Author note: Fun fact: Paul means Bean in Hebrew. A coffee bean is called Paul Café. It's not the origin of the name, it's just a coincidence. OR IS IT?

And if you came in because of Aximili, I am so sorry. My stupid mind went too forward with the story when I tagged him among the characters, it will be a while until the Hatchetfield animorphs will save him.

It was a rainy evening and I got a little wet before we came in.

Before we sat down, I already knew I wanted to get out of there.

The theater was full of people who chattered excitedly, and the spotlights illuminated the curtains that covered the stage, a stage on which I knew actors were supposed to get on, sing and dance.

The mere thought made me feel uncomfortable.

You can even say I was afraid.

In retrospect, it seems almost amusing that musicals were the scariest thing in my world, because less than a hour later I had much more serious stuff to be afraid of.

I set down between Bill and Alice, his daughter.

Ted set to Bill's left, Charlotte set one row in front of us and next to her was an empty seat, reserved for Sam, who was late for some reason.

It took some time until the entire crowd set down in places, and then one man got up to the stage, in front of the curtains.

He held a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry," he said.

I frowned.

Did something bad happen?

"We have, um, an unexpected change of plan," he went on and scratched his head in discomfort, "It's pretty embarrassing, um, the main actors informed us they don't feel well and-and understudies hadn't been found to all of them, which "Mamma Mia" will not be performed tonight."

There were voices of protest and scorn.

"The show must go on!" someone called.

"I want my money back!" Someone else shouted.

I felt relived.

I glanced at Bill, whose mouth was slightly open in disappointed, sad expression.

"Quiet, please, quiet," the announcer said on the microphone, "quiet. We understand your anger, do not worry, the tickets you bought were not in vain. The players will get well at the Hatchetfield Hospital and once they recover we'll let you know and you can come back and watch the show. If you want to get a refund on your tickets instead, we'll take care of that as well, so you can return to your home for now. good evening."

The lights in the hall went on, but the spotlights went out.

The crowd mumbled in disappointment.

Several people came to the front of the stage to speak to the announcer, but most of the people got up and left.

"Fuck!" Ted cried.

We stood slowly up and prepared to leave.

I shrugged.

"Well, it looks like I will not see this musical with you after all," I said. "What a pity."

"Hey," Bill said, putting a hand on my shoulder, "do you think you've managed to get away from it? This show will be on stage and you will join us to watch it when that happens."

"We will see," I said.

"Hey, Paul!" I heard a familiar voice.

I turned my head and wasn't entirely surprised to see Emma.

"Your name is Paul, right?" She continued as she moved along the seats, "because it can be so embarrassing if not…"

"Yes, my name is Paul," I replied.

"Who are you exactly?" Asked Ted, looking at her mother with a strange expression.

"Oh, this is Emma, from Beanie's," I introduced her, "Emma, those are Ted, Bill, and Alice."

"Hello," Bill said kindly.

"Hey," Alice said boredly, not looking up from her phone.

"Wait a minute, I know you," Ted said. "You are the crabby barista, you didn't sing when I tipped you!"

"Uh, fuck you?" Emma suggested.

"Hey, Dad," Alice turned to Bill and looked up from her cellphone. "Can I go and see Deb?"

"What, why do you want to meet Deb now?" Asked Bill, slightly frustrated.

Because tomorrow I must go back to my mother's house," she said. "I can't see Deb when I'm in Clivesdale."

"Come on, Alice, you know-" Bill began to say, but Alice interrupted him.

"You just don't like Deb!" She said angrily.

I scratched my neck uncomfortably. I felt very unconnected.

Ted and Emma also seemed embarrassed by the inter-family argument that had taken place in front of them.

"This is not true!" Bill protested.

"Then prove it," Alice said, "if you have no problem with Deb, why don't you let me go to her now?"

"You know what? Go to her!" Bill replied.

"Excellent!" Alice shouted venomously and left.

We all stared at her as she hurried along with most of the crowd down the stairs and out.

Suddenly Charlotte came up to our line

"Have you seen Sam?" She asked, her voice shaking with worry, "He was late for the show, and then I called him to tell him it had been canceled, but he does not answer me, Sam doesn't answer me, why doesn't he answer me?"

"Do not worry, Charlotte," Ted said confidently, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Sam is a cop, he knows how to take care of himself. If he doesn't answer you it's probably on purpose."

Emma punched Ted's arm.

"Ouch! What was it for?" He asked her and rubbed his arm.

"You deserved it!" Emma replied.

"Listen carefully, Erica or whatever you are called - you do not know me, you do not know Charlotte and you do not know Sam, so you have no right to interfere in this matter," Ted said, "Beat it."

"Um, fuck you again?" Emma suggested.

I didn't want to be witness to another stupid fight.

"Ted, Ted, you do not have to expel Emma just because she hit you," I said, "we're not supposed to fight, we have to find Sam."

"Did you try to send him a message?" Bill asked Charlotte.

"Yes," she said, almost sobbing, "I tried, but he doesn't answer me."

"What about the police?" Emma asked.

Charlotte looked appalled.

"Do you really think Sam's so bad that I have to call the police?" She asked, startled.

"Damn, Charlotte, calm down! Sam does not need the police, Sam is the police!" Ted reminded her impatiently.

"Oh, right, she said, calmer, "I forgot for a moment."

She picked up her cell phone and dialed the police.

"Hello?" She asked, "My husband Sam is gone, he works for the police. yes, yes…"

"Excuse me!" Called a nervous-looking boy who was holding a broom in his hand.

He came to stand between us.

"You should go," he said, "we must close the theater."

"Wait a second, sir, we're trying to find her husband," Bill said, nodding at Charlotte, who was still on the phone.

"Can't you do that outside?" Asked the boy.

"Hey, no pressure," Emma said, "it's not like we're the last ones left here or anything."

As we looked around the rows of seats a large group of people got up, left and left us alone.

"Oops," Bill said.

The boy sighed.

"You know what," he said, "you can stay here as long as you want, the back doors open from the inside, so you will not be trapped here, but we turn off the light."

He went down between the rows and left.

The light went out a little after that and left us in total darkness.

Charlotte let out a scream and then went back to talking to the phone normally.

"No, the lights just turned off and it kind of scared me, it's all right. Oh, really? thank you."

She hung up and turned on the flashlight of her cellphone.

"Sam's fine," she said in a tone of relief, "he's just so busy with his work."

"Yeah, sure," muttered Ted.

Charlotte shone with her cell phone in several directions and then stopped at Emma.

"I did not notice you before," she said, "who are you? I'm Charlotte."

"Emma," Emma replied.

Suddenly there was a great thundering noise, followed by the terrifying sounds of a crash, shattering, and falling objects.

Suddenly I was able to hear the rain clearly.

"What the fuck was that?" Ted asked, alarmed.

"It sounded like something just crashed through the ceiling," I said.

"What the hell, Paul, I do not see any fucking hole in the ceiling!" Ted replied.

"Not exactly here," I said, "but ... more ... above the stage?"

I began to step down between the seats.

The rest followed me.

The closer we went to the stage, the clearer it was that I was right-I heard more and more clearly the sound of rain falling through the theoretical hole in the ceiling.

I climbed up to the stage, pulled the curtains and illuminated forward with the flashlight of my iPhone, where, through a curtain of raindrops and under big pieces of ceiling, was the strangest thing I had ever seen.

"What do you see, Paul?" Asked Bill.

I did not reply.

I knew what it looked like to me, but I didn't want to say it out loud. I was afraid I would be laughed at.

Bill climbed the stage and stood next to me, he saw what I saw and said what I didn't dare say: "it's a flying saucer!"