"This can't be happening," were the first words out of my mouth after I

slammed the door in the face of the Western Union messenger. "No one sends

telegrams anymore," I told him. "That's so 1940's. And you look ridiculous

with your little tasseled cap and your bicycle. Go away."

How did they find out? I ran over to my computer for answers. Nothing seemed

amiss. The story I had posted about Harry posting a story, so Hogan and his

men could never bother us again was still up.

Breathing heavily, I vowed not to open anything, sign anything, use my

toothbrush, or do anything out of the ordinary, so as not to end up there.

"I'm too smart for you guys this time. I know you're coming, and out to get

me."

Several hours later, I stood dumbfounded at the sight of what appeared to be

trained owls roosting on the cable wires and rooftops of every house on my

street. Oddly, no one else seemed to pay attention.

And then the letters started to appear in my mailbox, which began to overflow.

I grabbed them and shoved them in our Weber grill; threw in some charcoal and

cooked a few burgers along with the letters. No luck. They began to pour in

through the small vent that formed around our dryer hoses. I glued the mailbox

shut, (obviously inviting the wrath of the United States postal service. I'm

sure I'll be arrested eventually) and plugged up the dryer vent. Hopefully, my

family will read the huge sign I taped on the door. Dryer broken, seeking

help, use the laundromat." Good thing I don't have a fireplace. No matter, a

fireplace strangely took shape in my small living room; right next to the

DVD's. And the letters kept coming. I had no idea how to cement the fireplace

shut, so I did the next best thing. I ran.

I had on hand several credit cards, my laptop, my prescriptions, a change of

clothes, and some cash. I left a note on the kitchen table, and I had called

my sister and told her I was now on the lam, but refused to tell her where I

was heading. She would be putty in the hands of Riker and the likes of him,

and would blab within minutes. No, I had to hide somewhere, somewhere where

they would least expect I would go. Somewhere expensive, where it would be

hard to track fugitive authors in the summer season.

I made it! But damn the security measures. Hotels now look for identification.

So much for an assumed name. No matter. I wasn't planning on spending any time

at all in my room. No one does at this place. I hopped the first bus. I knew

exactly where to go to hide out.

The happiest place on earth. And possibly the most crowded. It would be like

looking for a needle in a haystack. No fast pass for me. No, sir. I wedged my

way through the masses. Their Harry Potter ruse wouldn't work here. That's a

different theme park. If they came, they would be sued so fast by the machine,

they wouldn't know what hit them. I'm so clever. Finally. And as usual no

line, no waiting. Aah. Air conditioned comfort in a boat. Most people would go

bananas after two or three circuits. Not me. I stuck in the ear plugs, sat

back and spent hours on "Small World."

"Ma'am. We're closing. And I'm not supposed to say anything like this to our

guests, but I really think you need psychological help."

I opened my eyes, and let the young cast member assist me off of the boat. I

swayed. After 10 hours on the small briny, I needed time to get rid of my sea

legs.

"I'm hiding," I whispered. "I didn't break any laws, at least in this

universe."

"Riiiiggght," he said. "This way to the exit."

"Thank you." I always enjoyed coming here. Everyone was so polite. I was now

swept up in the closing hour crowd. There was literally no place else to go

but out. Secure in the knowledge that I would be safe in my economy room, I

trudged to the exit, waited forever in line for my bus, and then headed

through the gift shop back to my building. What I wouldn't give to join those

happy people cooling off in the pool. But no. I couldn't trust anyone. I

opened the door to my room.

"How cute!" Animal towels on the bed. And a Klingon security guard in the

bathroom.

Frankly, I wasn't scared or surprised. I didn't even scream.

"You can run, but you can't hide." He grinned at me.

Funny. And I thought Worf had no sense of humor.

"You are out of your jurisdiction, mister!" My voice came out in a squeak.

"Ma'am. Why don't you just sign it and get it over with." He held out an

envelope. "You'll know we'll trick you eventually. Look how easy it was to

find you!"

"Loved the Harry Potter touch. Who's going to clean up after those owls? You

should see what a mess they made of the street and the parked cars."

Ignoring my question, Worf said. "Next time you try to make yourself

invisible, get a cloak…or try not to be the only single middle-aged woman

riding "Small World." He shuddered at the thought of it…"all day long. And

Disney has remarkable security. We were able to trace you."

"I don't watch CSI, NCIS or any of those cop shows. Now go away. Shoo." I

flicked my wrist.

The Klingon growled, tapped his button and disappeared in a shimmer.

I now had to be more vigilant. Afraid to turn on the TV or radio, I walked

into the bathroom and stared at the shower. I couldn't imagine turning on the

water would magically make me disappear. Fortunately, I was right. It was late

and I was tired. I would have to reconsider my position in the morning.

"Checking out already?" The impossibly perky desk clerk asked. "Was everything

all right?"

"Yes. But I have to leave early, unfortunately." I smiled at her. "I hope to

be back again soon."

"Very good." The clerk slid over a bill, which I checked over. "Sign here,

please."

I'm such an idiot.