Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. The 10th Kingdom copyright Babelsberg International Filmproduktion GmbH & Co. Beitriebs KG and Hallmark Entertainment Distribution, LLC.

CHAPTER 10
BROKEN GLASS

Guests poured from the wall of dogwood trees like a rushing waterfall, abandoning Mt. Hump's Wedding Garden in the darkening sky. They babbled on about the wedding, flooded the parking lot, and Hyde pushed against the flow of people as if he were swimming upstream. Jackie was nowhere to be seen, man. She hadn't been waiting for him by the Camino, didn't linger in the wedding aisle to stare mournfully at the altar.

A few straggling guests remained in the banquet area, including that blonde bridesmaid of Donna's. She offered no help, though. She'd had one too many drinks and answered his question about Jackie by fondling his hair and saying, "If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with."

He moved past her to the crumbling cupcake arch. Beyond it, the dance floor was empty except for the clean-up crew. Part of the ice sculpture had melted to a shapeless lump. Forman's face seemed dog-like now. His cheekbones had elongated as the ice dripped and thinned. His nose resembled more of a snout. Not an improvement.

Hyde walked around the sculpture. It sat in a pool of water—a pool of itself—and the clean-up crew mopped it up like the water had never been anything more than a nuisance. He touched his fingertips to what used to represent himself and Jackie. His icy counterpart no longer had a mouth, just a flat shiny surface that expressed nothing. Jackie's counterpart fared no better. The chest was sunken-in, a jagged cave where muscle and hot blood belonged. He ran his thumb over the cavity's edge. The damn thing radiated cold and made him shiver.

"Any of you seen a short brunette in a green dress?" he said to the clean-up crew. The men shrugged or shook their heads and kept on mopping. "A bitchy, cranky brunette?" More shrugs and head-shakes. "Crap."

He returned to the banquet area. All guests were gone except for the drunk blonde. She didn't seem too hot. She was using the bar counter as a pillow, and she reached for him as he passed by.

"I think I drank too much," she said.

"No kidding."

"Can't drive..."

He stared at her, and the pathetic sight rooted his feet in place. Her eyes were half-closed with tears glistening at the corners. Alcohol-fueled blood filled her cheeks. If that had been Jackie who needed a ride, and some other guy just left her there for the cops to haul away...

"Yeah, all right," he said. He put his arm around her back, did his best to get her to stand up straight. She turned in his grasp, smacking his jaw with her elbow. She had the clumsy grace of the wasted.

"God, I'm sorry." Her voice was a slur, but all the years listening to his mother's drunken speeches made it easy for him to understand this girl. "I hate weddings."

"Me, too."

He half-carried her beneath the arch of white-frosted cupcakes and up the wedding aisle. They emerged from the wall of dogwood trees, and she continued to talk as they walked along the stone path. She mentioned something about bad planning. "Should've asked Melissa to drive me back..."

He nodded as a logical thought occurred to him: Jackie had asked someone else to drive her back to the Formans'. At her core, she was a survivor, always finding some way of taking care of herself. In ten minutes or so, she'd be at the kitchen table, drinking Mrs. Forman's version of "Rock n' Roll" chocolate milk—hot cocoa or something like it. Then he'd find her there, and they'd work out the shit between them and be cool again.

Only three cars were left in the parking lot, including his El Camino. A red Camaro backed out from its parking space. The tires screeched as it jetted for the gate. The driver was in a hurry, whoever she was, and Hyde flattened himself and the drunk blonde against the lot's stone wall. Becoming roadkill wasn't on his agenda tonight.

The blonde clutched his arm and pressed her face into it, speaking after the Camaro cleared the gate. "What the hell was that?"

"Maybe someone else who hates weddings," he said. He brought her to the Camino and positioned her against the passenger-side door. "Gimme a sec." She nodded then put a hand to her forehead, as if the effort of nodding had made her dizzy.

He ran five parking spaces down and three to the left, to the last car remaining in the lot. It was a midsized Mazda, and he peered through the windshield. Empty except for a baby car seat and a cross dangling from the rearview mirror. He returned to the Camino, secure in his theory that Jackie hitched a ride with the Formans or Bob.

A few moments later, the blonde was strapped into the passenger seat. "Sarah" was what he chose to call her. She'd mumbled some name at him as he fastened her belt. Could've been "Sandra" or "Farah," too. He asked her address after they'd driven from the parking lot. She gave it to him, and his jaw clenched. She lived in freakin' Milwaukee.

"Looks like the Formans are gonna have one more guest tonight." No way was he wasting time driving to Milwaukee. Not now. He needed to get to Jackie.

He swerved onto the road leading down the mountain, and Sarah's body lurched toward the window. She was too close to passing out, so he turned on the radio, a little louder than what was comfortable. She jerked awake.

"Do you know why I hate weddings?" she said. "They remind me of something I'll never have."

"A crappy honeymoon?" he said, not that he wanted to talk. But this chick had probably sloshed down enough booze to fill a keg. Mental stimulation was the only means available to keep her from blacking out.

"No!" Her hand shot out and slapped the driver seat, his shoulder clearly being the intended target. "True love. True. Love. True love... some people just aren't built for it, y'know? Even if they want it. I'm too fucking fucked up for the right guy to fall in love with me."

"Oh, God..." Hyde shut his eyes then opened them with a sigh. She was one of those girls. The kind whose self-esteem stained the crapper. Anything he said now wouldn't mean shit. She wouldn't remember it anyway.

Not that she seemed to care. Her reflection in the rearview mirror was studying him, waiting just like Jackie would have for him to say something. When he said nothing, she filled the silence. "I just want the guy I fall in love with to be in love with me, y'know? Your fiancée is so lucky to have someone like you."

"Someone like me, huh?"

"Yeah. Someone who thinks enough of a lushed-up stranger to bring her home. If you'd do that for me, I can only imagine what you do for her."

"Whatever it is," he found himself confessing, "sometimes it just ain't enough."

They reached the foot of the mountain, and he took the main road out of the park. Trees lined the pavement, hinting at the woods lying beyond them. The Traveling mirror hovered somewhere in the middle of those woods, and Kelso and Fez were probably long-gone through it. They'd left the wedding without a goodbye to him. Or maybe he'd been too wrapped up in his troubles with Jackie to hear it.

Either way, they'd returned to a life he wanted nothing to do with—and he desperately wanted to return to his life from a few months ago, where Jackie didn't obsess over his happiness or her engagement ring and "diamond strands" connecting their souls or some shit like that.

A sharp right turn got the Camino past a yellow traffic light before it flashed red. They'd made it out of the park and onto Sherman Avenue. Rows of stores were closing up shop, their lights going out one-by-one. Usually, the early evening set his devious mind to work, grinding out ideas how best exploit his home town. But the more store lights that flickered out, the colder he felt. His fingertips remembered the ice sculpture, the jagged hole where Jackie's heart should've been. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to squeeze the memory from his skin.

A sharp left turn got them into a residential neighborhood. His driving wasn't stellar tonight. His mood had leached into his body—an unusual occurrence—and his lack of emotional control was rewarded by a thump on his shoulder. Sarah's unconscious face had landed there. Her cheek rocked on his upper arm while he drove, every movement of the steering wheel jostling her back and forth.

"Hey—" He shrugged her off, and she pitched over to the window. A rattle vibrated from her throat, a snore. She was sleeping. "Better than being passed out," he said and drove into the growing darkness.

Hyde stood outside the glass door of the Formans' kitchen. He couldn't slide it open. Sarah was sleeping in his arms. Holding her in a fireman's carry would've made her puke, so he held her the way a husband did his new bride, or—in his just-married friends' case—the way Donna was probably holding Forman right now, carrying him over the threshold of their hotel room.

Red seemed to be the only one in the kitchen. He was seated at the table, beer in one hand and newspaper in the other. Hyde managed to knock on the glass door, and Red glanced at him. "What the...?" Red mouthed. Then he stood and slid open the door.

Hyde stepped inside the kitchen and put Sarah down on a chair. Her body slumped onto the table with a sleep-induced snort.

Red glared at her, but his words were for Hyde: "What did you do?"

"Charity," Hyde said. "Where's Jackie?"

"She's not with you?"

Hyde stiffened. "No. You didn't drive her back?"

"No." Red pointed to Sarah. "This the reason you didn't drive her back?"

"No, man. After the wedding, I couldn't find her. I... shit." Adrenaline hit Hyde's system, made his pulse throb in his throat, and he bolted toward the glass door. He opened the latch, but Red grasped his arm.

"Hold on, son."

"Red, I gotta go—"

"I saw you two fighting at the wedding," Red said, tugging on Hyde's shoulder, and Hyde turned from the door. "Nothing like a wedding to bring out 'the best' in a fiancée—or a wife. Fun as a sharp kick in the ass."

Hyde raised both eyebrows, a signal that Red had exactly five seconds to tell him something significant.

Red caught the hint. "A lot of pain went down between you two, especially around marriage. You know how women are. A gear probably broke off in Jackie's brain during the ceremony, and she needs time to replace it. She could've gone home with any one of Donna's friends. Or even Bob. You remember how Kitty was during the worst of 'that'."

Hyde nodded. "That" was Red's codeword for menopause.

"It was a dark time," Red continued, "and I didn't always handle it the way a man should. But I—" He coughed, the way he always did when words too uncomfortable—too Forman-y—to say were in his head. He spoke them anyway, voice fraying with the effort. "I love her. It's not something a man likes to admit because love makes us vulnerable."

A deep snore shook Sarah's body, and she knocked Red's beer can from the table. It crashed to the floor with a tinny clank, empty.

Hyde pressed his fingertips against the glass door, though he wasn't going to leave yet. The empty beer can had risen a memory he thought long-dead, of the cracked and stained wooden boards of his old house. They used to be covered in empties, and he'd trip over them even as his stepfather tossed another onto the pile. But in this memory, they were Hyde's empties. Only three of them, but enough to get a nine-year-old completely trashed. The house was empty except for them, except for him. And he was empty himself except for the beer, so damn empty...

"Steven?" Red squeezed his shoulder, rough but tender, something only a real father could pull off. Hyde faced him again. "Do you love her?"

"Mrs. Forman? Yeah."

"No, son, I mean Jackie."

Hyde stared down at his boots and licked his lips. It wasn't something he liked admitting to anyone but his girl. And even then... "More than I ever wanted to."

A soft laugh answered him, and he looked up. Red was smiling. "When you love a woman," Red said, "really love her, her struggles become yours—and yours become hers. They're easier to take because two people are carrying the burden instead of one, you understand? Not more fun, but easier."

Sarah's sleeping body rose and fell in the periphery of Hyde's vision. He tried to break free from Red's intense focus, "Look, man, I appreciate what you're trying to say—" but Red's eyes still held him.

"Steven, whatever rewards either of you earn are shared, too. When she does well, you do well. And when you're happy, she's happy."

"Yeah, she keeps telling me that." Hyde finally pulled away and grabbed the small notepad from the kitchen counter. He wrote down Sarah's address. "Man, I hate to ask you this—"

"And I hate to be asked," Red said. "What is it?"

Hyde nodded at Sarah. "I promised to get her home, but Jackie's—"

"Right." Red took the address from him and scowled. "Goddamn Milwaukee?"

Hyde patted him on the arm, "Thanks, Red," and slid open the glass door.

Red was grumbling, but Hyde ran for the Pinciottis' without looking back. Jackie had to be hiding out there, hiding somewhere, and he was gonna find her no matter where the hell she'd gone.

A row of guards and attendants bowed low as soon as Jackie, Michael, and Fez were expelled from the mirror. They'd entered a high-vaulted chamber. This had to be Fez's castle, and Jackie already wanted to leap back through the mirror and into Steven's warm, safe arms. Not only had she promised never to come here again, but she was also wearing a servant's oversized shirt and pants that smelled of horse. But, considering her "destiny was at stake," she stayed put.

The guards and attendants straightened from their obeisant position. They hadn't been bowing for her, of course, though she was worthy of such adulation—just maybe not in her current state of dress.

"Welcome back Your Highness! Sir Kelso!" an attendant said. His scalp-short hair didn't flatter his delicate features, but the silver snowflake on his lapel complimented his blue eyes. He must have held a high position. "How were the festivities?"

"Excellent, Aubrey. The cake was delicious," Fez said.

Michael thrust his arms around two young-looking guards. They couldn't have been older than sixteen. "Bucardo, Weylin—how are my two apprentices doing?" Michael said. "You gonna protect that mirror tonight the way I taught you?"

"Yes, Sir," Bucardo said beneath Michael's left arm. His blond hair was mashed to his forehead, and his eyebrows twitched beneath it.

"Of course, Sir," Weylin said beneath Michael's right arm. His black hair was slicked back, but a lock of it stuck in the air. "Thank you for giving us the chance."

Michael looked sternly at both of them. "Don't throw any rocks through the mirror."

Bucardo sniffed. "We won't."

"Even though you do it all the time, Captain," Weylin whispered.

"I... do... not,"Michael said. He released them and slapped Weylin's head in the process.

"Ow!"

Fez's features hardened. "Kelso..."

"Hey, I'm teaching them correct soldierly conduct." Michael pointed at the young guards. "Do as I say, not as I do."

"But you've done at least half of the Fourth Kingdom," Weylin said, and the rest of Fez's men laughed except for Bucardo.

"Shut up, Weylin!" Bucardo frogged Weylin in the shoulder. "That's not how you speak to your superior!"

Weylin frogged him back. "Bucardo, you're such a sheep."

"Troll's balls!"

These guards were trained by Michael, all right, but Jackie had far more pressing concerns. "Okay, enough!" she shouted as Bucardo frogged Weylin again. The chamber walls amplified her voice, and the torchlight guttered at the force of it. She turned toward Fez. "Tell me. Now."

"Aubrey," Fez said, "we'll be going to the state room. I don't want any distur—"

"No!"Jackie grabbed onto Fez's golden sash, and the guards raised their swords. She didn't let go of him, despite the sharp, silver threat glinting at her. "No more delays," she said. "You tell me here, or I'll kick you until your shins no longer exist."

Some of the guards approached her, and she released Fez's sash, but Michael stepped between them. "Back off. Weapons down," he said, and the guards obeyed without question.

Her stomach fluttered. The sight of Michael being so commanding, so effective, awed her a little.

"Everyone is dismissed except for Sir Kelso," Fez said.

Aubrey's eyes widened. "But, Your Highness—"

Fez clapped once. "I said, 'Dismissed!' We'll discuss matters later."

"Guard the chamber from the outside," Michael ordered, and his men followed the attendants through the broad chamber door.

Fez went to the mirror. Mt. Hump Park reflected brightly in the glass, and Jackie fought not to jump through it. Was Steven still at the wedding? Was he worrying about her? Celtic spirals were cut into the golden frame, and Fez grasped one of them—a triskele—and turned it up. Mt. Hump disappeared from the mirror, replaced by a purplish light, and Jackie gritted her teeth.

"Fez..." she said warningly.

"Okay, okay." Fez stood behind Michael. "Jackie, your engagement ring—"

Her eyes flicked to her left hand. The ring's sky-blue diamond gleamed in the torchlight. "What about it?"

"The ring—it is cursed."

"What?" She balled her left hand into a fist. "No, you did not give Steven a cursed ring."

"I did," Fez said, face peeking from Michael's shoulder. "I did not know was cursed. You see, my grandfather slayed one of the fiercest dragons plaguing the Fourth Kingdom. He took that diamond from its cave. All dragon treasure is cursed, but—"

"How could you give Steven a cursed ring?" She charged forward—no one was going to keep her from clawing out Fez's throat—but Michael grabbed a hold of her waist. She couldn't run any farther, but her arms were still free. "You idiot!" she shouted and swung at Fez's head. "'King Fez'? King Moron!"

"The dragon was dead!" Fez said and backed off toward the chamber wall. Michael dragged Jackie to the opposite wall. "All dragons are dead, and their curses died with them. The ring didn't seem afflicted when Snow White wore it."

Jackie's breath sped from her, pushing her ribs painfully against Michael's arm. She was growing dizzy. "So—so our love is cursed now?"

"Let's be honest, Jackie," Michael said by her cheek, "your love was cursed before you ever got that ring, what with all the breakups and all. I mean, 'Get off my boyfriend'? A classic. Then Hyde slept with a nurse 'cause he thought you and I were doing it on Donna's couch. And then he found you with me about to do it in Chicago—"

"You're the curse!" She reached back and grasped his earlobe between her fingers. She twisted it and pulled.

"Ow! Ow—OW! Not the 'Jackie ear-pinch'!" He pried her fingers off him then pinned her arms behind her back. He maintained his grip around her waist, too, and—for the first time in her life—she was effectively restrained by him. She couldn't move, couldn't fight. It was so different. He was different, but so was she.

"Is..." Her heart was beating too fast. It ticked between her ears. "Is that why I've been acting so weird?"

"Yup," Michael said. "It's probably why you offered to let Hyde be your back-door man."

She glanced over her shoulder at Michael's smiling face, and her next words were a shriek: "Steven told you about that?"

"He's worried about you," Fez said and slid his hands down his golden sash. "So are we."

"Oh, you should be worried about yourself because I'm—" She stopped struggling in Michael's arms. He'd pushed her toward the Traveling mirror, and she caught sight of herself. "I'm—" Her hair was orange again, brighter than Donna's. "I'm—"

"Cursed," Fez said, and Michael finally let her go. All her focus was fixed on her reflection.

"Oh, my God..." She touched her cheeks. They were pudgy. "Oh, my God..."Her hands skimmed down to her stomach and grabbed two fistfuls of flesh. "I'm fat! I'm a fat, orange-haired uggo!"

"It is the curse," Fez said, "and just the beginning."

She gave her extra weight a squeeze. "Isn't this bad enough?" She'd gained at least forty pounds. "I... Oh, my God... Oh, God..." Her breath sailed from her lungs, rushed back in, sailed out again. She was hyperventilating.

"Jackie—" Fez rubbed her back, "I am so sorry..."

If he'd said anything else, she couldn't hear it. She peered up at the vaulted ceiling. It seemed so high, so far away. Everything seemed so far away. Her body felt numb, and thick clouds clogged her head. It was as if she were floating in space with nothing to anchor her—until a voice reached out from the emptiness: "Man, Jackie, you only notice things if they have to do with you?"

"Steven?" but she couldn't see him—or anything.

"Happiness is bullshit. You'll be happier once you quit believing in it."

"Steven, where are—" It was a memory, from the first time they were in the Nine Kingdoms. She and Donna had been cursed by Gypsies. They'd all been hiding out in the Seven Dwarves' cottage.

Her breathing finally slowed, and the chamber walls came back into focus. The stone was awash in torchlight, orange like her hair. Her cursed hair. But her hair had been cursed before, and they'd found a way to break that curse—

Her attention shot to her left ring finger. "Yes, that's it!" She began to pull off her engagement ring. "That has to be it."

Fez clamped his hands around hers, stopping her. "No," he said, "if you take that ring off, the curse will transfer to Hyde."

"He'll have orange hair?" Her nose wrinkled. Steven would look like Ronald McDonald. "Eww."

"Didn't you hear him, Jackie?" Michael said. His arm was draped over the Traveling mirror. "Your hair is just the beginning. You're gonna lose what's most important to you."

"So if I take off the ring, Steven will become an uggo?"

Fez tightened his hold on her hands. "Not necessarily. What is most important to you may not be what is most important to Hyde. But if we do not learn how to cure this curse, then you or Hyde—or both of you—will probably die."

"No."She shut her eyes. Cold tears had gathered in them. "No..."

"That is how these curses usually go," Fez said, and her chest frosted over, as if the icy tears sliding down her throat had coated her ribs. "They progress steadily, ripping your happiness from you piece-by-piece... until you die."

Night had fallen. The Fourth Kingdom's countryside rolled by in a dark ribbon, but Eric caught only glimpses of it. He was too busy making out with Donna. The luxurious coach Fez had arranged for their honeymoon did not disappoint. The ride was smooth, and sconces provided decent mood lighting. Flowers of all colors blanketed the floor, sweetening the air with fragrance, while violinists on the roof played a variety of tunes, including Eric's self-composed "This Time the Dumbass Will Do Things Right".

The passion of Donna's kisses increased as that particular song began. She must have remembered when she first heard it. He'd been under a powerful romantic spell then, which had made him more of a moron than usual. But they were in no need of a spell now. They had plenty of their own magic.

She deep-kissed him again at the song's second movement. Her mouth was warm and promising more, prickling the skin beneath his tuxedo, and his eyes opened a sliver at the intensity—just in time to spot a flash of orange passing by the coach's window.

"Donna—" He pulled away from her to get a better look outside. "I think we're in the First Kingdom, Cinderella's kingdom."

She cupped the back of his head and drew him back in for another kiss. "What's that now?" she said.

"Pumpkins." He jerked his thumb toward the dark outside. "Giant pumpkins."

She crawled over the plush seat—over his legs—to the window. She stuck her head out of it, and he joined her. Brightly glowing pumpkins lit up the countryside in patches. Garden after garden of pumpkins streaked by. Some of the fruits were normal sized, but most were the size of the Vista Cruiser.

"Pumpkins? In the middle of May?" Donna said.

"They're probably magic."

She moved away from the window, "You know what's also magic?" and dragged him back to the seat with her. "My tongue."

Her fingers glided along his open shirt collar, exciting the hairs along his jawline. He waited until he couldn't wait anymore.

"Yes, yes..." he said and tackled her, and they tumbled onto the coach's flower-covered floor. But neither of them wasted time getting back up. Their arms wrapped around each other, and their mouths met, and they resumed their honeymoon without a thought.

Jackie wasn't at the Pinciottis', and Hyde called the Burkhart Mansion with no success before trying twenty different numbers from Donna's black address book. No one had driven Jackie—or claimed to. His next recourse was to check out all their "spots," like the reservoir, the Water Tower, and Mt. Hump Park again—specifically, where they'd had their first date on Veteran's Day. He even drove back to their apartment in Kenosha. But she was nowhere, man, swallowed up by the night.

"She has to be somewhere,Steven," Mrs. Forman said.

Hyde was pacing the Formans' living room now. It was after ten o'clock, and the cops had been called. Some help they were, though. "Hasn't been twenty-four hours yet," they said. "If your fiancée doesn't come home by tomorrow afternoon, give us another call." Oh, yeah? Well, fuck you very much.

Red entered from the kitchen and gave Hyde a beer. "Are you sure Brooke didn't take her?"

"Yeah." The beer can slipped from Hyde's hand and rolled toward the TV. His fingers hadn't closed in time. "Damn it—"

"Don't worry about it, honey," Mrs. Forman said and picked up the beer. "Don't worry about it."

She passed the can to him, but he didn't want to drink. He carried it with him as he paced. He passed the couch, passed the bookcase with the Formans' mementos and picture frames. He turned and passed the couch again, this time on his way to the carpeted staircase. Its terracotta-colored bricks blended together into a mess of blood behind his eyes. Another turn, another few steps, and he was at the bookcase again.

"Steven—" Mrs. Forman touched his wrist, and he stopped dead-still in front of the bookcase. Tacked to the back of the first shelf was a color photograph, depicting Forman and Laurie as kids. Beside it was a black-and-white framed photo of Red's mother, Bernice. She was sneering behind the glass, and the expression seemed directed at him, taunting him.

His hand whipped out and snatched the frame. He hurled it at the staircase, and Mrs. Forman screamed as the frame's glass broke against the bricks.

"Kitty, don't move," Red said. "I'll get the vacuum."

Mrs. Forman gestured to the glass on the rug. "Knowing your mother, that'll give us seven years of bad luck."

Red reached the kitchen's swinging door, "Only applies to mirrors," then disappeared through it.

Hyde stared after him, though he wasn't really looking. "Shit."

"It's okay, Steven," Mrs. Forman said. "Red'll get the vacuum, and he'll—he'll suck all that glass right up. Mother Forman wouldn't have liked that frame anyway... or any frame I put her in, the old bitch." Her hearty laugh followed, and it spurred him to action. He started for the kitchen. "Sweetie," she called after him, "where are you going?"

"You were right, Mrs. Forman. Jackie has to be somewhere." He put his hand on the swinging door, only to have the door push against him. He backed up as Red brought the vacuum into the living room. Then Hyde slipped into the kitchen and raced down to the basement.

In his old room, he zipped open his duffel bag and dumped everything onto his cot. He searched the pile of clothes, toiletries, and various other crap for his favorite jeans, the belt with his pot leaf buckle, and one of his black Led Zeppelin shirts. He changed into them from the monkey suit he wore to Forman's wedding. Then he rolled some underwear into another shirt.

He opened Jackie's pink suitcase next. Beneath her clothes were five pairs of heeled shoes and one pair of flat boots. He took the boots, put his shirt inside the left one and a box of condoms inside the right with extra panties and a blouse for her. He couldn't waste time looking for her birth control, and he wasn't taking any chances.

Lastly, he shrugged on his corduroy jacket. The inner pocket already had a joint stashed away, and he stashed five more inside it. His lighter and lock pick were inside his jeans pocket—"Never leave home without 'em," his uncle Chet taught him, and Hyde never did.

Jackie's boots were under his arm, and he gave his old a room a once-over. Was he forgetting anything useful? His duffel bag and Jackie's suitcase were both disemboweled. Clothing littered the cot, the floor, and a dishrag sat on his bureau.

He picked up the rag carefully. Inside it was that denim-blue, over-sensitizing pebble—what the hell had Kelso called it?—right. Wolfsbane. He put the rag-wrapped pebble deep into his jacket pocket.

A few minutes later, he stood in the driveway by the Camino. One of Forman's backpacks was slung over his shoulder. It contained Jackie's boots and everything they had inside them.

"At least tell us where the hell you think she is," Red said. He and Mrs. Forman had followed him outside, pummeling him with questions.

The Camino's sideview mirrors reflected the trees from across the street. Seemed like a deep forest inside those reflections, a thousand-miles wide. Hyde threw the backpack onto the car's passenger seat. "Wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Red crossed his arms. "Try me."

"Let's just say it's kinda like Star Wars—"

Red's arms dropped to his sides. "Never mind."

"Steven—" Mrs. Forman hugged herself to Red's back, "be careful, honey, okay?"

"Yeah."

Hyde got into the Camino and shut the driver-side door. The Formans moved toward the porch as he revved up the engine. Then he backed the car out of the driveway and floored it down the road.

His first stop was Grooves, which was closed for the night. He parked the Camino in his space behind the store and gave the car a wistful glance. It could be a while before he'd see his baby again.

He unlocked Grooves' door and stepped inside. Without turning on the lights, he went to his office. Here, though, he switched on the desk lamp, sat down, and wrote the assistant manager a letter:

Jack,

Store's yours, man. So's my car. Take care of 'em. I should be back
in a day or so. Could be a week... It better not be a damn month.

—Hyde.

Outside, the sky was dark but not overwhelmingly so. Stars, a waxing gibbous moon, and lampposts lit his way across Point Place. He made it back to Mt. Hump Park in less than a half-hour. The grass smelled fresh from yesterday's rain, and he passed the bench he and Jackie had sat on when they'd first returned from that place.Crickets had been chirping then as they did now. They'd brought him some tranquility that night, one with nature, that kinda crap. Not this night. Tonight, the sound grated against his ears.

The trees were blackened swords rising against the indigo sky. He left the lit path for them, using the stars to keep from getting too lost—a trick Jackie had taught him a few years back. That damned mirror was somewhere in these woods, and his gut told him she was somewhere on the other side of it. Why she'd gone over there, though, he had no clue.

A few minutes of searching, and he spotted a dark oval rippling between the trees. Bingo. He adjusted the straps of Forman's backpack. Breathed a shuddering breath before running forward—no peace, man, not for him—and jumped into the mirror.