Alex opened his eyes. It wasn't as dark as he'd expected. In fact, it was quite bright and sunny, the skies clear and an incredibly deep blue. He felt a slight breeze on his face and was surprised to feel grass under his hands. He lifted his head and found that he was lying on a hill that looked out over a large, grassy field with gently rolling hills. Somewhere nearby, he thought he heard the sound of the ocean.

He was dressed in shorts and a shirt with the top few buttons undone. There was a diamond-shaped patch on his chest that was pale, as though the sun had absolutely refused to give that spot a tan.

It was hard to say how much time had passed or how long he had been lying there. In fact, he wasn't even certain where he was, exactly. If he'd had to guess, he would have guessed somewhere in Wales.

He felt that he shouldn't be here but couldn't quite put his finger on why or where he actually should be. He also noticed that he didn't hurt anywhere near as badly as he had moments ago.

But why should I hurt at all?, he thought.

Then he heard the sound of someone knocking, as if on a door.

Alex stood up and looked around. There didn't seem to be any signs of civilization - not a house, not a road, not even an old fence in disrepair. He couldn't figure out where the sound was coming from. He heard the knock again and turned toward it. There, standing alone, was a door. No walls. Just a door without any visible means of support. The knocking seemed to come from it.

Alex walked all the way around it but didn't see anyone or anything that would account for the knocking. Finally, he reached up for the knob (why is this door so big?) and turned it. Weaver was standing there, dressed as he always had been (except he looks a little older), waiting patiently for Alex to open the door. The area beyond the doorway was very dark.

"Hi Weaver! Are you ready to play some more? I was hoping we could play 'St. George and the Dragon' again. I thought of a better way to slay the dragon this time -- "

Alex paused at the expression on Weaver's face.

"Is something wrong?"

"May I come in? Or perhaps we should just talk here at the door?"

"But..."

"Yes?"

"... we're outside. How can you come in?" asked Alex, very confused by the whole thing. He looked around the side of the door one more time. Still nothing on the other side...

"Hmm. I see your point," said Weaver, stepping through and closing the doorway.

Weaver smiled, a little sadly it seemed to Alex, and said, "Perhaps another time, Alex. There are a lot of things going on at the moment that I should attend to."

Alex wasn't sure what to say. Weaver had never been too busy to play before.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around to talk recently, I've sort of been tied up." Before Alex could ask, Weaver waved his hand and said, "Long story..."

Alex was bewildered. He still wasn't sure what was going on or where he was, although it did seem a little familiar. He looked around again and when he turned back to ask Weaver about it, he noticed that the door was gone. He opened his mouth to ask why but Weaver answered before he could speak. "Oh, it wasn't necessary anymore."

"Weaver, why can't you play now? What's going on? What is this place?" asked Alex, beginning to get a little afraid. He also noticed for the first time that his own voice sounded a little funny in his ears.

"I can't play now, Alex" he began. Alex thought he looked a little sad. "There are some other things that must be done before we can play again."

"But --"

"Where are we?," said Weaver, finishing the sentence. Oh, this is a very special place, Alex. There's nothing to be afraid of here. In fact, there's someone else here who has been waiting a very long time to speak with you. Would you like to know who?"

Alex nodded after a moment's pause.

"Hello, son. I'm very glad to see you."

Alex couldn't believe his ears! He turned in the direction of the voice...

"Father?!"

Richard St. John-Smythe was standing not three meters away, smiling broadly, looking much as he had the day before... before the crash.

He closed the distance to his father and threw his arms around the older man's waist in a tight embrace, tears streaming from his eyes. Richard returned the embrace warmly and held it for quite a while. It wasn't until his father put his hand on Alex's shoulder that he realized there he was much shorter than his father. That's when it dawned on him that everything was very much as it was the day before the crash - his father's state of health, the weather, and the fact that he was once again an eleven year old boy.

"Father? What's happening? How is any of this possible?", asked Alex, in a very young and confused voice.

"It's a little difficult to explain, really", began his father. "Suffice it to say that we've been given a chance to talk and this is just a place where we can do that."

"I don't understand."

"That's all right, son", replied the older man. "It's a bit much to take in all at once, but I've had a while to figure things out. Unfortunately, our time is short and there are some things you need to know before you decide."

"What do you mean, 'our time is short'? I've only just gotten here. I think", he added looking around.

"What I mean", he started, displaying a long developed patience, "is that you'll need to make a choice soon. There are things you need to understand before that choice is made."

"What do you mean? What kind of things?"

"Oh, just a few things. But they are very important."

Alex was about to ask something more but Richard held up his hand to forestall any interruptions.

"Do you recognize where we are?"

"Not really", replied Alex, with some hesitation. "It sort of looks like somewhere in Wales, but I'm not sure I've ever seen it before."

"Clever boy. You're right, we are in Wales. Do you know when?" his father asked expectantly.

Alex began to get a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach and looked away.

"No," he said quietly.

"Come now, Alex. You know better than to tell a fib. You do know, don't you?"

Alex only nodded.

"Good. Now what is that in the distance?"

Alex looked up and saw a road that he was sure hadn't been there moments before. The road was a curving, winding thing that looked very much like a giant, coiled serpent.

"It's the road that we were... we were driving on... when... when the accident happened", Alex said in a small voice.

"You're right again. Now, think carefully. Do you remember what happened right before we crashed?", asked his father gently.

"I was playing with... with my soccer ball. You asked me not to do it, but... I wasn't listening. I... I lost control of the ball and... and..., "  Alex stopped, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm sorry father, I didn't meant to do it, I just wanted to look at it and... and..."

"Shhh. It's okay, son. It's okay", said the older man soothingly, hugging Alex's small frame closely to him. "It wasn't your fault. Really. Look there..." His father was pointing to a spot on a hill several hundred meters away.

Alex wiped his eyes and reluctantly looked in that direction. After a moment, he picked out the shape of a man, sitting on a hill top, dressed in colors that blended well with the vegetation. He appeared to take several objects out of a dark bag or case and proceeded to assemble something from those parts. A rifle.

"Wh- What's he doing", asked the boy as he drew in closer to his father.

"Shh. Watch now. Can you hear it?"

Alex could indeed hear the noise. It was the noise of an engine, an automobile engine to be precise. "It's a car", said Alex, suddenly afraid of what he was about to see.

"Yes, it is. It's the very same car that we were in the day of the crash. Now, watch what happens..."

"No! I don't want to see it! I don't!!", cried Alex, burying his head in his father's shoulder.

"There, there, son", said his father soothingly. "There's nothing to be afraid of. All of these things have already happened. They can't be changed, but you can learn something from them if you pay attention."

Once again, reluctantly, Alex turned his attention to the car as it flew over the road. He could hear the music playing from the radio even from where they sat. Suddenly, everything slowed down as though someone had punched a button on a video player. The sky nearly turned black from the clouds that rolled in from nowhere. Yet, despite the color of the sky, the amount of light didn't seem to diminish.

At the same time the car rounded a sharp curve, the figure sitting on the far hill top fired his weapon. The report from the rifle was muffled but Alex could hear it clearly.

The scene shifted abruptly. Alex was now sitting in the passenger seat of that car, trying to retrieve the soccer ball that had slipped from his grasp. He reached for the ball and it suddenly jumped, a small hole appearing on it's surface.

That information barely had time to register before he felt the world turning upside down. He looked up and saw his father reaching for him. Alex heard the swell of music, deep and powerful, felt the music resonating to the core of his being and he found himself slowly rising above the vehicle. He knew that, somehow, he was responsible for the music, the Song of Escape, and he found himself descending gently to the grass as the car traveled past him.

He remembered seeing a sort of grim smile on his father's face as the vehicle continued flipping end over end, faster and faster until the speed had returned to normal. After what seemed an eternity, the car came to rest and then there was silence.

About half an hour later, another car drove by and, seeing the wreckage, stopped and called for help on his cell phone. The man had rendered what aid he could until help arrived but his father never regained consciousness. There was no sign of the man who had fired on the car.

Alex stood up, tears again welling in his eyes, and looked down at his father standing beside him. Vaguely, he realized that he was once again eighteen and had regained his full height. He looked again at the man who stood next to him and could think of only one thing to say.

"Why have you shown this to me?" His voice, once again it's normal tenor, was rough with emotion. "It was bad enough losing you the first time..."

"Because you needed to see it as it really happened. For seven years, you have borne the guilt for the crash, guilt that was never yours in the first place. You now know that someone else made an attempt on our lives. You were not responsible for the crash -"

"But I could have saved you as well as myself! Instead I left you in the car to... to -", Alex could not finish the sentence.

"You did what you could, Alex. You were eleven years old and could not have affected the outcome. Your power was only beginning to develop and it was a miracle that you were able to save yourself, let alone me."

"But --"

"Since that time, I have learned that there are some things that cannot be changed. This was one of those things." The older man reached up and took Alex's face in his hands and said, "It's time you let go of the guilt, son."

"I... can't. It's because of me that you've been lying in that hospital bed for the last seven years. If it hadn't been for me, they would have taken you off life support long ago and--"

His father stared intently into Alex's face and then his expression softened slightly.

"It's not so bad, really. The weather has been fairly pleasant and time doesn't mean very much here. It's also allowed me to sort of look over your shoulder from time to time. My only real regret is that I have not been physically present to watch you grow into the man you have become."

Alex looked away.

"What kind of man have I become?" he said with a mixture of anger and shame.

"In the last few months, I don't think I've done much to make you proud."

"Tell me," his father said.

"In New Orleans, I killed a lot of people -- victims. Many of them might have been saved. I decided who would have the chance to live and abandoned the rest to be slaughtered. Many of those who survived may choose to die anyway."

His father was silent, letting Alex continue.

"I have taken students," he continued, "with little or no musical skills and molded them into a functioning orchestra, not so they would be better musicians, but because I wanted an orchestra to fulfill my own needs."

Alex paused before making one last admission.

"And when the Royal Elite came calling this last time, I finally succumbed. Had it not been for blind luck, I would be doing my best to lay waste to anyone who opposed Autocrat."

The older man moved so as to look Alex in the eyes.

"You did what had to be done," he said.

Before Alex could object, he continued, "In New Orleans, you saved those that you could. If you had not made those choices, they would also have died. If you had not helped to destroy those that remained, the death toll would have been far worse and extended far beyond New Orleans. And even if those survivors choose to die, it is their own choice and not one that was forced upon them."

His father paused briefly to let his statement sink in.

"As for your students, you have given them a gift beyond price. They have learned to Listen - to hear the Voice of Creation within themselves - and with the skills they have learned, they may now share that Voice with the rest of the world."

"And where the Royal Elite is concerned... I would not be so sure that it was blind luck that removed you from their control."

"What do you mean?"

"The Universe has a way of making sure that things don't get too far out of balance," said the older man, "especially where you're concerned."

Alex looked doubtful.

"Why should the Universe give a damn about what happens to me? Or anyone else for that matter? It's not like --"

"You have a desire to protect someone for whom you care deeply -- in fact, your actions in the pursuit of that desire have allowed this time together."

"Sarah? How...?" asked Alex, still not quite following.

"I'm coming to that. Your wish to keep her from harm subconsciously led to you to establish the means by which you could come to her aid, regardless of the distance between you. I think it also allowed you to break free of the Royal Elite's control."

"What do you mean -- " began Alex before it dawned on him. He had heard her call his name and he had teleported hundreds of miles to be by her side. If his father knew about that then he would know what happened afterwards. Alex colored slightly when he realized the implications.

"But how did I -- "

Richard sighed. "I know this is coming a little fast Alex, but do try to keep up. Do you remember the bowling alley? Specifically the karaoke bar? You sang a Song whose that repeated the lyrics 'Just call my name, I'll be there...'

Alex's jaw dropped as the realization hit him. He almost didn't realize his father had continued speaking.

"-- The Elite's agenda would not allow anyone else to come first. In fact, Autocrat may even have forced you to cause her harm. Do you remember how that thought made you feel?"

Alex nodded.

"The fact that it was even remotely possible you might be forced to harm Sarah was enough to put you into a blind rage. You broke free -- something that still amazes Autocrat, by the way. He apparently has no idea how you were able to do that. Love can be an endless source of strength."

"But I don't have the ability to do anything like you've described, not voluntarily at any rate," replied Alex, "even for Love."

His father smiled the same patient smile. He reached across and opened Alex's shirt, revealing the pale, diamond shaped patch of skin where Avatar's spear had emerged from his chest. "I believe where Love is concerned, there is very little that you cannot do. If you think about it, Alex, I'm sure you'll realize it as well."

Alex was about to argue the point but then, as if from some distance, he heard snippets of Weaver's voice...

"... music and ... the Universe ... may not be as different as you imagine. A symphony ... and ... the orchestra ... equally complex, consisting of ... instruments and musicians, ... a conductor ... There can be a profound intricacy in a simple string of notes. The Universe operates in a similar fashion, ... on a far grander scale. The simplest particles ... make up atoms, which ... make various molecules. The symphony builds ... solar systems and galaxies ... somewhere along the line, Life might even make an appearance..."

Alex looked around for Weaver but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then he recalled a later conversation with Weaver, the evening he and Sarah had fought Rook and Proctor. Weaver had appeared after Sarah had left. Alex had been playing, thinking about Sarah, and miniature, perfectly detailed images of Sarah had formed without him realizing it...

"..."Where did they come from? How did you--"

"Oh no," chuckled the old man. "This is none of my doing. These are all yours..."

"But I can't... I mean, I've never done... How did I do this? I need music to be able to do things like this..."

Weaver sighed and looked at Alex like a small child. "What is it that you're holding in your hand? "

Alex looked down and realized that he was still holding his guitar. "So what? I've been playing music since I've been big enough to hold an instrument. I've never done anything like this before."

"Actually you have..."

Alex also remembered the dreams of standing on an impossibly high peak, controlling stars and solar systems as though they were a part of a symphony. It was beginning to dawn on him that the dreams may not have been entirely symbolic.

He reflected on the events that had lead to his escape from the clutches of the Royal Elite: his growing feelings for Sarah which, in turn, led to him singing that song to her in the bowling alley lounge. In that moment, he had inadvertently set up the means by which he could come to her if she should need him.

Then Alex flashed on something. Something Harbinger had said as he and Brainchild cooperated to dominate Alex's mind...

"... I still don't see why Autocrat wants a second-rate musician as a member of the Elite..."

"Less talk, more concentration! And don't let him near that part of his mind yet! If he should regain access before we're done...""

"Why not? What are you afraid he's going to do, hum a few bars from 'Cats' at us?...  HOLY CHRIST!!!..."

Alex had very nearly broken free -- using the power they had nearly unleashed prematurely. Alex looked down at his hands. A cool wind was blowing gently across his skin, causing goose bumps. Then he remembered something he'd said himself.

"...there is Music for those who have the ears to hear it..."

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Alex looked again at his hands, lifting them up and turning them over. This time he saw them, not as flesh and bone, but as expanses of space, stars and nebulas skittering across them. At that moment, he felt his body dissipate, almost as if it were evaporating. He suddenly felt free.

He felt the sensation of growth, his mind and perceptions expanding to encompass all he saw and more. His vantage continued to rise to impossible heights, pulling back to see the Earth and the Moon. Pulling back even further, his saw the solar system. In an instant (an eternity?) his perceptions encompassed more and more until even galaxies seemed small. And then he heard the Music.

The Music made everything that he had ever heard or played before pale to nothingness by comparison. And he knew that he was the Music and laughed from the Joy of the discovery. He didn't know how long this went on, for Time was no longer an absolute. The power was nearly infinite, intoxicating... and he found himself thinking, I could undo what happened to New Orleans... I could even prevent... Father's... accid-...

Alex never completed the thought. As much as he wished it were otherwise, he somehow knew it could never be. He knew, with a certainty he couldn't explain, he could not re-write what had already been written. He could alter the Tempo and the Tone of the Music as necessary to bring Harmony out of Discord. He could Inspire others to Greatness. He could even Write new Songs as he saw fit. He knew that he was the Music.

But he knew that there was Purpose in all that had happened and to change any part of it might corrupt that Purpose. It was then that he realized, for all that he was, for all the power he felt, he knew that he was as much the Instrument as the Musician.

After a while, his perceptions were again drawn to a single place, a rolling field of grass, and the man who stood upon it, waiting patiently.

Alex willed himself there and he was once again standing where he had sat - only moments? - before. He smiled at the man. His father. And tears rolled down Alex's face.

Wiping his eyes, he hugged his father once more. The scenery changed, growing darker. Instead of a sunny day, the sky was now filled with stars. Many more stars than he'd ever noticed in any night sky. Then he heard the strains of a Song. The Song of Return. Alex smiled, thinking that it sounded suspiciously like something by the Electric Light Orchestra. The music seemed to be coming from a star on the horizon, a star that seemed to be growing brighter.

Alex's father took a step back. "Our time is almost done. Have you decided?"

"Decided?", said Alex, knowing what his father meant but reluctant to proceed.

"Yes. As I said before, you have a choice to make. If it were up to me, I'd send you back. There are a lot of things that could use your attention. Besides, I think Weaver could use the rest. He's been holding your place for quite a while now."

"Yes," said Alex thoughtfully. "he's not as young as he used to be, is he?"

Alex looked past his father's shoulder and saw Weaver sitting in the grass speaking to a butterfly that was resting on the back of his hand. The old man looked back at Alex and smiled, giving a little wave that sent the butterfly into the air. His 'imaginary' friend had carried things for far too long. It was time to let him rest.

Yet, Alex was reluctant to leave this place. It was peaceful here. There was nothing to worry over, no guilt to carry and no pain. But if he understood what his father had said, the choice would be irrevocable. There would be no changing his mind. It would mean not seeing his mother again, or seeing Autocrat's defeat... or seeing Sarah again. While the other reasons were compelling enough to return, it was the thought of never seeing Sarah again that decided it for him.

"I have to go back, I think... Don't I?" The last was more a statement than a question.

"Good! I knew you could do it," Richard said, smiling broadly. The older man gave his son one last hug. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?" asked Alex, slightly bewildered.

The older man just shook his head and said, "Know that I have always loved you, son. Return and live your life. Things have already begun to move again and if you don't hurry, you might miss it. Give my love to your mother. I wish you enough."

"Wait. Please don't go. There's so much more I want to say," said Alex, knowing it wouldn't happen.

"Perhaps in another place and time, son. I will miss your visits. You'd better go now," said his father, smiling through his tears. "Someone very special is waiting for you and if I were you, I'd not be too keen to disappoint. She'll likely be surprised to see you. Happy, I think, but surprised. You should also be prepared to apologize... repeatedly... for a very long time."

Alex was about to ask what he meant but his father just smiled and held up his hand. "You'll understand soon enough. Fare well, son. I wish you enough..."

Alex watched his father fade from view and wondered at the meaning of his last statement . Not knowing what else to do, he turned toward the music and the brightening star and willed himself forward...

Hundreds of miles away, in a small, yet well funded, private care facility, a nurse was going about her daily routine. Today, she was scheduled to change the linens on the bed of Richard St. John-Smythe, better known to the world at large, or at least those who followed that sort of thing, as the Duke of Gloucester.

As she entered the room, she noted the readings on the equipment connected to the patient. One monitored his heart rate, blood pressure and body temperature, another his respiration, and a third his brain function, or more accurately, the lack of brain function.

Just as she pulled back the blankets, the line on the brain activity readout spiked. The patient inhaled sharply and then, after a moment, exhaled slowly for what would be the last time. The single tear that rolled down the Duke's cheek and the slight smile on his face made it seem as though it were a sigh of relief.

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