Disclaimer: Don't own the power rangers nor am I a missing band member from A Perfect Circle. Rats.

Dedication: Thanks to my reader werewolfsong and extra special kudos to my beta wildforce71. Thanks for being patient when I stumbled on the last section and for cheering me up when Sky Tate had me down (damn that boy!).

Name that Song: Lyrics in italics are from Pet by A Perfect Circle. I've been told its not necessary to know the song to enjoy the story but if you want, go to itunes and bust out 99cents and listen to song on repeat.

Hush

Don't fret precious I'm here. Step away from the window
Go back to sleep.

"Lizzy?"

"Sí Papí?"

A tiny voice, echoing from somewhere in the dark living room, answered Danny Delgado. Danny frowned as he cautiously made his way through the room towards his hidden daughter.

"Where are you?"

"At the window, Papí."

Danny saw her now; his little girl, wrapped in her baby blanket in a corner of the big bay windows of their home. Danny was surprised he hadn't seen his daughter earlier—up close he could now clearly see her silhouette cast from the light of the dim moon.

Although, Danny had sworn he'd seen Elizabeth in her bed, not three minutes before. At least he thought he'd seen her sleeping form when he had peeked inside her room.

'You're gett'n old, Delgado.' Danny mused. 'Eyesight's the first to go.'

His Z looked so tiny against the backdrop of their living room window. Danny had to often remind himself that his daughter wasn't a baby anymore.

"Z, its past midnight. You're way up past your bedtime, m'ijita," Danny scolded as he moved to sit directly next to his daughter.

"I know…but I couldn't sleep."

"That isn't an excuse to be out of bed, young lady."

The blanket covered head of Z Delgado sank out of sight from her father.

"Sorry Papa...I just wanted to see the stars."

Danny blinked. Although they lived a reasonable distance away from the bright lights of Newtech City, the view outside the window was quite hazy, as thick black clouds covered the sky.

"Z there is no stars."

"But there are! Somewhere out there, behind the clouds. The stars are always there."

The child had a point. Danny smiled. His daughter, the optimist. Always looking forward for something beyond herself.

She was a lot like her mother in that way.

Still a father's intuition was never wrong. There was something else bothering his daughter.

"Ok Z, what's the real reason you're out of bed tonight?"

"I…ah…well…"

Danny's face softened. He knew his daughter.

"Its your mom isn't it?" A guilty nod of the blanket confirmed Danny's intuition.

"I miss your mother too," Danny said as he put his arms around his daughter's small shoulder.

But this business trip of your mom's is only one week. She'll be back in time to see your soccer game on Saturday. It's a very important trip for her."

"I know." Z sighed, scooting closer so she could lean against her father's large frame.

But its different."

"Sort of..well…" Danny had to agree with his daughter. Single parenting was tough, even for one week!

"Like who's gonna help me with my English homework tomorrow? And help me pack my lunch? And get to school on time, and feed Max? And-"

"Woah, woah! Time out!" Danny chuckled, putting his hands in the universal 'T' sign.

First off, I can help you with your English and your lunch and I'll drive you to school. Second, its your job to feed Max, not your mother's. Third…Z, the house won't fall apart just because your mother isn't here. Things wouldn't fall apart even if I wasn't here, because you're our brave, smart little girl. So don't worry, I'm just going to be playing mom and dad for a while, ok chica?"

"Yea Papí. Ok," Z glumly replied.

"Ok."

"But it's a whole week of Sloppy Joes and tamales."

"Hey!" Danny mocked protested. "What's wrong with tamales?"

" 's gross."

"Oh really?"

Danny growled as he abruptly launched a tickle attack at his daughter, diving both of his hands under Z's blanket and pulling both of them off the window seat and onto the floor of the living room. Danny grunted slightly as his back hit the floor but he kept his daughter secure in his arms as she wiggled with laughter. Z squealed joyfully as she attempted to retaliate.

"Ok..Ok…uncle! I give!" Danny wheezed as his daughter managed to sit on top of his stomach. Z's triumphant giggle abruptly turned into a yawn.

"Bedtime m'ija." Danny announced as he attempted to scramble up from the floor.

'Definitely getting too old,' Danny thought ruefully.

" 'Still not sleepy."

"I think you are, Lizzy." Danny grinned as he scooped his daughter into his arms.

"Papí! I'm too old to be carried!"

"If you aren't old enough to admit you need sleep-"

"But I'm not tired!"

"Well I am and we're going to bed."

Danny carried his slightly protesting daughter upstairs to her bedroom, his back giving similar protest along the way. Danny ignored both, eventually settling Z back into her bed.

"Papí?"

"Si M'ija?"

"Would you sing for me?"

"What happened to being too old?"

" 'm not that old, I guess."

"Of course m'ijita."

Danny sang softly his own mother's lullaby,

"Duérmete mi niño.
Duérmete mi sol.
Duérmete pedazo,
De mi corazón"

(Go to sleep my child.
Go to sleep my sun.
You will always be
in my heart.)

He barely made it through the first verse before Z was out, comforted by the soft voice of her father and his presence by her side. Danny smiled softly, reaching to brush stray hair from his daughter's face.

'You're stronger than you think you are, my beautiful, beautiful Z.'

Danny thought to himself.

"Goodnight m'ija."

Lay your head down child
I won't let the boogeyman come

There was a monster on her bed.

In the silence of her bedroom Sydney Drew swore she heard it, shifting just outside of her blanket; a rustle of fabric, the panting of a breath not her own. Quivering under her pink quilt she thought she even felt the sheets move underneath her, from something pulling them from out of her…

'I'm not going to cry! I'm not. There's nothing there, Papa said so. Imaginary; nothing there…'

The last time she'd cried when her parents had been home, her Papa had scolded her.

"I don't have time for this Sydney! For the last damn time, there is nothing under the bed, there is nothing in your room, and there are no such things as monsters!"

Sydney pictured her father, his immaculately dressed towering form, his usual frown and the ever-present cell phone in his hand.

"Six year olds aren't afraid of the dark" her Nanny told her, when her father had stalked away, yelling at another client on his phone. "Be a good girl and keep quiet."

Nanny was mean. Mama wouldn't yell at her. Her Mama was nicer than her father or Nanny.

"Its silly to be scared, my silly-billy Syd." Her Mama sing-songed as she lifted her shaking daughter into her arms.

" My silly girl, monsters aren't real. Its just the bad dreams in your head."

Just bad dreams.

Syd believed her Mama. She wanted to be a good girl. She and Peanuts had even checked the bed before they got in that night. Nothing. Peanuts agreed. Nothing.

'No such thing as monsters. Nothing under the bed. It's the dreams in your head. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Won't cry. Won't cry. '

But Peanuts was gone.

He'd fallen off the bed, knocked by Syd's elbow as she drifted into sleep. Without thinking, Syd had reached down to grab him, but instead of touching soft warm, comforting Peanuts…Syd felt something else with her hand…something wrong!

'Wrong! Not Peanuts!' Syd whimpered. Something under the bed grabbed her, covered her hands, made them feel lighter, squishy, not right. Syd had jerked her hands up but the strange feeling followed-the monster was on her hands!

No!

No such thing as monsters…but in the darkness her hands didn't look like her hands…

'Notrealnotreal,monsters aren't real, dreamsinmyhead, head-hands,myhands notreal

butpeanuts!peanutsohnotgonnacry notgonnacrynotgonnacry-'

"MAMA!"

No answer. Syd gasped, keeping her hands extended outside the blanket as far as possible. "Papa!" she sobbed.

"PAPA!"

"Miss Drew!"

Nanny? The bedroom light suddenly clicked on and Sydney's blanket was swiftly ripped off.

"Miss Drew, what on earth is the matter with you!"

"There's something under the bed!" Sydney squealed hysterically. "It touched me! I swear it did!"

In the bright light of the bedroom Sydney stared at her hands, keeping them stretched out in front of her.

In the light they looked the same; slightly pink, but normal, tiny, little girl hands.

"Miss Drew, how many times do I have to tell you? You are too old to believe in monsters!"

"It was there!"

But her nanny wasn't listening. She reached down to pick up Sydney's fallen stuffed elephant and straightened Sydney's blankets, her movements sharp and automatic.

"There isn't anything here, Miss Drew. How many times do we need to do this?" The Nanny's voice was impatient.

It was there and I…I…oh! Where's Mama!" Sydney hiccupped staring up at the disapproving glare of her Nanny.

"Your mother is at your father's fundraiser, Miss Drew. You know that."

Another fundraiser. Of course. Syd hadn't seen her parents all day.

"I (hiccup) want (hic) my Mama!"

"Oh child." Her nanny sat down at the edge of her bed, eyes downcast, with one hand absently playing with the fabric of the quilt.

"You're a big girl now Sydney. Your mother is a very important woman. She buys you all your lovely toys and clothes. You like your toys don't you?"

Sydney liked her toys and she tolerated her clothes. But she loved her Mama and Papa more. Why did Nanny talk to her like this, asking strange questions?

"Miss Drew?"

"Yes Nanny." What else could she say? "Mama is 'esponsible, highly important busywoman."

"And?"

"…and…big girls…don't believe in….monsters?"

"That's right!" Her Nanny nodded curtly, rising tired eyes to her charge. "If only our Miss Drew would remember this the next time she wakes the entire house!"

"….I'm sorry Nanny."

Sydney mumbled, feeling completely and utterly miserable. She felt her stomach tighten as her fear dissolved into a familiar sense of guilty frustration.

'Mama wouldn't be so mean,' Sydney thought again.

But Mama was a busy, responsible, highly social woman, so Sydney allowed herself to be tucked back into bed by her Nanny.

"Now lay down Miss Drew…you're going to be a big girl right, and go back to sleep. Yes, good girl," her Nanny said before patting her once on the head and turning to head back to the door.

But Nanny was stopped by a tiny innocent hand that grabbed a tight hold upon her sleeve.

"Nanny? Nanny…please don't go," Sydney whispered.

"Oh Sydney!"

"Please Nanny!"

"…Oh alright. I won't leave. Just for tonight." Her Nanny reassured her.

Sydney reluctantly laid back into her bed, keeping her small arms outside of the quilt and her hands clenched in two fists. She kept a tight grip on Peanuts by tucking the elephant under her armpit. Syd watched anxiously as her Nanny took up a station at the edge of the bed, appearing highly uncomfortable and annoyed.

But despite her caregiver's somewhat fierce expression, Syd found herself suddenly very drowsy, exhausted from the entire ordeal.

'Nothing there…Nanny's here….'ust your imagination, silly silly syd.'

The thoughts that echoed through Sydney's head as she drifted into an exhausted sleep sounded like her Mama's voice. 'Its all in your head, the dreams in your head, my silly billy Syd.'

All in her head.

"Lay your head down, child." Her Nanny whispered into the stillness.

"Go back to sleep."

Counting bodies like sheep
To the rhythm of the war drums

The room was different tonight, bathed in strange colors and high shadows. Someone had turned on a light outside and the glow shone through one of his windows, flickering blue and red. The boy blearily contemplated the strange blue/red color that was striped across his blanket just as his mind identified new noises coming from outside.

Voices. Loud ones, in the living room. Male voice. Daddy?

He wanted to investigate-the weird colored light and new voices chased away the last vestiges of sleep. He pulled himself up and stumbled to climb over the bedrail, slightly toppling towards the floor. He pulled his blanket along with him, giving him a red tail.

The voices were louder outside his room. One of them was a hitching, shrill sound. There were words. He toddled closer.

"...job…want….call?"

The shrill voice continued, a sad sound. He recognized it finally; crying. Someone was crying.

"..called your mother….here…."

"….happened?"

"….swerved into the divider….at the scene….nothing…."

"Oh God. He's just a baby."

He heard that clearly. He wasn't the baby. At least not anymore. Mommy said so. He was a big boy now. He didn't know why but when his Mommy told him she had picked him up and swung him into her arms. She was happy.

He'd laughed and put his face in her hair. Mommy smelled nice.

His Daddy had been there. He had done a funny dance, spinning around in the living room. Then he kissed Mommy. Then he kissed him. Daddy was funny.

He told him that he was a, "Bigbrothernow, isn't that great?"

Was Daddy here? With hugs and kisses and funny dances on the living room floor?

"Look who's up? Hey little man!"

A voice sounded above him. Belonging to a man. Huge man. Not Daddy. He had a dark jacket and a dark hat. He picked him up.

"You should be asleep, little man. Did we wake you?" the dark man said. The dark man wrapped his blanket around him.

They went into the living room. He saw another stranger, a woman, sitting on the couch. He also saw Kelly. She was crying. The woman was holding Kelly's hand. He held his arms up to Kelly.

Up up! He wasn't sure about the dark man.

"Oh God." Kelly's eyes had tears in them. She looked scared. "Oh my god."

"Do you want me to take him?"

"No…oh God…he doesn't know…he's my responsibility."

"Your mother said she would be here in fifteen minutes. You've had quite the shock, you don't have to-"

"-I want to. Come here baby."

He was not the baby. But he allowed himself to be put in Kelly's arms. He knew Kelly. Kelly stayed sometimes when his Mommy and Daddy left. Kelly smelled nice too. She always hugged him when she came over. Kelly sang. She gave him cookies, after dinner. He liked Kelly.

But she was shaking when he held him. Her arms trembled and big tears tumbled down off her cheeks into his hair.

"Oh God, Oh God. Its ok baby, its going to be ok."

"We contacted social services," the woman on the couch said from somewhere above him. "They're sending a unit down. He'll be taken care of."

"What about his family?"

"I don't know. That's something Newtech Child Services will have to decide on."

"They don't have a lot of family-at least, I never met anyone," Kelly said, holding him. "No one ever came to the house when I was here."

"How long have you been the sitter?"

"Since he was three months-about two years."

Kelly used the end of his blanket to wipe the top of his head. She began to rock him, making shushing noises with her voice. Nice Kelly. His eyes felt heavy and Kelly was warm. The adults continued to talk above him, their voices slipping away.

"I'm so sorry."

"What will happen...him?"

"…arrangements…"

"...sleeping. Hush."

"Shh…go back to sleep baby.

Go back to sleep, Jack."

Pay no mind to the rabble
Pay no mind to the rabble

"There's something wrong with that child!"

The hurtful, frightened exclamation of her mother-in-law echoed in Sara Carson's mind even as she struggled to get her hyperventilating three year old son to breathe again.

"That's it Bridgey, calm down. Deep breaths, sweetheart…easy there,"

Sara crooned to her son as she held his heaving form in her arms. The dark room was silent, save for the wheezing of little Bridge. As if to block herself from hearing her son's labored breathing, Sara's mind repeated the elder Carson's near hysterical cries from a scene only moments before.

"My God, what's wrong with this child!"

"What happened mother!" Sara's husband demanded as he and his wife rushed into their living room. "Oh Bridge!"

The elder Mrs. Carson was on her knees, holding her grandson as far from her person as possible, as if he was a live viper instead of a toddler. Bridge was crying-more like screeching- alternating between arching his back upwards and flailing his hands over his head like someone in the throes of a seizure. The spastic movements of her grandson had the senior Carson similarly hysterical, attempting to hold the child in position while also maintaining a frightened distance.

"He…He was just fine before, sitting there in the playpen all alone and just…so lonely- I decided the boy needed to come out and see his grandmother! But oh look at him!"

Sara immediately dropped to her knees and attempted to support her son's head.

"Did you touch him, mom?" Daniel Carson's voice was sharp, floating above the struggling trio.

"Not after I picked him up from the playpen…no. Wait. I did. I touched his hands. We were playing patty-cake, baby Bridge and I. The boy has no coordination-he wasn't following my movements so I tried to show him-"

"Oh mother! You can't touch Bridge! Especially his hands! He's…he's…oh for God's sake, Sara, CALM THAT BOY DOWN, NOW!" Daniel roared.

"Daniel Carson!"

"Stop screaming!"

"I swear, Sara-"

"My Lord, there's something wrong with that child!"

"Bridge!"

A soft moan from Bridge jolted Sara back into consciousness and out of her automatic crooning. Bridge had gotten his breath back and was now shaking ever so slightly in his mother's arms.

"My poor baby boy," Sara's voice cracked and she nuzzled the top of her son's head.

Sara and Bridge had retreated from the other two Carsons into Bridge's room and the smoothing sea foam color of the nursery had a calming effect on both mother and son. Sara sat cross legged, cradling Bridge on the soft carpeted floor of the room, with the door firmly closed and Sara's back against one of Bridge's dressers.

A forgotten stuffed dinosaur lay mere inches from Sara's left foot; she twisted slightly to hook the toy and dragged it over to her whimpering son. Bridge eyed the offering but made no movement towards it, preferring to keep one hand firmly clenched in Sara's shirt and one hand grasping at the hair on the top of his head.

Now that Bridge's breathing had fallen under control, Sara could hear the muffled voices of her mother-in-law and her husband. Daniel was most likely explaining his explanation for Bridge's episode, the reason why Daniel had asked his mother to come down to Newtech in the first place.

"My family has every right to know about Bridge!" Daniel had argued earlier that week.

"Daniel we don't even know if this is true-"

" Not this again!"

"Just let me call one more person, Dr-"

"How long are you going to deny the truth, for fuck's sake! Face the facts, Sara!"

She was in denial. Any mother in her place would be. It went against her mother's instinct, what everyone said about her son.

"My baby…" Sara whispered again.

"Well, Mr and Mrs.Carson, I'll be quite frank, it appears that your son is what we would term, 'developmentally delayed'. He isn't reaching the milestones we'd expect in a boy his age."

"You mean the stranger anxiety?"

"That, Mr. Carson, and several other behaviorisms that you describe-the periods of unresponsiveness, the frequent nightmares and the sensitivity your son seems to have towards physical touch…these point to a much more serious problem."

"Please just get to the point, Doctor."

"I'm afraid Mrs. Carson, that the symptoms your son is displaying are consistent with Infantile Autism."

Autism.

One word. A name, a label to explain the strange complexities in her son. After that life changing conversation with Bridge's pediatrician and the initial numbness that accompanies such a serious diagnosis, Sara had read up on the literature.

Symptoms of Autism include: abnormal responses to sensations. Any one of the senses could be affected or enhanced; sight, hearing, smell, taste, or in Bridge's case, touch.

Abnormal ways of relating to people, objects of events.

Periods of unresponsiveness.

Delays or disturbances in social interaction, anti social behavior.

Certainly some of it explained some of Bridge's behavior. The more Daniel read, the more he became convinced. He started to treat Bridge different, as if the boy were slow; as if Autism somehow made Bridge less of a person.

But the more Sara read, the more she felt sick to her soul. Facts added up, the number of matching symptoms, the right age. At first Sara feared that she and Daniel were just prejudiced-Autism had such a stigma in the media; perhaps she was just channeling that fear?

Yet she watched her son closely, scrutinizing the way he interacted with his environment. In Sara's heart, something cried out. A mother's instinct, more than just simple denial.

Something else was hurting her Bridge.

So Sara bullied her husband, convinced him to take her son to another doctor. A specialist.

The new doctor concurred with their old pediatrician.

Sara took Bridge to another doctor, and got the same diagnosis, a third time. This doctor recommended that the Carsons start treatment, offering a variety of drugs, therapy and special dietary programs for their son.

At this third doctor, Daniel managed to put his foot down. He was much more a man of science, preferring facts and medicine over his wife's emotional intuition. They argued late into the night regarding the third doctor's offerings.

Finally Sara reluctantly agreed with Daniel to start their son on a Gluten-Free/Casein Free diet. A new strict diet that meant no starches or diary, no bread or milk for little Bridge.

"Often in Autism, children show an obsession to dairy and wheat products. It is because the body ends up craving the foods it cannot, in reality, digest properly."

The first time Daniel refused to give their son his buttered toast at breakfast, Sara broke down into tears. So far, Bridge showed no change with the new diet.

But rather than let this deter him, Daniel's determination to treat his son grew in strength. The appearance of Sara's mother-in-law in their home proved this; Daniel was attempting to rally his family behind him. Sara could feel their marriage suffering and she felt as though she was truly the last one standing between the world and her son.

There was silence outside of Bridge's room. Sara couldn't tell if Daniel and his mother were still in the house. She looked down at her son. Bridge had a blank expression on his face, and the hand on Sara's shirt had shifted into a fist against her chest. His other hand remained clenched in his hair.

Another symptom of Autism, 'a preoccupation with hands'. Sara didn't let her mind dwell on that fact.

Instead Sara tried to picture her son from earlier that day, before his father and grandmother arrived. He had been building with blocks, babbling happily to himself.

"What are you making, Bridgey?"

"A toaster."

"Wow! A toaster!"

"ah huh."

"My smart little boy!"

"You're blue mommy."

"Well, Bridgey, mommy is wearing green. See, this shirt is green."

"No mommy is blue and dark. Blueanddark mommy. Why are you sad?"

"…. Mommy isn't sad Bridgey."

"Yes she is. She's sad for Bridgey. She's blue-dark for Bridgey."

"Oh Bridge."

"She hurts for Bridgey. … Don't cry mommy!"

Despite everything, her son always seemed to pick up her mood. Her perceptive, beautiful, smart little boy.

How could they call her child delayed? How could her son be slow if he could build such inventive objects from his blocks? And knew his colors so well? Could speak so clearly to his mother?

How could Bridge be what everyone said, when he was the only one who knew what Sara felt inside?

Bridge was asleep. Sara could feel his breath even out against her chest. She paused slightly, listening for her husband and their guest. Nothing.

Then, shifting Bridge to one arm, Sara awkwardly reached into her jean pocket to pull out her cell phone.

One more call. One more doctor. If this one agreed with what everyone else said, well then…Sara would accept it, finally. She would allow this one call to settle things, once and for all.

A quick look through her contact list found the number Sara had been obsessing over for the past week—the number that had stayed in the back of her mind since everything began.

One ring. Two. Three.

"Hello?...Is this Dr. Manx? Kat, its Sara Carson….I….I have a favor to ask…."

Head down, go to sleep
To the rhythm of the war drums

He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought—


One, two! One, two! And through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head, he went gal-umph-ing back.

"Gal-ump, galump."

It was his favorite part of the poem, so he said the last stanza out loud, testing the funny syllables in his best reading voice.

"Ssnic-ker-ssnack, He left it dead 'nd withits head, he went ga-lump-fing 'ack."

Alone, his words seemed to echo in his bedroom, a harmless bouncing of his small voice. It wasn't a very impressive reading. He tried to imagine the brave squire riding home triumphantly with the head of the dreaded Jabberwocky in his arms. He listened for the sound of hooves, the triumphant fanfare and the sound of cheers.

But all Sky Tate heard was the sound of his bedroom clock sounding the seconds with a spiteful tick.

Tick-tick-tick.

The house was silent.

And has thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!' He chortled in his joy.

Suddenly, Sky didn't feel like reading anymore.

Sky looked up at the clock, frowning as he slowly followed the position of the hands. Big hand up at ten….little hand…six….9:35. An hour past his bedtime. Sky frowned and looked somewhat anxiously at his closed bedroom door. His mother said he could stay up to wait for his father but she hadn't said how long.

"I'm very proud of you Schuyler! An A on your essay! And remember how hard you worked on it?"

"Yeah! And Mrs. Moore said I'm a good writer!"

"She did? Well I bet you can't wait to show your father."

"Do you think Dad will like it?"

"He'll love it, Sky. Just like I do."

Sky had waited impatiently that entire afternoon, full of energy. A little after four, his mother had gently nudged him out of the house and into the backyard, where he threw himself onto his play-set with a happy giddiness.

So much attention on something he had made! Perhaps he could be a writer when he grew up, a famous one, traveling all around the globe looking for stories to write! A writer—who had adventures. Exploring caves and jungles and ruins like on tv!

A great world adventurer, climbing in jungles and saving people from tigers!

Well, maybe he would be an adventurer first, and a writer second.

Sky made the tree stump in his yard his writer's desk, using twigs for pens and leaves for paper, and made his play-set the great ancient temple he would explore.

Sky the adventurer-writer explored the great ancient temple until the sun was low in the sky and his mother called him in for dinner. But at the dinning room table there were the usual three place settings and only two plates.

"Where's Dad?"

"I'm sorry honey; your father said he was going to be a little late. Something's come up at work and they need him there. You understand, right Sky?"

Sky nodded sadly. It wasn't the first time his father was late. Sometimes his father would arrive in the middle or just after dinner so Sky would be allowed to bring his homework to the table and watch his father eat while he explained the latest crime he'd solved to his wife and son. Another hour to wait wasn't so bad.

But his mother had a strange look on her face and when the two of them sat down for dinner she hardly ate anything.

When Sky was younger, his father had read his son Through the Looking Glass, acting out every character with wonderful voices. Although he didn't care much for Alice, Sky had fallen in love with the Jabberwocky poem and it became his favorite bedtime story. Sky liked the words of the poem, even if he didn't quite understand them all.

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.

But it wasn't the same, reading the poem out loud. When he read to himself, at least the words had his father's voice. In Sky's imagination it was his father who held his arms to reward the slayer of Jabberwocky; Sky, the hero.

Sky eyed his bedroom clock once more before slowly sliding out of bed. The bedroom door slowly creaked open and Sky crept out into the silent hallway.

The corridor was dark, but a light shone dimly through a crack in his parents closed bedroom door. His mother was awake then. Where was his father?

Sky snuck past the closed door and down a staircase, pausing only when his foot caused a floorboard to squeak, a loud wooden moan that boomed in Sky's ears. No response from the bedroom door. He made it down to the living room.

The living room was empty and full of dark shadows, cast from a single lamp Sky's mother left on. A quick scan outside a window revealed only one car in the Tate's driveway. His father was still not home.

Sky frowned and bit at his lower lip as he took in the darkness of the living room. The room looked strange, eerie, in the nighttime. Sky shivered and eyed strange shadows in the room with a distrustful glare. He wasn't afraid of course; only babies were afraid of the dark.

Only babies were afraid of the looming shadow that resembled a giant claw--that's just the lamp.

Or the weird shape on the staircase--that's only the tv.

Or the dark spot directly in front of Sky, that's only…ah…only…

Well, maybe he needed just a little more light. After all his dad might trip over something when he came in, Sky reasoned as he eyed the identifiable shadow in front of him. Light--for his dad, of course.

Suddenly Sky launched himself towards the nearest light switch, knocking over a stack of paperwork from a nearby table in the progress.

Light abruptly filled the Tate living room, banishing the strange shadows and revealing a small mess on the floor. Feeling guilty, Sky moved to pick of the papers. A closer inspection of the papers revealed them to be Sky's homework folder, along with envelopes addressed to his parents.

Sky carried the blue homework folder to the couch and scrambled to sit on top of the cushions. His half finished math assignment sat at the top of the folder, followed by several completed assignments, adorned with large golden stars. Sky ignored these, flipping though the pages until he found a page with two golden stars and a large 'A' written in loopy scrawl. His essay.

It had been his first big essay. Sky had written it at the kitchen table, under the careful eye of his mother-'We'll have to work on your handwriting, Schuyler.' Sky frowned at the memory.

His dad had returned home late that day too; he didn't get a chance to read it before Sky turned it in.

My Hero

By Schuyler Tate

The person who is my hero is my Dad. He is my hero because he is someone who saves people who are in danger. My Dad is part of Space Patrol Delta, SPD. They are special police who help with criminels in the city.

My dad is the Red Ranger. He is the leader of the Power Rangers. They are the heroes of the city because they fight criminels and robots in their big zords. Usually when we hear the monster alarm we stay inside where it is safe. But my dad fights the robots and save the day with his team. My dad's best friend is the blue ranger. He is friends with all his team.

My dad is my hero because he is the red power ranger and because he is my dad. He plays baseball with me and teaches me how to fight. He fights criminels but also helps my mom do the dishes. So he is my mom's hero too. Theend.

Two gold stars and an 'A'. Sky was positive his father was going to love it. He'll spin his son up into the air, just like he did when Sky got the "Student of the Week" award, last year.

"That's my boy, best of his class! I knew you could do it, Sky!"

Maybe then, he'd take Sky out for ice cream, or to the library. Maybe they'd even get to go to the park. Sky yawned as he settled himself further into the couch.

Thoughts moved through his mind as drowsy images and words; a trip to the park; just him and his dad…gold stars... his dad…heroes...and red….

Sky fell asleep nestled in couch cushions, clutching his essay close to his chest.

----------

"…Don't even understand…"

"arhmm? ….3am, do you how late you are!"

"…Sky…"

At the sound of his name, Sky blinked awake, disorientated. He brought one hand up to rub at his eyes, only to discover his arm pinned under a dark blue bed sheet. He was in his bed—and it was dark.

".arhoughmm job…call…worried sick..mmmhmm"

Voices. His parents? Why were they talking now? Then memories of the earlier that night rushed back to Sky as a flash of clarity. He'd had been in the living room, how'd he get back into his bed? He had been waiting…oh! His father was home!

Sky leaped out of bed—nearly tripping on Through the Looking Glasswhich had somehow ended up on the floor—and opened his door into a dark hallway.

There were lights and voices coming from the living room and from the top of the staircase, Sky could see the silhouettes of his parents, standing just out of sight. He was about to make his way down the stairs when he suddenly registered his name in his parents conversation.

"…put Sky back in his bed. He had his books all over the damn place; I had a heck of a time finding a clean spot to put him down."

"Sky's a good boy."

Sky broke out into a wide grin at his father's quiet praise. Yet the next comment by his mother made the boy freeze.

"He's his father's son. I blame you for that mess, you know. Reading to him all the time- you two like such violent stories! Fairy tales knights and monsters; it's a wonder our son doesn't get into more trouble with the stuff you seem to put in his head!"

"Dear!"

"Did you read his essay? He wants to be just like you, a Red Ranger. Just like his father. Another SPD officer in the family, soon enough!"

"This is not about Sky!"

"Oh it isn't?"

"You're mad at me for not coming home early tonight-stop bringing our son into this!"

"Sky is a big part of this-I found him out of bed, asleep on the sofa waiting for his "hero" to come home!"

At the top of the staircase, two small hands clutched at the stair railing in confusion. Sky shivered and he folded into himself.

He'd never heard his mom talk like that to his dad—the way she said "hero" made her sound like a stranger with an angry voice. Her shadow moved back and forth across the wall, easily visible to Sky.

"I told you-"

"No! I don't want to hear it!"

"What do you want from me!"

"I want my husband! I want the father of my child! I married you, not SPD, not Cruger, and not the Red Ranger! Sky waited for you to come home! I waited for you!"

"God Damnit this is not my fault!"

Sky's eyes widened at the curse. He could see his father's shadow move closer towards his mother's, till they blurred into one dark mass on the wall.

"Listen, this perp-he's been impossible to catch. As soon as we get close, its like he just disappears, into thin air," his father voice said in a frustrated tone.

He's wanted on twelve other worlds for murder, grand theft, assassination; you name it, the creep's done it. He's killed civilians, love. I just can't let this case rest, knowing that this guy's still loose!"

"There are four other Rangers."

"And I'm their leader. This is what I do."

"I know that. I just-I have a bad feeling about this case. All I know is that I want you here. I want you home."

"This is the last ugly case for a while. Things will calm down after we nail this perp."

"What about Sky?"

"Tell you what, after I finish up this briefing, I'll come back around 10 to take Sky out to the park for a game of catch. I'll make this up to him, I promise."

"And what happens when Cruger calls?"

"Its Commander Cruger. The commander won't call unless it's an emergency. But you can come along to the park in case I get called in. That way, Schuyler doesn't have to go home. A family outing."

"…I suppose so."

"I can make this work, sweetie. I promise, after this case I'll talk to the brass about lowering my caseload. No more all nighters and more time with the boy…it'll be different, I promise."

"Don't promise."

"I swear."

"…"

Sky frowned as he strained to hear his mother's muffled comment. Were they ok now?

"I promise I'll come back to pick up Sky."

"Just-just go."

Go? Go where? Sky shook at the top of the staircase. Why was his father leaving? Without seeing him first? No goodbyes?

Sky watched in horror as the shadow of his father disappeared. He could hear rustling and the sound of keys being taken out. Leaving now? Tears welled in Sky's eyes as he suddenly sprang up from his hiding spot on the top of the stairs.

Sky raced down the stairs taking them two at a time.

"Sky!"

He could hear his mother's astounded voice as he rushed past her towards the door.

"Dad? Dad!"

He saw the shadowy figure of his father step outside from the bright lights of the living room into the darkness of the outside world, watching as the door swung behind him in what seemed like slow motion.

"Dad!"

But the front door slipped shut in front of Sky, closing him off from his father with a deafening final click.

"Daddd!"

The Boogiemen are coming, the boogiemen are coming
Keep your head down, go to sleep, to the rhythm of the war drums.

The End.

Spanish Translations:

M'ija (me-ha): Literally, "my daughter". It's a contraction of the words "mí hija" (also a term of affection for young children/adults; your aunt or even your neighbor may call you m'ija/o)

M'ijita (me-he-ta): variation on m'ija.

Chica: slang for girl. (Chicoboy)

Tamales (tam-mal-es): traditional Mexican/Latin American meal. Ahh...theres lots of variations on it but it usually consists of meat or cheese wrapped in corn (maize). Typically eaten on holidays such as Christmas or New Years.