TWO YEARS AFTER

Presto played until closing time. At gone midnight, he stumbled out of the bar, surrounded by drunks, with a new secret tucked away in the corner of his brain. Against his better judgement, he was going to carry this secret home with him. It would be his for months to come. He knew it had taken over him.

In school the next day, Presto couldn't think. He skipped his last class and cycled back to the wreckage of the amusement park. He stopped briefly by the field, where he'd airily imagined taking one look at the abandoned rides and the muddy grooves of the tracks, and turning around. But all along he'd known he wouldn't. He propped his bike up and marched straight inside the bar. The bartender was righting the chairs, pirouetting them in a smooth motion from the table on to their feet. He said something to Presto - "back already, kid?" - as he passed, but Presto paid no attention. He was already at the console, slippery quarter ready between thumb and forefinger, and he jingled it into the slot, and the game booted…

He played for five solid hours, then repeated the process the next day. He didn't care when his parents asked him where he'd been or the bartender got antsy about real grown-ups seeing him fixated there, staring into the neon screen.

He progressed. He beat the three green creatures, collecting treasure that boosted his character's stats, and fought on. He was getting used to the controls, too; he was imprinting them into his spinal column with the feverish certainty of an addict. He could beat the stronger monsters even when he was low on health. He was getting good at this. He even found he was proud of himself.

But there didn't seem to be any route closer to the princess. Every doorway just led to a new battle; whichever door he took, it was still grind after grind with no end in sight. Presto began to wonder if he was getting lost in the maze.


FIRST CLUE

For three weeks Presto was rarely at home, rarely at school, and rarely ate a real meal. He didn't see other people, not Eric and the others, not his own parents. But he did keep going to his after-school computing group, out of an obscure instinct that slowly became clear to him.

The group often talked about code. About how programs - like video games - could be constructed and deconstructed. However far-fetched it sounded, Presto interpreted this as useful. If he could somehow understand, if he could even get a glimpse of how the game was structured at its foundations, it might help him to beat it.

On his second week there the coding talk was dry. A new kid had joined. He fit right in, being as awkward and fidgety and self-important as the rest of them; he also had terrible, fiery acne charged in a brush-stroke across his face. But he had a sly voice that invited listeners, and he'd soon changed the subject.

He had them talking about Greek mythology. Gods and heroes and monsters made of a dozen animals. Presto found it difficult to get involved with this kind of talk now. Yes, he was always thinking about monsters, but he was thinking of real ones. Monsters he'd seen, that he'd battled with and outwitted. This gave 'mythical' stories a sense of visceral closeness that was both frightening and thrilling. It didn't help that whenever mythical heroes came up, Presto couldn't help picturing him and the gang in these Hellenic titans' places. The gang, after all, were his template for authentic monster-hunters.

They started talking about Theseus and the Minotaur. Presto instinctively imagined Theseus as Hank.

"How did Theseus escape the maze?" someone asked.

The new kid pulled a face. "Isn't it obvious? He marked his path by unfurling a piece of string."

"Yeah. Obvious." Presto was vaguely trying to remember if they'd ever rodeo-ed with a real Minotaur back in the Realm. Then it struck him.


The gang were still inseparable. Three or four of them made time almost every afternoon after school to chill together, reminisce, and take comfort in each others' presence. But although he always looked forward to them, something was wrong. It seemed to Presto that he was the only one who squirmed in discomfort at these gatherings.

It was so strange. He wanted to be there, he really did. He wanted to stay close to them and be a part of their lives more than anything else in the world. But somehow he could never get it exactly right. He'd look at each of his care free friends one by one: Eric hunched over a sheet of paper, chewing the nib of a $50 pen; Bobby, who'd often ditch last class to meet them; Diana, swinging her legs off the table; and for no reason he'd suddenly feel isolated, trapped inside a glass sphere none of them could penetrate. Then it'd be gone. Was he the only one who felt like this?

Not that he was only thinking of himself. He'd also noticed Shiela and Hank, at least he'd noticed what was between them. He knew with a clarity he never usually felt that a wall had gone up two years ago that hadn't come down. Not that they weren't friendly. They still joked and chatted and got nostalgic about the realm. Sometimes they were even most nostalgic of all. They still looked at each other, across the room. But if they sat next to each other - Presto could actually feel it - a spark of tension jumped across them, like a static shock.

For three weeks Presto didn't feel trapped by the glass jar because he didn't see his friends. He'd discovered that he could use items from his pack, useless items that were too low-level or had no utility, to leave a trail behind him. He was sure the rooms were a maze, with a route to map. He took pen and paper and drew out the routes he took, hunched over the paper with the light from the screen in his glasses. Soon he had a sprawling scribble of a map.

Theseus would escape the labyrinth.


Like a bolt out of the blue, a camping trip was arranged. One Friday afternoon the six kids cut class, bundled into Hank's second-hand Ford and Eric's gleaming new BMW, and shot out into the wilderness.

The highway. Presto was ensconced in the padded leather embrace of the BMW passenger seat. Squinting, he took account of conditions in Hank's car, which they were tailgating, through the rear window: the four passengers were crammed into its tiny enclave among heaps of tarpaulin, tent poles, food baskets, fishing rods and guiltily covered crates of beer and schnapps.

Presto asked, "Do you think this was Hank's idea?"

"Originally?"

"Yeah."

"I guess. I'd wondered if it was you."

"Seriously? When have I ever done something like this?"

"We've not seen you around for awhile; I thought you might be scoping something out."

Presto rubbed the back of his head. "I've just been… distracted."

"Distracted?"

"Yeah."

"Well now I get it!"

"What…?"

"Distracted by Amber. If you know what I mean?"

Presto tried to tell Eric that he and Amber, his first and only ever girlfriend, had broken up, but the words wouldn't come out. He just sat there, blushing.

Eric pursed his lips; considered saying something; thought better of it. Instead he flattened the gas, spun the wheel, and overtook the Ford in a triumph of noise.

After driving for hours, the roads got smaller and the tower-like trees got higher and thicker. Pretty soon there were no other cars. They pulled off the road into a tucked-away corner where a dirt path wound its way up into the woods.

Hank announced that it wasn't far. "We can leave most of the stuff here and just carry up what we need."

"Can you carry me up there?" asked Eric.

"He said just what we need, Eric," said Diana.

"Very funny. Are we even allowed to camp out here?"

"Of course." Hank was tying up a haystack's worth of tentpoles. "It's a national park. For the nation."

Diana raised an eyebrow. "For the nation's unsupervised kids?"

Hank flinched at the word 'kids', but recovered quickly. "If things get hairy, you've got a dedicated park ranger right on hand." He passed the tentpoles to Presto, who staggered under their weight. Eric laughed. "What could go wrong, gang? The Park ranger knows what he's doing."

"I remember marshes from the Realm," put in Diana, "swamps. Deserts. Volcanic wastelands. But no parks. Have you 'done' parks before, Hank?"

"Not really."

Before he could stop himself Presto jumped in. "Except the theme park?"

A titter of laughed passed around the six kids and quickly died out. Presto felt embarrassment rise up the back of his throat like bile. How could he have forgotten that since the theme park had closed, that episode in their lives had been closed off too?

Eric grabbed the tent-poles from Presto with a smirk. "And we all know how that turned out."

The gang stared at Eric in disbelief as he marched proudly through them into the undergrowth. "Jerk," whispered Diana.

But Eric ignored them all, walking straight ahead, tent-poles thrown across his back like a shield.

The route they were following quickly changed into rising ground, and the path became less trodden. Hank took the lead as the hike got tougher. They started to sweat. Evening insects darted into their hair.

Despite this and all the stuff they were carrying, Presto felt light-footed. Banter flew up and down the group. Diana mocked Eric, in a spirit of half-revenge, for his head-to-toe Ralph Lauren 'camping' gear. Eric responded shrilly that he was going through a 'rich-boy' phase and just needed to ride it out, then he'd be back to normal. Shiela mentioned that she wouldn't mind just one rich-girl phase, thanks very much Eric? Bobby's contribution was to stand on tip-toes and squawk whenever Eric's voice rose, imitating his shrill protest. He'd just learned in biology that a bummed out animal will try to sound threatening.

"Well look who's providing the entertainment again," grumbled Eric, wiping sweat from his brow.

Diana looked back and grinned. "You can take the clown out of the Realm…"

Eric finished, "just a shame he can't leave his 'friends' behind."

There it was again. Why, Presto thought, is he going so close to the bone with these Realm jokes? But the atmosphere had changed since they started walking. In the forest's evening cool, the joke sailed breezily by.

Campfire. Sturdy tents on a cool night. It was going well. Presto sat bent over, nursing his beer, leaning into the tight circle of his friends.

Eric was congratulating Bobby on bunking off elementary school. For a few seconds Bobby's face registered something approaching concern.

"What if the school called our parents."

Shiela told him not to worry, she'd made up a story about them staying at Eric's; even though they'd never so much as set foot in Eric's mansion-like estate.

"But that's why six is such a good number," insisted Eric. "Just enough for a good alibi, right?"

"And few enough to keep your stories straight," chimed in Presto.

Bobby looked both impressed and relieved that he wasn't the only sibling telling his parents white lies. Shiela blushed.

"Don't worry about all that, guys," said Hank suddenly. "We've got the weekend to ourselves now. No stories, no lies."

"Nostalgic much?" said Diana, teasing of course, but a little sad.

Presto suddenly realised that he hadn't thought about the game once. He vaguely tried to picture the loading screen, but even that was hard to remember.

Things were getting tipsy - in a good way. Realm stories and Home stories started to be thrown together like there wasn't a difference. One minute they'd be gossiping about who was dating who, about the kid who had been caught smoking or how whichever class was tormenting their teacher, and the next about battles with Dragons and Ghouls in collapsing castles, as though they'd happened on the same day.

Eric was the only one in the group who knew a thing about drinking, and he'd learned through years of imitating his father clasping the bottom of a chilled glass and sipping $500 whisky. Eric somehow still believed that even a warm beer or a vapid peach schnapps should be drank this way - with controlled, debonair refinement - and with no other role model everyone had copied his style. Still, even this kind of slow drinking wasn't enough In all the excitement they'd even caved under the pressure of letting Bobby have 'a sip'.

"We're a bad influence," said Shiela.

Bobby eagerly told her not to worry about him, but Presto thought Shiela didn't look worried at all. She looked cheerful. Cheeky. Her impish smile was a pre-Realm throwback. Presto looked back at his beer.

"Guys, I've been thinking." Hank began falteringly. He seemed to have been waiting for the right moment to speak. "I've been thinking - here it goes - I've been thinking about all the other kids from our world who were taken to the Realm. The Children at the Edge of Midnight. Terri. And who knows how many others, right? They're all back now too and they don't even have one other person to talk it all through with. They're alone."

A shadow of desolation seemed to pass over the group. Presto looked down. He couldn't stand seeing the earnest concern in Hank's eyes; concern mixed with hesitation and maybe even fear. Bobby shuffled. "But Hank, they came home before us, right? They didn't need to escape like us. Remember Jimmy Whitaker in the Clock Tower? He thought it was just a dream."

"That's right," Shiela chimed in, "They might not even realize the Realm was… is… real."

Hank gazed back without flinching. "But we know it is. Why should it be any different for them?"

A pause.

"What would we do?" asked Eric dejectedly. "What could we do?"

"Talk to them. Tell them they're not the only ones, right? That there's others like them who know about this other world. Tell them there's people they can talk to who won't think they're crazy."

"Like, Realm Therapy…?"

Hank took a breath; showed his palms. "I guess."

Another pause, longer this time. All Presto could think about was how desperately he wanted this moment to be over.

"But it's already been two years," said Diana quietly.

"I know. We should have done it sooner." Hank was sitting up straighter now. With his golden locks flashing over his serious face, Presto thought he looked every bit the image of a leader. "I didn't even think of all the others we'd met before we escaped; we were still getting over everything ourselves."

"Were?" Interjected Eric.

"Still are."

Diana dared to meet Hank's eye.

"Did you bring us out here specially for this?"

"Not at all!" said Hank squarely. "I want to move past all this as much as all of us. I don't want the Realm to be this thing we carry around any more. This idea is part of that. It's for us too, to help us… package it." His head bowed for a second, a kind of instinctive concession. "Don't you think we should try, Diana?"

Diana frowned. Her back was taut as a wire. "It's a bad idea." she prodded the fire with a twig. "That's what I think."

"Guys?" Hank looked at each of them one by one; first Shiela, who shook her head no but returned his gaze with sad eyes. Bobby looked away, suddenly intrigued by a fallen leaf; Eric made a hopeless gesture; and suddenly, Presto realised that all eyes were on him. It was his moment. His call to attention and responsibility.

Say something!

He took off his glasses, looked at them forlornly, put them back on again. Every fibre of his being willed him to speak up - to reach out to Hank, who was so much more like him than he'd dared imagine even after these two years, even after the theme park; but nothing came to him. He looked away. Only the crackling fire broke the brutal silence.

Then Diana changed the subject, her voice suddenly relaxed, and conversation went back to normal. All but Hank chimed in with relief. But Hank sat despondently, barely participating, forcing smiles when his friends spoke to him. After a few minutes, he finished the last of the beer and placed the bottle, very carefully, beside the fallen log he was sitting on. He wished everyone good night, said he was feeling tired, and walked out of the fire's reach towards the dark triangles of the tents.

Voices immediately hushed. "Was I too hard on him?" whispered Diana. "I didn't think I said anything too cold, right?"

Eric looked devastated. He shook his head slowly. "I didn't know… he was still like this. This is bad."

Bobby seemed unsure how to interpret events. He looked to each of his friends as though asking for help, and finally at Shiela with concern. Shiela was wringing her hands. "What was Hank thinking? That we'd all just sign up?"

"Maybe Hank was kidding?" said Bobby cautiously. "He could have been, right guys? Just half-joking?"

"Didn't look like it."

Presto's head was buzzing. A strange, weightless feeling of unreality had come over him.

"It's no good anyhow." He stared down the black neck of his beer bottle. "Even if we did want to help, how we would find all those other kids? Put up a billboard for 'free Realm Therapy'? I don't think so. Besides -" his eyes widened as a realisation came over him " - I don't know how I never thought of this, but we don't know for sure if everyone did go home..."

Everyone looked at him in surprise. Then Shiela scowled. "You could have mentioned all that before he stormed off, Presto!"

Everyone was silent, apparently considering this statement with intense gravity. Then Shiela stood up, leaving her barely touched drink on the floor, and followed Hank.

Bobby was staring, intrigued, at the beer bottle that Hank had left at the foot of the the log.

"I can't believe," he said slowly, "that all the older kids love drinking so much."

An hour later Presto was lying in his sleeping bag, listening to the wind in the trees, and the muffled hum of voices. Hank and Shiela.

The zipper opened and Eric clambered into the tent. He'd gone to pee and been out fifteen minutes. To the spectacle-less Presto, he was only a fuzzy shadow. The shadow kicked off its shoes, unzipped the sleeping bag next to Presto's, and wormed into it, kicking the entangled folds out with his legs. To Presto he now became one with the sleeping bag.

Presto waited, but after several minutes nothing was forthcoming.

"So… how did it sound?" He asked the sleeping bag.

"Oh, it's good news," came Eric's voice. "They're arguing."

"No kidding! Wait - good news? What could they be arguing about that's good?"

"You know - same old stuff. Life. How Hank is these days. How Hank needs his head straightened out and Shiela's too cautious about everything."

"And about the Realm?"

"Were you napping at the fire tonight?"

"I mean what are they saying? And how come you're so chipper all of a sudden."

Eric's voice contemplated a moment. "It's good. Really. They're talking it through. They're still not over all that."

This was a turnaround from the scene by the campfire. Presto couldn't imagine being over 'all that', and he couldn't believe Eric was serious. He wanted to ask if Eric was serious, but instead he said, "Do you think they'll get over… all that…"

"Of course! Listen Presto, that's why arguing is good. Arguing means talking. And talking means…"

"What?"

"Figure it out."

"Working things out?"

"No. Being around each other. Being together. Get it?"

"Oh."

"Anyway, we'll see what they're like in the morning. Then we can really decide whether to worry or not."

A few moments' pause.

"Eric? Do you think maybe Realm Therapy wasn't the only reason to bring us up here? Maybe it was a - a pretense?"

Eric's voice was startled. "Now that you mention it... Geez! Couldn't they have just picked up the phone?"


SECOND CLUE

The next morning Presto awoke to crisp morning air and the sound of frying. Coming out of the tent he saw Hank bent squatting on his heels over a pan. Several fluffy white eggs were cooking in the centre.

Hank looked up as Presto came over and smiled. "Told you that you guys would like it here." And he swept his arm down the hilltop, pointing towards a brilliant red-gold sunrise. In the canopy overhead impossibly blue sky saturated the spaces between the sunlit leaves.

Presto took a deep, invigorating breath. It was like drinking cool water. "You nailed it, Hank."

"It's first come first served at camp, Presto. Come choose your eggs."

Presto pulled over a fold-out chair and sat by the pan. He took a few slices of bread from a paper bag, dropped two into the pan to fry, and started munching on the other. As Hank was leaning forward, he had the time to take in the outline of his honest, committed face.

Finally, without breaking his gaze on the pan, Hank said clearly, "I'm sorry about all that crazy plan yesterday. I don't know what came over me."

And he looked up, directly into Presto's eyes. Presto, unprepared, instinctively looked away. There was something in that look that spoke volumes about both Hank's suffering and his own; yet which phrased it, grappled with it, so much more directly and fearlessly than Presto had ever dared. He looked away partially out of shame. Hank's eyes dropped back to the food. But his voice was still firm. "The truth is, I just never moved on like you guys. Diana has the gymnastics; Shiela's acing school. And you've gone and got a girlfriend."

He said this so directly, so without implication, that Presto could only feel relieved for the chance to confess. "Actually… we've broken up."

Hank leaned back from the pan in surprise. "When?"

"Over three weeks ago."

"You never said!"

"I was embarrassed; I don't know why. But after the day after it happened I… didn't want to say."

"So the others don't know? Should I not say?"

"I don't know. Actually, heck. Tell them. Saves me from having to!"

"OK." Hank sighed. "These three weeks we thought you were keeping away to see more of her." He ran a hand through his thick hair. For a few seconds he stared into the middle distance beside Presto's head, deep in thought. He didn't blink. His eyes were intense, thoughtful, awing. Under his breath he said: "Presto. Does this mean…"

At that moment a tent rustled and Shiela clambered out, closely followed by Diana. Hank cut off without finishing the end of his sentence.

"Does this mean…"

Presently Eric and Bobby emerged, bleary-eyed and bothered by the early hour, and breakfast was served.

As they ate, it slowly dawned on Presto that he hadn't felt so at ease in months. Every anxious or negative thought had receded to a million miles away. Only Hank's words to him - "does this mean" - and all they could imply, had stuck, but this thought sunk to the bottom of his mind like a pebble in a clear pond. He knew he would pick it up soon; but for now, it didn't disturb him. He was happy to let it lie.

What were they going to do with the day? Over eggs, bacon, beans and fried bread, they went back and forth on every outdoorsy hobby under the sun. Finally they settled on fishing. "We can all handle that for awhile, right?" said Eric, jumping up. "I'll get the rods from the car. Anyone wanna come."

He swept the circle, who remained quiet for a second. Finally Diana stood up. "Since no one else dares."

"Good luck, Diana," said Bobby sarcastically.

Eric and Diana started down the path, leaving the other four to clean up the few breakfast bits. Presto made to start clearing away, but sank back into his chair as he noticed the other three sitting stock still. As soon as Diana and Eric were out of earshot, Shiela looked at him and Hank purposefully. "Is that a sign - or is that a sign."

Hank grinned. "I'd say that's a sign visible from space."

"Do you think this was Eric's plan?" Shiela smiled cheekily at Presto. "Any news from The Tent, Eric?"

Presto stammered. "News... on what?"

"For real?"

"Yeah."

"On him and Diana!"

"Him and who?" Presto was floored. "He never said anything to me. Did he tell you guys? Is this real?"

Hank shook his head. "Do you need them to say anything? You can see them looking at each other all day long."

Shiela chuckled. "They're always flirting these days, Presto! Even Bobby noticed! Right Bobby?"

"Right!" lied Bobby.

"Eric and Diana?" Presto shook his head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding…"

The others started reluctantly started tidying up around him, but Presto just sat there, gazing into the dazzling sky. Just when I feel like I'm figuring my friends out, they all move again, all change places… his mind started to drift, carrying him from the camp site and toward Home.


I read somewhere that in the series, Eric was always portrayed as comical because he was the critical one, and the producers wanted the moral of the show to be "the group is always right." But I like the idea that, in his own way, Eric would turn out to be the most independent, even the most mature.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dungeons & Dragons or make any money from this story.