Part 2: Reunion

The old motel had been there when the amusement park was a county fairground. Back then, it made most of its money in high summer, when the fair brought farmers and visitors from a hundred miles around. Then the county got a good deal on a tract of land closer to the interstate, and sold the fairgrounds to an amusement park corporation. It became the biggest park in five states, and drew people all summer. Of course, a lot of them were day-trippers who never stayed at motels, but there were always a few who decided to sleep over.

Didn't none of it make a difference, thought Jesse Clift that afternoon as he prepared to close the office. Diner's good all year round. Everybody gotta eat. The fact that he still called it a diner showed how many years Jesse had run it. It had long since changed from a simple lunch-counter next to the motel, to a bar-and-grill, to a tavern with a fairly respectable Italian restaurant. And Jesse was right; the diner drew people every night, as one of the few decent eateries in the area. Right now, at five p.m., the dinner crowd was starting to gather; on the other hand, this being late October, the motel was as dead as ever. Nobody here this time o'year 'cept them damn high school kids at Homecoming, always drinking too much and carrying on.

So it was with more than a little curiosity that he looked out onto the parking lot, and watched a late-model car pull up in front of the office. He watched a dark-haired young man get out. Just like all them moderns, he thought, gotta be talkin' on a portable phone. He could hear the end of the one-sided conversation through the window-glass:

"That's right, a week. Don't expect me for at least...You can tell him that. You can tell my dad I've gone off to hunt for Captain Kidd's treasure, if you want. I don't care...No, he and I are gonna straighten this out, but not now....The Tornado trip was fine...Okay, apart from that, it was fine...Look, just tell him not to unload it yet. Hold off until I get back....Yeah, fine, whatever." The young man closed up the phone and put it in his coat pocket. Then, after looking around, especially at the park across the four-lane highway, he went into the office.

Jesse had him figured for a traveling salesman; he got dozens every year. Each one was pretty much the same. They'd relax a while, go next door to get something to eat, and sometimes come back with some "companionship". Jesse'd seen just about everything at that motel, and he usually let it slide; he went to church on Sundays, looked after his own soul, and expected others to do the same. He waited by the desk, deciding to let the customer do all the talking.

The young man walked in as if he owned the place. "Some friends and I will be staying here for a few days. I'll need five rooms."

Five?! "When you expectin' these friends?"

"I don't know. Could be today, could be tomorrow. But they each get their own room. Here's their names--" he handed Jesse a page torn out of a notebook with five names on it--"and here's mine." He casually flipped a credit card onto the counter.

The name Eric Harleigh meant absolutely nothing to Jesse, so he went to the back office and phoned the card's bank to check the account. He deliberately quoted a price that would have rented seven rooms for a full week, and was assured by the voice on the other end of the line that it would take a draw of many thousands of dollars to make even a dent in that card. He went back out and gave the young man the key to room number one. "I've got two through five set apart for your--friends." Jesse paused just enough to make that last word sound sinister; as if he suspected Eric's motives.

If Eric was insulted, he gave no sign. He took back the card, picked up the room key, went out to the car and took all that was in it--a file on Tornado Tool and Die--into room one. No luggage, no sample cases, no nothing. Strange. Still, that's what this business is sometimes. Real strange. Jesse called his brother's son Aaron to watch the desk; this was one of those rare ocasions when the office would need to be open at night.

The next one arrived in a taxi about an hour later; a black woman. Aaron was old enough to remember when the family refused both the rooms and the restaurant to "the coloreds"; and he was Christian enough to regret it, and supported Jesse who changed the policy as soon as running the motel fell to him. Some of his family stopped speaking to him for a while after that, but they weren't his favorite relatives anyway. Losin' their company was like losin' a tooth that's been hurtin' you for a week.

She stopped with her hand on the office door, and did just what the other had done: stopped and turned to look across at the amusement park. Aaron didn't know what she expected to see; park closed after Labor Day. It was just waitin' to sleep through the winter, like some kind of mechanical bear.

She carried a sports bag over her shoulder as she approached the desk. "I think I'm supposed to meet some friends here..." she began hesitantly.

Aaron showed her the page of notebook paper. "Your name on here?"

The sight of the names was like a switch had been turned on. People talk about a face bein' lit up, he told his family later, but I ain't never seen it so clear before. It was like she read those names, and the weight of the world was taken off of her. He told her about the arrangements the young man had made and gave her the key to room two.

Eric had spent the past hour doing something that had seldom occurred to him to do before: study up on the family business. Not that there was much else to do in the room. It was minimally furnished: bed, dresser, reclining chair. That was all; not even a television. Literally alone with the Tornado file, Eric started poring through it. Much of it, he found, was in that arcane language reserved for accountants and lawyers, but he could follow some things in it. Before he could pull the pieces of the puzzle together, however, he heard a knock on the door and a voice call out, "Hey, big spender!"

He practically jumped to the door and would have pulled it off its hinges. At the last second, he collected himself and opened the door, maybe a little too slowly. And there she was, arms folded, back against the doorjamb; beauty, talent and attitude. Whatever snappy comeback he had readied for her remark vanished at the plain joy of seeing her again. Eric opened his arms, and he and Diana just hugged each other for the better part of a minute.

"God, how long has it been?" Diana asked.

"Too long," Eric replied. "Last I heard, you'd made the Olympic team. Congratulations, by the way."

"Yeah, well, that could have turned out better." She looked around Eric's sparse room. "Great little place here. Is Tony Perkins in your shower?"

"Of course; every room has hot and cold running psychos. Nothing but the best for the old gang."

"Seriously, do you know what this is about?"

"Not a clue. Just got a message this morning."

"And why five rooms, by the way? Why not six?"

"That's just until we all get here; then it's into the park."

"And who-knows-what."

"So how was your trip? Where'd you come from?"

"Awful and California, in that order. Why don't I get a quick shower, come back in a few minutes, and you can take me to that restaurant next door?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. And after today, I've developed a real respect for spaghetti."

"A plate of spaghetti?! You're kidding!"

"Would I kid about being nailed by a hundred pounds of lamp?"

It was seven p.m. now. They were at a corner table, far from the kitchen. Diana had ordered a vegetable-pasta dish, and Eric the pork medallions. He also talked Diana into "breaking training" enough to split a bottle of red wine, one which both had to admit wasn't half bad.

"Anyway," Eric went on as he poured a second glass, "I saw the plate glowing, like my shield used to, and it just fell into place. It was the last thing I ever expected; I mean, why are we going back? And why wait so long?"

"Maybe it's the right time after all," Diana said, almost to herself.

"Anyway, how did you get the message?"

"Through a towel-rack, if you can believe that."

Eric waited for details, but none came. "Is that all there was to it?"

"Let's talk about you," Diana said, maybe a little too eagerly. "You must be able to buy and sell this whole county."

"Yeah," Eric sighed, "I'm seeing more and more of the money every year. That's the way the trust fund is structured. But it stopped being fun a few squares back."

"Living proof that money can't buy happiness?"

"I don't know about that, but it definitely can't buy a different father. Mine still gives me a lot of grief."

"And there's no way around this grief?"

"Not as long as I'm an officer in Harleigh Enterprises. That's probably the worst of it."

"What, working for your dad?"

"I wish it was work. He makes my salary seem like an allowance; like I never really earn it."

"But don't you do something?"

"Gimme a break. Once in a while, I get to go out to some factory or business we've just bought. Today was one of those trips. Being an officer in the company mostly means I get to sign papers--and plenty of 'em."

"Doesn't that accomplish something? I don't know much about business, but..."

"No, it doesn't. I wouldn't get a chance to sign anything unless my dad wanted it to happen anyway. With him, my job title is 'Vice President in Charge of Try-Not-to-Screw-This-One-Up,-Eric'."

"You're right; does sound like grief."

"But you know what the last straw is? The thing that bugs me the most? Lately I've been thinking about the Realm--and how much I miss it. Imagine that."

"That's hard to imagine; considering how bad you wanted out of there."

"Well, we all wanted out. But I don't feel like I've done much with my life since; not as much as I did over there." He stared at his wine-glass for a minute. "Diana, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Back then, when you were in that Temple of Light, to fulfill the prophecy about the child of the stargazer, and you became this huge cosmic, I don't know, version of yourself--what was that like?"

It was Diana's turn to fall silent. After a while, she said, "I'll answer that by asking you one. There was one day when you had all the powers of Dungeonmaster, and we had to go to Darkhaven to find the book to try to get home--"

"The Golden Grimoire; how could I forget?"

"Well, what did that feel like for you?"

Eric's brow furrowed. "Let me try this. When I was actually casting spells and using the magic, I was still myself, but outside myself. I don't mean like my spirit left my body or anything. I just wasn't limited to my body anymore. It was like there were these threads that were reaching out of me all over the universe...I'm not saying this right."

"Yes you are, Eric," Diana smiled, "because that's exactly what the temple felt like for me."

Eric smiled back--not the smirk he wore so often, Diana thought; this was a smile of actual pleasure. "Man, how did we ever lose touch? It's been years since I've been able to talk to anyone about this stuff."

"I know what you mean. My--" Diana stoped herself; she almost started talking about Sam, and she'd made up her mind not to bring him up. "My life has had that empty spot, too."

"At least you can say you've been in the Olympics."

"Well, that one didn't work out as well as it was supposed to, either. No medal, no endorsements, and limited job opportunities. I was on the coaching staff at USC, until budget cuts wiped out women's athletics."

Eric thought for a minute. "Tell you what let's do. I still feel a little weird talking about this in public. I'm sure someone would think we were crazy if they heard. So let me get another bottle of this wine, and we can take it back to the room--"

"Yours or mine?"

"Either one, I guess."

"Yours, then. I'm dying to see how the other half lives."

Five minutes later, they were in room #1; Eric sitting on the bed, Diana in the reclining chair next to it. She got in the next question: "Isn't there a Mrs. Eric?"

"No, and that's another endearing trait of dear old Dad's. Since my eighteenth birthday, he's been trying to get me to meet every country club debutante he can think of. Some of them have been--nice enough, I guess. But it's just the idea that he fixes these dates up--I guess I dig in my heels and decide I won't like any of them, no matter how they are."

"Well, keep your options open. You may find somebody decent out there."

"Thanks." Eric raised his glass in a toast; Diana did the same. "That goes for you, too."

Diana stopped with the glass almost at her lips. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not exactly Sherlock Holmes, but I can see that mark on your finger. You wore a ring on it for a long time; the ring's gone, but the mark is still there."

If Diana had had all of her wits about her, she might have tried to bluff Eric with a story about a family heirloom. But she was too tired to be evasive anymore. "Okay; you're right. I got married four years ago. We met at USC. It's been going downhill lately, but I guess it really ended today. This morning, in fact; just before I got the message to come here. I dropped the ring into the toilet on the plane; seemed fitting."

"Sorry it didn't work out."

"That's not--that wasn't it." Diana got up and started pacing the small room, still talking to Eric but deliberately not looking at him. "I tried to make it work; I really tried. And so did he, at first. Maybe things just got to be too much. I lost my job, and what we could find wasn't that great." She was looking out the window now at the dark parking-lot, her back turned to Eric. He stood up, walked over to her and lightly put his hand on her shoulder.

Diana turned, tears already starting to fill her eyes. She started to talk, but could only manage "Oh, God--" before letting herself fall against Eric's chest, her hands gripping his shoulders. She didn't cry; she howled, she screamed. She was past the point where words could communicate the pain of her betrayed love. She just hung onto Eric as if she were in a rushing river and he was the last piece of wood to keep her afloat.

Eric, for his part, hadn't expected this. His instincts, however, served him well as he simply held her. He did think to himself, This is really embarrassing; kinda nice, but embarrassing.

After a few minutes, Diana caught her breath and wiped her eyes. "Do you think they heard me in the office?"

"I think they heard you in the next county," Eric said, as he brushed a few stray hairs from Diana's forehead. "But your secret is safe with me." He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

At that moment there was a pounding on the door. "Shape up, in there; the chaperone's here!"

It was a slightly deeper voice, but with a nasal quality they both remembered. Diana ducked into Eric's bathroom to throw some water on her face, while Eric opened the door. "Hey, Presto! Glad you and your card tricks could make it!"

"That's Professor Presto to you, Eric, and it's so good to see you again."

Diana came back into the room. "Professor Presto? You're a teacher?"

"Diana! Yeah, I am, but that's not why. I call myself that when I do magic shows."

"Finally turned professional?"

"Only on weekends, for kids' birthday parties and stuff like that. Say, if you don't mind, I've been driving for like eight straight hours and I'm starved. Can we catch up over a pizza?"

By 9:30 the pizza had come to Presto's room, from one of the best places in town; Eric had walked down the road just past the restaurant to a small liquor store for a six-pack of beer and some bottled water, at Diana's request. Diana helped herself to the pizza. "This is no problem," she told the others; "I can run this off in the morning. But we had some wine with dinner, and I'm a big believer in not mixing grain and grape."

"C'mon, Diana, that's just a myth," Eric said as he opened a bottle for himself.

"Suit yourself. Just try to drink about four glasses of water before you go to sleep tonight."

"She's right about that, Eric," Presto said, taking a drink from his own beer. "Hangovers are mostly dehydration."

"This is what you teach high-school kids?"

"Hey, it gets their attention. Sometimes that's half the battle."

"So why teaching?" Diana asked.

"I wanted to go into pure science, research and stuff like that. You know me, always trying to figure out how things work. But I seemed to have a knack for teaching it. I didn't really decide until my sophomore year in college."

"And where was that?"

"Addison. Some little place at the other end of the state. It was a good deal because they found me a job after graduation at a nearby high-school."

"I guess you aren't exactly pulling in the big bucks," Diana said.

"And that's one reason why Professor Presto does kids' parties on the weekend. The other is to keep my sanity. You deal with high-school kids five days a week, and it helps to put in some time with their little brothers and sisters. Just to keep your faith in humanity. Guys, is it me, or have things gotten worse since we were their age?"

"I think maybe people have gotten worse."

"Thank you Eric, the Voice of Doom." Diana walked to the door. "I don't think anyone else is going to arrive tonight, and since I feel like jet-lag is going to catch up with me any second, I'm turning in. See you guys in the morning." She had opened the door, and noticed the other two had fallen silent. They were looking past her, out the door, at the amusement park across the street. It was as if they were again trying to see what could be calling them all together again.

The telephone call woke up both Eric and Diana. Eric cursed the paper-thin motel walls, his splitting headache, Diana for leaving a 6:00 a.m. wake-up call, and his splitting headache, in that order. He didn't have to look; he knew that he had no aspirin, and no idea of where to get any at this hour. Vaguely remembering what Diana had said the night before, he stumbled to the bathroom, drank three glasses of water in rapid succession, then fell back into bed.

By 8:00 a.m., he was not only ready to get up, but his headache had cleared up. Have to remember to thank her for the tip. Just then, he heard the rhythmic tamping of feet jogging across the gravel driveway. Through the break in the curtain he saw Diana returning from across the road. So she'd gone to the park on her own; at least as far as the fence. He heard the door to her room shut, then, a minute later, the sound of the shower came through the walls.

For a fleeting second, an image came spontaneously into his mind of Diana in the shower. God, Eric! he thought to himself, she's your friend! Are you turning into some sort of deve?! A knock at the door stopped that train of thought. It was Presto.

"Hey Eric. You seen Diana? I just knocked and there was no answer."

"C'mon in. She just got back a minute ago from jogging. She's probably in the shower and couldn't hear you."

"Oh. Okay. Mind if I wait here, then we all go have breakfast together?"

"Sounds good. By the way, what did you drive up in?"

Presto dramatically opened the curtain and pointed to a car in the lot.

Eric's jaw dropped. "You're not serious!"

"C'mon, it's not that bad." In fact, it was worse; a 1981 Chevy Caprice that had seen many, many better days. Rust was eating at the edges, two of the hubcaps were missing, and there were dents in all four fenders. It wasn't just old; it was barely street-legal. "I know what you're thinking," Presto went on, "but it gets me where I'm going, and that's really all I need right now."

"Has it ever occured to you that your pupils mess with you because you have an image problem? I mean, nobody's gonna respect you driving that around."

"Money's tight right now. I'll upgrade it in a year or two."

"Well, here's what I know about it. Money isn't just about money; it's also props and acting. It helps to have high-quality stuff around you, and even if you don't, you can act as if you do. I've seen businesses that are really a lot less successful than they seem. It comes down to what you can make people believe."

"That's not my style, Eric. It never was."

"Gimme a break! It what magicians do best!"

"What magicians do, when you get down to it, is trick people. I'll entertain people with it, but I can't live my life like that."

Just then, Diana came out of her room. "Still just us, then?"

"So far," Presto said. "Eric said you worked up an appetite."

"I wanted to see what we're up against. I jogged around the park, and--"

"Around?" Eric interrupted. "That park's huge!"

"Yeah, probably a bit more than a mile," Diana said. "So I went around it twice."

"Amazing," Presto shook his head.

"So, let's get some food, and I'll tell you what I found out."

Diana came back from the buffet with her second helping of biscuits and gravy. "I really have to watch this stuff; I kind of overdo it. Anyway, there's an employees parking lot around back. You'd get there by a frontage road that goes off in the opposite direction. You'd probably have to drive a mile just to get to it."

"Is the employee gate locked?" Presto asked. Diana nodded. "And the main gate?"

"Locked, double-locked, and there's razor-wire on the fence all around the park."

"So much for sneaking in, then."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Eric said between mouthfuls of eggs and bacon. "Getting in the park will be the easy part."

"As long as we have a lawyer on the outside to bail us out," Diana smiled.

"Sounds like my cue; mind?" Hank sat himself at their table, with handshakes and hugs all around.

Eric looked mock-critically at Hank's blue denims and work-shirt. "And this is what the well-dressed lawyer is wearing these days?"

"It is if you're travelling cross-country. Something happened to me yesterday; to you guys too, probably. I tried to get a flight out of Washington, but could only get this morning's red-eye into St. Louis. Then another plane and a taxi to get here."

"Washington attorney, huh?" Presto seemed impressed. "What do you do?"

"After law school, I got on the staff of the National Labor Relations Board. Of course, I'm still kind of low-down in seniority."

"What," Eric asked, "no big John Grisham intrigues?"

Hank rolled his eyes. "Most people have no idea what the law is really like. I guess I didn't either, when I started law school. But I had a teacher my first year, Professor Lal; he taught arbitration, and really opened my eyes. He'd actually worked with Gandhi. I saw that the law didn't have to be a battle with winners and losers. You could come up with a solution that makes everybody happy."

"Or at least spreads the misery around," Diana ventured.

"That's one way to look at it. Anyway, I had some financial problems after my second year, so I took a time-out and landed an internship for a year at the Board. It paid the bills, and gave me a pretty clear picture of what I wanted to do with my life."

"So have you done anything the rest of us would have heard about?" Presto asked.

"No way," Hank chuckled. "Right now, I'm still doing research for other guys. Although there was one case I asked to be taken off of, just last year. Seems Harleigh Industries was taking over a printing company in Arizona--"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Eric stirred the last of his coffee, not looking at the others, and drank it down. That seemed to turn him back into himself, but after a minute he recovered. "But, hey, all work and no play, right? So how's the social life?"

"Couldn't afford one until recently. But there's someone at the Board I have lunch with a couple times a week. We'll see where that goes."

"Speaking of going," Eric said, "I have to duck back to the room for a minute. I'll see you guys--" He got up from the table, then realized that Diana had slipped away unnoticed. No big deal. He went to his room and fished the cellular phone out of his coat pocket.

"Steve, it's Eric. I know I said...Yeah, I know I said a week...Let me finish this, okay? What kind of paperwork do we have on last year, the Wovoka Printing deal?...I know it's small; I was there, remember? I just want to check out a few things...Well how big is the whole file?...Okay, just send the personnel files; next-day delivery." He gave the address of the motel, then hung up.

"And what was that all about?" Eric turned suddenly at the voice. Diana was standing in the open door to the room.

"What was what?" Eric tried to brazen it out. "Can't a guy conduct business in private anymore?"

"Business is one thing, but when Hank mentioned that printing plant, you looked like you'd just been elected to stand in at a firing squad."

It was Eric's turn to cave in and admit to a painful truth. "Yeah, well, like I said, I went there last year. It was pretty grim, and I mean below-poverty grim. I'd never seen anything like that before in my life, and it got me thinking. My dad throws words around like 'efficiency' and 'downsizing', and so do I, and I think it's all about the books, about dollars and cents. But that showed me the people affected by the deals. Even if it seemed like they'd just lose a little, they'd lose a lot, y'know?"

Diana nodded. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Eric dropped himself into the reclining chair. "That's the hell of it; I don't know, at least not yet. My dad still runs the show, and I can't cross him 'cause I don't know what his plans are. Right now, I just want to put the brakes on, so I can get a good look at what we're all about."

Diana sat on the bed next to Eric. "When we were in the Realm, most of the time you were--sorry, but it's true--you were really an overbearing jerk. Let me finish! This is a really different side of you, and I'm glad to see it come out, but you know what? I always knew you had it in you."

Eric found he didn't know what to say to that. While he tried to think of a response, Hank and Presto walked through the door. "Looks like breakfast is over," Presto said as he sat next to Diana.

"Y'know, this is weird," Hank said, shutting the door. "You'd think Sheila would be the first one here; last I heard, she still lives here in town."

"What about Bobby?" Diana asked.

"Talk about your home-town heroes," Presto said. "Seems he's turned into a major baseball talent. Got him a full scholarship to some college in the east."

Hank shook his head in wonder. "The way he swung that club around, I'm not surprised."

"So what does he play," Eric smirked, "short-stop?"

Diana rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Those jokes weren't funny ten years ago either, Eric."

At that moment the door flew open. The doorway was filled by an ominous nightmare form. Its head, which brushed against the top of the frame, was hidden by a goalie mask. From behind the mask a gutteral voice rasped, "Which one's Eric?" Before any of them could move or even speak, the hulking figure reached out and pulled Eric out of the recliner. Eric, close to panic, was limp as a rag. "It's payback time," the voice grated from behind the mask.

"What--who--me?! For what??"

The monstrous figure dropped Eric onto the floor, stood over him, and slowly removed the mask, revealing a shock of blond hair and blue eyes blazing with mischief. "For all those short jokes."

Diana's jaw dropped. "BOBBY?!"

Hank and Presto burst out laughing. "He came in the restaurant right after you left," Presto said when he could catch his breath, "and we decided to try this."

"Face it, Eric, you've been asking for it," Hank grinned.

"I still can't--When did THIS happen?!" Diana blurted out, apparently still in a state of shock.

"All through high school," Bobby grinned, tossing the goalie mask onto the bed. "First my folks were worried that I wasn't growing, then they worried that I wouldn't stop!"

"What are you now, six-foot-five?" Presto asked. Bobby nodded. "Boy, Nature sure got its revenge."

Eric finally found his voice. "Yeah, big time."

Bobby stepped toward Eric. "What's it gonna be, tall jokes now?" But the threatening air was broken, and even Eric laughed.

"Well," Hank said, "that just leaves Sheila. When she gets here--"

The smile left Bobby's face at once. "You didn't hear, did you?" He looked around the room at the others. "I think she's why we're here."

"What do you mean?" Hank asked.

"I called when I got into town. I've been calling all along the way here. Sheila's missing. Nobody's seen her for two days."

Coming May 15

Part 3: Return