We took a booth in the back corner of the establishment, out of reach of prying eyes and ears.

Jessica had brought along her purse and a pair of sketchbooks, appropriate for typical Starbucks clientele. She got the mocha, I got a tart apple caramel thing. She paid because she was the nut job with the story. Of course, if I really had thought her crazy, I would have tacked handfuls of those expensive desserts onto her bill.

"I was in high school when I met your father," she told me. I was expecting to hear an unrequested tale about his love life, but she didn't go that route. "I saw him move in, after he got released from prison. There were weird lights flashing in the house that night. At first, I thought it was the TV."

She sipped her drink. "But then the woman appeared. Holli. She acted like a total flake. I see them driving off together.

"Your dad came back, and that's when I came over to investigate. I saw a handsome cop guy hanging out with your dad, and your dad said that Holli took his car, so I let him borrow my mother's ride. After all, he said we were saving the world."

"What did you see at the casino?" I said.

"To tell the truth, not much. I didn't go in. I was kinda weirded out by the whole `being turned into Little Orphan Annie' thing."

"The hallucinations."

She shook her head. "I don't know what Holli did up on top of that hotel, but I saw this black inky stuff flying out..." She tugged on her dress to illustrate. "And everything got changed into a cartoon. Jack said it had something to do with a spike, but I didn't understand it completely. I still don't.

"They had a big fight, Holli and your dad. Jack somehow made his hands cartoony and flew up to the roof, and somewhere along the lines, the cop guy got thrown off the side.

"Your dad must have won the fight, because then all the cartoon stuff vanished. That's all I know."

"That's a lot to swallow," I said.

She offered me a straw.

"No, I mean, your story."

She gave me a look that said, `Oh well, I tried.' "Look, you asked for what really happened, and I told you what really happened. It's not my fault if you don't believe me."

An awkward silence followed.

"All right," I said. "What's the deal with the sketchbooks? You're not franchising or starting a cult, so what are you doing with them?"

She spread one of them open for me to see. An elaborately detailed sketch of a street leading down a stretch of tall twisting buildings.

"Nugget Street. I've pieced it together through a careful study of Cool World issues one to eleven. It wasn't easy with all those character heads and bodies and objects in the way, but I think I've got it rendered just about accurately enough to open a doorway."

I laughed. "You're trying to transport yourself into a drawing."

I saw no mirth on her face. No sign of this being a joke. "I either want to go in, or pull something out."

"Admittedly," I stammered. "You have an animated shoe and animated clothes, but going into the drawing...art is only an illusion we make with inks and brushes on a two dimensional surface. Even video and sculpture have their limitations." I sighed as I admired her form through the rippling animated dress. "How did you get that thing you're wearing? Or the shoe? I mean, you shouldn't be trying to figure these things out when you've got something from Toon Land already."

She rolled her eyes. "I found these completely by accident. Your mother threw a bunch of Holli's luggage into the dumpster and I just dug them out. If I knew how the stuff got here, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I would be there already."

"So how's the sketch been working for you?"

"It's not," Jessica groaned. She turned the page, revealing a folded blueprint. When she unfurled it, I could see it was a map of High Desert State Prison.

"Should I even ask?"

She pointed to one of the jail cells, highlighted and circled several times. "This is where your father spent ten years of his life, drawing his cartoons. I believe the prison has some kind of connection to Cool World that goes beyond his obsession. Something about that precise geographic location at that exact period of time.

"The Celts weren't around in this region of the world, so I'm thinking Indians. Shamanic magic, maybe. Or wormholes. Your father was like the key, the chosen one or something. Somehow he triggered a path to a parallel universe, or the spirit world."

I paled. "And you think this path is through a jail. Don't tell me you intend to break in."

"I thought about it," she said, turning the page. "The only trouble is, I think I'd have to murder someone for it to activate."

I frowned at the clipped article about my father killing my mother's lover. "I'd definitely draw the line at murder," I said. "No pun intended. If your little scheme to open the doorway doesn't work, you're looking at the death penalty. And for what?"

"Yeah," she muttered, looking like she'd do it if she knew she'd get away with it.

"It's like the Oracle at Delphi," I said. "I think he may have been sitting over a volcanic fissure and breathing in the fumes, making him hallucinate all kinds of stuff."

"There are no active volcanoes in Nevada," she said.

"Okay, so maybe he's breathing in Radon or something. The point is, maybe there's a perfectly logical scientific explanation for what happened, and you're trying to make blood sacrifices to cause the sun to go up."

"What about the shoes?" she prodded.

"Well..." I couldn't think of anything to say about that, so I didn't try.

The next page in her book contained a series of snapshots of a casino.

"The Union Plaza Hotel," she said. "Your father's last known whereabouts. I believe the `spike' that he referred to, or maybe a doorway to the other dimension, some kind of point of origin for animated beings, is located somewhere up on the roof. Since the big battle up there, I've seen a few new security measures put in place, but I think they've let their guard down over the years, so there could be a strong chance of bypassing it without detection."

I remembered that the newspapers had mentioned Holli's fixation with locating some mafioso that probably only existed in her mind. "You think Vegas Vinnie set up all that security?" I joked.

She stared at me like it were a serious question. "I don't think so. He disappeared with the other cartoons when the spike or whatever got replaced."

I gawked at her. "Vinnie's a real guy?"

Jessica gave me a nod.

"I hope you're not planning to break in the place."

She shrugged. "It's hell of a lot easier. You don't even have to kill anyone..."

Jessica turned the page and I saw character sketches, along with photographs of dad at his drafting table.

"Somehow, I think Jack could just draw things, people, and make them come to life. Or maybe summon existing creatures from another dimension to this one. I've heard rumors that Jack Kirby possesses a rare gem that allows him to draw amazing comic books and make them come to life. Unsubstantiated, of course, but I had to examine photographs of your dad's work space to make sure he didn't have some magical artifacts himself.

"In these photographs, I've studied his tools, his clothes, his environment, but I still can't seem to make sense of it. How did he bring Holli into our world?"

"You're implying that she's a fictional character made real. That's nuts."

"She is. That's what's so amazing about it. I'm wearing a piece of fiction."

I frowned. The fabric was definitely science fiction, I'd give her that. I mean, a decade ago, cel phones were science fiction. "She's not fictional, though. She's in the paper. She was on television news."

"Are you saying she's not merely because of some news stories?"

"Yes?"

"Well you're wrong. Have you even looked at your father's comics?"

"I glanced at them."

"Then you know I'm on to something."

"You're entitled to your opinion," I said. "As crazy as your opinion is. Speaking of which, I think you're over analyzing things a little too much. I mean, what if he didn't do anything to open up this portal you keep talking about? What if she brought him to her?"

"I thought about that. But if that were the case, I'd never be able to go there."

"Maybe you can't. Did you ever think about that?"

"Of course I did," she pouted. "But it wouldn't be fair. I have all her things. I wrote her messages. You'd think something would attract her notice."

Losing patience with the whole conversation, I said, "I'd like to get back to the funeral parlor. I don't want my car towed."

"Not yet," she said. "We've still got time."

I sighed. "Enough time to hear your crazy theories?"

"They're not just theories. I thought seeing the physical evidence would have convinced you of that."

"Yeah?" I said with exasperation. "But you're never going to find what you're looking for. It's not physically possible."

"Your dad did it somehow."

"I don't know about that," I said. "I know mom always said he was `in his own little world', but there's no evidence he actually went anywhere. Things came out, maybe, but that's all I can gather."

"Jack told me himself that Cool World is real."

"I'll have to take that with a grain of salt," I scoffed.

"Listen. This is important. Do you know anything else about Holli Would? Anything at all?"

"Not really. I'm still not convinced that the woman in the news stories is a fictional character. What I can't figure out why a real woman would want to name herself after a comic book character. Especially one as ridiculous as Holli."

"It's not completely unreasonable." The expression on her face looked dead serious.

"So you admit it. You're really her."

"No. I said I wished I was her. There's a difference. I can wish to be Sandra Bollock but that doesn't mean I am her." She sighed. "So you don't know anything about her at all?"

"Sorry. I was just a baby at the time."

I could tell by the look on her face that she had just received a flash of inspiration. "I got it! We'll check into the Union Plaza and take a look around!"

I swallowed. "We?"

"It's the next logical step. When I was alone, I didn't dare try it. The rooms closest to the roof are honeymoon suites, and they have guards patrolling the hallways, you know, because of the incident. Maybe now that you're here..."

Me and her in a honeymoon suite? And after my dad's funeral?

The last thing I wanted was an `I told you so' from mother!

I shook my head violently. "Unh-uh. No way."

"I'm not asking you for sex. We just have to look like we're supposed to be there, that's all. And I, um, need some money."

I grimaced. "How much money."

The Union Plaza was a tall building, rows of windows separated by pillar-like stripes of concrete and metal running from the top of the casino to the roof, where dying neon signs flashed their images.

The interior, due to all the remodeling over the years, had the same bland homogenized layout as any other hotel in the United States. Once you got through the casino and past the check in area, the rooms were all the same, the hallway conformed to a generic template, the carpets a mellow green in uninteresting patterns. Dull confetti wallpaper, framed pictures on the walls not reflecting anything in particular about the place in which it stood. Abstract paintings, western landscapes, that kind of thing.

When I stuck the card key into the door to the suite and looked around, I wondered again how I let myself get talked into this.

There was only one bed, a fuzzy red-purple thing, framed by purple curtains, mirrors and neon. The moment the two of us set foot inside the room, people would already be making assumptions.

Jessica carried her suitcase into the room while I nervously seated myself on the bed, staring at the fake gold statues of Venus and Cupid, the waiting hot tub.

I stared out a big circular window, more than likely mirrored on the outside.

The room was an incredibly far distance from the ground. I didn't relish visiting the roof.

"I'm going to change clothing," Jessica said, stepping into the bathroom with the luggage.

I flopped on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My reflection stared down at me from a full length mirror.

Tasteless. Completely and utterly tasteless.

For a moment, I thought I saw something peering at me from the corner of the glass, something in an unnaturally bright peach, but then it vanished. I figured it was only a product of my overworked imagination.

"What do you think?"

I sat up, turned my head, and found my mouth hanging open in shock.

I thought she intended to change into jeans. Instead, she strode out of the bathroom in a blue silk teddy and garters, stockings and heels.

I was so startled that I jumped backwards, rolled off the bed, and hit my head on the floor.

"No offense," I blurted. "But no thanks. Like I said, you were in high school or something when I was a baby. I must be going."

I threw the door open, stumbling into the hallway.

That's when I saw the giant cartoon mouse fiddling with the ice machine.

The moment our eyes met, it cried "Shit!" and scurried away.

I tried to give chase, but the moment I made the first jogging steps, I felt a small hand grabbing my collar. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the blue silk.

"We're consenting adults," she purred.

I reddened. "But-!"

And I was dragged back into the suite.