"If we keep going east, we can follow the rides and food stands straight to Santa's Village before circling back towards the main exhibits." He could hear his father but couldn't see him from behind the unfolded, worn-edged glossy pamphlet that he was reading.

Billy was only half-listening to him. There had to have been a million people - a billion even - around him. They were so tall that in most cases he didn't even reach their knees, and moved so quickly that the most he usually caught about them was the shape of their hats and the colors of their coats. The air hung thick with the scent of fresh popcorn and spun sugar. They'd just eaten lunch but his mouth was again watering.

His father pulled the pamphlet down and folded it back into a pocket sized square. "I say we go that way." He pointed forward. Billy tried to follow him, but all he saw were blobs of people bustling past each other.

Without another word, his dad leaned down, grabbed his waist, and thrust him upwards. Billy grinned, his arms circling his dad's head. Whenever he sat on his dad's shoulders, he felt like he was flying.

So far that day, he'd ridden the tea cups, the merry-go-round, the swings, and the Conester - an ice cream themed "rollercoaster". It wasn't really a rollercoaster, at least not the type that went super fast and looped upside down. Billy had tried getting his dad to take him on a real one - there were two to choose from - but had gotten a firm no on each.

"You're too short to die on these," his father had said, pointing to the size charts. Billy had barely met the halfway point for both when standing on his tiptoes.

"But Dad!"

"No buts, William. I don't make the rules."

But his dad had promised they would come back when he was taller - though Billy was sure that would take him a million years - so he could ride them then.

"Stop, Dad!"

His dad did, the hold on Billy's legs becoming firmer. "Is something wrong?"

Billy pointed. "Dad, look at the tiger!"

Even from this distance, it was big. The orange fur was eye-catching, practically magnetic. He could already imagine clutching it against his chest. It was soft as a blanket, maybe even softer. Billy just knew it.

"William, I've told you those games are rigged."

"Please! Can't we just look?" Though he doubted his father could see his face from up here, he widened his eyes and pulled his lips back into a pout. Nine times out of ten, that face could make his dad do anything.

"Fine, we can look."

With so many people around, it was a miracle that no one ran into them. His dad always kept one step ahead of others, moving with an almost practiced grace.

There was no one except for a tired-eye worker in a candy cane striped shirt when they arrived at the booth. She slapped on a smile when she saw them.

"Well howdy! You interested in playing a round?"

"We're just looking," his father said.

The tiger was impossibly large, much bigger than Billy himself. Its plastic eyes glowed in the light. There were other toys - fluffy multi-colored rabbits, cartoon characters, sparkly unicorns, dogs and cats of all shapes and sizes - but all that caught and kept his eye was the tiger.

"Oh, you really should try it! Everyone leaves a winner."

"Dad, please?" Billy asked. "Please, please, please?"

"I don't know. We might not win what you want."

"You'll never know until you try." The worker couldn't have been more than nineteen. She had chocolate brown hair and blue eyes the color of the Arctic Ocean's waters.

"Daddy!"

"Fine," his dad said, pulling out his wallet. "I wish I knew how to say no to you."

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you Dad!"

He gave a weak laugh. "Don't tell me that until I win." He handed the money over. The woman handed him five darts in turn.

The point of the game was to hit and pop a balloon. The more popped, the better the prize. If his dad hit five, the tiger was all his.

His dad hit the first with ease. The pop echoed in Billy's ears.

"Yes!" he cried.

"Beginner's luck," his dad replied, but he was grinning himself.

The next two came down just as easily.

"Someone's got good luck," the woman remarked.

His father grabbed the next dart by its green plastic tip. He held it up, angling his hand before thrusting it forward and releasing his grip. He hit a yellow balloon right in its center.

The worker winked. "You really need to show me how to do that when you're done."

Everything else had vanished - the smell of pizza and deep fried everything, the chatter of passerbies, the mechanized whir of rides. All that mattered was the game, the game that they were so very close to winning. Billy reached his hand forward but only met air. The wall the toys were stuck to was just out of his reach.

"No pressure," the woman said as his dad picked up the last dart.

"At least not from you," his dad replied. He shifted, moving towards a part of the wall where there were more balloons.

Billy closed his eyes. His heart was hammering. It was now or never.

There was no pop. Billy strained his ears, desperate for anything, but all he heard was the returning avalanche of background noise.

His chest tightened. This was why his dad had tried to convince him earlier to not play one of these things, wasn't it?

"William, are you listening to me?"

Billy opened his eyes. The woman was beaming.

"Huh?"

"I said to tell the worker what you want. I thought you'd be more excited about this."

"We won?"

He laughed. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

The woman gestured towards the wall of toys. "You can take whatever you like!"

He pointed straight towards the tiger. "That!"

His dad placed him on the ground while the woman took the tiger from the wall down with a strange wooden stick. Billy couldn't see over the booth now. He clutched his father's khakis tightly.

"William?"

He looked up. His father held the tiger out towards him, a smile taking up half his face. Eagerly, Billy grabbed it, burying his face into its soft chest. His arms couldn't even circle fully around its waist.

It was just like he imagined. No, better!

Pulling it away from his face, he spoke. "Thank you, Dad!"

He didn't get a reply. Looking past the toy, he didn't see his father's pants leg. Turning around and to the side, all he could find was a blur of strangers.

"Dad? Dad!"

His cry was lost in a stream of chatter.

"Daddy!"

He was crying now. His dad had always said that it was okay to cry, that crying wouldn't keep him from becoming a man, but he'd never quite believed him. Crying was for babies. Yet Billy couldn't hold back the tears.

"Dad!"

He jumped, hitting his hand against the side of the booth. "Miss! Miss, have you seen my dad?"

He got no reply.

"Have you?" he shrieked.

"Billy, what the hell do you expect me to do?" she finally replied. "I'm not exactly going pro here."

"Huh?" He cried out to her a few more times but only got silence in return. Pushing the tiger beneath his arm, he turned and scurried into the crowd.

"Dad? Dad!"

He was nowhere near as good at dodging people as his dad. More than a few times, he almost ran into someone.

"Has anybody seen my dad?"

He jammed a foot forward but only hit air, his other leg going out from under him. The world was a watery blur. His tiger flew from his grip, but he couldn't tell which direction it went in. His hands hit the dirt. His fingers and knees stung.

"Dad!"

People jostled past him. Reaching forward, he tried to grab their pants legs or the tails of their coats, but they always slipped from his grip.

Suddenly, a foot hit his back, slamming him face first into the ground. Then came another and another and another.


Billy awoke soaked in sweat and barely able to catch his breath. His heart was thrashing against his chest. It took him a few moments to even remember where he was - downstairs in Annie's living room atop an air mattress.

He threw his blankets off. Without them, his body was wet and cold - an uncomfortable if not entirely unpleasant sensation after practically being cooked alive. He was wearing nothing but his underwear.

Weak sunlight came in through the windows, causing the walls to glow a light yellow.

The smell of funnel cake still burnt his nose. Blinking, he forced air in. Out. In. Out.

A dream, Billy realized as his heart slowed. He'd gotten worked up over a stupid dream.

Billy showered until the water went from searing to lukewarm to cold. He scrubbed at himself until the skin around his chest started to bleed.

Once he had dried off, he slipped back into his T-shirt and jeans but left the hoodie on the floor. It smelled and there were now holes in the elbows. His jeans didn't look much better, frayed and burnt.

Annie was finishing off a plate of waffles when he came downstairs.

"Hey, Billy! How'd you sleep last night?"

Billy grunted. Pulling open the pantry, he grabbed a box of cereal. Pouring it straight into a bowl, he skipped milk altogether. When he brought a spoonful to his lips, he tasted cardboard.

"Hey, Annie," he said as he pulled his chair out. "What's that thing you said about your dreams?"

"Oh, you mean my lucid dreaming?" She twirled her fork absently across the surface of her plate. "It's kind of like being awake, I guess. I'm conscious and know what I'm doing. Considering how weird it usually is, I also tend to know that I'm asleep. Why?"

"I thought maybe I had one last night." He stirrred his cereal. His throat was scratchy.

"Did you?"

Billy shook his head. "No, it seemed too real."

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Somehow, he managed to force more cereal down.

When he had eaten about a quarter of it, Annie spoke once more. "So, you're wearing that again?"

Billy looked down. He only then noticed the large brown stain near the bottom of his T-shirt. "What's it matter to you?"

"If you need to change, we can go to Target or something. My mom's work gives her free gift cards there." She winked. "Don't tell her that I know where she keeps them."

"Thanks, but I can just..." He bit his lip. If he went back, it'd just be another reminder of what he no longer had. Oh, he could step inside his father's bedroom, pull open the closet, and see a familiar row of collared shirts and pressed pants. Billy could go into the bathroom, squirt some of his dad's cologne, and close his eyes and pretend for a moment that he wasn't the only one there. But that wouldn't make it true.

"You can just what?"

"Go to my apartment and grab some of my clothes." He stood. "Hell, I can go right now."

"Wait!" Annie pushed her chair out and stood. She was dressed in a panda themed onesie. "Let me go with you."

"Look, it's not a big deal. I'm just grabbing clothes." And his video game consoles, laptop, a few framed pictures, and some snacks for good measure. Not that she needed to know that.

"At least let me help you." Her frown deepened. "It's not like I don't have any idea what you're going through."

"Whatever, let's just make this quick." The last thing he needed was Annie feeling more sorry for him than she already did. Crossing the kitchen, he looped his arm through hers and blinked.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn't in his bedroom.

"Why the hell is it dark?" Annie asked.

"We're two hours behind you."

Billy squinted. He recognized the street around him, but...

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Annie grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"That," he said, pointing forward. Where his twelve-story apartment building had once been was now a pile of burnt rubble. Lights had been set up around its perimeter, which was criss-crossed by yellow police tape. The parking lot had been emptied, and in its place were large trucks and police cars.

"Oh, Billy..."

He gritted his teeth. Of course this had to happen too.


Thaddeus awoke with a jolt in darkness. He panted, blinking and rotating his head around. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, there was little to make out. He could sense the idea of walls, but they seemed so far away that he half expected them to be nothing but his mind trying to fill in the blanks around him.

Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure up images of the last thing he remembered. It took him a few seconds, but the bright yellow blur of kitchen lights filled his mind.

That was as good of a starting point as any. Had he been making coffee?

Thaddeus rubbed at the space above his cheeks. It was as good of a guess as any but didn't sound correct. Maybe he had-

Thaddeus froze, unable to pull his hand away from his face. Then, unable to fight off the magnets that drew at his flesh, he pushed his fingers in deeper to that strange hole he had found. For a moment, he met nothing. Then he touched something soft and warm and wet.

No!

He put his other hand up, meeting his eye. He scratched at it. Putting one hand down, he reached his other across his face, to the space just to the right of what he had just touched, again meeting nothing.

Thaddeus shut his eyes and ran blindly forward. What would it matter if he hit something? At least then he might get an idea of where he was.

"Thaddeus Sivana!"

Thaddeus' froze, shoulders tensed. The sound seemed to have come from all directions at once.

"Why do you invade my realm once more?"

Air caught in his throat. Try as he might, nothing left his lips. He turned, searching the shadows only to find a deeper darkness than before.

That voice!