SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME

By Jo

PART NINE:

That evening he met Daisy in town and they walked around a little more. Everything was

outlined in lights and the whole town had a rather festive air about it.

He thought briefly of the Day of the Dead celebration his first night in Redemption, the sound

of guns being fired almost deafening.  But he'd been chained to the fountain and nothing in him

had felt celebratory at all.

"What are you thinking," she asked, noticing his serious face.

"Another Arizona town, another celebration. Not like this, though. This is happy, nice. I like

it."

"Were you born in Arizona, Cort?"

"Supposedly. Look at that cactus, Daisy. I don't know that I'd particularly enjoy being the one

to decorate a cactus with lights like that." He looked down at her, smiling.

What did he mean by 'supposedly'? But when he looked at her with that smile like he was

doing, he tended to make questions fly out of her mind.

They had a long meal together and he kept the topic off him by asking her questions about

herself. 

"My mother? Well, let's see. What can I say about her in just a few sentences? Her name

was Lavender...for the flower, not just the color. My grandfather met my grandmother in

Provence when he was there on business. My mother," she blushed just a little, "was

conceived when the lavender was in bloom. Hence, the name."

He smiled again and she basked in the glow of it. So often he looked troubled that when he

smiled full out it was simply marvelous.

"Might I ask," he cleared his throat slightly dramatically, "about, um, daisies?"

She laughed, "No such luck. My mother just really liked them, said that in the beauty of

their simplicity and humility they were the best of flowers."

"I can understand that," he said softly, studying her face just as she lifted it up to the light

that hung over their table. "They lift their faces up to the sunshine and expect it to bless

them...and it does."

"Yes," she agreed, not realizing he meant her, "they are like that. My mother always said

she could never name a child Peony because their heads were heavier than their stems and

though they fluff out their multi-layered skirts most dramatically, they tend to look toward

the ground and cannot bear the weight of rain." She gave a small laugh. "My mother was

like that, seeing everything in her own way. I'm glad not to be named Peony, though."

"I'm glad, too. Daisy suits you.  I've watched daisies in the rain and they...dance. They don't

get downcast.  They're happy flowers, somehow, and...strong."

She looked at him, moved by what he was able to say and that he was just so suddenly here.  "Cort...I...you...where did you come from?" 

He licked his lower lip slowly. "How does that old quote go? 'Out of the somewhere into the

here'.  Like that, Daisy. Like that."

She opened her mouth to say something but music started on the patio they were sitting on

the edge of.  "Come," he said, and held out his hand as he stood.  He needed to change the

subject and when the music started at that exact moment he also knew he wanted to dance

with her. 

"You want...?" She was surprised.

"Yes, Daisy. I do."

They did just a simple two-step to the slow tune and as she felt his hand warm on her back,

she thought of the difference a day makes. Yesterday at this time she was sitting in the mortuary chapel, watching him sleep in the dirt.  The song moved into another and he didn't suggest

they sit. Half way through the second tune, she let herself move somewhat closer to him and

before it ended, her cheek rested on his chest. A third song began and they danced like that

all the way through it.

He closed his eyes, dwelling in the moment, aware of her scent, how his chin brushed the top

of her pale hair, how her hand felt in his. He'd never thought to enjoy something like this

again. Except for a few short months, his life out in the real world had been one long chase,

him after someone or someone after him.  But this...this was quiet, peaceful and very, very

real. That was what he craved, the embrace of reality because therein lay his only hope of finding himself. He knew, too, that unless he found himself, he was no good to anyone else,

not Hope, not his brothers, no one. It was why he wasn't calling. He had to do this alone and

he HAD to do it or he wouldn't survive. He was in Arizona fighting for his very life and none

of them could help with it. 

He hadn't expected Daisy, though. Billie Lou was a beautiful woman and she obviously had

feelings for him but he...couldn't. He wasn't sure why he couldn't, but he knew it wasn't right

and he had to move on.  He'd probably hurt her and he was really sorry about that, but he

was so raw, so bleeding, that he'd just had to go no matter what. Now here he was, holding

Daisy in his arms and somehow the rawness in him felt soothed. 

As they danced, she heard his heartbeat slowing, like it was calming down from some stress.

What a lovely sound it was.  Cort. Cortland Wells. She knew his name but little more than

that. Why didn't it matter? It should matter. She knew that. Her mama hadn't raised any

idiot daughters. But, with him, it didn't matter and as she listened to his heart beating, it

didn't matter that it didn't matter.

"Thank you," she murmured, not realizing she'd said it aloud.

"Hmmm?"  His breath was in her hair and her roots tingled with it.

"For coming...for coming to the mission, I mean." She stopped and looked up at him. "I've

been there five years and thousands of tourists have come through but you...you sat in the

dirt and...and you even lay in the dirt...and...and...you belonged there, Cort, somehow more

than I did...and...and...I'm glad you came."

"I had to come," he whispered.

"You...did?"

"I had to, yes. And...maybe...it will be all right."

They danced some more, not speaking, then he said into her hair, "I'm glad you were there

when I came.  Thank you for bein' there." His hand pressed a little more firmly into her back.

When she was home again later, she picked up her phone. "Tom? I know this is short notice

but can you sub for me at the mission the next couple of days...or so? I...I've put in for my

vacation time but they say it won't start for two or three days and...and I really need not to

have to go to work tomorrow. Will you do that for me?  Oh...thanks so much, Tom! I'm

grateful, more than I can say."

Then she lay in bed, thinking of Cort. No way could she be at the mission while he was in

Tubac.  How long would he stay?  It scared her that he might leave and she wasn't ready for

that.  "Please, Cort," she said into the night, "please don't go."

Cort, too, was lying awake. He'd let her drive him to Tubac thinking he'd go get his car and

then leave as soon as he could. But where would he go next? Was there anyplace better than

where he was for working through what he had to work through? Daisy's presence brought

him a measure of peace and he knew he needed that. He liked being with her, more and more

all the time. But could he ever...ever...tell her the truth about himself? He didn't know that,

not yet he didn't.  Whether he stayed or left might well depend on if he could and what would

happen then.

In the morning when he came out for breakfast, she was there, talking with Matty. "Well,

hello," he said.

"I thought, um, we might have breakfast again...if that's all right?"

"More than all right, Daisy. It's good to see you."

They sat at the same table they had the previous morning and Matty brought marvelous

omelets for both of them.

"You don't have to go to work today?"

"No, someone's filling in for me. It's ok. It's been arranged."

"A line from Gladiator," he said under his breath.

"You like Gladiator?" she asked.

"Not the movie so much. It's the man I like."

"Me, too," she smiled. "Maximus is just...magnificent."

He smiled. "That he is." He drank some of his coffee. "Do you...watch many movies?"

"Not many. I mostly read, but I liked Gladiator so much I saw it three times."

"You are a fan of Russell Crowe's?"

"Not really. Well, it's just that Gladiator is the only movie of his I've seen. I know he has a

reputation as a great actor, but since I don't really know his work, when I see Gladiator,

Maximus is simply Maximus for me. I kind of like it that way."

She was looking directly at him as she said that but he guessed that with his long, chestnut

hair he must look very different from Maximus with his short cap of shiny black and his

trimmed beard. Maximus was a little older, a little larger, too. But how odd it was to sit

here with her as she spoke of his brother.

"I expect you'll want to get your car today."

"Probably a good idea."

"It's beautiful again. The Anza Trail from the inn is only a little over 3 1/2 miles. What if we walk it, following the river, and then you can drive us home...um, back."

"I'd like that, Daisy. Let's plan on that."

"What are you thinking...when you have your car again? Are you...?"

"I've decided to stick around for a while. Seems like a nice place."

She tried not to smile too broadly.

They finished breakfast then started down the trail. "I like the trail," she said. "I take it a lot

when I go to work instead of driving. It's so green along the river. I've always lived in Arizona

but sometimes, you know, I get tired of sand."

"I know what you mean. It's very green where I live. I've gotten to like that."

"You said east Texas?"

"Yes, I have a house there, a big old white Victorian, lots of gingerbread. There's a barn. I

have a couple of horses."

"Sounds lovely, nice and green."

"My brother is my neighbor. He's the one with the artist, Caroline, who has the gardens. They have horses, too."

"It's nice to have family close like that. My father was never really part of my life and now

Mom's gone. I'm pretty much on my own anymore."

When she said that, he couldn't help himself. He reached out and took her hand as they walked.

They walked in silence for a while, each thinking about the existence of the joined hands but

neither speaking of it.

"It's nice just to take your time like this," she finally commented. "Usually I have to hurry to

get to work."

"That's what I'm doing, Daisy. I'm takin' my time. It's the first time...ever...I've had a chance

to do that.  There's always been something that, well, made that impossible. But not today. Today I am with you an' all we are doin' is walkin' along the Santa Cruz, walkin' and lookin'."

"You have to keep fairly close to the river, you know, for it to be green, I mean. Just a little

way out and it's all desert. Along the river, though, it's like a ribbon...like the Nile, but in a

much smaller way."

"You say you've always lived in Arizona. Did you go to school here, too?"

"Up in Phoenix, yes, but most of my life has been right here in Tubac."

"Where was the convent?"

"Oh, that was in Nogales. I was there for a year. It's right on the Mexican border, you know."

"I know," he said softly.

After a while he asked, "What happened to your father, Daisy?"

"He left when I was a baby. About three years later Mom got word he'd been killed in a car

crash. I don't remember him."

He squeezed her hand a little. "My parents were both killed in an accident when I was a baby.

My grandmother raised me."  There...he could say it. Maybe it never happened, but in

what passed for his memory it had. There was no way he could let go of the vital memory of

his grandmother.  "She made cookies," he added. "I'm very fond of cookies."

"What kind?"

"She made oatmeal as we didn't have chocolate then, but now my favorites are chocolate chip."

Daisy was deliberately letting some things go without comment. They didn't have chocolate...

then? When was then? How could they not have had chocolate? 

"Grandmothers are like that...making cookies...from what I hear."

"You didn't have grandmothers?"

"Missed the boat there. Never heard from my father's parents, and my Mom's died fairly

young, before I was born."

"A cookie given from a grandmother's hand is a valuable thing. I know. When she died I still

had one of her cookies in my pocket." 

"You loved her a lot, didn't you?"

"More than anythin'." He looked up at the sky a minute. "More than anythin'."

"How old were you, Cort, when she died?"

"Fourteen. I was on my own after that."

"That's pretty young to be on your own. Wasn't there anybody who watched after you?"

Herod. "Yes, a man took me under his wing. Taught me what he knew, how to take care of

myself."

"That had to be hard, though, with no family."

"It was, but it's done with."

"Oh...don't you have a brother, though? Where was he when your grandmother died?"

"I, um, didn't know him then. We didn't...find each other...till fairly recently."

It was so damn hard to explain even the simplest things. Maximus wasn't his brother, not

really. Maximus was...him...in a different version.  Did that make him closer than a brother?

It probably did, come to think of it.

"Oh, Cort, that's too bad. He wasn't in Arizona, then?"

"He lived in Spain...mostly."

"You went to Spain to find him? Oh, my!"

"I found him in Germany, actually. But he was, um, busy then an' we didn't get to talk until

later."

"Well, I'm glad you two found each other. It's good to have at least one family member."

Mentally, he started to count his brothers but lost track and counted John twice. That made

him chuckle.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, just thinkin' of family," he smiled. "It can get very complicated."

"Why do you say that?"

"I found more than one brother. Ah, look! Isn't that the mission just over there?"

She watched his expression change as he stared at it. "You don't want to go in, do you?"

"No, I don't. Let's just get my car and drive back to your town."

When they were back in Tubac, he parked at the inn and they walked into town, planning on

finding a place for lunch. As they walked along, he asked, "Which one was your mother's

gallery?"

"Just down here. Another photographer has it now."

A block further along she stopped in front of a small building that could barely be seen.

"Vines," he observed. "Lots of vines."

"Well, it was pink and she wanted it green so instead of painting it, she planted vines all around."

"And now it is definitely green," he grinned. "Didn't she like pink?"

"Her house is pink, was pink. No, I mean her house is now my house and it's pink."

"Caroline's house is pink. Pink with green trim. Looks like a big flower in her garden."

"You want to see my pink house? I could make us sandwiches or something."

"Yes, I'd like to see your pink house, Daisy."

So instead of seeking out a restaurant, they turned a corner and walked two blocks. "That's it."

It was a small adobe, truly pink, and with bright aqua trim. "This is where you grew up?"

He had just the briefest moment's pause that where Daisy grew up was real, was still here,

and she had really lived in it.

"Yes, I have been pinked my entire life."

"Do you want to repaint it?"

"No, because Mom picked out the colors and I still really think of it more as her house than

mine.  But when I see it like it is, like it always was, then she seems not so far away. So I leave

it like this. If I ever had my own house, though, I don't know. Maybe white with light blue

trim...or light blue with white trim. I sort of want it to look like it fell from the sky. Silly, huh?"

"Not silly at all. Blue and white are my favorite colors for a house."

"Really?"

"Really. I even lived in a blue house for a while that had white trim, but it wasn't actually

my house. Right now my house is white with white trim but I've seriously thought it needs

a different color for the gingerbread an' all."

"It has lots of gingerbread?"

"Scads."

"I like gingerbread. We don't do much gingerbread here in Tubac, alas. Mostly adobe, logs,

that sorta sorta."

"Gingerbread goes best in green country," he said.

"Gardens, too," she sighed. "We do have gardens here, but it's so dry and sandy you can't grow a lot of things I'd like to try."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I guess I have an English cottage garden lurking somewhere deep in my heart."

"That's what Caroline has. You'd like her."  The truth of that hit him. Daisy truly would like

Caroline.

She made him lunch while he sat at a small kitchen table and watched. "Just ham and cheese,"

she said. "I hope that's ok."

"Looks great, Daisy. I've had times with no food at all so I'm always grateful. An' I happen

to like ham and cheese." He smiled one of his lovely smiles again.

They played checkers on her little back patio afterwards, then went into town again. There

was a lot to explore there and for most of the afternoon he didn't think once about his reality.

There were shops with just about anything of a southwestern nature someone could come up

with. One after another of them.

He had dinner with her. He had breakfast the next morning with her, lunch, and dinner again.

He had breakfast, lunch and dinner with her for the next week. Every day he liked her more

than the day before.  On Sunday he went to church with her and halfway through the service

a new thought hit him and he got up and hurried outside, almost throwing up in the parking

lot.

Daisy followed him, found him leaning over, bracing himself on the back of a bench, his face

white.  "Oh, Cort! You're sick."

She put a hand on his arm but he backed away from her. "No, Daisy...don't."

"Don't touch you?"

"Yes, don't. I...I can't do this...not any more."  He turned and started to walk away, but again

she followed him.

"What are you talking about? You can't do what?"

"This...I can't do this!"

"Can't be with me? Is that what you mean?"

"I can't, Daisy. It's not fair to you. There's too much you don't...I just can't."

"Too much I don't understand? Is that it?"

"Yes, Daisy. There's too much you don't understand."

"What happened in there, Cort? The congregation was praying and then suddenly you ran

out. Why? If you're not sick I need to know why."

He'd been walking rapidly down the street away from the church all during this, Daisy

trotting beside him. Turning into a small park, he found a bench and sat down, his hands

clasped over the back of his head.

"It was the prayer, Daisy. It made me realize..."  Oh, God, it had made him realize that if he

had not been real, had been nothing more than something on paper spoken into existence on film, if a writer had created him, if Russell Crowe had created him, then...he did throw up

then...threw up until he was empty and then choked and gagged on the throwing up of

nothing...then God had not.  Did he even have a soul, a spirit?  When he died, would he,

not being dust, not return to dust? Would he return to ink? He'd never taken it that far

before but how did he know?

Finally the gagging stopped and he sat back on the bench, his breath coming in ragged sobs.

Daisy watched him, tears on her cheeks, her hand clamped over her mouth. He stood and

tried to walk away from her, went five steps and sank to his knees, absolutely overcome by

the horror of the thought. Nothing meant anything then. All the anguish he'd felt over killing

the priest, all the peace he'd tried to find in service to God, everything he'd ever believed,

ever strived for...all of it...nothing.

Daisy knelt beside him. "Please, Cort, let me help you."

"I wish you could," he moaned. "Oh, my God...I wish you could!"

"I don't know what's wrong!" Her voice broke on a sob. "How can I help if I don't know what's

wrong?"

He looked at her then with eyes more lost than any she'd ever seen. "You can't know unless

you see."

"What does that mean? I don't know what that means!"

"Give...give...me a minute."

He leaned forward, his palms on the ground, trying just to breathe, trying to stop splitting in

half.  Her heart was breaking as she watched him. She moved a little closer, gently resting a

hand on his back, leaning down and whispering to him, "I think I love you, Cortland Wells."

He made a deep animal sound and sat over on his left hip. "You can't love me. You don't know

who I am."

"I want to...I want to know who you are."

"You really want to?"  His eyes suddenly glittered, almost feverishly.

Her chin was trembling but she nodded yes. Some nameless fear began to clutch at her heart.

"It's...bad?"

"It's worse than you can imagine."

She bit her lip. "Tell me."

"No." He shook his head rather violently. "You have to see."

"I have to see what? You can't tell me what it is?"

"No...seeing is the only way for any of it to make sense."

She took a deep breath. "All right, Cort, what do I have to do to see?"

"Is there a place in Tubac that sells or rents old DVDs?"

Her mouth dropped open. He was falling apart right in front of her eyes and he wanted to

watch a movie? "A movie? I need to see a...movie?"

He nodded. "A Russell Crowe movie."

"Gladiator?"

"No, not that one."

"I don't know the names of any others."

"I know them all," he smiled without mirth and struggled to his feet. "Do you know where I

can find one of his older ones?"  He might as well get this over with. He'd been living in a

fantasy world, more fantasy than the one he'd thought was real. In this new one he was just a

normal man developing feelings for a normal woman in a normal world. But she didn't know

how very far from normal he was and he couldn't let her keep on with not knowing. She

deserved better than that. She would be horrified and then he would leave. Maybe he'd go

north and drive into the Grand Canyon. It didn't matter. If he had no soul, if God had not

created him, it would be no sin to end what passed for his life. He was tired of it, tired of it all.

Watching his face, she saw some change come over it that frightened her more than his grief.

It was like he'd made some decision and something vital had gone out of him and cold fingers

of pure fear crept up her spine. "I know where," she said shakily, taking his hand. "Just follow

me." His hand was in hers but his fingers did not curl around, holding on like they had been

doing for days now.

She went three blocks to where she knew a movie rental store was. It opened at noon on

Sundays and it was five after when they got there. "All right," she said when they were inside.

"What movie do I need to see?"

He went to the section labeled Westerns, running a fingertip along the rack, then down to

the next rack, then down one more. There it was and he was glad it was one of the original

releases and had only Gene Hackman and Sharon Stone's faces on the box. It was one you

could either rent or buy and he took it to the counter and bought it. "This one," he said,

handing it to her.

"The Quick and the Dead? Wasn't that a Sam Elliot TV movie? I saw that years ago when

it was on."

"No, this is a movie movie. Sam Elliot's not in this one."

She studied the cover. "Sharon Stone. I was never a fan of hers. Why do I need to see this?"

"You'll see soon enough." He snorted slightly at the near line of Maximus'.

She chewed her lip as she walked to her house. He moved, stiff and grim, at her side. Once

at her house, she looked at the cover again. "Didn't you say Russell Crowe was in the movie

I needed to watch? He's not on the cover."

"He wasn't very well known in the United States then. His earlier films were mostly

Australian. Go ahead, Daisy, play the damn thing." He sat on the couch, his body as stiff

as when he'd been walking.

She put it in, pressed the buttons, and sat on the couch, leaving a foot of space between them.

His body language did not invite closeness. Pressing her lips together almost as tightly as she

saw his were, she watched the opening scene with Sharon Stone encountering the man with

terrible teeth out on the plains. Once in a while she cast a furtive glance to her left at Cort,

but he never took his eyes from the screen. Something was horribly wrong with him but she

still had no idea what or why on earth she had to watch Sharon Stone ride into some miserable

little western town.

Ok, there was a saloon. All western movies had the obligatory saloon. Sharon was there,

an assortment of mostly yukky, rather stock western characters were there. Young Leo

was there, looking like a skinny teenager. That character actor whose name she could never

remember was playing the bartender. Then Gene Hackman came in, his spurs jingling. She

liked the sound of jingling spurs, but here they were meant to be ominous. Nothing so far

was as ominous as the man sitting beside her on the couch. So, there was going to be a gunfight.

What else was new in a western? As the scene progressed, she was aware of him tangibly

tensing near her. Then shadowy forms moved in the movie just outside the window, the

swinging doors were pushed open, and a man was tossed inside so hard he was sent rolling

completely across the room, smacking against the base of a counter. The camera angle

moved, following him as he struggled to his knees.

"Oh, my God!" she gasped.

"God had nothing to do with it," he said bitterly.

She hit pause with his face filling the screen as he looked back at Herod. "You...you've been

trying to tell me you're an actor?"

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. "Russell Crowe is the actor."

"That's Russell Crowe? He doesn't look a thing like Maximus." She was staring at him, at the

TV, then at him again. "He...he looks like you. Exactly like you."

He opened his eyes. "He has to."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

"Let it play, Daisy. Let it play more."

Her heart was beating rather fast as she pressed the button again. "Just listen," he said, "let

the whole scene play and just...listen."

Gene Hackman's character spoke up. "Hello, Cort. I was beginning to worry you wouldn't

make it in time."

Daisy gasped again at the name and looked at him. "Let it play, Daisy."

"It's been a while. I hear you have a mission down in Hermosillo. Is that right? Your own

little piece of heaven. Sunshine, cactus flowers, and you and the orphan children."

A truly ugly man with the worse teeth yet, said, "We burned that mission down. Just like

you said."

"All that work, Cort. All those years of hard work destroyed for no reason. It must make you

angry. You used to be fast. Are you still fast? Don't I get an answer? Have you taken a vow of

silence? I said, are you still fast?" The man threw a glass of water across the room.

"Faster'n you. But I have renounced violence."

She couldn't stand it and paused it again. "Your face, your name...your voice. Why?"

"It's me, Daisy. That's who I am."

"What do you mean that's who you are? You said it was Russell Crowe but it can't be

because it's you!"

"It's him...bringin' me to life." He sagged then. "Oh, God...it's him bringin' me to life."

She touched his leg and he jerked sharply. "This is not making any sense to me, but you knew

it wouldn't, didn't you?"  He nodded bleakly and so she added, "But I need this to make sense

because...because I care about you...I more than care about you and...and this has just got to

make sense to me. It's got to! Cort, you have to make it make sense!"

"You heard what Herod said about the mission, the orphans, the fire?"

"I did. Is...is that why...?"

"That's why I came there. I needed to find it, needed to see if it was real. But it was the Apache.

You told me it was the Apache and then I knew...I knew it was all Russell Crowe and not me."

She felt more confused than ever. "You're not saying you're...him...the character in the movie?"

"I am sayin' that, Daisy, because that's the truth of it."

"That's not possible."

"It is possible. I'm here. It's possible."

"But...but Russell Crowe made lots of movies, didn't he? There's no way that could work. People

have to stay in their movies unless it's science fiction, don't they?"

He fished out his wallet. "Would you like to see my brother, one of my brothers?"

"Now?"

He pulled out a photo and handed it to her. It was Maximus, his arm around Caroline, standing

in front of the rose arch in her garden. "That's Caroline and the garden I've been tellin' you

about."

"Ma...Maximus?"  There was no mistaking him despite the modern clothes. No one else in the

world looked like the Roman general.  "Maximus is your...brother?"

"Caroline, the artist, she's his lady. Yes, that's Maximus."

"If you are you and Maximus is in a garden, where is Russell Crowe?"

"The last I heard he was filmin' Man of Steel as Superman's father, Jor-El."

"You know how this sounds?"

"I am well acquainted with how this sounds"

"Ok, so let's say you are Cort from this movie. Why are you not in the movie? Why are you

sitting on my couch when that Cort still is in the movie?"

"Sid."

"Sid?"

"He's another Crowe character, made around the same time as I was."

"What has he got to do with you being in or out of a movie?"

"Everythin', Daisy. Sid's movie is science fiction, like you mentioned, and in it he's a computer

program designed to train future LAPD men to track down the worst sort of criminals. He was

programmed with just about every mass murderer you could think of to make it hard for the

trainees to track him down an' deal with him. It was a virtual world an' the trainees went

into it but Sid figured a way to get out of it, out into what in the movie was the real world.

Then somehow he went on past that and figured out how to get out of the movie altogether into

the real real world. He's an amoral criminal genius. An' when he was out, he had a project

he wanted to accomplish that involved taking more of his fellow Russell Crowe characters

out of their own movies. Daisy, I'm one of those he took out." He pointed at the screen. "That's

me. I really mean that. It's me. I'm here but anyone anywhere can play the DVD of my movie

an' see me as the movie happens. I don't know how else to explain it. It's a terrible thing,

Daisy, when one of us discovers he's not what he thought he was, when he finds himself out

here, out of his place, out of his time."  He looked at her with eyes that pleaded for some

glimmer of understanding then he sighed heavily.

"It's all right, Daisy. I knew this would happen. I'll go."

He started to stand but she grabbed his sleeve. "Can I watch the rest of the movie?"

"You want to?"

"I need to see what happens to you."

"To me?" He smiled weakly.

"I'm trying, Cort. Give me a chance to try. I'm a daisy, remember. Let me see if I can bear

the weight of this rain."

ON TO PART 10

BACK TO PART 8

BACK TO LIBRISCROWE