Chapter 4: No Strings Attached

Angela Petrelli--Unknown

She came into the hallway and saw the carnage--her sons, other loved ones, even those she barely knew dead on the floor. She saw a scene from the past, a woman with tangled hair, a pale face and pale eyes, writing feverishly in a book. As Angela looked over her shoulder, the woman without looking up at her whispered, "I'm sorry. I knew it would happen. I should have told you. I tried."

She looked up and walk almost right into his dark face. "Hello, Angela," he said coldly.

"No! Impossible!" she whispered.

"Oh, it's possible. You've seen the future, and I'm afraid I can't let you go."

"No. You wouldn't. You can't!"

"I can, and I will."

She braced herself as he lifted his hand against her, but suddenly a blinding light came in between them. Angela blocked her eyes from the light when it was the most intense, and then she cautiously peered to see what was going on.

The light was coming from a girl--a girl with straight, long, dark hair, wearing a silk kimono embroidered with colorful butterflies. She was glowing a brilliant yellow, as bright as the sun. "It's OK, Mrs. Petrelli," she said.

Angela knelt down to take a closer look at her. As she peered into the child's face, she recognized a trace of familiarity. "You're . . . Kaito's granddaughter."

The girl nodded. "His power is too strong. I can't stop him, but I can keep him from hurting you. I'll stay with you so he can't hurt you."

Angela nodded. "I'd like that. I'd . . . like that." She put her arms around the girl's shoulders, but the girl felt as stiff as a china doll.

Gabriel and Michael Bonhomme--Flight from Paris to New York

"So . . . could you explain to me again what you are doing?" Gabriel asked.

"Research," his father answered.

"What kind of research?"

"Research. That's pretty much all I can say."

"It's not like research for Northpoint."

"I don't think so."

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

"You're your own man, Gabriel. You can check in with your friends--Peter, Mohinder, Claude."

"Actually, he's back in England."

"Oh. Well, anyhow, I trust whatever you do. Just make sure wherever you go, you always have your phone on, and keep in touch with me on a regular basis."

"Alright."

"And stay alert. Remember, New York isn't well-known for being a safe city."

"Keep my guard up. Yeah." It sounded kinda boring, what his father was suggesting. He knew he shouldn't let Peter see he's come back. No, what he needed was to continue pursuing his future. "I think I might check in with a couple of those job offerings I had. There's that one in Boston."

"Boston's not in New York, is it?"

"No, it's in . . . it's in Massachussetts. It's not far from New York, though. Then there's this place called Pinehearst."

Michael gave him a sudden, hard look.

"What's wrong, Papa?"

Michael shook his head. "Nothing. That sounds fine, Gabriel." He got up and grabbed a pillow from the above compartment. "Might as well get some sleep. We'll be hit hard by jet lag, otherwise."

"I will in a little bit. Bonsoir, Papa."

"Bonsoir, Gabriel." Michael snuggled his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. Gabriel took an opportunity to look around, and he saw something curious in a row across from him. The passanger was next to an empty seat, so Gabriel took it.

"Une tortue?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, it's a turtle."

Matt Parkman--Flight to New York

It was just like in the picture the African guy painted. The same kid who would be the head of that rally was staring into the aquarium at Matt's new reptile friend. He looked harmless enough. Matt saw him talking to the old guy across from him, and he couldn't understand why they were talking in French so well.

"What's his name?" the boy asked.

"His name? Uh, I hadn't really thought of that."

"How did you get him past Customs?"

"Wasn't easy. It took a few hours, and I had to fill out some paper work. But I had to take him with me. He was a . . . I guess a gift from a friend."

"Oh. Alright."

The kid looked so much more interested in the turtle than he did in Matt, until Matt remembered something from their conversation that he was sure would get his attention. "Did I hear that man talking to you mention Mohinder?"

"Oh, yeah," the boy answered. "I know Mohinder Suresh. I met him a little while ago. There was talk that he might win the Nobel Prize, but it didn't happen."

"Yeah, he's like my roommate." That got the kid's attention; he looked straight at him. "We share an apartment. Haven't seen him much lately."

"How come I haven't met you?"

"Well, I was out of commission for a while. It's a long story." He reached out his hand for the kid to shake. "Matt Parkman."

"Ah, je sais ce nom! Ou l'ai-je entendu avant? Parkman . . . Parkman . . . Parkman . . ." Matt didn't understand it. Why were the boy's thoughts in French after he spoke English so well?But there was a very strong emotion behind it, confusion and frustration.

"I'm sorry," the boy spoke up. "I just feel like I've heard your name before. I can't remember . . . oh, of course! Peter told me about you! You're that policeman who can read minds!"

'Hey, hey, keep it down!" Matt whispered.

"Oh, yes, sorry."

"You know Peter too?"

"That's right. So, did you ever catch who shot his brother?"

"No. It was more like he caught me."

"Well, who was it?"

"Peter."

"What?!"

"It was Peter. I found him snooping around, and I figured out he was the one responsible, and he sent to the middle of Africa, which is where I just came from."

"That doesn't sound like Peter."

"Well, it wasn't the Peter we knew. He had a scar across his face."

Gabriel understood. It was the Peter from the future. "It still doesn't sound like Peter."

Matt shrugged. "All I know is what I know. So what's your name?"

"Gabriel, Gabriel Goodman."

"Nice to meet you, Gabriel."

They talked for a long time. Gabriel told him some about his adventures, and Matt talked about a few of his. The kid didn't seem very dangerous. Yet Matt saw the seeds begin to grow as Gabriel talked about studying Disability Studies. At this point, he just seemed interested in it, maybe not quite as passionate as the man Matt saw in his vision. In fact, Matt mentioned his dyslexia, and Gabriel said he knew some resources that could help him with reading. Matt didn't even know about some of that stuff. About an hour later, Gabriel told him that he was going to try to get some sleep.

"Well, if you ever need any help getting around New York, here's my cell," Matt said as he wrote his number down on a card.

"Merci, Monsieur Parkman."

"Please, call me Matt."

"OK, Matt. Thank you."

A few hours later, the plane landed. When Michael picked their luggage up, he received notification through his cellphone about their lodging. They got a classy room at a fine New York hotel. They swung by there to put their luggage up, then Michael was informed that someone was ready to take him to his destination. He took the cab, and meanwhile Gabriel started trying to get transport to Massive Dynamics.

Pineheast looked like a very nice building, much like a hospital. It gave Michael the willies just a little bit as he thought about Northpoint. He was led into a big office, and he couldn't believe who was sitting behind the desk.

"Arthur Petrelli?"

The old man broke into a big smile. "Michael Bonhomme! Well, isn't this a surprise! I haven't seen you in twenty years, I believe. In fact, about four, five years ago, I heard you passed away."

"Yes sir. That rumor did circulate, but really I was kidnapped and made into a lab rat for the next few years. But my son told me that you were dead!"

Arthur laughed. "Yes, I was about to say, I shouldn't be one to judge. Everyone's been saying the same thing to me for several days now!"

Michael laughed with him as he came closer. "Yes, a rather unusual thing to have in common."

"Absolutely." Arthur reached out to him but stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry. Is it alright if I hugged you?"

"I . . . I rather you didn't. For now, anyway."

Arthur nodded solemnly. "I understand. I don't want to overwhelm your senses."

"I appreciate that."

"It's very good to have you here, Michael. And I am so sorry about Ruth. That was a terrible tragedy."

"Yes."

"But I am glad that you still want to be a part of this family."

"Well, that's all because of your son."

"My son? Which one?"

"Peter. He was very good to me. He saved me. He brought me back my son, my life."

Arthur, for some reason, looked very sad as he nodded. "Sounds like Peter. You know, speaking of sons, where's yours?"

"Gabriel had other obligations, I'm afraid."

"That's a pity. I've only seen him once, and that was when he was a baby."

"I'll make sure you'll get to see him before this is all over."

"I'd really appreciate that. Well, Michael, why don't we get started?"

The phone rang. "Finalement," Gabriel thought as he picked up. "Allo?"

"Yes, I'm calling for Gabriel Bonhomme?" a female voice answered.

"This is he."

"Hello, Gabriel. This is Nina Sharpe from Massive Dynamics. I understand you called?"

"Oh, yes! Papa and I are visiting in the States. We're in New York City right now. I was wondering if I could set up an interview while we're down here."

"Certainly. That would be delightful."

"I will need transportation"

"Of course, I'll arrange it. It would be good to meet you, face to face."

"Yes, but I do need you to understand that I'm not committing to anything. I have a couple more offers that I also must investigate."

"I understand."

"Right now, I just have a lot of questions."

"And I'll do my best to answer them. Of couse, I can't make any promises that I'll be able to answer them all."

"L'histoire de ma vie," (the story of my life) Gabriel thought. It didn't sound entirely encouraging. He still wasn't sure how much he saw was real and how much was real. Well, he might as well take what he can get. "Alright, thank you."

"I'll send someone down soon. A bien tot, Gabriel." (See you later.)

'Oui, merci. Au revoir." He hung up.

"Mohinder, this is Michael Bonhomme, my nephew-in-law, if there is such a term. He'll be working with us."

Michael recognized him right away. "Mohinder! You're here? Gabriel and I were just talking about you."

Mohinder smiled. "Professor Bonhomme! It's good to see you again."

He held out his hand for the professor to shake, but once Michael took it, he noticed something scaley on Mohinder's hand. Looking closer at him, Michael could see strange marks on his face. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fairly well. Don't worry, it's just a side effect from an experiment. It will be rectified soon."

"Good to see you two know each other," Arthur said. "That will make this more pleasant. Now, Michael, I'm sure you'll help Mohinder, whatever he needs."

"Of course, Arthur," Michael nodded.

"Excellent. Now, follow me. I have another surprise for you." He led Michael down a couple of hallways and stopped in front of a door. "It has come to my attention that you have gained an interest in playing the piano."

"Yes sir, that's true."

"Well, I took the liberty to get this just for you." Arthur opened the door and turned on the light. Inside was a grand piano and a comfortable bench.

"Oh, it's beautiful."

"When you and Mohinder are through, feel to come in here and play to your heart's content."

"That's very kind, Arthur."

"Well, go on. Give it a practice run. I'm sure you'll find the acoustics in here are spectacular."

Michael sat down and started playing "Claire de Lune." Arthur smiled and silently closed the door. He then walked back to Mohinder's lab, where the young scientist was watching Michael on a video screen. "That was kind of you to treat him like that," Mohinder said.

"It wasn't really for him," Arthur said coldly.

"What do you mean?"

"In an hour, I'd like you to take him out to lunch, and while you're there, slip this into his drink." He put a pill in Mohinder's hand.

"A drug?"

"Dopamine. It's a natural chemical produced by the brain to inspire creativity. Make sure you record everything he plays."

"But the way his brain works, he has plenty of dopamine. Why do we--?"

"Because he can play Beethoven and Chopin all he wants, but it won't do us any good. We need something original."

"Why?"

"Every note he plays can be given a numerical value. Therefore, any piece he plays can be translated into an equation. He could provide the missing links that we're looking for in these formulas. When he was in Northpoint, he figured so much work for us without even knowing it."

"You knew about Northpoint?"

"Of course. It was my way of making him useful."

Gabriel was waiting in the lobby. A bunch of papers were in his lap, and he flipped through them again. He did some research on the Internet, and he didn't like it. He really didn't like it. Whoever this Nina Sharpe person is, he was really going to give her an earful.

"Gabriel Bonhomme?"

Gabriel looked up and saw a man standing over him, a very dark skinned man, just like the man he saw in his dream. Gabriel's anger turned into intimidation. "Oui, monsieur."

"Name's Broyles. Miss Sharpe sent me to pick you up."

"Oui, monsieur."

"I suggest you get in the car and get comfortable. We're in for a long ride."

"Alright." Gabriel had a feeling that it was longer than he might think.

Michael played on the piano for about an hour, not really even seeming to notice that no one asked for his help. He stopped and got up to look for a break room. On the way down the hall, he heard something knocking around and then a voice call his name. He stopped and went back to the room where it was coming from, and who should he find there chained to a hospital bed but—

"Peter?"

Peter wearily smiled at him. "Am I glad to see you. I needed an ally in the worst way in a place like this."

"What are you doing here? Why are in you in chains?"

"My father put me here. All my powers are gone!"

"Gone?! How can this be?"

"My . . . it doesn't matter. We gotta stop this!"

"Stop what?"

"Everything! Dad! Pinehearst! Professor, you were in the future. You saw what's going to happen."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Then you know why. It all starts here. We have to stop it before it starts."

"Don't worry, Peter, I'll . . . I'll take care of everything. It'll all be alright."

Peter smiled again. "I knew I could trust you."

"It's not a problem. You took care of me when I needed it. I must return the favor, yes?"

"Well, you don't need to think of it that way, but I'm glad you're willing to help."

"Of course, Peter. No problem." He left the room quickly. Noah needed to hear about all of this.

Harmony Miller--Coasta Verde, CA

She was sitting alone, singing the song. She knew it all the way through now. It was a good song that made her happy, but she still didn't know why it was a magic song. It still didn't feel magic.

"Harmony?" The good witch was there.

"You've been gone for a long time."

"Yes. A bad man is holding me back. He doesn't want me to see you, but another friend of yours is helping me sneak through."

Harmony didn't understand.

"Listen, Harmony, do you want to know how that song is magic?"

"Yes, I do."

"Come with me. I'll show you." The witch held Harmony's hand and led her out of the house.

Massive Dynamics was in such a big building. So much glass, so much white everywhere. It was so strange, so cold. Gabriel decided the moment he stepped in that he didn't like it. Nina Sharpe was older than he thought she would be, dressed in black with short red hair. Something about her added to his unease.

"So you said you had questions," she said.

As uncomfortable as he felt, Gabriel decided he'd try his best to stand his ground. "I really only have one, madame. Why did you ask for me?"

She smiled. "I think you would be a good edition to the special team we have. Of course, as I have told you, it is located at Harvard University, which is regarded by many as the best school in America, perhaps the best school in the world. We have a select number of world experts in science, linguistics, mathematics, and . . . well, justice."

"It does sound quite elite, madame, but why me?"

"Of course, if you accept this position, we'll provide transportation, room, and board. We pay you a rather handsome salary. I believe that's not what you're after, though. It's my understanding that you have an interest in winning the Nobel Prize one day. Your chances will certainly improve under our care, and we can pull a few strings to--"

"FINE!" Gabriel stood and hit the table. "I'll answer my question. I did a little research on Les Dynamiques Massifes." He threw down the notes in front of her. "Pharmaceuticals? Control groups? Psychological case studies?! I know what's going on. You picked my name out of a hat so I can be your little lab rat, just because I'm autistic. Well, I'm not interested. My father already went through it, and I know what it did to him. Oh, but you already knew about that, didn't you?" He pulled out one paper. "It says here Massive Dynamics provided funding and support to a research project in Oxford called Northpoint. As you Americans say, 'been there, done that.' I'm not falling for it. I'm not hiding behind a label."

Ms. Sharpe didn't loose her composure as he went on that whole diatribe. She just stared at him with interest. Then she casually stepped from behind her desk. "You want to talk labels, Gabriel? I know the labels you have for people like me. Neurologically Typical, right? How about Temporarily Able-Bodied? TAB, right?" Then before his eyes, she grabbed her arm and ripped off the skin to reveal an astounding robotic prosthetic. Gabriel stared, amazed at how natural it looked and wondered why she covered it to assert her normalcy. "Been there, done that. Now, this one question you're asking, if I understand you correctly is whether or not we consider you are a lab rat."

"No, what I asked was--"

"The answer is unequivocally yes."

Gabriel was stunned. He couldn't believe she'd say that right out.

"But what you don't understand is you'd be a lab rat even if you weren't working for us. The question you should be asking is who is testing on you."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you ever wondered why you are autistic?"

"Non. I got it from my father. He's autistic."

"And what about him?"

"Well, I don't know about him."

"Have you ever considered that it might be from an external source?"

"Now, if you're saying it's vaccines—"

"No, but there could be something, or someone out there, who did this to you on purpose. There's not much I can tell you without clearance, but it could be that everyone in the world is part of an experiment. You especially, and not just because you're autistic. I understand you've seen some strange things from people."

"I have, but . . . it's evolution."

"Is it?"

"Well, yes! It's in Chandra Suresh's book, and his son Mohinder proved it!"

"There might be more to it than that. Now, this group we're introducing you to have only scratched the surface of what's going on. With your help, they can understand more, and maybe you can help us all out of the maze."

Gabriel stared, feeling numb all over. He still wasn't sure.

There was such a pretty bird outside, all kinds of pretty colors. As Harmony came near it, the bird didn't go "tweet tweet." It said, "Hello, so nice to see you." It sounded so happy! Harmony liked the sound of its voice and laughed.

"What are you doing here?" A big man appeared from the building. "Get out! Get outta here, you stupid kid!"

"Strom-bully?"

"Look, I don't do shows anymore. I just wanna be left alone. So get out!"

But Harmony still wanted to look at the parrot and the other toys there. Besides, this is where the good witch took her, and she was standing right behind Harmony to take care of her. But Strom-bully said a lot of things that weren't very nice, and he kept getting louder. He even pushed Harmony away from the toys and went back in. Harmony was starting to get scared, but the witch said, "It's OK. Don't be afraid."

"But Strom-bully is not nice!"

"No, he isn't. He's a very bad man, but you need to be brave. Now, go inside."

Harmony shook her head.

"He's got a lot of puppets just like Pinocchio inside."

"Pinocchio?" Harmony had to see that, so she went into the building. There was a puppet right inside that looked just like Pinocchio, only he still had strings. "Pinocchio!" Harmony reached out to touch him, and he started to dance.

Strom-bully shouted another thing that wasn't nice. "It's that stupid kid again!"

"Harmony!" She heard someone blow and make music. Harmony looked over and saw the girl with the yellow hair. She was sitting at a table with two other women with yellow hair that Harmony didn't know.

Harmony smiled. "Hello, so nice to see you." She thought if she heard the same happy sound the parrot made, she'd laugh, but she didn't.

"Harmony, you gotta leave! Go home, now!"

"What's this, Barbie?" Strom-bully said. "You know her? Let me guess, she's your bratty little sister, isn't she? Or maybe a cousin?" Strom-bully touched one of the women on the shoulder. She brushed him off.

"I swear, Doyle, I've never seen that girl in my life," the woman whispered.

"Yeah, right," Strom-bully laughed. "I guess you won't mind, then, if I got her to join our little game."

Game? Harmony liked games! Maybe they're playing Chinese Checkers or Chutes and Ladders or Candyland. Harmony wanted to play with them, but the witch stopped her. "Harmony, don't!"

"But Harmony wants to play!"

"It's not a good game they're playing. It could hurt you."

Strom-bully smiled and said in a soft, nice tone, "Come here, sweetheart." Strom-bully held up his hand, and then Harmony's leg went up and down. Then the other leg. Then her arm. It hurt! It felt like he was pulling them. Harmony wanted it to stop.

The witch held her shoulder and said in her ear, "Now, you must sing your song. Think really hard about it, and try not to move."

"But Strom--"

"Don't think about him! Think about the song!"

Harmony felt her leg go up again. She closed her eyes and thought about Pinocchio and started to sing very slowly:

"I got not strings . . . to hold me down,

To make me . . . fret . . . or . . . make me . . .frown."

As Harmony was singing, her legs didn't move as much, even though she could still feel him pulling. "Go on," the witch whispered.

"I had strings . . . but now I'm free.

There are . . . no . . . strings . . . on . . . me."

"What the heck?!" Strom-bully whispered. He moved his hand quicker. "Come on, move!"

Harmony felt like he was still tugging at her, but her feet still didn't move. "Keep singing!" the witch said.

"Hi . . . ho . . . the dairy-oh,

It's the only way to be.

I want the world to know

Nothing ever worries me!"

It became easier as Harmony sang. The more she was singing, the less she could feel the pulling at her legs, and she stayed more still. She felt warmer. She felt stronger. But then Strom-bully yelled "Stop it!" and made a snap move with his fingers. Suddenly, Harmony's lips closed and she couldn't open them. It felt like her mouth was glued together.

"Sing anyway," the witch said. "You're doing great."

So Harmony tried to sing,

"Mmm mmm mmm mmm . . . mmm . ."

Harmony's lips opened, but her teeth were still shut, but she kept singing.

"I heh huhn.

I nu tie uh . . . to anyone.

They hah strinks . . .buh you cah . . . see"

Then, Harmony's teeth came apart just as she was finishing the song.

"There are no strings on--"

But Strom-bully looked really mad, and he yelled over Harmony, "Shut up! SHUT UP!" He grabbed a shiny tube from the table. He started pushing it so that it went "click click click" over and over.

"NO!" the girl with yellow hair screamed. She jumped in front of Harmony just before the tube made a very loud "BANG!" The sound made Harmony scared, and the girl laid down in front of her, and she looked all red. Strom-bully just looked at her and smiled and laughed. But then the girl with yellow hair got up and hit him really hard, and Strom-bully fell down. "Show's over," the girl said.

"Oh, sweetie, are you OK?" One of the other women came over and hugged Harmony's shoulders. "Oh, you poor thing! Where's your mama?"

"Mom, it's OK, I know her," the girl with yellow hair said. "I can take her home."

"But what is she doing all the way out here?"

"I don't know. She probably wandered off. It was lucky she was here to help us, isn't it?" The girl sat down and looked at Harmony. "That was very brave, Harmony. I don't know what you did, but thank you."

"You did a very good job, Harmony," the witch told her. "Very, very good. I'm very proud of you."

Michael thought for a long time and even practiced what he was going to say. He was very nervous, but around the end of the day he worked up the courage to knock on the office door. "Come in," Arthur said on the other side. Michael took a deep breath and opened the door. "Oh, Michael. Come in, sit down. Is there something wrong? Are you feeling uncomfortable?"

"I'd like to make a request, please," Michael answered.

"Absolutely! Whatever you wish."

"I'd like to ask that my piano be moved to this room."

Michael handed Arthur a sheet, but Arthur took one look at it and handed it back. "I'm afraid that room is already occupied."

"I know," Michael answered. He cleared his throat, took another deep breath, and said, "I saw a young man there earlier, a man I knew. A few years ago, he found me in a dark place. He showed me kindness that I had not known for years. He took care of me, brought me into his home, gave me food. More than that, he gave me back my life, my son. He made me proud to be a man again. And now I see him in a dark place himself. He's afraid and confused. I don't know what I can do to help him, but I just want to be with him, play him music, make him happy. Surely you understand. Isn't he your son?"

"It's not that I don't appreciate what Peter has done for you, but I am his father. Peter's in time-out. When he came here, he attacked me, and ever since he's been raving, going on that I'm going to destroy the world or something. I'm afraid that if you're in the room, he'll get you to think that I'm the bad guy, the villain."

"He's just confused. He thought you were dead."

"I know, but it's more than that, I think."

"Is there nothing I can do?"

"I tell you what, we'll compromise. I'll allow you to have the door open, and then Peter can hear you play. As a matter of fact, it might help everyone's morale. How about that?"

"I suppose."

"Very good. I really do appreciate your having my son's best interest at heart, but please, let me do the parenting."

"There is one other thing. Peter is . . . how can I put this? When I first met him, he . . . he could--"

"If you're referring to his powers, I'm seeing to that matter as well. Mohinder's going to try a procedure on him tomorrow. Why don't you help? Perhaps if you were there, it will help calm Peter down."

"I'd like that, sir. Thank you."

"Hello, hello, this is Hiro Nakamura."

"Hiro, thank goodness!" Gabriel cried. "Listen, I need to--"

"Sorry, but I am not available. I am on a mission for my father's honor. The fate of the world depends on my victory. But if you leave your phone number and a brief message, I will—"

"Agh," Gabriel sighed and hung up his phone. "Hiro, where are you? This is not like you."

"Frustrated?" It was that man, Broyles, who was speaking, the first time he spoke since he started driving Gabriel back.

The boy nodded. "I had another opportunity, but I can't get in touch with my friend who offered it."

"I hope you're successful."

"Successful? What? What do you mean?"

"No offence, but a young man like you doesn't have any business messing with the Pattern."

"The Pattern?"

"I don't even know what Sharpe is so insistant on contacting you. She doesn't tell me much, but she did say she got your name from a reliable source."

"So, they didn't just draw me out of a hat. They want me for a reason, don't they?"

Broyles didn't answer. It didn't occur to Gabriel until much later that they had that whole conversation for a reason too.

"Guess this means I'm going to check out Pinehearst. I'll call them tomorrow."

A man with shiny eyes took Strom-bully away. He looked at the girl with yellow hair. "You did this?"

"Actually, it was Harmony," the girl said.

"Harmony?"

"Yeah, I don't know how she did it, but she could fight his power. She was singing that song from Pinocchio, and she . . . I don't know. She made it come to life."

The man with shiny smiled at Harmony. "Good job."

"Hello, so nice to see you," Harmony said back.

A moment later, Harmony was riding in the car with the man with shiny eyes and the girl with yellow hair. "Harmony, you did a good job with that man," the man with the shiny eyes told her. "We're all very proud of you, and we're all amazed that you were OK. But you really shouldn't do things like that alone. It could be dangerous. Do you know your mother's worried about you?"

"Harmony's not alone. Good Witch is with Harmony."

The girl with yellow hair turned around in her seat. "Harmony, did you just talk? You just said a full sentence! And it wasn't . . . echo . . . echo-whatever."

Harmony didn't say that in her head? She didn't realize. "Harmony had to say, doesn't wanna get in trouble."

"No one's getting in trouble, Honey," the man with shiny eyes answered. "Just make sure you don't do that again without your mother's permission, OK?"

"Dad, what are you saying?" the girl with yellow hair whispered.

Then, there was a beeping noise, but it sounded like music. "Just a minute, Claire." The man with shiny eyes pulled a phone out of his pocket. "Hello? . . . So, he didn't? . . . Well, we'll take what we can get. Actually, the open door is a good sign. They trust us . . . I just really don't see how that could be possible, but I'll keep checking . . . Yes, we'll talk tomorrow. Thank you."

"Who was that, Dad?"

"Never mind."

To be continued . . .