours." I make it mine. In my mind her pussy is a treasure, a beloved object long lost and found again. Nothing matters at this moment but giving this orifice all the love, power and treatment I can muster. My priority is making it happy, making it cum, showing it my true potential. The light flickers. I ignore it and continue fucking Summer. The slapping sounds are louder now. Increased lubrication eases my pace. The light flickers again. On the third flicker it stays off, enveloping us in darkness. The light from the computer screen illuminates the body I'm behind. Our union is a pastel of shimmering colors. It enhances Summer's alluring sexiness. In the monitor's glow I see beads of sweat dripping down her bare ass and back. Her matted blonde head is pressed into the mattress. There's a twinge in my cock. I try to prolong my orgasm, but it's hard to hold back. The floor has disappeared; Summer and I fuck on an invisible surface. The bed, the chair and the computer desk are suspended in nothingness. Wisps of fog curl up and surround us. The sight causes me to lose my balance. I fall over, terrified that I'm going to fall forever. Instead I'm stopped by a blanket of air. Summer looms over my fallen form. She takes my cock in her hand and licks the tip, scooping up pre-cum with her tongue. "I missed that taste," she declares. "Remember, Leon?" I nod. "Remember how you came in my mouth? How I showed it to you?" She straddles me and and uses her hot, soft hand to guide me into her entrance. "Remember how I swallowed every, last, drop?" The recollection is almost enough to make me cum. As Summer grinds into my crotch, I play with her tits, kneading the nubile flesh in my trembling fingers. She leans forward, allowing me to suck each of her puffies. "You did new for me," Summer says. "There's something I'll give you." The walls are gone. We're surrounded by a blooming nebula and a canvas of stars. "Anything, Summer," I promise. "Cum inside me," Summer says. "Fill me up. Give yourself to me." She grits her teeth. "Mate with me." Every word brings my climax closer and closer, and it's made more inevitable by her movements. My orgasm builds and climbs. In the monitor's light, Summer's face is flushed and contorted, displaying every sign that having me let loose inside her is what she wants. She slides up and down at a frantic pace, breaking the deal. My orgasm hits at a sharp peak. It lingers in place with mind-numbing pizzazz before it seems to descend, washing blissful sensations over my entire body. I go light-headed. This pleasure is both wonderful and unbearable. My cock spasms inside of Summer, spurting jet after jet of warm cum into her womb. She stays locked in place, overcome by a second orgasm. Her cunt clamps down on my prick, drinking from me, draining my balls. She remains impaled on me until my cum stops flowing. My limp prick falls out of her. The wall and floor return with the light. I stumble on numb legs and climb into bed. Summer gets in with me. We lie on the top sheet and hold each other a long while. There's a spot where Summer's wetness soaked through the comforter; I drizzle sperm. Our fluids mix together under the sheets. We lay there in silence, smiling at each other. She plays with my hair. I caress her face. Eventually we fall asleep together. There's no telling how much time passes, but When I wake up, Summer is still in my arms. She stirs and yawns. "Tell me about where you're from, Summer," I say. "I guess explaining it's not revealing such big a trade secret," Summer says. "It's called Erostopia. It's a beautiful place, green and sunny all over." "Heh. I'm guessing Erostopia's got a lot to do with sex," I surmise. "That's a simple way to put it," Summer chuckles. "Rampant sex, everywhere. It's how Erostopians greet each other. It's how they say goodbye, settle disputes, and express emotions and love. Well, the Ersotopians usually do. When the Sexlins aren't busy breaking the Barrier to fuck mortals, they can usually join in, too." "What's the difference between Sexlins and Erostopians?" I ask. "You're not an Erostopian?" "No, Erostopians are the world's natives. They look similar to humans, except they have pointy ears and their skin's usually a lime green or grayish color. Sexlins are the souls of the dead who have been invited to live in Erostopia. Erostopians are born..." Summer breaks out in a grin. "...well, it might be a big shocker." I return the gesture. "I don't think I can be shocked anymore. Look around." "They rise out of the ocean, fully grown," Summer finishes. "Must be a hell of an ocean." "It's an ocean of cum." My eyes widen. "What!?" Summer laughs. "I knew it! Told you! Yeah, the way the Queen explains it, every time human cum isn't shot into a person in this world, it ends up filling Erostopia's oceans. And men spill lots of cum every day." I'm baffled and bewildered. "That's..." "That's what?" Summer wants to know. "That's something I wish I could have come up with. Then I wouldn't be stuck at the Town Report, working as Rabbit." Summer's smile fades a little. "Well, maybe you won't have to." There's something strange about those words. They catch my attention. "Huh?" "Leon, it's time I told you: there's another reason I came back." "What is it, Summer?" I ask, captivated. "I had two reasons, actually," Summer explains."The first one was so you could relive your moment. But the second? I'm here to make you an offer." "What do you mean?" "I can't stay here forever," Summer says. "You'll have to wake up eventually, and I'll have to go. But I don't want to leave on the same note as before." The sound of crackling electricity alerts me. I sit up and look toward the source. A blue vortex is forming and spinning in the air, flickering with currents. Summer stands up in all her nude glory, and then gestures for me to follow her. She prepares herself before she speaks. "I'm giving you the chance to come with me, Leon. Follow me back to Erostopia, We'll be together forever." I stare at that vortex, which has widened into another gateway. Summer takes my hand. "Taking a favorite back with them is something a Sexlin never does. Erostopia, Leon. What do you say?" I start opening my mouth to say an immediate "yes." Then I stop. "Wait." There's a question I have to ask. It's not an easy one. "If I go back with you...what happens to me on Earth?" Summer gazes into my eyes with seriousness. "You won't wake up. Your soul will come with me to Erostopia, but your body, the one you've left on Earth, will die, Leon." I stare up into that shimmering, crackling gateway. Seven years ago, I ran into a beautiful girl at a party. Her name was Summer Madison, and within an hour I was having the best night of my entire life. She reappeared after I thought she was gone forever, and she brought me back to this special place. Memories. Memories are where the best times of our lives are. What's present or future never feels as significant as the past. But memories are all they are. "I can't," I answer, hanging my head. "I have to go back." "You mean for Jen?" Summer asks sadly. "You're going work it out with her?" I shake my head. "No, Jen's a done deal. It's Kara, Summer. I can't abandon her. I have to at least try to be a good dad." I try to smile, but sadness beats any fake happiness I can muster. "I appreciate the offer though," I say. "Really. Sincerely. But I can't make that choice." Summer sheds a tear as she nods in agreement. "I knew you'd say that. But I had to make the offer, just in case." Crushing reality weighs down on my heart. "I'll never see you again, will I?" "It takes, a lot to make a special trip," Summer replies. The gate illuminates. Lightning shoots out and snags the bed, which gets swallowed into the vortex. The desk, computer and all else attached are uprooted from the floor and taken as well. The room disintegrates and collapses. The light disappears, making Summer is a barely visible silhouette whose hair blows in the turbulent wind. My tears flow freely. I can barely speak. "I guess...this is it, then," I manage. Summer's whole body, including her hair, turns a glowing blue. She's leaving. I have to return home. But I can't let Summer get away again without saying goodbye. "Summer," I struggle, "I love you. I'll always lo..." Summer grabs me and kisses me deeply. The feel of her mouth diminishes until there is nothing but air. **** The dorm room is gone. I'm dressed again, back in the Time Nexus. An emptiness overclouds my mind and heart. I collapse in the street, wrought with grief. She's gone, again. And because I didn't go with her, didn't take her up on her offer, that's the last I'll ever see of her. Through my pounding misery, I hear approaching footsteps. "You did the right thing, Leon," Para says. I'm sobbing and crying. I'm too choked up and emotional to hear or understand what Para says next, but after that she says "I have something that might make you feel better." "I doubt it," I mutter. "Leon." Para kneels beside me. "While you were with Summer, I finished my calculations. I can pull it off without any casualties or drastic changes." "What are you talking about?" I ask. "Leon, look at me." She takes my face and guides it to her brown eyes. "I'm talking about changing the past, Leon," Para says plainly. "Summer Madison never dies. You're going to save her." "Hold on." The revelation is enough to get me on my feet. "This whole time...that's what you've been working on?" Para nods and smiles. "How, I mean, you can do that?" "I can," Para confirms. "Do you have that thing Dirk Frierson gave you?" I reach in my jeans pocket and extract the coin. "You mean this?" "Yeah, that. It's not a Cracker Jack prize. Follow me." Para stops in front of the clock face and points at it. "See right there?" There's a coin-shaped indention in the clock's center. "Put it there." I do. It fastens in and clicks. BONG! BONG! BONG! The clock startles me with its explosive chimes. The hour and minute hands wildly spin. Every building in the Time Nexus lights up with a chain reaction of bright neon. "Now look over there," Para points. The cul-de-sac at the end of the street distorts and disappears. In its place is the snowy road from before. "All you need to do is walk toward there," Para says over the continuing chimes. "The way is already open. Go and save Summer Madison, and I'll handle things on this end." "How do I save her?" I ask. "It'll be obvious." Then she pats me on the back. "You relax now. Everything will be different in the morning." I walk toward the open road. As I do, the buildings fall away, turning to dust and drifting into the wind when I pass them. There's a tingling in one of my hands. I examine it. It's gone, faded away like the buildings. I keep going. My other hand disappears. Then my legs. Finally I my torso goes and I'm not human anymore. I'm air. I'm surrounded by empty space and a mixture of noise. I pick out the news reporters, gunshots, pop songs, and old movies. I'm listening to the years between 2013 and 1998, all of it, everything, whispering in my ear at once. Slowly, the world comes back into focus. The sounds are replaced by a plethora of new ones. I'm floating above that snow-covered road again, except I'm at the actual scene. I hear a raging blizzard. Below me, the woods are full of noises: chirping, hissing, buzzing. Something's coming. A car. It's Summer's car. I know it. It's a mile away and closing in fast. I steer my new form down, down into the woods. I navigate the whitened landscape by steering around trees. It's pitch black in this place, but I can see everything. I stop and look around. The car is now a half mile from here. Summer's driving fast for these conditions. I search the woods for the source of trouble. For a moment I'm anxious and panicking, thinking I won't find it in time. Miraculously, there it is, or rather, there she is: a doe. She's skipping through the woods at a breakneck pace. She'll reach the roadside and won't stop. Summer's car is much closer. Dangerously close. "It'll be obvious," Para said. I reach out with my mind. Stop. The doe halts. This intrusion into her thoughts terrifies her. She trembles. She's getting ready to run again. It's okay. You're not in danger. Just stay still. The doe frantically looks for the voice's location. I ascend from the forest floor. Stay still. Please. Right there. It's okay. Into the sky I go, and then back down again, to the roadside. Stay. Relax. Through the haze of fog and snow, headlights appear. Summer Madison drives a white, four-door sedan. I see her through the windshield, dirty-blonde hair and green eyes. She's wearing that toboggan. Easy, I communicate to the doe. The car flies past me. There's a curve up ahead. I direct my thoughts toward Summer. It's bad out. Be careful. The car stops. The brake lights brighten in the darkness. Then the car resumes its journey, carefully navigating the curve. **** Beeping noises. "Oh my God." Jen's voice? I fade in on a tiled ceiling, certainly not one I'm used to seeing in the morning. The room is dim; the walls are a dark yellow. "Wha..." I try sitting up. A hand halts me. "Whoa there!" a man's voice protests. "Take it easy, now." My eyes open again. I look toward the incessant beeping. It's a heart monitor. There's also an IV bag feeding into my veins and a bunch of other equipment I can't identify. I'm in an intensive care unit. Why? "Give him some breathing room," the man says. I look up at him. He's middle-aged, stern-faced, and wearing a lab coat. "What is this?" I ask weakly. "Leon Rollins?" "Yeah?" "Good," the doctor says. "Mr. Rollins, you've been in a coma for three days. Your friend found you in bed and couldn't resuscitate you." I blink. "A what?" "How are you feeling, Mr. Rollins?" the doctor asks. "I...confused?" "Don't try to move, okay? Just relax." To Jen he asks, "do you want to, talk to him alone for a few minutes while I grab his chart?" "Sure," she replies. I smile when I see her. She doesn't. She's been crying. "Leon, you're awake." "I guess so," I respond, still not entirely sure what's happening. "I, I came to pick up Kara and, and I found you, just lying there. You wouldn't wake up." "Kara." My mouth is dry. "Is Kara okay?" "Kara's fine," Jen assures me. "She was worried about you, too." I sit up. "Leon, the doctor says not to move so much," Jen reminds me. "I think I'm okay," I say. The doctor returns with a chart. "Mr. Rollins, I'm Dr. Van. I've been looking out for you these past few days. Do you want to talk a bit or rest first?" I have a crazy abundance of energy that I could run a marathon with. "I'm fine," I tell him. "What's going on?" "Well, we did preliminary tests while you were in that coma," Dr. Van explains. He glances at my chart. "Honestly, Mr. Rollins, this is the strangest case I've ever seen. None of the test results can explain why this happened to you. There's no brain afflictions, no head injuries. All your blood tests were normal. It's like you just, went to sleep and you couldn't wake up. Usually a coma has an underlying cause. This one didn't." "Like I just left my shell?" "Something like that," Dr. Van agrees. "Mr. Rollins, everything I'm seeing here looks promising, but I'd like to run a couple more tests and keep you here overnight for observation, just to be safe. Would that suit you?" I nod. "Whatever's necessary." Dr. Van closes the chart. "Alright. If you need anything, we're right nearby." Jen's mood has lightened. "I'm, I'm glad you're okay. I just hope nothing like this happens again." "Oh, I don't think it will." "Why do you think that?" I shrug. "Just a hunch." Jen takes out her cell and touches the screen a few times. "Guess who's awake?" she says to the person on the other end, most likely mom, dad, or both. "Yeah, he seems fine," Jen goes on. "I know! Yes, please, just hurry!" Jen ends the call. "Your parents are on the way. If it's okay with you, I'm gonna run home real quick. I need to pick up someone else who wants to see you. Will you be fine by yourself?" "Sure," I smile. I glance around the room again. I notice a bouquet of flowers not far from the bed. "Those are pretty," I observe. "Who brought those?" "Oh, your next door neighbor," Jen says. "She was worried too." "Mrs. Jenkins?" I ask incredulously. "Why? She hates everybody!" Now it's Jen's turn to be baffled. "Leon, who's Mrs. Jenkins?" Bafflement tag. "You know, the crazy cat lady. Moved in next door when we were married." Jen squints. "Leon, are you sure you're alright? There's no Mrs. Jenkins or crazy cat ladies living there." Realization storms in. "Jen...who does live over there?" Jen is still confused, maybe a little worried when she says "Summer Madison, Leon. Really?" **** Allow me to explain what's going on. I have the old memories of Summer Madison—Summer Madison the Sexlin.