It was the worst date I had ever had, and probably the worst date Remington had ever had, too.

     The night had started fairly well, as Remington and I made our way to the restaurant where he'd booked reservations. It was warm, and the moon and stars were shining brightly in a clear sky, their light reflecting off of the ripples of the river on our left.

     "So...how's training going?" Remington forced out, obviously as nervous about this as I was.

     "Um, as good as to be expected," I responded, avoiding looking at his blue eyes. That would make me more nervous than I already was. 

      I had taken part in the training program for anomalies (or just extremely capable, skilled teens like myself) that the Shadow Elite had been offering. Well, the government asked them to do it, and they agreed. After all, they'd lost some team members recently in the battle with Khan, so they needed to find some more.

     He nodded to himself twice, before nervously clearing his throat. "Ah...are you enjoying it?"

     "Uh, sure," I responded, watching him out of the corner of my eyes.

     "Um...uh..." He scrambled for something to say. "Here's the restaurant."

     "Looks like a nice place," I said, smiling at him. He seemed to relax a little.

     "Yeah, my brothers Will and Ryno once ate here, and they said it was good."

      I let my smile falter slightly. "Well...they'll eat just about anything, won't they?"

      "Yeah, I guess so," he admitted.

      The two of us walked into the restaurant, and the host demanded gruffly. "Alright, where do you want to sit?" Before we could reply, she snapped, "Just kidding, you don't get to choose. You sit where I sit you."

      Remmington and I traded glances as the hostess shot off like...I don't know, a cheetah chasing a gazelle. We hurried to keep up, where she sat us in the back room. 

     "Your waitress will be with you shortly," she huffed before hurrying off.

     "Sorry about that, Bryn. I didn't know the service was this bad," he apologized.

     "It's not your fault. You said Will and Rachel were going to be here soon?" I questioned.

      "Will texted and said they just pulled in; they had to drop Lakin off at the mall next door," he informed me.

     I nodded, nervous again. Oh, come on, this will be fun!

     I was able to keep this train of thought for, oh, about two seconds. That's when the waiter came up. Ignoring me completely, she immediately started flirting with Remington, who was very ill at ease about the whole deal.

     So, for the rest of the evening, Will, Lakin, and I were left with half-filled glasses and cold food while Remington's was fresh, and his water was refilled just about after every time he took a drink.

     As we got up to leave, Remington offered to pay the tip as well as the bill.

     "You can pay the bill, but we are not leaving a tip," I hissed.

     He looked confused.

     "Oh, come on, don't pretend you didn't notice!"

     "I was actually rather enjoying the service," he said with great dignity.

     "Well, I'm not going on another date with you ever again!" I declared.

      Remington's face blanched, and at first, I thought it was because of what I'd said. But he was staring behind me, at the reflections in the glass. "They've found us, Bryn."

     Confused, I tore my gaze from his frightened face and looked beyond him...

     Into the barrels of several guns.

Two hours later, fourteen stitches, and a gunshot graze, not to mention the food poisoning...it was the worst date ever.

     But hey, at least we got out alive. I guess things could have been worse.

The oldest breathed water and wouldn't stay in the sea. Sprinting across the crags, he lived puddle to puddle. Why not just stay in the ocean? But I think he was broken.

The second found cadavers that walked and talked and kissed but were dead. Second would give them pieces of his soul so they could glow, but soul isn't sunlight.

Third lived in a cloud fishing for people. When he caught them he would reel them up and eat them. Little stink pieces of heart and blood dripped from the vapor. I would have liked Third, maybe. At least he knew there were worse things than being lonely.

Fourth lived by an ugly statue, a humpty dumpty god. At night he burned his hands in fireplaces, and in the morning he pieced the monument together with Third-World tools. Noon, he would write poetry on its corpse.

When the Fourth died, there were no children to complete his work. But dying isn’t disappearing.

These were my brothers. They speak to me and they make me want to do terrible things.

                                                             Prologue

This is the story of a trying to make a dream of having my screenplay produced come true and how it turned into a nightmare that would haunt me for decades.

A blink of an eye that seemed to last a lifetime and touched so many lives. It was an odyssey that traversed three continents. The array of friends, politicians, stars, police, wannabes and crooks came together without being aware of their participation in it. As bizarre as it may seem later, all those named herein did knowingly or unknowingly play a role. Some were totally innocent others intentionally not.

I started innocently on a path to make a dream come true. Destiny played a series of sick tricks diverting my original path in unimaginable ways. I still don't understand how or why any of this happened.

So much was lost on the way to this day. More than a quarter of a century has passed, yet I am unsure whether this is ending a chapter in my life or creating a new highway from a winding path.

Are these words and pages cathartic or reopening deep and old wounds? Being honest, I don't know the answer to this question. Only finishing the task at hand can lead there. We'll all learn together.

Let me assure you, everything you are about to read really did happen. It happened to me and around me. As unlikely as it will seem, it is so. I wish I could be creative enough to lay out such a complex novel. This is non-fiction. I wish to hell it wasn't.

I had to decide whether to clean up the language and make this prettier than it was or is. I can't do that.

This tale was lived by the seats of my pants Buckle up, it's not for the faint of heart. Hell, there are times Stephen King would have screamed like a little girl.

Thanks for becoming part of my story.

Happy Mother’s day

To a mom who comforted me

Who let me sleep in her bed

When I had nightmares

Happy Mother’s Day

To a mom who loved me

Even though I invoked your anger

On several occasions

Happy Mother’s Day

To a mom who cared for me

Happy Mother’s Day

To a mom who worked through her sickness

To make me happy. 

Happy Mother's Day!!!