It was one glorious moment as Davy urged Saph beyond the grounds of the Hall; the freedom he felt was so tangible, he was convinced he could reach out and touch it. And this was just the start—Davy's mind was zealously making plans for the next day's excursion, and then the days after that. He would go farther and farther with each passing day, distancing himself more and more from this dull and dreary Hall.

As Saph galloped faster and faster down the wooded trail, Davy could feel his spirit soaring. He paid little heed to Creech's calls for him to slow down; the majordomo was not an experienced rider, and Davy was able to outdistance him with ease.

And yet, despite the fresh, spring breeze swirling around him, Davy still felt that something was missing. Yes, he was ecstatic to finally be free, but… why was he still not fully happy?

Saph had no doubts; the roan seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go, and Davy let him choose. The boy took note of the postings all around the trees and wondered why they were passing so many advertisements for a circus not too far away. Did Saph have his eye on some of the circus mares? No, that couldn't be it…

As Davy continued to ponder over both the posters and his own mixed emotions, he was unaware of Mr. Zero materializing behind a tree up ahead.

The Prince of Darkness scowled at what he was seeing; Davy was not supposed to have left the grounds; his captivity was supposed to have been his part of the curse to bear—to be so desperate that he would sign over his soul for freedom! And worse yet, that dratted stallion was heading for the one place that Zero did not want him to go—he could not risk Davy and Micky crossing paths; even if they wouldn't be able to remember each other, it was their separation that was supposed to be key to his entire plan!

He could not let this go any further.

As Davy and Saph raced by, Mr. Zero snapped his fingers. A loud crack issued through the expanse of the woods, and the sky turned blood red for just twenty seconds. But it was enough.

Davy had looked up in shock at the sound and the red sky; he had only a second to do so when the equally-shocked Saph reared up on his hind legs with a shriek of a whinny. The sudden stop had thrown Davy forward, resulting in him smacking into Saph's neck as the roan reared; the boy fell, grabbing onto the saddle at the last second to slow his fall down. Creech's horrified cries to him rang in his ears as he hit the ground.

Davy tried to shake off the fall, but, suddenly, everything started shaking. With a yelp, Davy clutched at the ground in desperation as it violently shook beneath him. The earthquake threw Saph off of his hooves, as well, resulting in the horse falling not too far from Davy. Another crack issued from above the boy, and he looked up in time to see a large branch from one of the trees start to break; he rolled out of the way just in time, the branch missing his head by a fraction of an inch.

Davy stared at the fallen branch beside him with wide-eyed horror as the quake finally subsided. The sky had reverted to its normal blue color again, as well, but neither Davy nor Saph dared to move a muscle in case an aftershock was soon approaching. Creech, on the other hand (who had fallen off of his horse, also), was at Davy's side almost immediately after the shaking stopped.

"Master David! Master David, please say something!"

"Wh-what is there to say, Creech?" Davy asked, amazed that his voice wasn't quivering nearly as much as he thought it would have been.

Creech breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

"You are hurt," he observed, seeing a bruise on Davy's arm from where he had hit the ground. "We should go back at once; I'll have the car sent—"

"Creech, no…" Davy said, trying to sit up despite Creech's attempts to keep him from doing so. "It's not bad; I can still ride once Saph gets back on his feet. Look, there he goes now!"

The blue roan obligingly managed to make it back on all fours (albeit with a slight tremble), as did Creech's horse.

"If you are absolutely certain, we will ride back," Creech said. "But it will be after I ensure that you are not badly hurt."

Davy's face fell.

"But—"

"I'm afraid I must insist, Master David."

"Come off it, Creech! That was an act of nature, that was! Do you really think someone actually planned all that?"

But Creech did not back down this time, and Mr. Zero watched on, amused that Davy had no clue how right he was. And perhaps this would work out better than expected; after all, worse than not knowing freedom was to get a taste of it, only to have it taken away.


To say that Micky wanted to avoid helping the Masked Magician out was the understatement of the century; he took as much time as he possibly could to rinse the mud off of Rue, who was then moved—by orders of the ringmaster—to a mud-free enclosure behind a fence.

"Are you ready, Micky?" the magician asked, one of the large saw-box blades in his hands.

Micky let out a little whimper, seeing the blade, but nodded.

"Couldn't… couldn't we start with the small stuff first? You know, the cards and the doves?"

"Sleights of hand are easy enough; it's the big tricks that require practice, especially with a new assistant," the magician explained.

"Oh…"

Micky slowly walked over to the box, lifting the two halves of the lids open and then slamming them shut immediately.

"Hey, I know what!" he said. "Let's mix it up a bit! Why not have the assistant saw the magician in half…?"

"Micky, I promise you, the ringmaster did not pay me to give you an unfortunate accident."

Yeah, as if you'd tell me if he had… Micky thought.

Suppressing a shudder, he opened the lids of the box and laid himself down, keeping his eyes shut as his head and feet stuck out from the sides.

"…I know it's a tall order," the magician said. "But the magician's assistant is supposed to be charming and upbeat."

Micky gave him a dark look.

"…But I guess that isn't completely necessary. Are you ready?"

"Yes; tell me when it's over," Micky said, shutting his eyes again.

The magician now approached him, the blades in hand, but paused as the sky turned red. Micky, who had sensed the color flashing from behind his closed eyelids, now opened his eyes, staring at what he saw.

Rue suddenly vocalized loudly, looking extremely agitated. Without waiting for anyone to try to calm him, the young elephant crashed through the fence surrounding him, making a beeline for the direction away from the forest.

"Well, there goes my elephant…" Micky sighed. His eyes widened as it sunk in. "There goes my job! Rue! Rue, come back!"

He leaped out of the box, inadvertently smacking the magician with the box lids as he chased after the fleeing pachyderm.

It was then that the earthquake triggered by Mr. Zero reached the circus grounds, throwing Micky off of his feet. The boy landed face-first in the dirt, quickly covering his head with his hands as tents collapsed around him and as the remaining animals struggled to free themselves to get away, meeting with limited success.

Micky still remained in that position, even after the shaking stopped.

"Micky!" the magician exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"

"Did someone get the number of that tectonic plate?" the boy asked, finally daring to look around. He winced as he saw that most of the tents had indeed collapsed; they would have to be re-pitched, assuming the support columns hadn't been damaged. Part of the big top had come down, and adding to all of the obvious confusion were the cries and roars of the agitated animals.

And then he remembered…

"Rue!" he yelled, getting to his feet. The young elephant was nowhere in sight. "Oh, Rue…"

The magician tapped Micky on the shoulder, indicating the approach of the sour-faced ringmaster, whose eyes were bearing into Micky as though he somehow blamed the boy for all of this.

"Why are you calling for Rue?" he inquired.

"He got scared by the earthquake," Micky said. "Well, I think he sensed it coming, actually; I heard that elephants can do that—sense the seismic waves, I mean. He crashed through the fence just before the quake hit; I don't know where he went."

"Then you'd better find him!" the ringmaster ordered. "It's your fault for putting him behind that flimsy fence!"

Micky stared; the unfairness of this was incredible.

"You told me to put him behind that fence so that he wouldn't get all muddy again!" he protested. "How was I supposed to know that he'd sense the earthquake coming and head for the hills?"

"That doesn't matter!" the ringmaster snarled. "Do you know how much that elephant is worth?"

"Well, I know you can't exactly pick them up cheap at the pet store, but even so, it's not like I let him out on purpose…"

"He's worth a hundredfold more than you—maybe even more!" the man informed him. "If he's not back here by tomorrow morning, you're out of a job. And then you'll be footing the bill."

"But I'm all but broke!" Micky exclaimed. "I have nothing!"

The ringmaster now brought his face an inch from Micky's.

"It is possible to have less than nothing. Remember that."

Micky could only stare in open-mouthed shock.

"I suggest you start looking for him," the ringmaster went on. "Remember—tomorrow morning."

Micky didn't stick around; he turned tailed and ran off in the direction where Rue had run off to, only able to hope that he could find the elephant in time.


Peter had been wandering Malibu aimlessly with Emerald faithfully by his side. He couldn't bring himself to so much as open his mouth to the carefree people passing by. They were people who probably had family or friends who would be concerned and worried if they went missing. Peter couldn't allow himself to ruin so many lives just to keep his job and his home.

If only he could find someone like him—who had nothing to lose, and had no one to worry about them. But even then, could he actually go through with it, knowing what would be in store for them? Probably not.

He aimlessly kicked a small pebble as he walked along the beach, listening to the sound of the waves. He looked up to hear the call of the seagulls—white shapes against the clear, blue sky…

…At least until the sky turned red.

Peter stopped in his tracks, gawking at the sky for a moment as Emerald let out a frightened whine, trembling.

And then Mr. Zero's earthquake reached the beach. In his ensuing panic, Peter hadn't realized that staying outside in the open would have been a safer option, but Peter grabbed the golden retriever, running to the nearest solid structure he could find—a white-painted beachhouse he had just passed by, the door surprisingly unlocked—and he dove under a table, howling dog and all.

Emerald finally calmed down as the earthquake subsided, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," he said, crawling out from under the table. "But I wonder why the sky turned red just before…"

Peter trailed off, taking a good look at his surroundings for the first time since entering the beachhouse. And he could only stare at the haphazard decorations all around, topped off with an old fire extinguisher by the door and a sign reading "In case of fire, RUN." In a chair against the far wall was a wooden dummy dressed in a three-piece suit. But what caught Peter's attention the most was a set of instruments in the alcove—two guitars nestled in their cases, a pair of maracas and a tambourine lying beside them, and all of them lying in front of a set of drums covered by a sheet.

What was this place? Why did it seem like he belonged here? And why… why was that horrible feeling of loss eating away at his insides more now than ever before? Peter didn't know, nor could he account for the tears slipping from his eyes. It was as though he belonged here, but he did not belong here alone.

And that made no sense whatsoever. He knew no one other than Dr. Mendoza and his daughter, and they certainly didn't belong here.

Peter now pulled the sheet off of the drums, the light shining off of the cymbals—full of a familiar warmth, yet unbearable to keep looking at.

But he couldn't tear himself away; the welling emotions—both good and bad—were starting to be too overwhelming.

Unbidden came the voices he had heard in his dream the previous night, the ones that had been calling for him out of desperation, pain and panic evident in their voices—voices that his mind could not match to any face, no matter how much he tried.

Peter's knees gave out from under him, his hand inevitably resting on one of the guitar cases. His head was a muddled mess of questions, fuzzy feelings of familiarity, and a longing wish for others to share this with—people whose voices he thought he knew, as impossible as it was.


Mike had been pacing the small amount of floor space ever since the meeting with Mr. Zero.

"So, let's see what we've got here," he said, as he paced. Diamond Jim watched him from his spot on the countertop. "We've got a guy who thinks I'm stupid enough to sign a contract without reading it, and he insists that all it is would be me promising to stay with him for an unspecified amount of time."

Diamond Jim vocalized.

"Yeah, I know you didn't like him," he said. "But I wonder why he wants me to stay with him in exchange for help. Does he think I'm some little kid in need of adoption or something?"

No; something told him that there was something far more sinister lurking behind the man's intentions.

The prairie chicken continued to protest, and Mike good-naturedly patted the bird on the back.

"Well, you don't have to worry; I have no intention of taking him up on his offer until I've figured out what his game is—and that I can win it."

Diamond Jim now looked at the odd bud on the thorny vine with clear disdain, his feather crest raised once again.

"You really want me to get rid of that?" Mike asked. "I was hoping someone would come along wanting to buy that weird thing."

He picked up the flowerpot with the odd plant. That odd man had said something about this plant putting an end to all of his troubles. How was it possible for one little plant to do all that? Was it really so valuable that he could sell it for high price? Ah, who was he kidding—he hadn't had a customer in ages. Flowers were not on the list of necessities for most people, and certainly not this ugly-looking plant.

There had to be something else to this little bud, then. Mike would just have to wait until it revealed its secret, whatever it was, and convince Diamond Jim that he wasn't making a mistake by doing so.

And that was going to be difficult, for the bird loudly protested as Mike placed the plant back on the shelf instead of getting rid of it.

"It's not hurting anything now," Mike told him. "But the minute it starts doing anything suspicious, it's out of here. And that's a promise."

Diamond Jim scratched at the counter in a displeased response.

Mike shrugged it off.

"We've got other things to worry about, like what we're going to do for lunch today. Sure, you can go around eating those bugs, but I'd like to get something edible for myself today, too…"

He trailed off as he saw the sky turn red with a crack.

"Now what in the world is that…?" he asked, heading towards the window for a closer look.

Diamond Jim flapped his wing, positively shrieking in alarm. It was when Mike turned to look at him that the earthquake reached.

As the potted plants started flying off of the shelves and as the larger ones tipped over, Mike had to traverse a virtual minefield as he crawled to the only safe spot in the entire place—underneath the counter, which just barely extended out enough to allow him to shield part of himself.

He grabbed the panicked fowl and hid, trying to curl up as much as he could to fit under the small space only just in time—a pot holding a suspended spider plant came crashing down upon the spot that Mike had been at moments ago, sending the pottery pieces and potting soil scattering.

He wasn't sure for how long the shaking had lasted; it always seemed that each second of an earthquake seemed equal to an eternity—same thing with twisters down in Texas, too. But, finally, it did subside, with both boy and bird managing to escape injury. Mike breathed a sigh as Diamond Jim's shrieks stopped—a sign that everything was calm once again, and would hopefully stay that way.

"Well, that was a close one, wasn't it?" he asked, letting the bird fly back to his spot on the countertop.

The bird then squawked in a mix of surprise and alarm, prompting Mike to quickly get to his feet.

The boy could only stare in open-mouthed shock at what the sight he was seeing in the quake's aftermath.

Every single plant in his inventory had fallen off of the shelves or fallen over, had they been on the floor. The pots were all cracked at the very least—most of them had completely shattered and the plants damaged—except for one: the odd bud that Mr. Zero had given him. Even the bags of potting soil and plant food had torn. And as if that wasn't enough, a section of the ceiling—the part over the back room where he slept—was buckling in, dangerously close to giving way completely; something outside had toppled over and landed on his roof.

Slowly, the boy pulled his wool hat off of his head for the sole purpose of running his fingers through his hair as he looked on, helplessly.

"This can't be happening…" he said, quietly, though he wasn't fooling anyone—not even himself. "This cannot be happening…!"

But it was happening, and no amount of denial could make the scene of botanical devastation disappear, no matter how desperate Mike wanted it all to vanish or be proven to be a dream. His entire inventory was irreplaceably destroyed; he certainly didn't have the money for new stock. And insurance? Out of the question entirely; Mike had never been able to afford it at all.

The quake had lasted all but twenty seconds. But those twenty seconds had been enough for Mike to lose what little he had.