I knew I was dreaming again, because despite how real everything felt, smelt and looked, all I could do was watch myself like I had last time. Unable to interact with anything or anyone around me, which was a pity, because I was hungry, and the donut Belinda was eating right now looked pretty delicious.

Through her mouthful, Belinda said, "I'm just saying, this Kent guy finished his article like a month back, and you're still meeting-up weekly at that same diner. It seems pretty obvious to me, he likes you!"

The dream-me, self-consciously pulled at the buttons on her cotton cardigan, scuffing her foot along the cobblestone floor. Belinda and I sat on the ledge of a water fountain, which I knew to be, in the heart of Metropolis, enjoying a hot coffee and sugary donuts. The dream version of myself avoided Belinda's eyes, staring instead at the newspaper article, the day's date, April 11th just visible from where it was tucked underneath the crook of one of her arms.

Belinda peered at her sister, swallowed her mouthful and, before dream-me had the chance to say anything in objection elaborated, "And don't say he's just asking to have coffee with you all the time because he's planning on writing another article. 'Cause that just means he doesn't have the courage to ask you out on an official date."

Dream-me shook her head, meeting Belinda's accusing gaze, "No it's not like that, we're just friends. Besides, even if I did, and I'm not saying I do have feelings for him, he's interested in someone else."

Belinda tilted her head in curiosity, an unspoken signal I knew to mean, 'please elaborate'. The dream version of myself sighed, and between nibbles on a chocolate donut, explained, "There's this girl he works with who he's liked, no, loved for when he told her how he felt about her, Lois told him that she had feelings, and get this of all people, for Superman, and that she could never love him."

Belinda frowned, crossing her arms thoughtfully, "That seems pretty strange. Blowing off someone as nice as this Kent guy, for someone that all of Metropolis is in love with."

The dream-me shook her head again, and curious now, I sat down to listen, intrigued by the elaborate twist this strange dream was taking. "Yeah, I pretty much said that to Clark too, but he seems to think that Lois and Superman have something special between them. I dunno know, I don't fully get it, but he reckon's Lois has such a dangerous job that Superman keeps winding up having to save her all the time, and because of that, Superman and Lois have gotten to know each other, really well."

Belinda snorted dryly, "So in other words, Lois is a helpless damsel who has some unhealthy hero worship going on for Superman."

"Maybe, that's hard to tell." The dream-me nodded thoughtfully. " I've never met Lois before, but I doubt Clark would like someone if they were constantly putting themselves in danger just to meet Superman. Anyways, I guess at the end of the day, all I'm saying is that, it doesn't matter how I feel about Clark, because Clark still likes Lois. We're just friends."

Belinda finished off the last of her coffee, scrunching up the paper bag the donuts had come in, "People who are 'just friends' don't talk about their exes, or deep meaningful feelings." Belinda said with an air of condescension.

Belinda's phone began to buzz, and she shrugged apologetically, pulling it out of her coat pocket and answering, "Detective Bayliss." She hummed, then asked, "How long ago?" Hummed again, and then added "I'll be there as soon as possible."

Belinda lent in and gave Dream-me a hug goodbye, explaining "There's been a break-in at the Metropolis Museum, about an hour ago, they think it might have been professionals."

"In broad daylight? How did they manage to do that without anybody noticing?" Dream-me's hand crossed across her chest, indicating her concern.

Belinda shrugged, gave Dream-me a squeeze on the arm, saying "They didn't pull it off without anybody noticing, two security guards were shot."

Unexpectedly my phone vibrated loudly, the fountain, Belinda, and Dream-me dissolving in rippling waves, so that I sat up in bed, startled awake.

Somewhat frustrated, wanting to know what was about to happen next in my dream, I Kicked my doona off and sat up. Thumping around my drawer top, until I found my phone. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes I answered, "Hello, it's Jamie speaking."

"Hello Jamie. It's Lynda Brett, the manager of Metropolis Museum," Lynda paused for emphasis, her New York accent clipped and short. I shook my head in exasperation, thinking to myself, that despite trying, I couldn't forget my old boss.

She continued, "Your old co-worker Mr Patel has gone missing, and I need to clean his office out for various reasons, by 2 this afternoon. Considering his closest relatives are in India and I won't wait until they arrive in Metropolis, you'll just have to do. His key will be in his pigeon hole."

My eyes widened, and forcing myself to keep my anger out of my voice, I replied "With respect Ms Brett, the Professor hasn't even been declared missing for more than 24 hours, and you want me to clean his office out?"

"That would be incorrect, Miss Bayliss. The Professor has been missing for more than 24 hours as far as the museum is concerned, he hasn't shown up for work even once in the last 3 months, so now that the Police have declared him missing, I am legally allowed to remove his possessions from his office." Concern arose in me, knowing that it was seriously unusual for the professor not to show up to work. His jobs was his life's passion.

"Ms Brett, I don't understand. Why do you need his office cleaned out? Don't you think you should leave everything there in case the police want to look through anything?"

"No Miss Bayliss. I don't want to leave his unkempt office the way it is. I don't expect you to understand, but people like you will never understand that for progress to be made, sometimes you have to be prepared to knock down a few buildings." She clipped at me tersely.

"Lynda" I almost yelled through the phone, "you can't just go moving the Professor's stuff. Some of his collections are breakable! You can't just go in there, and, and …-"

With an exasperated sigh, and in a sickly sweet voice, Lynda Brett cut me off, "Yes. I know that, beside the fact that I would never dream of touching his worthless collections myself, you should remember, I'm not ringing you up for no reason Jamie. I'm asking YOU to move his things, otherwise if they're not gone by three this afternoon, I'll be donating all his possessions to the Metropolis tip." Rage welled up inside of me, and with all the force that my thumb finger possessed, I shoved down on the hang-up button.

Throwing my phone down onto the bed, I grabbed my pillow and started pummeling it with my fists, screaming "You stupid, stupid, stupid-head! STUUUUPID-head. How dare she! What a Stupid-head!". Bringing my pillow up to my face, I screamed in anger, and then threw it half-way across my room, where it landed and toppled over a pile of books.

I hurriedly changed into my clothes, muttering under my breath about how stuck-up, arrogant, inconsiderate, and selfish Ms Brett was. I couldn't believe that someone who had such blatant disregard for anything "old", had gotten to be the manager of the Metropolis Museum. I mean really, a museum is basically an officially designated building for hoarding "old" stuff. As I thumped about the kitchen and lounge-room, looking for empty boxes and bags to put Professor Patel's stuff in, I heard a half-amused, half-asleep voice emerging from Harry's room, "What on earth has got you so mad you're yelling in Latin again?"

I blinked in surprise, I hadn't realised I'd been yelling in Latin, but then again, that wasn't exactly unusual for me. Momentarily dropping the pile of boxes I'd been holding, I stormed into Harry's room. He lay stretched out on his bed, his hair sitting up from his forehead, his mouth curved in a sleepy smile, and his freckled foot poking out from underneath his doona.

Trying to control my yelling, I quickly explained to Harry that I had 5 hours to go and clean out Mr Patel's office, because one of the Professor's jealous, aristocratic co-workers had now gotten the excuse she'd always been looking for, so that she could renovate that area of the museum.

Harry, as usual, was quick to offer his help.

Within half an hour, we'd managed to find some more boxes, gotten in Harry's car, driven down to the museum, found the Professor's key to his office, and let ourselves into the old, overcrowded room. It was fortunate for Ms Brett, that now I was not employed by the museum (no thanks to her), that we did not happen to cross paths, as I was more than ready to verbally dismember her.

I patted Harry reassuringly on his shoulder as we entered the room, and I saw his eyes widen, as he surveyed the chaotic office. The walls were lined with coin collections in glass-cases, shoved so close up together that their frames touched. Shelves were piled high with boxes of old weapons, throwing knives, rings, books and pens. There were also opened crates of books still sitting where the Professor had last been reading them. Papers literally covered and were caught between every object in the room; stapled to the wall, underneath books, sitting behind a medieval helmet. Ranging from newspaper articles to scribbles of ancient languages. As Harry's face deepened into a frown, mine lit up with a smile.

I could almost see the Professor and I opening up one of the new crate's he'd ordered, spending the next few hours pouring over books, and only stopping every once in a while, to excitedly point out a particular passage that supported or contested our new findings on whatever we were researching.

The place smelt and looked then, as it did now; the distinct odour of Camembert cheese permeating the air, and with the scribblings of a genius covering every available space. I realised with a wave of emotion, that I had missed being in here; that I missed working at the museum.

"It's horrifying," Harry gasped, "How on earth did you manage to work in this everyday?"

I laughed, "Very happily actually." I shoved a box into Harry's arms, "If you want to get started on picking up some of the papers, I'll get started on emptying out his desk."

Harry began vigorously snatching papers out of the various nooks and crannies, then folding them neatly into the boxes, while I began slowly emptying out each of Mr Patel's drawers. I felt somewhat guilty for doing so, as it had always been an unspoken rule that the Professor's desk drawers were off limits.

I had long since suspected that he kept letters and pictures from his deceased wife in there, and I wasn't at all surprised to find out that I was correct. I carefully put the letters into the box, with the photo beside them, reassuring myself that even though I felt like I was prying into the most private aspects of his life, it was better that I did it, rather than Harry. Somehow I knew the Professor wouldn't have wanted anybody else but me doing this job. He rarely spoke of how his wife died, but I knew that it had devastated him.

I glanced inside the drawer one last time to make sure I hadn't missed emptying anything, and closed the door, about to move onto the next one, when I heard a distinct, but muffled rattling noise. As if something was loose inside, and had rolled backwards as I had closed the drawer.

Thinking that I had missed picking up something inside, I opened the drawer, listening for the sound this time. As I did, I heard it again, but peering inside I couldn't see anything. Frowning in curiosity, I leant forward and ran my fingers over the bottom of the drawer, thinking that in the dim lamp light I had missed whatever was making that noise. I found nothing at first, except for a long, thin crack that ran along the back of the drawer. Pushing gently on it with my nail, I was surprised to find that the whole bottom of the drawer sprung up, revealing a false-bottom.

Lifting out the false lid, there was another, very small compartment underneath, and sitting there covered in layers of dust, was a surprising, but familiar coin. I took a breath in, bewildered by my finding. It was the same type of coin the Professor had pressed into my hand, right before he'd disappeared into the wave in the alleyway. For some reason I hesitated before picking it up, as if some part of me recognised that what I had found was significant in someway, and I wasn't sure if I really wanted to take the coin, with me. It was silly to think that an old coin could somehow be linked to what had happened to the Professor, a clue perhaps, but nothing else. So instead I shrugged my shoulders and picked the coin up, putting it into my zip-up jacket pocket.

I glanced up at Harry, amused to see the dumbfounded expression on his face, as he stared, captivated by the photo he held in his hand. His jaw worked, as he swallowed and shifted the picture in his hand, using the light streaming through one of the windows to see the picture better by.

Without saying anything, I moved over to Harry's side, peering down at the photo too, trying to figure out what had gotten Harry's attention. It was a photo obviously taken in the 70's, judging by the quality of the print and the faint yellowing of the acid in the paper.

Professor Patel stood in front of a row of crumbling pillars, which I instantly recognised as one of the temple's dedicated to the Greek god Poseidon, one hand holding up a trovel in excitement, and the other wrapped in the hand of his wife. She stood leaning into Patel's side. Her hair half covering her face, but a clear smile lighting up her features.

I raised my eyebrows and asked Harry, "What's so interesting?" Nudging him gently in the side as I did.

Harry lifted his finger up and pointed to a tall, lean looking woman who I hadn't noticed a second ago, half-blurred by movement, apparently running towards the Professor and his wife. She wore a dark green and blue mottled robe, and to my astonishment, was holding the biggest, crazy sharp looking harpoon I had ever seen, raised high above her head. She had dark skin, and gorgeously thick hair, and despite all the muscles bulging, what struck me the most about her, was how out of place she seemed in the photo, which would have otherwise been a sweet photo of the Professor and his wife.

"Wow, that's… odd." I commented, tilting my head to the side, and scanning the rest of the picture, in case there was another bizarre warrior hiding amongst the crowd in the background.

Harry shook his head, in apparent shock, "I, I ran into her just the other day…."

I looked up from the photo and up at Harry, his eyes squinting as he tried to draw the pieces of this apparent puzzle together.

"Where did you run into her?" I wondered.

"Well" Harry paused, his face quirking into his signature sideways smile, "The better question is probably, with what did I run into her with?"

Sensing that there was an amusing story in that explanation somewhere, I pressed, "What do you mean?"

"You know how I said that my car was hit by another car a while ago. I lied." Harry swallowed a little ruefully. "I ran into her. She just sort of appeared out of no-where, and then" Harry mimicked a car driving along and then smashing into his finger with his hands, to show how he'd plowed right into the little old lady with his car. He looked at me, and then made a delayed 'tyer-screashing, car smashing' with this mouth.

"What?!" I yelled, leaping back in utter confusion, and glaring at him accusingly. "You're telling me you ran someone over with your car. You just…" I copied his earlier hand movements and screeching noises, and then continued, "You ran some old lady down, and only now you're telling me this?"

"Well" Harry began, but then he shrugged. "I couldn't believe it either."

I shook my head, not comprehending that my cousin had ran someone over, lied about it, and then confessing it to me now. "Is that old lady all right?" I whispered, thinking back to all the bruises on Harry from the car's crash impact, and fearing the worst for the woman.

Harry nodded slowly, and let out a pent-up breath, "Yeah, see, that's the bit I don't really get. She was fine, perfectly fine. I ran into her with my car, the car was a ride-off, and she just sort of picked herself up from the ground, and came over to me, to see if I was alright."

At this strange development, I crossed my arms over my chest, and asked, "Are you sure you hit her with your car?"

Harry nodded solemnly, "There's no way I could have missed her. Besides, I checked the car afterwards, and there's sort of her butt-cheeks indented into the car from where I must have hit her." He mimed the rough sort of shape of two bottom cheeks for me, and added as an afterthought, "It's not like we haven't seen weirder things."

I tried racking my brains for an answer to this extraordinary tale, "Maybe she's related to Superman. I mean, someone had to teach him how to cook like he can, and she'd certainly be old enough to be his mother."

Harry pulled a sheepish face, and tucking his arms underneath his armpits awkwardly, he replied, "No, well she's not old enough to be his mother. She's, well she looks just as beautiful as…." He stopped midway through his sentence, and then amended, "She doesn't look a day over 30."

"But how is that possible?"

Harry shrugged again, as if to say he didn't know either, and was about to say something to me, when he seemed to be surprised by something, or someone behind me as the door hinges gave a rusty squeak.

Hey Everyone, I'm sorry. This has been a long time coming, but I have nearly completed almost three whole chapter to upload (this one indluded). I'm just waiting to finish off the 3rd, before I post up the next two.

Thank, so so so much for all your really helpful (and encouraging feedback)! You guys are just the best, and I never would have gotten this far without you all. Really, can't thank you all enough. Enjoy!