Author's Note and Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Simon and Jack, the latter in his pajamas, were flying - well, not really flying, more like floating - above the city streets. Jack's blue eyes were wide with an almost hysterical terror, though he fervently denied being afraid when Simon inquired as to where the height bothering him and would he like to go just a little lower?

Simon's eyes seemed to be scanning the city for something in particular. "Aha!" he shouted suddenly, clapping his hands and grinning.

Jack fidgeted. "What 'aha'?" he demanded, both fearful and suddenly angry. He concentrated on his anger in order to give his voice the edgy contempt he wanted when repeated, "What 'aha'?"

Simon's smile slowly turned sympathetic. "Let's go a little lower," he offered.

"Fine with me," Jack said, but then, conscious of his dignity despite the situation, attempted to retain some of it by adding quickly (in the most adult voice he could muster, of course), "Not that I'm scared of heights or anything."

Simon nodded. "I agree," he yawned, "I don't think it's the heights that are scaring you." 

"Nothing is scaring me!"

Simon offered no reply; the boy's spirit just gripped Jack's sleeve and kind of guided, kind of dragged him downward to one building in particular. Jack hadn't seen that boarding school in the longest time…

"What…what the hell're we doing here?" he coughed.

"Look in the window," Simon whispered.

With a grudging frown, Jack contemptuously obliged. Then he gasped. "That's…me."

Simon was somewhat amused. "Who else would it be?"

He gazed at the image of his eight-year-old self. "That's the year I…" he trailed off and averted his eyes. Blushing, he tried again. "That's the year I joined choir."

Simon nodded. "Yes," he said quietly, "but that's not what you're here to see, J - Mr. Merridew." Somehow, Jack remained in Simon's mind unchangeably Jack, but the ghost's own sense of propriety was forcing him to say "Mr. Merridew."

Jack raised his eyes again. His child self was laying on the bed, half-asleep, when there was a knock at the door. "What?" eight-year-old Jack called, obviously expecting a teacher.

No answer. Just louder knocking. Jack called again, "What?"

A muffled voice yelled something from outside. Jack sighed exasperatedly and got up, flinging the door open. "What?" he demanded, the way an annoyed child would.

A small group was standing huddled outside the doorway. The lacked a leader, so at first none of them spoke. Then they all did.

"You looked lonely in the common room…"

"We wondered if maybe you didn't have any friends?"

"Would you like to come play with us?"

"Are you staying for Christmas too?"

Jack's child self looked both insulted (of course he had friends; everyone did!) and touched (a group of total strangers appeared offering friendship). Finally, he said, while managing a smile, "Um, alright, fine. I'll come with you."

"Remember that?" Simon asked with a rather sly smile, jerking Jack out of his recollections.

"Ye-es," Jack answered slowly. Then, becoming himself once again, he demanded, "Anything else you'd like to show me?"

Simon grinned. "Yup." The grin quickly faded, though, and Jack assumed that wasn't a good sign.

            An assumption that proved correct. In the blink of an eye, Jack and Simon were floating above an island. Not just any island, either - the island. Jack's stomach did several little flip-flops.

            "What the hell does this have to do with - ?" Jack started angrily, but Simon hushed him with a glance.

            "Christmas past," Simon answered.

            "This is - ?" Jack stopped again, supposing that made sense. It was late November when that plane crashed. They'd gotten back home in the end of January. So of course, Christmas had to have occurred while they were on the island.

            Below him, there was the shock of fair hair that was Ralph - the sack of fat that was Piggy - the noisy little creatures that were the littluns - a form that could only have been Simon's living self - the identically painted faces of his hunters…

            Jack turned away. He wouldn't look. He couldn't look. He tried not to hear what they were saying.

            He expected Simon to force him to turn around and face what was happening, but the little spirit proved far more benevolent. "All right, Mr. Merridew," he said, "let's go back to the future. I've got some things to show you there."

            ~Still like it? Should I still continue?