Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

[NDP]

“I think I encountered them in my “Goth girl” guise,” Jeanette says. “After school, I dashed over to the drug store across the street to pick up a few personal items. Just before I walked in the front door, this beater drives up and stops in street. Then, this oversexed teenage jackass sticks his head out the driver’s side window and tells me he wished I wasn’t wearing underwear because we could ‘get busy’ sooner.”

“The guy who propositioned me also tried some crass come-on lines,” Alice mentions.

“Probably the same jerk,” Jeanette states. “I didn’t even think the guy was worth responding to. But, as I opened the front door to the drug store, he asks me how things are going with the Contralto Quartet. I almost stopped dead right there when he said that, but instead took a few hurried steps inside the store before I stopped and tried to figure out how this kid would know me.”

“That kid you’re talking about sounds familiar,” Carol Woo says. "Once, a few weeks ago, he came in here with his gang…

[dougie_monty]

“They made total asses of themselves the way they spoke to us in a mock Chinese accent that suggested something from a Howard Stern routine. Anyway, after I gave them one admonishment to quiet down, they sat at a table and chattered endlessly—they only shut up when it was time to order. They have excellent taste in Chinese food, oddly enough.”
“Did you or Mark pick up anything of what they said?” Alice says.

Mark speaks up. “I listened. I heard them talking about things like the Morpheus, and the benefit, and Lorraine Adler. One of them happened to mention that the Cigar Band had a six-foot-tall woman singer, a left-handed bass player, and a drummer with Cuban cigars and a nickel-silver hi-hat.” Jeanette reacts to this.
“Yes, Jerry has a nickel-silver hi-hat [two cymbals mounted on a post on the drumset; they are fitted to crash together]. They’re not really common, and quite expensive. Jerry sunk over $1500 into his drumset. Carol, what did this punk look like?”

Carol says, “He was tall and thin, and was trying to grow a chin beard. He had light sandy hair.”
“Sounds like Brent Donoho—one of our California roadies! But he’s in jail—”

“No, his name wasn’t Brent,” says Mark. “It was Mort.”
"Mort Donoho!” says Jeanette. That’s Brent’s younger brother. I haven’t seen him in the Morpheus but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t contacted his older brother.”

Fred has been listening. He says, “I think we should have Bob Long and Professor Fields contact the jailers and find out what communications Brent Donoho is trying to make to people outside the jail.”
Jeanette comments, “Johnny Goss had been impressed with Foraker and Donoho when we were planning to hire roadies out here. For one thing, Johnny [who sits at a nearby table, but hasn’t joined in our conversation] noted that Brent, in particular, had a photographic memory. I figure Brent likely told Mort about the people at the Morpheus.”

“Then he may have seen pictures of some of us,” Alice comments.
“Sure he did,” says Jeanette. “Of course Brent could have shown Paul pictures of the Cigar Band—everybody who has worked with us has those. And there are pictures of some of the Morpheus people, from Harry Rudolph’s fliers. Mort Donoho may have a photographic memory himself, and could recognize _______ and Jeanette from their faces. Loora didn’t change your physiognomy, you know.”

Now we settle down and enjoy dinner. Alice and I happen to order the same thing—pressed duck with side dishes of paper chicken, chow mein with almonds, and egg foo yong. And we have green tea.
We don’t discuss the mission at the table, although we’re in a private room. Instead, everybody talks about the rehearsals, the upcoming Templeton game, the upset in the World Series, and Jock and Lorna’s upcoming wedding. Alice and I sense each other’s vibes about our planned wedding.

Just as we pay and leave, Bob Long meets us at the doors.
“You’ll be glad to know Brent Donoho has been moved to a different cell,” he says. “The people in charge of him have been reprimanded for not checking his communications with outsiders. From now on the jail staff will rewrite letters he sends or receives, and his spoken communications will be relayed through a jail officer.”

“Well, that should settle Mort Donoho’s hash for a while,” I mutter.
We return to the Morpheus. (Alice and I have a normal bedroom near Mr. Galloway’s Turkish bath and other facilities in the east part of the building.) Joan Breastly has returned, and asks us DXM people to gather in the conference room. With her are Marilyn Ng and Julia Campos, from the League office. Julia is the thin, wheelchair-bound young black woman who made fingerprint records for Alice and me. They stand next to a machine, similar to an automobile battery charger, which is fitted to a platform with recessed tracks on it.

Joan explains, “This is one of the things Threshold has tried to find out about. We’ve only recently produced this working model. Fred, close the door.” Fred does so.
Buster is with us, sitting calmly in a chair.

“What is it?” he asks.
“You may have seen the Batman movie serial from the 50s,” Joan explains. “One of the villains, named ‘Professor Hamilton,’ had a machine like this. Julia, wheel yourself onto the platform,” Joan says. Julia does so.

Marilyn Ng, in a black pantsuit with zippered wingholes, pushes some buttons on the machine. A large green light goes on. As we watch in astonishment and delight, Julia—who has apparently suffered from polio—begins to…

[NDP]

rattle off the digits in pi: 3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944592307…

And so on.

This goes on for over 15 minutes. All during this time, Julia continues reciting each number in pi without hesitation. I occasionally glance at Joan while this going on and see that on a sheet of paper she’s checking off each number Julia mentions. Finally, Joan signals Marilyn and she turns off the machine. Julia stops her march through pi and wheels off the platform.

“How far did I get this time?” she asks.

“1323 digits in,” Joan answers.

“Not bad for someone who only got a ‘B-’ in algebra,” Julia replies.

“So this machine enables people to remember pi?” I ask.

“Oh, more than that,” Joan answers. “Julia, if you don’t mind, could you get back onto the platform again.”

“No problem,” she answers as she wheels herself back on.

Marilyn presses more buttons, a blue light goes on this time, and…

[dougie_monty]

…we hear buzzing sounds similar to those in the “It’s Alive!” scene in the original Frankenstein movie. Julia reacts at first as if she feels a mild electric shock. Then she settles down and assumes a relaxed posture. We watch her flex her hands and feet. Somehow they appear more supple.
Marilyn switches off the machine. Then we are astonished to see Julia stretch her legs, and then extend her arms to the sides as if walking up—and she stands up and steps away from the wheelchair! :eek:

We all react to this. I can’t help stepping forward and embracing her. Now I start to cry hard.
Alice approaches me. She embraces me and takes out a hanky. She removes my glasses long enough to dry my eyes.

“Why are you crying?” she asks.
I pull myself together. “I saw a scene in the movie Man of a Thousand Faces with a man who could not walk…”

Others step forward and congratulate Joan and Marilyn.
“What does this machine do to overcome paralysis?” I ask.

Marilyn says, “It sends special electrical impulses to the nerves in the paralyzed parts of the body. In Julia’s case it reactivated her control over her leg muscles. This is our first attempt to use it on a real volunteer.”
“You must have quite a lab setup off the Galaxy 100 Mall,” Alice comments.

Joan smiles. “There’s a lot down there that Parker didn’t show you,” she replies.
Now Julia picks up a book. It’s the paperback Like, MAD. She opens it to a page and reads, “Halvah is a form of pie, 3.1416 and a specific heat. And it has a specific gravity of of .31416.”

We all laugh.
“You read that the wrong way, Julia,” says Mary Blonda, a Mad aficionado from way back.

“I know, Mary,” says Julia. “But it isn’t as funny when I read it the ‘proper’ way.” She has a merry twinkle in her eye. We continue to congratulate her on being able to walk again.
“Now you see one of the things we DXM people protect from Lemoyne or Sikes-Potter’s minions or Threshold people,” Ms. Breastly says. “If Threshold had this machine they would gouge people who wanted to use it.”

“Does it use a lot of electricity?” I ask.
“It doesn’t even use as much as a battery charger,” she answers. “Its effectiveness lies in the special frequencies it emits. Arthur, Daniel, let’s pack it up.”

Alice’s two brothers approach, and they disassemble the machine, unhooking the platform from the main part of the device. Marilyn unscrews some fittings. Arthur fits the platform into a large attaché case; Daniel puts the power cord and the control console into another case—and what remains is a common battery charger.

Now Olga Jane Red Wing arrives. This is the first time we’ve seen her at the Morpheus. She meets Joan and Marilyn and they exchange special code words, and Olga presses a hidden button on the case containing the control console. Now Olga, Marilyn, and Joan carry the components of the Revitalizing Esthesidor, as Joan calls it, out to Olga’s pickup. Olga gives another code word to Joan and then she and another unidentified man—with zippered wingholes on the back of his shirt—drive off. Alice and I congratulate Joan and Marilyn—and Julia, who continues to amuse us with non-sequiturs.

In the morning, Alice and I get up bright and early. Samantha, Thalia, and Lupe prepare a hearty breakfast. Alice, Jeanette, and I head out to school—after Loora returns us to our teenage alter egos.

The ambience of the upcoming Templeton game is everywhere on campus, even as Alice, Jeanette, and I see Halloween decorations here and there. Jeanette meets some “Goth” kids, who chide us for not wearing rooter ribbons, which they give us to pin on our shirts.
Alice and I now go to Room 208 for first period government class. Mr. Wayne is back, and quite chipper himself. After the opening formalities, he begins the day’s agenda by…

[NDP]

discussing the history of political parties in America.

“Can anybody here tell me what was the first political party to hold a nominating convention and announce a politcal platform?” he asks the class.

A student with dark hair and a green-checkered Timberland shirt shoots his hand up.

“The Whigs?” he asks.

“No, that’s incorrect,” Mr. Wayne states. “Anyone else?”

A bleach-blonde girl with a pink blouse raises her hand. “The Federalists,” she assuredly replies.

“Not the Federalists,” the instructor corrects. “Think of a third party.”

“The Socialists?” the blonde girl guesses.

“Most parties had nominating conventions by the time the Socialists came along,” Mr. Wayne says.

Alice raises her hand.

“Will the girl from Seattle care to field this one?” the teacher requests. “Let’s find out how good Washington schools are.”

“The first American party to have a nominating convention and platform was the Anti-Masonic Party in 1831,” Alice answers.

“Correct,” Mr. Wayne proclaims as he writes “Anti-Masonic” on the blackboard. “Now, Andrea, can you tell us anything about the Anti-Masonic Party?”

“I think it was formed as a reaction to the perceived inordinate influence the Freemasons had on government at that time,” she explains.

“You have quite a vocabulary,” Mr. Wayne comments as he begins to walk away from the blackboard, “and you’re also right. Being a Mason did seem to be a pre-requisite to holding public office at that time. So, naturally, many of those who were not Masons felt frozen out and the fact they were also a secret society did help quell any suspicions either.”

As he says this, Mr. Wayne begins walking away from the blackboard toward where I’m sitting.

“The belief in secret societies that pull the strings of those who appear to be in power is a common theme among those on American political fringe,” he states as he slowly steps in my direction. “Most of the time, these conspiracy-freaks do little more than provide a some unintentional comic relief. However, occasionally, this paranoia bubbles to the surface and makes it way into so-called ‘mainstream’ public debate–like, for example, the flurry of attention the John Birch Society attracted during the late 50’s and early 60’s. Even now, there are those who believe that there’s a secret society active in our fair city right now.”

Mr. Wayne stands in front of my desk. He leans over and puts his hands on it. His face and mine are no more than one foot apart. I can tell from his breath that he likes onions in his scrambled eggs.

“Mr. Montrose,” he imperiously says, “Let’s hear your imput on this subject.”

I have a feeling that Mr. Wayne might be on to me but it could also just be my own paranoia. I reply…

[dougie_monty]

“All I can say is that is shows Americans to be no less vulnerable to prejudice than people of other countries are—not that the drafters of the Constitution didn’t anticipate that.”
Mr. Wayne steps back a little.

“You know, of course, Mr. Montrose, that the precepts in the Constitution are there to protect the citizens from the government. They don’t protect Dennis Montrose from Mr. Wayne.”
If he’s trying to intimidate you, he has a weird way of doing it, Alice thinks to me.

Weird indeed, I reply.
I speak. “I got a good idea about that when I visited the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles,” I say.

“You’ve been there?” Mr. Wayne asks.
“Yes, Sir, I have—three times.”

“Er—let’s take another tack,” the teacher says, having failed to wear me down. “Have you heard about secret societies around here?”
“No, Sir,” I answer. “We only moved here last week.”

The other kids react with slight amusement. Mr. Wayne has fumbled a second time. If he intended to accuse Alice and me of belonging to a “secret society”—the DXM League or any other entity—he’s gone about it the wrong way.
“Ms. Torrance,” he starts to say, turning to face Alice. “Er—never mind.”

He returns to his desk, talks to Mr. Pollard briefly, and takes out his copy of the portfolio he prepared for the class.
“We’ll discuss the structure of political parties in California now…”

We all open the portfolios he issued us. There are no more surprises, at least in today’s session. He tells us the parts of the portfolio and the textbook that will be covered in the next test.
Before we leave at the end of the period, I stop at his desk and comment, “Mr. Wayne, I don’t think that the parties with extreme positions on anything ever really succeed in their goal.”

“Why not?” he asks.
“Because they alienate people opposed to that point of view,” I say. “They just stick their neck out too far.”

He doesn’t take my bait. Alice and I leave, on our way to Room 401.
In the French class, Mr. Hernández has set up a banner on a side wall reading “BATTEZ TEMPLETON.” He and most of the kids in the class wear rooter ribbons.

He asks, “M. Montrose, est-ce que vous serez dans le jeu ce soir?” (He’s asking if I’ll be in the Templeton game.)
I don’t know, so I say, *“Je ne sais pas encore.”

Mr. Hernández has apparently not spoken to Coach Hades, Alice tells me telepathically.

We go through more material in Vingt et Un Contes. While we read and translate, I note that a short, slightly pudgy blond girl—her hair in a long ponytail—keeps glancing at me. I am polite enough to smile back.
When the period ends and Alice and I leave the room, the blonde catches up with us. She walks alongside me on the other side from Alice. She says, “Dennis, I’m Bobbie Cold. Are you going to the dance after the game?”

I sense this irritates Alice slightly. “I don’t know, Bobbie,” I say cordially, “But if I do I will probably go with Andrea here. Thanks just the same.”
Bobbie walks off muttering.

Now we meet Jean Sharp, one of Eloise’s daughters.
“What did that girl say to you?” she asks.

“She asked ______ to go with her to the after-game dance,” says Alice. “She said her name is Bobbie Cold.”
Jean scowls. “Watch out for her,” she says; “she is already a self-absorbed manipulator. She tried to keep Susan and me off the cheerleading squad.”

From a distance Bobbie, who obviously did not hear what Jean said, glowers at her.
We go to the chemistry class. As promised, Mr. Basset has us take a test. He says, “Ms. Torrance, Mr. Montrose, I’ll keep in mind how little time you’ve spent here when I apply your test grades to your semester grade.” We nod.

We take the test. Alice told me she had taken chemistry in her senior year in high school; I did as a junior. We apparently do well on the test; and Mr. Basset asks those who finish early to check out the next chapters to be assigned. We leave at the end of third period, to go to lunch.
Alice excuses herself to use a restroom. I wait in the corridor and overhear a conversation around the corner; I turn my ESP on. There are at least three voices.

“So we want to get Dexter out of the game.”
“What do we do?”

“He has Senior Literature in fifth period. Room 313. We’ll jump him as he crosses the street to go to the gym building and hide him in the lot of that old theater on Bradford Street.”
“What about that new guy—Dennis Montrose?”

“Forget him—he’s a second-stringer. They can’t beat Templeton without their star quarterback. By the time Dexter frees himself and gets back to the stadium, it’ll be halftime.”
I slip away and meet Alice, on the way out of the restroom. We go back towards the cafeteria and talk about this to Jan Oranjeboom. He nods, and seems to express a strong sense of cunning—he tells us just what we should do for Dexter’s sake.

[NDP]

“We need to think of a way to divert him from going to the gym building after fifth period,” Jan states. “Something really subtle, though.”

“How about telling him about the guys planning to jump him?” Alice asks.

“Right now, I don’t think we should tell him about the kidnapping plot,” Jan says. “It might upset him too much. Besides, he’ll wonder how we know about it and maybe get suspicious. By the way _____, did you happen to see any of the people in on the kidnapping plot.”

“Unfortunately, no,” I answer. “I took a quick glimpse around the corner but there wasn’t anybody there. They must have ran out the door right after discussing their plan.”

“This was in the corridor around the corner from the girl’s room that’s just down the hall from here?” Jan inquires.

“Yes,” I inform him.

“Well, I think we should take a look in that corridor,” Jan suggest. "But before we do that, here’s how we should divert Dexter from his rendezvous with the kidnappers. First, we should…

[dougie_monty]

“…ask him to come to the journalism room in 5th period…”
“You know, that’s a good idea,” I reply. “In case he can give some comments about the upcoming game, just before Mr. Thomas starts the presses running. It’d be a good supplement—a good last-minute item to add to this week’s issue.”

Alice is puzzled. “How will that keep Dexter Glenwood out of harm’s way?” she asks.
“Well,” says Jan, “The shop building—including the journalism classroom, Room 62—is halfway across campus from Room 313, where Dexter’s own fifth-period class is. I’ll get Artie Brown and Mike Bradley to act as ‘escorts’ for our quarterback, from there to the gym. You two can go along as well and talk to Dexter.”

“Those guys have a lot of chutzpah to plan to tie Dexter up in the Morpheus’ lot!” Alice says.
“It’ll never happen,” Jan says. “Mr. Sharp hired Pinkerton guards to keep an eye on the [public] lot when Artie and Mike aren’t around. If anyone tries to abduct Dexter and drop him off in that lot, they’d be nabbed before they could return to the sidewalk. And the group inside the theater would rescue Dexter anyway and return him to the campus immediately.”

“Is anyone from our group on guard duty at the Morpheus?” Alice asks.
“Mr. Salbert, and Jeanette’s drummer Jerry Britton,” says Jan. “And Loochy—Mr. Salbert’s burro—is in a hidden pen adjoining the lot. If any stranger prowls the lot Loochy will start braying loudly.”

“One last thing,” I ask before we return to the corridor. How do you intend to convince Dexter to go to the journalism room?”
“Hey, remember, you’re talking to Jay Orange, Gwen Berry’s agent,” Jan says with tongue in cheek. “I could convince Dexter to stand on his head and gargle peanut butter! And I doubt he would pass up an opportunity to give the game more publicity.”

“Well, let’s get back to the corridor,” says Alice.
We return to the spot in the corridor where I heard the voices. Sure enough, we see, in the distance, three people whom Jan apparently recognizes—but not as classmates. They can’t see us.

“Are they the ones?” I ask.
“That’s them,” says Jan. “The tall, skinny black kid is Arnie Nivens, the head cheerleader for the Templeton Badgers. The pudgy redheaded guy with the steel-rimmed glasses is Will Kaufman, the ‘manager’ for the Templeton varsity. And the brawny Japanese guy is Franklin Oshimura, a Templeton linebacker.”

The three interlopers stand near a drinking fountain. Alice uses ESP on them.
“They’re talking about their dates,” she says. “They want to go out to the Galaxy 100 Mall lot—and they say they aren’t going to bring condoms. And the girls they plan to take along go to Amoruso Junior High!” Alice’s eyes flash in anger. I hold her close.

“That school is about four blocks south of Guzman’s Body Shop,” says Jan.
“I think we ought to call Thurlow Skagg and Ulrica Werdin out here,” I say.

We get a telepathic message as we sit on a bench.
You won’t need to do that! It’s Leo!

There was one Westinghouse Jet Set TV in the store in Coos Bay, says Leo, who apparently hovers above us—we don’t see him but we hear his chains rattling.
*And it was in a store that sells reconditioned electronics.

I assume you know what’s been going on,* Alice thinks to Leo.

*I sure do—I heard every word. I’m going to contact Salbert now, and Jack and Eloise. They may be able to get one of our group who is a cop—Lieutenant Clay, Sergeant Long, Jock, Hermione or Winifred—to show up at the end of fifth period. Those three Templeton guys will wait near the gym. So you guys hold back until I give the signal. Then we can catch Nivens, Kaufman, and Oshimura with the goods—and not a hair on Dexter’s head will be harmed.

What about Elwood and the lockbox?* I ask.
*Elwood has already been in touch with Thurlow and Ulrica. If they don’t find the stuff buried under Hades’ office, by game time, you two go ahead and show up around midnight. Well, have a good lunch.

We’ll see you later, Leo,* Alice, Jan, and I think to Leo. He goes on his way.
Now Alice and I rejoin Jeanette in time for lunch, and we tell Betty Galloway what has happened.

At the start of fifth period, Alice and I are in Mr. Thomas’ class in Room 61. We hear Dexter’s voice in the adjoining room.
“Jan sure hasn’t lost his touch,” Alice says as we clasp hands.

The period ends. We meet Dexter, along with Artie Brown and Mike Bradley, who came, ostensibly to give their lowdown on the game. On the way to the gym, we see Jeanette, Jean Sharp, and Susan Bradley, all of whom are obviously in on our plan. They, and we, follow Artie, Mike, and Dexter, at a safe distance.

And as we approach the gym, and sense Leo’s presence, we see the three Templeton plotters. But they get a big surprise:

[NDP]

a dead guy in the gym instead of a live quarterback. Leo–who had his back turned toward the approaching boys and changed his appearance so he looked like Dexter from the rear–turns around and faces the would-be kidnappers with outstretched arms and a broad demonic smile on his ghostly face. Looking as though he’s about to devour them both their bodies and souls, the phantom opens his mouth so wide that his jaw extends down to his chest and lets out a roar that seems to come from the depths of hell itself. Paralyzed, the three Templeston students let the sound wave of Leo’s roar rush over them until they turn tail and scramble out the gym door.

“Holy shit!” I hear Kaufman exclaim as he runs out. “Those stories about this place are true!”

“What about our mascot?” Nivens asks. “What about ‘dirty for dirty?’”

“Screw the mascot! Screw ‘dirty for dirty!’” Oshimura yells as he dashes across the street. “That thing in there is going to eat out souls!”

(Mascot? “Dirty for dirty?” The plot to kidnap Dexter seems to be only part of the story here.)

When Niven, Kaufman, and Oshimura get to to the other side of the street…

[dougie_monty]

…I notice a car nearby—a battered, gold Toyota wagon that appears to have a dead pigeon glued on top.
We already recognized Templeton’s colors from photos on the wall in the gym—green and gold. There’s a kid at the wheel of the car, in a green-and-gold letter sweater; he slightly resembles Joe Namath. He even wears his hair the same way.

Alice, Jan, and I notice this, as do Jean, Susan, and Jeanette.
We’re far enough back that the Templeton kids don’t see us. I describe the driver of the car to the others, who don’t see him clearly.

“That’s Templeton’s quarterback, Jamie Lightbody,” says Susan dryly. “He thinks he’s a great lover. He has tried to put the moves on me, but his pick-up lines are as stale as last week’s pastrami sandwich.”
“I sense Templeton had more of an agenda than abducting our star quarterback—as if that weren’t heinous enough,” Alice says.

Now we get a telepathic message from Ulrica Werdin.
You bet they did, she thinks to us. Stick around—you’ll see what they were planning.

As if on cue, a black-and-white police car pulls up behind the station wagon. Hermione and Winifred get out.
Before anyone can react—other than some boys nearby who whistle at the shapely figures of Alice’s sisters-in-law under their form-fitting uniforms—Hermione runs to the station wagon, pulls her gun, and growls, “Out of the car, buddy!”

Lightbody meekly complies. Winifred approaches the trio of Nivens, Kaufman, and Oshimura and orders them to stand against a nearby wall. She pats them down.
She doesn’t find any weapons, but she does find a suspicious ring of keys—maybe 40 or more—Kaufman was carrying.

Suddenly Coach Geraldine Safer appears. She resembles the girl on the St. Pauli beer containers—she even wears her hair in braids. She has on snug blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt that contains her ample bosom, which bobs rhythmically as she walks over to Winifred. Hermione looks inside the car.
When the coach approaches the Templeton trio they turn white at the sight of her.

“Officer, these are the kids I saw prowling inside the gym early this afternoon,” Geraldine says, with a tinge of a German accent.
Winifred turns. “Hermione,” she calls out, “Get the other handcuffs!”

Hermione brings two more sets of handcuffs. She and Winifred handcuff and Mirandize all four boys. They stay quiet and sit on the curb.

I start to use ESP—gingerly.
“They must have been in the gym—” I start to say.

“I’ll take it from here,” interrupts Leo. “Coach Safer saw them in the gym shortly after I met you, just before lunch. They were prowling around the trophy exhibits in the entrance hall. She called out and they ran—but she recognized them.”
“Do you know what they were after, Leo?” asks Alice.

“Yes,” he says. “There’s a locked wall case with a glass box inside it, containing a stuffed badger. Mr. Basset allowed the coaches to bring it out here as long as it’s returned safely after the Templeton game. Those guys wanted to steal it to show off at the game.”
Now Hermione, acting incident to the kids’ arrest, conducts a thorough search of the gold station wagon. She finds shovels, a professional-style camera, a huge lantern—and papers bearing a black pelican!

“Threshold operatives!” Alice mutters in astonishment.
Hermione takes out her handy-talkie and speaks in police code to the dispatcher. Then she and Winifred order the boys into the back seat of the police car—except for Jamie Lightbody, still handcuffed and sitting on the curb.

In a moment two more vehicles appear—another black-and-white and a plain gray van. Jock is at the wheel of the other black-and-white, accompanied by another policeman we don’t recognize. Jock orders Jamie into the unit’s back seat. Bob Long, at the wheel of the van, calls to Alice and the others, and me, to come over and get in the van, which we do—including Coach Safer. And Thurlow Skagg, appears—so all three ghosts are now present.

“I’ll tell your coaches you were detained,” says Geraldine. Alice and I notice her DXM ring.
“It looks like Templeton had a threefold goal—kidnap our star quarterback, steal the stuffed badger, and dig up the lockbox,” Alice says. Jock, with Jamie in the back seat, stays put. Hermione and Winifred, with the other three boys in the back seat, stay as well.

“You called it,” says Sergeant Long. He sees Elwood, too, and calls him over to the van as well. Elwood, in fact, looks quite smug—and high-fives the sergeant. Jan Oranjeboom, Susan Bradley, Jean Sharp—and now George Sharp—look on from outside. With my ESP I sense they are making telepathic contact with Fred, Eloise, or Parker.

[NDP]

Their messages inform whoever their DXM contact is about the apprehension of Niven, Kaufman, and Oshimura and the details of their plot. However, the response they get back is surprisingly interesting–and frightening.

It starts off rather ordinarily as the DXM contact–whose identity I still can’t determine–states he or she is pleased about the outcome of the arrest. Then, it takes a weird turn as…

[dougie_monty]

…Their contact wants Alice, Jeanette, and me, to return to the gym. Susan Bradley relays this to Elwood, standing just outside the van at the driver’s door, talking to Sergeant Long.
Elwood tells us grimly, “It looks as though ______ and Alice will have to stay away from the Morpheus.”

This startles Alice and me, and the others. “What happened, Elwood?” asks Alice.
In answer, Elwood steps around to the other side of the van and opens the side door. He gets in with us, joining Alice, Jeanette, Coach Safer, and me. Bob Long, of course, also listens.

“Jan and the others were communicating telepathically with Fred,” Elwood says. “It seems Luigi Luglio [the ghost] was patrolling the rooms in the Morpheus, including the bedroom you two use that’s near Mr. Galloway’s Turkish bath. Luigi found that the Cigar Band’s roadies Foraker and Donoho, and that Cockney guy Quincy Davies, bugged the bedroom and installed a hidden video camera.”

This is disturbing news to Alice and me.
“How long have the ‘bug’ and the camera been there?” I ask.

“Jack Sharp figures it’s been at least a month,” Elwood says.
“Son of a bitch,” Alice mutters. “They hit us where we live.”

“Do they know where the listening and viewing area is?” I ask. “Most likely it isn’t anywhere on Morpheus property.”
“Jack and Mr. Galloway haven’t figured it out yet but they believe it’s nearby,” Elwood answers. “Maybe it’s that abandoned Mell-O-Tone record store on Amoruso Street. It’s a few doors away from Guzman’s Body Shop.”

Now it’s my turn to puzzle the others. I suddenly strike a pensive pose as Alice and the others look on, baffled at my obvious change of demeanor. I just sit there, mentally ruminating for a few minutes.

“You’re on to something, aren’t you?” asks Alice.
I grip her hand. “I sure am,” I say, with a triumphant grin.

“Elwood, did Fred say that ‘bug’ is still in place?”
“I don’t know…. Jan, Susan, George, Jean…come here a minute, will you please?”

The others step over to the van. Even Jock, Hermione, and Winifred approach from the police units. Jock’s partner stays put to keep an eye on the kids, who still sit in the cars handcuffed.
“Yes,” says George Sharp. “Fred says the bug and the video camera are still in place and still transmitting.”

“Spell it out for us,” says Alice, gently squeezing my hand.
“Here it is,” I say. “If the surveillance apparatus is still there and running, we should give the listeners an earful. Have any of you ever followed ‘Spy vs. Spy’ in Mad?”

Everyone else present nods, including Coach Safer. They all understand what I’m getting at.
With my voice just loud enough for the group present to hear, I say, “George, when Jean and the others get back to the Morpheus from school, round up Doris Sharp’s Punk Band. And ask Eloise to take her camping lantern out to our bedroom.”

Everyone nods knowingly when I mention the punk band. But Jeanette asks, “Why the lantern?”
“Well, if that video camera is on,” I say, still sotto voce, “We don’t want our watchers to know who is going in there. So Mrs. Sharp should keep the lights off inside the room, and bring the lantern to the doorway, to give the punk band just enough light to set up in there.

“As for us, we’ll have about an hour and a half before we leave until we’re to be back here for the game—is that right, Coach Safer?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Coaches Hades and Pilar will dismiss you both about 4:30 so you can go home for dinner. But the game starts at 8 PM so you’ll have to be back here to suit up around 6:30. That gives you two hours.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I say. Now we all can be smug. Elwood leaves; we see him off, knowing he’ll oversee efforts by the League to locate the lockbox buried beneath Coach Hades’ office. He’ll keep us posted. Jock, Hermione, and Winifred return to their police units and drive away. The rest of us get out of Bob Long’s van and he drives off.
Jan, Jean, and George head back to the Morpheus. Susan and Alice, who sees me off, now go to the girls’ gym area as I head over to the boys’ locker room to suit up.

Coach Hades, growling and grumpy as ever, puts the team through its workout—running, passing, scrimmaging, tackling. After about an hour and a half he orders us to the showers and says to be back at the gym by 6:30.

I join Alice after we get dressed, and Jeanette and we return to the Morpheus. At the entrance Ulrica Werdin reappears. We’re all fairly certain now that the abandoned Mell-O-Tone store is the “listening post.” Eloise, George Galloway, and Fred Moreland look like the cats that swallowed the canaries. And we suddenly hear a loud din that obviously emanates from the bedroom Alice and I use.

After a few minutes the din stops. Ulrica, Luigi, Thurlow, and Leo reappear and join the rest of us in the stage area, to report on the Mell-O-Tone store. They have a triumphant air about them, and they almost laugh themselves sick!

[NDP]

“I take it Doris and her band’s rehearsal went well,” Alice says.

“Let me put it this way,” a deadpan Leo comments. “I don’t think anyone in the old Mell-O-Town store is going to be able to hear anything for the next few hours.”

“So it all went exactly to plan,” I state.

“More than that,” Ulrica mentions. “The din produced by the band blew out and effectively destroyed all their sensitive listening equipment.”

“So, Doris was cranked up to ‘11’, huh?” Jeanette asks.

“If you mean they were louder than a jet engine, yes,” Leo answers.

Fred adds…

[dougie_monty]

“Doris Sharp also worked out a special-effects show with the performance. She said punk bands don’t normally use smoke bombs, smudge pots, laser lights, and strobes…”
“I guess strobes went out with disco in the early 1980s,” I say facetiously. Alice, clinging to me, gets a good laugh. This must have been a blinding light-show for our “audience” in the Mell-O-Tone store.

“Oh—one other thing,” says Mary Blonda. “Hermione called. Tomorrow she wants both of you to give statements on what you saw of those three Templeton guys—Nivens, Kaufman, and Oshimura.”
Alice shrugs. “I probably won’t be able to tell her much,” she says. “I wasn’t present when they were on campus before lunch, and I only saw them approaching the entrance to the gym when they were about to jump Dexter—or what they thought was Dexter.”

Leo looks a bit smug; of course, he was our decoy.
“But Coach Safer saw those three guys prowling around in the gym atrium earlier,” I say, “like they were making plans to steal the stuffed badger in that trophy case.”

The “real” teenagers, Artie Brown, Susan Bradley, and Jan Oranjeboom, stand nearby.
“How did they get that badger anyway?” I ask no one in particular. “Badgers don’t live around here.”

Susan steps over and explains.
“Mr. Basset sometimes travels to other parts of the country to gather specimens. He used a cage trap to bag that badger near Amery, Wisconsin. Unfortunately, the critter suffered from some animal disease and it died before Mr. Basset could get it back to California. He took it to a taxidermist in Pueblo, Colorado, to have it stuffed. [Here Mary Blonda reacts slightly.] Then he had it shipped to him here. Every year for the week before the Templeton game, the cheerleaders come into the atrium and speak a chant to it. It’s an old tradition.”

Alice says, “I know. Coach Pilar had us learn the chant and speak it, in a monotone, to the badger once every day this week. “Templeton Badger, again we meet,/Your team is heading for defeat!”
We older people chuckle at this. “Who wrote that chant?” Jeanette asks.
“Mr. Basset wrote it himself,” says Susan. “He was a tackle himself on our team when he attended the school—he scored four touchdowns in the Templeton game in his senior year. He hasn’t missed a Templeton game since he did a hitch in the Navy, just after he graduated.”

I ask, “How have they done against Templeton, all told?”
Betty Galloway, herself an alumna of the local high school, says, “In sixty years we’ve won 34 times, lost sixteen times, and tied three—there was a seven-year period around World War II when there was no Templeton game.”

Now we have dinner. Anna Luglio and her parents Tomasso and Lucrezia bring in a catered meal from De Caro’s. It’s authentic Roman food—and it’s excellent.
As we eat I comment, “I think it’s amazing that De Caro’s chef is Japanese.”

Luigi Luglio, hovering nearby, says, “It doesn’t matter. Seiji’s family grew up in Rome and he went to cooking schools in Italy. He’s won a number of awards for his culinary talents.”

I notice that George Sharp sits across from us. Anna sits on one side of him and Susan Bradley on the other. Susan, of course, no longer wears the ersatz tattoo about ‘George Sharp—now and forever,’ but Anna still senses that Susan is competing with her for George’s affections. And the fact that Susan’s regular clothing barely accommodates her outrageous figure—almost as outrageous as that of her mother Jane—doesn’t help matters, although Anna is quite a knockout herself. Alice and I both sense this, even without ESP.

Now Alice turns to Mary Blonda, changing the subject. She says, “Mary, when Susan mentioned the taxidermist in Pueblo, you reacted. Do you know a taxidermist there?”
“No,” says Mary, “I don’t, but my brother Mark Smith does. Mark works with museums in the West, and he has had Mr. Rossat come out here to do evaluations and repairs on animal exhibits.”

“Rossat?” I ask.
“Yes,” says Mary, “Ludwig Rossat. He’s a graduate of Stanford, 1977. He too went to our high school, according to Betty Galloway.”

We finish dinner. Alice, Jeanette, and I, along with the “real” teenagers, return to campus.
I embrace Alice briefly before she goes to her gym area to suit up as a cheerleader. We hear Daniel jeering us facetiously. (We smirk.) Then I go to suit up.

In the locker room pep talk, Coach Hades tells each of us what to do, and my job will be to block Templeton’s linebacker at the line of scrimmage.
Artie Brown, himself a linebacker, says, “But if you get the ball—well, you know.” I nod.

We take the field to cheers of our fans. I see Alice, Susan, and the self-absorbed brunette Margie Stewart among the cheerleaders. There seems to be a “Goth” section in the stands, with Jeanette sitting in the back of the section so her stately form doesn’t block the view of other Goth kids.
I meet the referee at the 50-yard line, along with Templeton halfback Leon Guerrero, for the coin toss, and the game is on.

[NDP]

I pick heads; it comes up tails.

“We’ll receive,” Guerrero says and, as we all quickly take our positions on the field, the ball is set on the tee.

I and nine other team members line up downfield to to the right of our kicker, a short freckle-faced black-haired junior named Guy Demsey. The starting gun sounds and we begin jogging up the field at 3/4 speed. Guy powerfully boots the football and it soars in a continually upward trajectory over the heads of the returning team, over the goal line, and over the goal post. Then, high above the stands in the end zone, it suddenly makes a right angle and–with no sign of decreasing altitude–it flies off over the city and disappears from view.

With the ball gone, of course, the game’s action stops. I, along with all the other players on the field, stand stunned at the weird outcome of the kick-off. Then, I turn to Guy and ask…

[dougie_monty]

“What did you put in that shoe?”
“Hey, don’t blame me!” Guy bleats. “I kick it and it’s supposed to land in the end zone, unless they catch it!”

The clock has stopped. While we turn and face the referees to see what we should do next, I get a telepathic message from Leo.
I just contacted Professor Fields, says Leo. He was at the Morpheus. He’ll be right over and he said you should see something happen any second now.

After a few seconds, Leo says, Look in the sky behind you!

I do so. Here comes the ball, in a high arc from the opposite direction. I thank Leo telepathically, and then I holler “Hey, Look!” to everybody, as I see the ball, directly overhead. Everyone—players, referees, fans, cheerleaders, the band, and the drill team—looks, and sees the ball flying towards the Templeton end zone. It falls behind the goal posts and bounces, then rolls a little and stops.

A referee gingerly steps over and picks the ball up. The other refs gather around and they examine the ball.
After everyone waits in anticipation for a few minutes, the referees shrug. The clock starts again, and one ref raises his arms to indicate that it’s a good field goal. We now lead Templeton 3-0. The fans cheer, and Alice and the other cheerleaders react appropriately.

Coach Hades approaches Guy and says, “That’s some toe you’ve got, Demsey. Maybe you should consider launching satellites.” We laugh.
Then someone yells, “Boy, you is out—I mean yesterday, in the city of Pittsburgh!”

We don’t know who said that. The players and fans are baffled.
Now Coach Hades tell us the referees have ordered that a new ball be put into the game. They’ll have the one that Guy “launched” examined, he says.

Just after this, I notice Professor Fields in the stands. He has just arrived. He wears a heavy green wool sweater and dark slacks. He signals to me to talk to him during our next time-out. I acknowledge.

I also see Claudia Hart, sitting a few rows behind the band in the stands. In high-school football, at least in this area, the band sits in the stands except before and after the game, and during halftime. Claudia is there apparently to signal to the bandleader, whose back is to the field, what’s happening on the field, so he knows what to have the musicians do.

Now we line up for another kickoff. Guy kicks the ball to Templeton, and I collide with Guerrero—just as he and I expected we would do. Templeton’s second-string quarterback Hymie Jacobs catches the ball and runs toward our goal line, but Artie Brown and Mike Bradley tackle him on our 40-yard line.

As we line up for the next play, I see a real short Templeton guy at the near end of the line of scrimmage—a “scatback.” Sure enough, Hymie gets the snap and throws a pass in the direction of the scatback, a little Irish fellow named Dave O’Toole—but I catch the ball! :eek:
“RUN!!” hollers Coach Hades.

Well, I run. I didn’t expect to intercept a pass.

I high-tail it downfield, toward the Templeton goal, with half the other team on my heels. I run a zigzag course and manage to elude the Badger tackles, and finally cross the goal line. The fans cheer; the band plays an appropriate fanfare, and Alice and the other cheerleaders do a proper routine. Delighted myself, I happily spike the ball. It pirouettes gracefully in the air, then comes down and bonks me on the helmet before landing quietly on the ground. Everyone laughs loud—even the Templeton team. Then Guy kicks for the PAT, and it’s good.

The teams change now. “Go sit down, son,” says a happy Coach Hades. “You’ve earned it.”
“Coach, I’d like to step over to the stands for a minute,” I say.

“You can’t leave the field during the game, Montrose,” Hades says.
“Oh, let him go,” says Coach Jeff Moscowitz. “I think he needs to talk to someone.” Hades relents. Moscowitz makes the thumb-to-neck-and-waist DXM signal.

“Thanks, Coach,” I say.
Alice has apparently cadged a time-out too; she and I step over to Professor Fields. The fans are so delighted with the 10-0 score they pay no attention to what the three of us are saying.

“Leo contacted me,” Fields says. “I used psychokinesis to return the ball to the field. It seems we have a poltergeist around—Alexander Lemoyne.”
“He must not have read the papers, then,” Alice comments. “If he did he’d know my Dad was not responsible for his death.”

“You have a point there, Alice,” Fields says.
Alice now asks, “What did that person mean by that remark about Pittsburgh?”

I say, “When pitcher Satchel Paige was in the Negro Leagues, he played for the Pittsburgh Crawfords. They were in Forbes Field playing a Philadelphia team, and a home-run slugger on his team hit the ball far out over the right-field fence. Nobody ever saw it come down. The game was over. The two teams traveled to Philadelphia and played in Shibe Park the next day. Just before the game started a baseball came down out of the sky and a Philadelphia player caught it. The plate umpire walked over to the Crawfords’ bench and said to the home-run hitter, ‘Boy, you is out,’ etcetera.”

We now hear a disembodied laugh. It isn’t Leo or any of the other ghosts we know. But—if this is our poltergeist—he has apparently been listening to us and his voice has not a trace of guile or evil intent. It’s as if he has been chastened.
“I think a ghostly Alexander Lemoyne has heard what we were saying,” Professor Fields says.

[NDP]

We hear another disembodied laugh–a slight chuckle.

“It could be possible he’s just goofing with us,” Fields suggests. “What with the football and everything.”

“You think he was responsible for that?” Alice inquires.

“So far, that’s the best explanation,” he answers. “Maybe we should find out if he liked to pull practical jokes while he was alive.”

I’m about suggest we involve Leo and the other ghosts on this when I hear someone yell, “Hey Monstrose!”

It’s Coach Hades.

“Get your ass back on the field!” he orders. “Discussion group’s over!”

I turn to head back onto the field but, before I leave, Professor Fields whispers to Alice and me…

[SanguineSpider]

“Get OUT” in a gravelled voice. Swirling fog and decimating noises fill my mind…

The field is gone and I am standing in a circle of white light beyond which is nothing, a great void of darkness. I sense I am quite alone until I hear the faintest, little meandering of a tune… scratchy as if from an old timey record playing on a worn Victrola.

The music is warping in and out, getting louder and then fading to almost nothing. It comes from out of this darkness to tease me, the melody tumbling out in a decayed pattern of a diseased carnival, poisoned by this darkness…

A flash of red! I turn, confused, frightened… alone. There! There it is again, red. A image flickers to life, dim and hazy… a frayed moving picture of a clown weeping. Flash! Replaced by brief scenes of carnage and horror. What is this? Flash! Again, the red hazed scene flickers into existence, longer this time and I see a woman lying in a field of flowers. Flash!

The music is horrible! It tears at my ears now and I cannot shut out the sound no matter how tightly I push my hands to them! Flash! The red… it’s like blood covering everything I see, the images run with it as they gain speed and start to whirl around me! Flash, flash, flash, flash! I scream out in a strangled, terrified cry holding my hands to my ears as the red whirls by ever faster! Deep, maniacal laughter works itself into my brain like crawling, clawing rats as I scream ever louder, my voice breaking in the maelstrom of horror, death, and red, red blood… flash, flash, flash…

[NDP]

then total darkness and complete silence.

For a second, I wonder if I’m dead but eliminate this possibility when I notice my rapidly-beating heart. However, I immediately begin to worry about Alice and whether she’s having a similar (or worse) hellish experience.

I put my arms out in front of me to feel for any unseen objects and try to walk out of wherever I am. For several minutes, I stagger aimlessly through the empty black void. (Well, not totally empty. Because I don’t have any trouble breathing, I figure out at least there’s air here.) Eventually, I see a tiny, pinprick-sized blue light in the distance and start to walk toward it. Yet, oddly enough, the light doesn’t grow any brighter or larger as I get closer.

After what seems like hours, I reach the tiny blue light. It’s round, dime-sized button about two feet off the ground, and attached to a slick-feeling black wall of some sort. I reach down…

[dougie_monty]

…and I push it.
There’s apparently a speaker on the wall near the button. A plain voice says, “Push button twice more.” I do so.

I sneeze, and the button turns green. The voice now says, “If button is green, pull pinball handle twice as if shooting ball onto field.” I do so. The light turns red.
The voice says, “If Jerry Britton is The Cigar Band’s bass player, get undressed. Otherwise, pull door handle.”

So I pull the door handle I suddenly see near the light.
There is another bright flash—an almost blinding orange light.

The plain voice says, “You are being returned to the football game, with no time lost. Is this satisfactory?”
“It is,” I say. In fact I’m still in the football uniform.

Now I see nothing—just gray all around me. Then, standing in front of me, is Alice, in her cheerleader outfit. We’re in some kind of void; she’s as puzzled as I am.

Now the picture changes; it’s all black. And I hear Coach Hades’ statement, again. And there is another ghost hovering nearby—a man in his thirties, who resembles Kevin Tighe. The scene reverts to the stands, like a picture on a computer screen coming into full view. Time seems to be frozen for a moment.

During this pause, I hear a voice from the ghost.
“I am Alexander Lemoyne,” he says. “I heard what you and Ms. Terwilliger said about the cause of my death. I shall continue to speak to Fields until the game is over, and I will explain your bizarre detour at that time.”

I cordially acknowledge Alexander and return to the field.
For the rest of the first half, the game is uneventful. Guerrero and I keep blocking each other. Neither team gives an inch, and at the end of the first half the score is still 10-0.

“Be back here in 25 minutes,” says Coach Hades. “And try not to get sidetracked again.”
I sit with the other players, and Coach Moscowitz, in the locker room. We hear the halftime show. We sip Gatorade or ice water, and talk about the game. Artie and Mike sit with me, and Guy Demsey joins us; I sense something about him…???

I just sit there, holding a large paper cup of Gatorade. Artie and Mike know I’m going to contact Fields telepathically.
Why did you tell me to “get out”? I ask.

That was a prod from Alexander, he answers.* He meant no harm, and, as you saw, he provided a way for you to escape his Twilight Zone.
So he did, * I reply. *Has he lifted his “eternal curse” from Paul Terwilliger?

I believe he has,* Fields answers. *He even has a copy of the paper you saw at the courthouse months ago. He acknowledges that it was faulty equipment that caused his death—and he says his Aunt Letitia Frazier, still in jail for that fraudulent contract matter, has contacted an attorney and is pursuing a wrongful death action against the manufacturer.

It would sure be nice if he could make his father more penitent,* I comment.
Well, we can’t advise him on how to deal with his own family, Fields concludes.

The buzzer sounds. Coach Hades hollers, “Back on the field, grunts! That means you, too, Montrose!”
We return to the field, to the cheers of our fans.

The lead seesaws back and forth during the third quarter. It seems that, as the game progresses, Hymie Jacobs, the Badgers’ substitute quarterback, gets better. Templeton scores three touchdowns and Hades is apoplectic. Guerrero constantly bowls me over like a runaway tank.
By the end of the third quarter, Templeton is ahead 21-19. Guy Demsey has kept us in the game with three field goals, and I continue to sense something out of the ordinary about him…

As the fourth quarter starts, the Templeton players—Jacobs, O’Toole, and Guerrero in particular—jeer me mercilessly. Oh, well, it’s part of the game; I’m not all that sensitive but I just feel gloomy.
Then, during a time-out, I happen to glance into the stands and see three women. They are Vickie Sanders, Germaine Ray, and Bonnie Wyman—whom Alice and I met in the Starbucks’ after Ms. Breastly tested Alice and me to qualify us for DXM. I feel happy to see them…

…and then I see Alice, along with Susan Bradley and Margie Stewart. Gad, what a fool I’ve been. Alice is counting on me—and I on her.
What’s the matter with me, anyway? Well, enough is enough. We return to the line of scrimmage. Feeling inspired, I bowl Guerrero over—and, as if it were perfectly timed, there’s a fumble as Jacobs and O’Toole collide. I grab the fumbled ball and run—and see the clock running out.

Just as the game-ending buzzer sounds, I step over the goal line. I spike the ball again. This time, it bounces over to Alice—who catches it! :eek:
The fans laugh—and roar with delight. The game is over, with us winning 25-21.

The fans cheer long and loud. Our band plays the school alma mater and we assume the proper posture. We leave the field for the locker room, howling with delight. After we shower the coaches and each other with Gatorade, and we undress and hit the showers, I redon my street clothes and go back out to the field. Everyone has left except Alice, Fields, Jeanette, Elwood, Artie Brown, Mike Bradley, the three women I saw in the stands, and the ghosts, including Alexander, who are not visible but who Alice and I know are proceeding with us, toward Eloise’s big van. Elwood is triumphant too. And Guy Demsey joins us. As we walk, Alexander Lemoyne explains what has been going on, including the bizarre detour Alice and I both took. The youthful ghost goes into clear detail; we get to the van and he continues to explain what was happening. In the distance, also, I see Lorraine Adler—not watching us but apparently writing her story for the Courier-Times. The rest of us listen to Alexander’s story.