Chapter Two: Break for Rhyme

James stepped out of his office into the living room of his fortieth floor apartment. It was nothing to sneeze at, an expansive, posh room with two couches and four recliners, split up between a large gas fireplace and a larger television imbedded in the wall. The far wall was made of glass, with a sprawling view of the city, and a long, slim balcony. The near wall was littered with doors, one leading out of the apartment, one into James and Julia's bedroom, one into the office, and one into the nursery. Julia sat on the couch, staring at the television. James assumed she had not heard him come in.

"Don't think I didn't hear you come in," Julia snapped, as if reading James' mind. "What happened, run out of ramen?" James sat down next to Julia.

"No, I just needed a break, that's all. I wanted to see you."

"Your eyes went blurry, didn't they? That's the only reason you came out here. You couldn't work anymore."

"No, that's not it at all." Julia turned to James.

"You're a terrible liar, James." Julia smiled. "But honestly, you take your first vacation in six months and we don't see hide nor hair of you for three days. It was better when you were working."

"It's complicated, Julia. I'm onto something big. You wouldn't understand, it's too amazing for words."

"Try raising a child."

"How is Thomas?"

"I just put him down to bed. I think he's all set for the night, finally." A cry rang out from the nursery. Julia sighed and began to rise. James put a hand on her shoulder and stood up.

"I'll take care of it," he offered. Julia smiled and settled back into the couch. James walked over to the nursery. He slid the door open. The room was dark except for the dim, saffron glow of the nightlight plugged in next to the crib. James waved his hand and the overhead lights slowly lit up. He walked over to the crib. His father had built the crib, just before he'd died. It was solid cherry, with the letters T.A.A. burned in the headboard, for Thomas A. Anderson.

"Hey, Tommy," James whispered. Thomas stopped crying almost instantaneously. James picked him up. "Hey, what're you crying about, huh? Did you miss your daddy?" Thomas giggled. "You want Daddy to tell you a story? Here, I'll tell you the story of the Magic Shop Owner." James sat down, Thomas in his arms, and tried to remember the tale as his father had told it to him. It came back to him in drips and drabs, he hadn't thought about the story in quite a few years. "Okay, here goes.

"The magic shop was a favorite for what it had in store
Not just the magics, or the tricks, but all the tales of yore.
The children would all gather round, to hear the shopkeep's tales,
Of witches brew, and wizards, too, and potions wrought of snails.
The afternoons were fun and gay, for the shopkeep and his train,
But after dark, did trouble start, and so began the pain.
The meaner sort, would come about and render such abuse,
'Magic is dead,' they all had said. 'You must have a screw loose!'
The shopkeep had a great idea to shun the doubters off.
'It won't be long, I'll prove them wrong!' he proclaimed with a cough.
The shopkeep searched, both high and low, for magic true and true,
For tricks and spells of coins and bells were all he knew to do.
To make a book appear was just a simple parlor trick,
The shopkeep knew, no sham would do, for his beliefs to stick.
Sadly, the shopkeep found no book exists to meet his needs.
Perhaps all the craft, the world had left was only selfish deeds.
But then the shopkeep realized all he needed to do,
His old book spell, would do quite well, to conjure magic true.
He summoned up no average book, instead, a book of runes,
With power strong, and hymns and songs to level peaks to dunes--."

James stopped suddenly. He looked down at Thomas then back up. He went over the last few lines he'd spoken in his head. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "The answer's been right under my nose all along." James put Thomas back in his crib, then ran back to his office. He sat down at his computer, nervous, anxious, and unusually glad to see the traditional line waiting for him: ENTER COMMAND. "At least now Dad can't say I never listened to him."