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The gang makes arrangements to meet Bryce at his house after school.  When they arrive he opens the garage and together they begin to look through the assorted items.  There is a saxaphone, which shows signs of age, but also of loving care.  Several books, many on magical theory and ethical uses of magic.  Travel guides, with dog eared pages and notes in the margins.  Boxes of photographs, showing the life and times of people in single frames.  Piled and boxed, wrapped in plain paper and sometimes on display, the assorted momentos of a life. 

As the gang looks through the items, finding nothing dangerous but plenty that is interesting, it becomes clear that their world will change.  One day, in some distant point far from now, other people will be going through their stuff.  Perhaps looking for a clue to a mystery, even if it's just the mystery of who they were.

Dave, Greg, and Rob help as well, unpacking boxes and holding up things for potential examination.  "Hey," Dave begins, "I just wanted you guys to know that I appreciate everything you've done."  Greg and Rob smile.

"Yeah, you turned Dave into a caring and helpful person.  The world owes you a debt or gratitude."  Greg quips.

"Really though."  Rob says, "I owe you guys more than most.  But I'm not sure I ever actually said thank you.  So, thank you."

Alicia arrives at Bryce's all bubbly and energetic. As they begin the process of sifting through the flotsam washed up on the tides of time, she shifts into a more subdued mood.

At one point, she sits quietly, slowly going through a box of aged photographs, looking closely at each image, her eyes hidden behind black plastic.

Donnie pauses while looking at an old book on magical theory from 1949. He smiles at Dave, Greg and Rob. "Well, we would have been catching far more rides to school with our parents if you guys hadn't taken us lot under wing. At least Rob doesn't lose Intelligence points anymore by seeing Sarah's boobs in a tight sweater."

He turns to Bryce. "Hey, man, your grandfather had a lot of interesting stuff. He was obviously interested in magic, and if yoiu don't want this old books anymore, I am sure a collector would be interested, or at least some of those classy occult bookstores. You should do some research online on these, they might be worth something."

He stops looking around at the momentos of a life well lived. "If I was you, Bryce, I'd do a paper or book or website or something on your grandfather. All this stuff, all these memories and savored moments ought not be lost in spiderwebs in your garage."

Sammy picks up the sax, retreats to a spot just outside the garage door, and checks it over.  Satisfied with its condition, she starts to play a slow and thoughtful, perhaps even melancholy, tune.


Sammy stops long enough to look over at Rob.  "Don't worry," she says, "I'll come around to collect someday.  It won't be much; you and I are mostly even.  Mostly."  Then she shutters her eyes and starts playing again, doing things with the music that makes her listeners' nerve endings quiver quite pleasantly.

Laney only personally owns two pieces of her own past: two photographs from her father’s desk at the office.  It’s only people she invests herself in now, weaving into their spirits a part of herself.    Chances are, those with whom she’s been lucky enough to form friendships will carry the only mementos she leaves in this world.

Still she delights in mystery and burrows into the boxes with no method or reason, finding as much amusement in squinting at the brittle newspapers and journal pages used to wrap some treasures as the items themselves.

Wriggling out from beneath her pile of debris, Laney leans in close to Greg, her ink smudged cheeks wrinkled by her impish grin.  She whispers conspiratively, “They are awfully helpful, aren’t they?  Like real superheroes.”

"I have relapses from time to time, but I'm on meds." rob adds, sifting through a stack of old magazines.


"Yeah.  Maybe I should.  I used to love being in his house."  Bryce says.  "And, I should thank you guys too.  You always seem to be getting me out of trouble."


Greg smiles.  "Almost."  he says.

Sarah leans against the side of the building, listening to the conversation.  She has one of her own in her head. 

Morpheus?  These Asguard?  Would they have a way of searching for any more of those things on the planet?  This box was possibly brought here from South America.  There might be more of them floating around.  What do you think? 

Colin is leafing through the travel guides, old notes and remarks becoming a part of him forever, as usual.

Eventually he looks up, and for a moment he seems to be listening to something distant. He puts the travel guides down, and fishes a dusty leather box, with an old-fashioned watch in it. He hands it to Bryce. "See if it works. I think I'd like you to have it."


"That's only because you don't see how many times we have to get ourselves out of trouble." he says with a smile.

Bryce takes the watch, and carefully twists the winder, tightening the spring and then listening to the watch, smiling.  "It seems to."  He says, adjusting the time to the current time.


I will have then run a scan on the planet.  They are not too far off.  I'll let you know if they find anything.

Sammy stops playing, and lays the sax tenderly in its case.  "Nice instrument.  If you need anyone to show you how to take care of it, gimme a shout."

She stands there awkwardly, wondering to herself what else there is to do here and if maybe its time for her to leave.

Alicia lays the box of photographs down and asks Donnie in a perfectly calm voice, "Don, doesn't look like you really need me here, so... Bryce, thanks for letting me come by. Sam? Wanna walk home with me?"

Sammy shrugs.  "Sure."  Raising a hand in farewell, she wanders down to the end of the driveway and waits for Alicia.

They walk along in silence for a few minutes, then Sammy abruptly says "All right.  Let's get this over with.  What are you going to ream me out about this time?"

Alicia joins her and they head down the street. Alicia's placid demeanor as she walks is belied by the tension in her body.


Alicia doesn't react to Sammy's outburst, other than to bring her head down and give a small sigh.

Her expression unreadable behind her shades, she asks quietly, "Sam, do you know your grandparents? What are they like?"

Sammy is momentarily set off balance by the unexpected response.

"Never met my mom's parents.  Her father left before she was born, and her mother died a long time ago.  I knew Grandma and Grandpop some."


**6000.  I should quit now.**

Cool.  Tell them they are welcome to drop by and say hi if they like.  Have some coffee.  Play a game of darts.  Offer a cure for cancer.  Y'know, whatever is good for them.  

Alicia nods slightly, accepting the information.

"Did you... Do you miss them?" she presses on, her voice still soft. There's a strong undercurrent of emotion, but it's hard to work out what kind.


Quit? You're just getting started, girl! Your goal should be to hit 5 digits before Darren shuts this puppy down! So get crackin'! ;D

"Mom's parents?  Mom's mother wasn't very nice to my mom, so I don't miss the idea of her one bit.  And Mr. Come and Go, her father the djinn?  Colin found him when he tracked her down, you know, to try to help me get some answers.  They said they were sorry, as much as ghosts can still feel sorry about anything.  Too little too late as far as I'm concerned.  But Grandma and Grandpop?  They were nice.  I do miss them."

Alicia nods again, taking in Sammy's words without comment.

There's a long pause before she finally speaks. "I got no family other than Mom. Until just before the Valentine's Day dance, I didn't know who my dad was. Heck, as it is, all I really have is a name. As for Mom's parents, I doubt they'd even let me in the front door, never mind treating me like one of theirs."

Having started, Alicia's words come out with greater ease, like water pouring out of an unstoppered cask. "It's not like I feel bad about it. Never even really thought about it. And I guess that's what bothering me, the not caring, y'know? I mean, I can tell there's this part missing from my life, but it's not tearing me up. Is that good? Or am I so f**ked up that I can't even feel normally? I mean, am I supposed to care about this s**t?"

A plaintive entreaty color Alicia's words by now. Her eyes are still resolutely focused away from Sammy, as if she's hesitant, or ashamed, to face her friend.

"I mean, I was sittin' there looking at those stupid photos and thinkin', like, I wonder if my grandparents have s**t like this, oh wait, I don't have any, and part of me is thinkin' that should hurt and another is goin', meh, and I'm, like, I thought I was over not knowin' what I'm feelin' and, s**t, goddamnit..."

Her voice winds up into a tight little ball until it can't get past her lips. Sammy doesn't need to look past Alicia's sunglasses to tell there are tears crowding her eyes, waiting their chance to burst forth.

Sammy chews on her bottom lip, thinking about what Alicia has just said.

"Yeah," she says finally, "I can see where that would hurt.  Maybe..."  she falls silent again.  "I think... I think its better that you don't have any of their stuff, your father's stuff or your grandparents stuff.  Stuff is only there to trigger memory, and from what you've said, they all treated you and your mom like dirt, yes?  So they don't deserve to be remembered except as examples of what not to do.  Colin made a drawing of my mom's parents, and gave it to me.  I wrapped it up in brown paper and told my mom what was in the package.  I have no idea what she did with it; its not hanging in any place of honor that I can see.  But she has touchstones for memories of her own life with us all over the place.  So maybe you need... hell, just hold on."

She grabs Alicia's hand and goes up into the air.  They fly back to Bryce's house.  "Colin!  Do you have your camera with you?  I need you to take some pictures of Alicia and me, and Alicia with anybody else she chooses.  We're starting a scrapbook for her."

Alicia listens to Sammy, jaw clenched, arms clasped around her torso, tense as a bowstring. She's paying attention, but it's hard to tell if it's getting through.


Sammy's sudden action takes Alicia unawares. She adjusts quickly and lands deftly back at the house.

Hearing her announcement, Alicia looks at Sammy dubiously and uncharacteristically timidly at the rest of the group. "I..." she starts hesitantly, then stops, unsure.

Sammy gestures at the pile in the garage.  "I can't give you that kind of stuff; it wouldn't mean anything.  But I can give you reminders for the distant future of memories that will be all yours.  Sylvia?  If we get some fabric, do you think your mom would mind making a fancy cover for an album sized book?  Maybe we can get Alicia's old baby blanket or one of her favorite worn out shirts; something like that."

"What kind of question is that?" he says, turning with a smile. "Of course I do."



Colin's eyes go wide.

"Cooool. I'm all yours."

And just like that, they've got a semi-professional photographer all for them.

"I think I've got some old stuff I can add too. More drawings than photos. Allie is hard to catch."

Alicia's gaze falls on each of them: Sammy, Colin, Sylvia, and so on. Her lips press together emotion once again pushes against them, but this time a small smile manages to get through. She tries to surreptitiously wipe at her eyes, but doesn't manage to hide the action.

"Oh-okay," she finally stutters, a grin now blossoming on her face.

"Here, Colin, take one of me and Sam first," Alicia suggests. She poses with Sammy but, at the last second, as Colin presses on the shutter, she turns to give Sammy a bone-crushing hug and spins her around with a loud whoop.

Pictures are taken, and one of the last shots is of all the Usual Suspects, crowded around the VanGo.  In a way it's the class photo.  They will never be together like this again, but they will continue to interact and cross paths with one another for years to come.  There will be wandering, happiness, mistrust, lies, pain, unhappiness, and all the things that make friends friends.  It will never be just like this again, but in one way shape or form it will be forever.