Samuel was in the chair, and then he wasn't. 

But he knew where he was, and that knowledge struck him like a blow to the solar plexus. He saw the brown leather sofa and his dad's recliner. The big screen tv that had been the focus of many a Saturday game party, and Sunday review session. His mom's cat was staring at him from atop a well used cat tree, the carpet the covered the various posts and beams of it snarled and frayed. He could smell the Murphy's oil soap his mom used on the hardwood floors. The cinnamon from the every-Christmas cinnamon broom that was no doubt leaning against the side of the fireplace. 

He could smell coffee. 

From behind him, in the kitchen, he hard a plate shatter. 

"Samuel?" The voice was thin and reedy, laced with astonishment and surprise. His mom's voice. Late afternoon sunlight slanted down through the sliding glass doors off to his left, and he could see his dad out on the deck, grilling chicken. It looked like a beautiful day out there. 

Samuel slowly spun around, eyes focusing on every inch of the room as he did so. Every little Lladro figurine, every brick in the fireplace, everything seemed exactly as it should. What the hell had happened? Had it been it all been a dream? The pale faced man, the other 4 people, the end of the world.  He struggled to remember the last time he was at his parent's house, but if he could smell the cinnamon then Christmas hadn't happened yet.  How was that possible?  He slowly raised his hand to his neck, to feel if the necklace was still there.

His hand found the fine chain, the cool rigidity of the diamond. "Samuel? How did you? When did you..." his mother had rushed over to him and thrown her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over. She was crying, and her hands smelled like soap. "Oh my God, you're alive!" 

His mother's cat, called Cat, had leapt upon the top of the sofa and was meowing urgently, tail flicking excitedly back and forth. 

His arms slipped around his mother and held her tightly, both comforted and confused by this turn of events. He closed his eyes and breathed, the soap from her hands mingling with her favorite perfume, making a peculiar scent that he'd remember forever. He'd thought they were all gone, he thought he'd never see them again, and now, well he had no idea what was happening now. He couldn't fight it, the tears formed and trickled slowly down his cheeks  "Of course I'm alive, why wouldn't I be?" he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

" NOAH, get in here!" his mother yelled, right in his ear. He knew she yelled, heard the volume and expected to wince at it but found he didn't need to. Something cold fluttered in his stomach at this, but he ignored it. "The explosion at the bar, son. They called us last night and said... they said..." she broke down into tears and just clung to him, sobbing. 

The cat was meowing furiously. 

Explosion? The bar? Samuel's head spun as more and more information flooded in. "Mom, I'm ok, I'm here and I'm ok. Everything is ok." he held her tighter and gently rubbed her back. It's strange, how their emotions were mirroring each others.  He found himself reliving the strange happenings, and what he had been told, and something wasn't connecting. He needed to know what was happening, but he wasn't sure how much help his mother would be right now.  He rubbed his eyes, and pulled back a little. "Tell me what happened, if you can, please?"

Samuel heard the slider open, saw his father walk in with a frustrated and... grieving?... expression on his face. Saw his dad's hand tighten on the barbecue fork until the knuckles turned white as his mouth dropped open, expression turning to bewilderment. 

Sam gave his dad an almost apologetic smile, still wrapped up in his mother's arms. He could not remember the last time he'd seen his father so lost for words.

"Samuel? What in..." his dad said wonderingly. The cat took this moment to make a break for it out onto the patio, the cunning little bastard. During a normal day, this would mean his mom being frantic as she chased the damned thing around the yard, trying to get it to come down from, or out of, whatever inconvenient hiding place or perch it had found. It would meow loudly and lustily until rescued, where it would get scolded, fed wet food, then fall asleep on his moms lap no doubt dreaming of it's next Alcatraz moment. 

"Damn it Cat!" Samuel cursed at the streak of fur flew outside. Just what his mom didn't need, more stress today. He decided he would fetch the troublemaker himself, save his mom the trouble.

His dad just stood there, blinking at him as the cat rushed past his legs, meowing and darting off around the deck to the left and out of sight. 

"We got a call, Sammy," his mom said, stepping bak and looking at him, rubbing away tears with the heels of her hands. "They said something happened at the bar, that there was an explosion and that they were still identifying the bodies." Her voice hiccuped on the word bodies. "Your friends car was there, you know? His parents have been calling us all day. They're coming over so we can wait together." She sniffed and looked up at him with eyes more full of love then he'd ever remembered seeing before. "What happened? What...?" she spread her hands, her shoulders rising in a questioning shrug.

 He turned, to face both of them, and unconsciously mimicked his mother's gesture. "I don't have any answers, I don't know what happened. I know I was supposed to meet John there, for our gift exchange. I remember music, loud music, and..." he shrugged, but his mind was racing. Bar Explosions... nukes... post-apocalyptic nightmares... what was going on?  "I just don't know what happened."  He glanced outside, trying to see if he could spot where Cat had gotten to, but the feline was gone. 

"What about John?" his father asked, clearing his throat. "Son, what about your friend?" 

He turned his head and looked his father in the eyes, insistent but not aggressively.  "I don't know Dad. I don't remember leaving the bar, I don't remember any explosion, and I don't even remember how I got here. Look at me, does it look like I've been in an explosion?"

"No, of course not," his mother said, patting him weakly on the shoulder. "Let's just sit down and think this through." 

Samuel nodded numbly, and slowly sat down on the leather sofa, the familiarity of the soft cushions helping to calm him abit.

"We have to alert the police," his father said, the shock of seeing his son who he thought dead standing in the living room very much alive was fading fast. "We have to get you checked out by a doctor. Tell us again what the last thing you remember is son."

Sadly the calm was short lived. Police? Would they believe him? Doctors? What would the doctor's find? Samuel let his head fall into his hands, and mumbled through his fingers.  "I remember giving John his present, and him sliding mine across the table, then nothing.  Just being here..."

"Did you drive? Where's your car?" His father asked, taking a peek out the front door and seeing only his F150 and his wifes Toyota Camry. "Did you take a cab? Maybe the cab driver will remember where he picked you up?" Samuels mother watched her husband striding back and forth in front of the Christmas tree, stacked high with presents that, on a normal Christmas day, would be well on their way to being demolished, the living room full of laughter and bright glittering paper. "Do you have your phone? Did you call someone this morning?" 

And he was off, a thousand questions being slung fast and hard at Samuel, leaving almost no time to answer one before the next came along. 

Samuel leaned back into the plush leather cushion and patted his jeans pockets to check for his phone. One he'd been cut off, he had to get a pay as you go , for emergencies, but he wasn't sure if he still had his phone.  Between being pulled out of the wreckage and sitting around the wooden table, he really hadn't thought to use it.  He pulled it out of a pocket, and flipped it open.  It lit up as usual, and he navigated to the call log.  Sally twice, voice mail, and John, about an hour before they met at the bar. That was the last call.  He held it up to his dad.

"I walked, to clear my head and save some money. I figured Jo.." his voice caught in his throat around his friends name. "I was going to ask John to take me home when we left.   What the hell is happening?! Why can't I remember?!"

His father took the phone and pressed a few buttons, then pressed another and held it up to his ear. His eyes grew huge and he dropped the phone, then hurriedly picked it up. "Hang on a... just a..." he handed the phone to Sam.

"John," his father whispered. 

Samuel's entire body went numb, he felt as if he'd been sleeping in the desert overnight. Fear tightened his gut, and he reflexively flinched away from the phone. For a long moment he stared up at his father, before slowly reaching out to gingerly take the phone, pulling it up to his ear.  "H.. hello?" he squeaked out...

"Say, listen poppet, Uncle Randy here..." came a voice from a nightmare. "So sorry about the little mixup, reality can be a right bender at times. Had to blow the place up though. Knew you'd understand. Of course, that leaves one higgledy-piggledy of a huge pointy question mark over *your* head now, doesn't it. Still, you rolls the dice, you takes your chances. I've left John Boy here asleep on his widdle beddy weddy, so no harm there. Consider it my Christmas Present to you."

There was a moist sound. A sound perhaps of a tongue being drawn across enormous white teeth.

"Hugs to the family."

The line went dead.

Samuel did his best to keep a straight face as he silently thanked Randerawl for saving his friend. However that didn't help him explain what had happened and what was still happening. He needed to think...

"John? John?  Are you there? Are you ok? Hello?  John? Dammit...."  

He shrugged and looked up at his parents "I think the call dropped, this cheap service, Let me try again. " He pressed redial and hoped. "C'mon John....wake up...wake up please..."

The phone rang once, twice, three times. "...'lo?" John's voice, muzzy from sleep. 

His heart lightened hearing his friends voice, and he smiled uneasily at his parents.  "John... John this is Sam, where are you? Actually, never mind that, you NEED to call your parents. Right now." His voice was tinged with excitement and anxiety. "Something happened last night, and both of our parents were worried sick."

"What're you talking abo....OH SHIT!" John cried out. Sam could hear the sound of movement. "What the hell did we drink last night? It's like ten o'clock! My parents are gonna kill me! Dude, I got to go! Thanks for calling and waking me up. Oh, Merry Christmas!"

The call dropped. 

Samuel sat, mouth open for a moment, before slowly closing the phone. "John was sleeping it seems. I didn't get to talk much as you saw, but he's on his way to meet his parents." He set his phone down on the couch and looked up at his parents. "That didn't help explain anything, but at least he's alright." he said with a hopeful tone to his voice.  He wasn't sure what else to say.

"I'm going to call the Owens', Helen," Sam's father said. "Let them know we've found Sam and that John should be calling them." His father looked at him with baffled suspicion. "Then we'll figure out what to do." He headed off to his home office, where he no doubt had his cell phone sitting on its charger. For Noah, there was a place for everything, and everything needed to be in its place. 

Samuel frowned abit as his father retreated into his office.  He knew things didn't paint him in a great light, but hopefully it could all be explained away without too much trouble. 

"Are you hungry, sweetheart? Do you need something to eat?" asked his mother, still drinking in the site of him as though he'd been gone for a decade. 

Now that she mentioned it, he didn't really feel hungry, but you couldn't tell a southern mother that. He gave his mother a warm smile, "Uh, sure, I could eat something Mom. You need any help?"

"No, no!", his mother said as she rose to her feet. "You stay right there where I can see you." She bent and kissed the top of his head, then headed for the kitchen. "I swear Samuel, you about scared us half to death!" he heard her exclaim as she left. Samuel could hear his father in the other room, letting John's parents know that everything was going to be all right, and that no, he couldn't explain it either. From the still open screen door, Samuel could smell something outside beginning to burn. Most likely his dad's chicken. 

Shit, his dad wouldn't want his chicken burned, he hated wasting food. He called into the kitchen "Mom, the chicken's burning, I'm gonna go check on it. I'll be outside on the patio." He jumped to his feet and headed out the open door to the patio, to check on the chicken.

His father joined him a few moments later, taking over grill duties without as much as a 'thanks'. But that's how he was. "Tell me what happened. Your mother isn't here, so just let me know." His dad studied the chicken with single-minded intensity, his expression unreadable. 

Sam stepped aside, and took a moment to look for the damn cat, not sure how to answer his father.  He wanted to tell someone, just to say it outloud and see if it sounded as strange as it did in his mind.  What if his father thought he was lying, covering for some drunken stupidity, or thought he was crazy and had him committed.  If he didn't have the necklace he wouldn't have believed it himself, although all he had to go on was a piece of pretty jewelry.  Telling his father could bring them closer, or it could drive them even more apart.   With a sigh he turned back to face his dad.

"Dad, you aren't going to believe a bit of what I'm going to tell you. I barely believe it myself. All I ask is you let me get through the telling, before you make your mind up about me and what I'm telling you. I've told no one this, not John, no one."  His eyes never lowered, as he slowly, with as much detail as he could, told the story of his Christmas Eve.

...

Helen watched as her son and husband stood next to the grill, talking. They were talking. She sliced Sam's sandwich in half, then poured some chips on the plate. Not too many, but it was Christmas after all, and Sam was here, and he and his dad were talking. 

Not yelling. Not ignoring one another, or talking around the mistake that had been made, avoiding it. Men... she sighed and watched the two most important people in her life and hoped it would all turn out for the best. That's all you could for as a wife and a mother. As a person. Hope. Put a bandaid on life's scratches, give out the occasional aspirin for the fevers and aches and pains, and enforce the rules when you had too, and bend them when you could. 

She looked down at her hands, gripping the edges of the sink just a little too tightly, and forced herself to relax. She looked outside again, and clapped a hand to her mouth in shock. 

...

Noah Montgomery stood there and listened to what had to have been the most insane thing he'd ever heard in his entire life. He'd noticed the diamond on its chain, a girlish thing, of course he had, but he hadn't wanted to say anything. Things had been rough since Sam's troubles, but this... this was just madness. Samuel had finally stopped talking and was looking at him. Looking at him in a way that made him angry and embarrassed and a thousand other disappointing emotions all rolled into one. It was time for drastic action. Time to show Samuel that the real world had real consequences, and that it was time to grow up and start goddamn accepting them. He'd probably catch eight kinds of hell from Helen about this, but she was too soft on the boy anyway. 

And that diamond. That girlish little diamond. It just lay there, winking and glittering on its silver chain like an itch he couldn't scratch. Well he'd be damned if he wouldn't scratch it. So he gripped the barbecue fork tightly in his left hand, then swiftly struck out, stabbing his son I'm stabbing my son with a barbecue fork covered in sauce and bits of chicken, jesus christ what am i doing with enough force to beak the skin at the very least, and do serious muscle damage at the worst. 

But the fork didn't break the skin. It didn't do muscle damage. The damn tines curled up, like celery does when Helen cut it all decorative for garnishing. Just curled up and rolled back in on themselves. Sam had taken a step back, caught off balance as his own father stabbed him with a barbecue fork, and Noah was terrified to look into the boys face. 

"Shit! Dad, what the hell?!!" he exclaimed, eyes flickering back and forth between the ruined barbeque fork and his father's face. It was true. he thought, oh Jesus what am I going to do.

"I expected  you to yell at me, maybe even tell me I was crazy, and frankly I would have been ok with that. It's a horrible story.  You don't know how hard it was to tell you the truth, it sounded soo insane, but I was tired of disappointing you. I was tired of that look you give me.  You always told me "It doesn't matter what you did, be honest with us, that's what we want."  So I lay it all out, every horrible, scary detail.  And what do you do!? You fucking STAB me!! What the hell?!!  If I'd been lying, I'd be laying on the ground bleeding right now, is that what you wanted?"  Samuel hadn't meant to , but he'd gotten himself worked up. 

"No, of course not," his father said quietly, still staring at the ruined fork clutched in his left hand. He'd gone very pale, but color rose in his cheeks. "Of course not! But you come here with this crazy story, wearing a piece of woman's jewelry and we've been worried sick, sick to death that you've done something stupid and killed yourself or all those people at that bar!" He was shouting back now, but still staring at the fork as though his eyes were magnetically locked to it, the tines bent and curled. "A band aid and a scrape would be the least of your concerns I'd think!" 

What was he saying? He didn't even know what he was saying, only knew that he couldn't back down.  

Samuel blinked confusedly "You thought I had something to do with the explosion? Why..." he shook his head quickly "Never mind that right now, we'll get back to that. Look I know it's a crazy story, but you only had to listen to me tell it. I had to live it! Seeing the ruined world, being buried under all that dirt and debris. That creepy creepy pale-skinned man and his unreal teeth. He will fucking haunt my dreams. He told me it was 57 years since today. 57 years Dad. I thought you and mom were gone, and I'd never see you again, so I understand a little about how you feel. I was scared, hell I still AM scared, I don't know what to do."

Samuel took a step closer to his father. "Look at me, Dad. Look. At. Me! We can keep yelling at each other all day, but there's one thing I need to ask you, one question that really needs to be answered.  Do you believe me? Do you?"

Noah's face reddened. "I don't know what I believe, but I know one thing, and that's you will not speak to me that way in my own house." He tore his gaze away from the fork at the sound of the sliding glass door opening, saw Helen coming towards them, knew he'd lost and didn't care. He closed his eyes, and tried to take a deep breath, tried to breathe at all. When had this gone nuclear? When did he become this bastard? 

"Is everything all right," Samuel's mother asked, knowing it wasn't, hating that it wasn't. But she knew her role in this. She would step between them, ease the tension. "I've made sandwiches." She sounded like a sheep. She knew it, and didn't care. "Come inside, Samuel. Let your father finish cooking." 

Samuel frowned slightly, and gently rested a hand on his father's shoulder.  "I'm sorry Dad, this didn't go the way I had expected, but it wasn't supposed to end up with us at each other's throats. We can talk more later, if you want."  Noah stepped back, gripping the fork  like a longsword, knuckles gone white around the handle. Anger flared in his eyes, anger laced with an internal embarrassment that filled the world, but it was a nameless thing, massive and without direction. "Just go inside," he said, voice gone flat. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the diamond. It represented all that was wrong with his world at that moment, and why that was he couldn't say. 

He turned to his mom and smiled. "Ok, lets get those sandwiches. I have something I want to talk to you about anyway Mom." he said, putting an arm around her shoulder and hugging her tightly to him. Helen nodded, her gaze focused on her husband for a long moment. Then she looked back at her son and returned the squeeze, wrapping her arm around his waist. 'Yes, lets. I'm just so happy you're home, Sammy."

Samuel guided his mom through the sliding door and slid it behind them, taking one last look at his father. The older man was staring at the bent barbecue fork, face lowered while chicken smoked and seared on the grill. Something was weird, but Sam couldn't place what exactly. It was probably just the overwhelming load of crap Sam had just dropped on him, but he wasn't positive. Once they were abit away , he softly asked his mother. "How much of that did you see, or hear Mom?"

'Something about a crazy story and that diamond," Helen said brightly, sitting Sam down at the table and putting a plate in front of him. A ham sandwich and an enormous pile of potato chips - the kind with ridges. "What happened, Sammy? What made him so upset?" 

She sat down next to him at the table, arms folded in front of her, eyes searching his face. 

Samuel took half the ham sandwich and bit into it, buying himself some time to think.  Damn this sandwich was good, he took another bite, and reached for a chip. The conversation with his father hadn't gone as he had planned, and he wasn't sure he wanted to have something similar happen with his mother. As he crunched on the ridged fried potato, he looked at his mother, sitting there, attentive and loving him.  That could all change if she knew, he realized, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew he had to tell her. She would be happy, knowing he' couldn't be hurt, wouldn't she?  Slowly he set his sandwich down.

"I told him the truth Mom, and I don't think he believed me, nor do I think he liked hearing it. I want to tell you, but I'm worried  you'll react like he did." he said, looking right at her.

Oh sweet Lord, please give me strength, thought Helen as she studied her boys face. Whatever he's about to tell me, grant me some of Your sweet power to get through it. "Are you in some sort of gang, Sammy?" she all but whispered. "Is that some sort of gang thing?" She pointed a trembling finger at the diamond. "Did you have to ... to do something bad?" 

Samuel couldn't help himself, he broke into a smile. His mom was an amazing woman, and she loved him so, but she did have some strange notions. He reached both hands out and took hers gently in his. "MOM! God no, I'm not in a gang, and I didn't have to do anything bad. This." he touched the sparkling stone on the platinum chain. "This is something far more important than being in a gang. Just listen, and believe me please. It's really important that you believe me. "

More important than being in a gang? Had he tried to get in a gang? Oh no... Helen nodded and braced herself for the worst. 

He took a breath, and for the second time, he told the story of his Christmas Eve.

While he spoke, Owen had come back inside with his now cooked (and mildly charred in some instances) chicken. He'd busied himself in the kitchen, but Sam could feel his father's presence filling the house, a pervasive sense of disbelief almost felt on the skin, like a fine mist. When he finished, the look of confusion on his mothers face told him all he needed to know. 

"But Samuel, that doesn't make any sense," she finally said, fingers writing together nervously. "I want to believe you son, but that just doesn't make any sense." 

This was not unexpected, but at least she was admitting her doubts, instead of blindly accepting the story he'd told her.  He understood, if he was told the story, Samuel wasn't sure he'd believe it either. He turned to glance at his father, but that was a lost cause. He definitely didn't believe him, and he wouldn't ever admit what happened with the barbeque fork outside.  He would have to prove it, but how without freaking her out even more than she likely was.

"I understand Mom, if I hadn't been there I wouldn't believe it myself. The fact is, I didn't have the necklace before this all happened, and I do now.  I can prove part of it to you, I wasn't completely sure about it before, but I am now."
 
Samuel did his best to hide his doubts. All he knew for sure was that a barbeque fork didn't hurt him, he still had not really tested the limits of what he could 'do'. That being said, with the necklace being real, Randerawl talking to him again, and the barbeque fork being ineffective against his skin, it seemed likely that Randerawl's claim of him being invulnerable is looking more and more true.  He stood and walked to the knife block on the counter, and slid the long butcher knife from its slit.

"What are you doing," his parents both asked almost simultaneously. His father standing at the kitchen sink, his mother from her chair. 

"You both doubt my story, so I am going to prove it, at least the part I can." Samuel hesitated for a split - second, but the memory of the barbeque fork gave him confidence. He drew the knife across the back of his right hand several times, lightly at first but with increasing pressure. His left forearm was taught, muscles corded with the effort.  He lowered the knife and turned his hand to his parents, showing unmarked, unblemished skin.  He looked at both of them, first his mother then his father, awaiting their reactions.

His mother screamed, a hand coming up to her mouth, eyes wide with shock and fear, then amazement. HIs father just glared, jaw set, as if either the knife or his son had let him down again. "You..." his mother said, rushing from her chair and grabbing his hand, pushing a very surprised Noah out of her way to do so. She flipped his hand over, and then back again, then ran her fingers along his skin. "You aren't hurt.. why aren't you hurt Sammy?" 

"Mom, I told you, someone picked me to play in a game, a big game. My prize was I got this" he slipped his hand free to touch the necklace "and now I'm invulnerable. I don't think I can be hurt anymore. This is still new to me, and I haven't really tried but, yeah. You saw, the knife did nothing to me, I'm guessing everything else will be like that. " He was leaving out the fact his father stabbed him, and honestly he wasn't sure why. His dad was disappointed in him, nothing he did or said would make it any worse, but he didn't want his mother to know. He couldn't say why , just he didn't.  "I don't know what else I can do to make you believe me, if you have any ideas?"

Noah cleared his throat. "This doesn't explain what happened at that bar." Helen shot him a look, but he persisted. "We have to tell the authorities something, Samuel. If we claim you just popped magically out of thin air all fine and dandy, and incidentally, you can't be hurt on top of all that because some crazy person with bad teeth enrolled you in a contest, think about what they'll say." 

"You're right Dad, I don't know what to tell them about that, but it can't be the truth. I only want the two of you to know that, no one else will believe me." Samuel walked back to the table, and sat down. Unless he was crazy his dad had just spoken  like a normal person, almost. Rattled by that he set the knife next to his plate and looked up at his parents. Fix this problem now, he could over think his father's tone or lack there of later.  "You said John's car was there, maybe we could say we got too drunk to drive home and we walked back to our houses? What happened at the bar? Does anyone even know?"

Sam's phone chose that moment to ring. The caller ID said that it was John.

His brow furrowed, John should be with his family by now, why would he be calling him. He stood up and politely excused himself from the table, but he didn't leave the room.  "Hey man." he said as he answered the call.

"Dude.. what the hell is going on?" John all but shouted over the phone. "My parents are freaking out, I don't remember anything about last night after giving you your present, and my parents are saying the place blew up? Did you bring me home? Where's my truck? What happened!" 

"I don't know, man, I don't remember anything after that either. I have no idea how we got home, I came to in my parents house. Let me repeat that for you, my parent's house! It's freaking insane. My mom said they found your truck there at the scene, and thought we.... we were still inside. I want to know what happened too, but I have no answers. " Samuel was pacing abit now, the agitation coming to the surface again.

"They're saying that everyone died! When are you going to talk to the cops? I think we should fast, and I think we tell the truth. Shit..." there was a pause, and Sam could visualize John running his hand through his hair and pacing. It's what he did when he stressed. 

"John, I would love to go to the cops, but you need to calm down and think. We don't know what happened.  We don't know anything.  If we walk in and tell them that we were drinking one minute and the next thing we remember we were in our houses, do you think they will believe that? " Samuel began pacing himself now. The truth, however strange, doesn't seem to be on their side, and he didn't know what to do.

"I think if we try and make up some story we'll land in hotter water than if we just tell it like it is," John replied quickly. "I'd rather make them figure it out, cause I got nothin. I mean, nuh-thing!" 

"I dunno, maybe you are right. I mean we didn't do nothing. That might be our only option, as much as it just feels like a bad idea. Ok, let's go talk to the cops." Samuel's mind raced, he was hoping this would have a quick resolution, but he still wasn't sure what his next move was.

"Good. Good." There was the sound of John's boots crunching around on gravel - he must have been wandering around his parents pool area. They had a decorative red rock mix around their deck near the pool in the backyard,  quite often littered with John's mom's cigarette butts. "Want to come over hear and we can go together? Or I can meet you at your place." 

Samuel glanced over at his parents, wondering if they were going to let him go alone or want to tag along. "Oh, hey. Do you have Shaun's number? Do  you think maybe we should bring a lawyer with us? Not cause we're guilty but to keep us from saying something stupid. Cause, you know us, we might say something stupid.  Anyway think about that, I'm gonna get changed, put on some nice clothes and I'll head over to you."

"I think that's a good idea," Owen said carefully, regarding his son with an expression that was unreadable. 

Samuel closed the phone, and looked to his parents. "I'm going to get changed and head over to John's. We're gonna go talk to the police, maybe bring Shaun with us. I am not going to mention a single thing about what I told you guys, and I think if anyone comes asking questions you guys don't either."

"Well of course not," Helen agreed, hands twisting before her on the table. She did this when she was nervous, clasped and unclasped her hands, as though the fingers sought secret council with each other. "Do you want us to go with you?" She looked at her husband. "Don't you think we should go with him?" 

Owen still simply looked at his son, and did not reply. 

After all that happened today, everything his father had done including stabbing him, Samuel still found part of him wanting his father's approval. He probably always would, he was ashamed to admit to himself. He smiled and walked over to his mom, and covered her hands with his. "I can do this by myself, it's ok. All I need to do is go down there and tell what little I know.  Shaun should be there, I'll be fine."

Owen was watching him carefully, face still expressionless as stone. "I think he'll be fine. He knows the way." 

While he was cleaning up, Sam tried to pull the necklace over his head, but the chain was too short to fit around his head.  He tried to remember what it was like when he pulled it out of the box, but he just wasn't sure.  "Not like I was going to take it off anyway." he thought to himself.  He carefully picked out his clothing, a white undershirt, and a long sleeve button down shirt, which he buttoned all the way up, taking care to tuck the diamond under the t-shirt. He pulled on some jeans, and his best boots, before picking up up a leather bolo with a  hammered silver slide shaped like a star. He compared that to a dark blue tie for a second before he settled on the bolo.  He grabbed a jacket and headed back downstairs. 

His father was back outside, trying to salvage whatever was salvageable from his chicken. His mother took one look at him and shook her head. "I swear Sam, I know I taught you how to dress better than that." She plucked at the bolo, making him duck as she tugged it off. "No matter what we told grandpa, these things are horrible." She lay the bolo on the little table next to the front door that held the bowl for their keys, then gave him another appraising look. "You call if you need us, all right?" 

Sam tried to hid a smile, letting his mother preen over him. He was sure he could be 50 and she would still change one thing he was wearing. It never failed.  Once she was done, he kissed her cheek and wrapped her in a big hug. "I will, but I shouldn't need to. I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll check for Cat as I leave, if I see him I'll grab him. If not I'll get him when I get back."

He waved goodbye to his father through the glass door and smiled at his mother.  He checked his pockets for his keys and his phone, and walked out the front door. He checked briefly for Cat, then started on his way.
 
Cat was watching him from atop the back of the sofa, tail twitching, eyes half-closed. Sam knew the position, and swiftly made his exit as the feline exploded into action, making a beeline for the freedom that beckoned beyond the swiftly closing front door. Sam could hear the frustrated animals meow's from inside, it's escape attempt thwarted. It never failed. 

As he walked to John's, he struggled to make sense about what happened.  The dream, the nightmare the world had become, the other 4 people who were out there doing who knew what.  Randerawl, who would take permanent residence in his dreams.  Why had he saved John? He didn't seem the type.  What had he meant "Had to blow the place up." It all swirled in his head. 

He'd gone a couple of blocks, before the thought of his patron trickled into his mind. Randerawl mentioned they all had patron's, who they could call on 3 times.   That Mr. Knox had asked dumb questions but he knew his Patron's name was Graham, and it was a she.   Samuel wondered who his patron was, and what they were like.

All too soon, he was there. He walked up to John's door and rang the bell.

The door opened. John stood there, a look of immense relief on his face. "Hey. Come in." 

"Hey man." he gave his friend a half smile, and walked past him into the house. John's house always had a pleasant smell, and today was no different. The faint scent of pine and sugar cookies hung in the air. "Did you get in touch with Shaun?"

"I..." began John, and then the world turned white. There was a sound that was all encompassing, a rushing and a pressure and a dazzling white, like sun reflecting of a field of purest snow. Sam was lifted up and away, thrown back dozens of yards as John's house exploded around him. He cartwheeled through the air, arms and legs akimbo, and smashed down against the side of a cedar tree that stood across the street from Johns home, boards and glass and burning chunks of god-knew-what raining down around him. 

A moment of utter silence, and then sound rushed in: the crackle of flames, the blaring of a neighbors car alarm, the thud and clink and patter of debris raining down pretty much everywhere. The homes to both sides of John's were aflame, especially on the sides that faced the area where Johns home had been. As Sam blinked and righted himself, Elizabeths refrigerator slammed down onto a neighbors F-250, shattering the windshield and crunching the hood as though it were paper, gathered together by a giants hand. 

He couldn't help it. He looked down, at his hands, his legs, his chest. 

Not a scratch. Clothes clean and untorn. 

"Well, I guess that answers all my questions." he thought as he looked himself over. Nothing was wrong, not one thread out of place. He turned to check the tree, saw the ruined bark, and cracks from his impact. "Damn, I hit that hard." he muttered under his breath.  The smell of smoke yanked him back to reality, as he turned to look at the wreckage. 

Samuel punched the cedar tree as hard as he could, out of frustration, feeling nothing as loose bark sprayed into the air.  "What the FUCK is going on?!!" he thought to himself, staring across the street at the remains of John's house.  This couldn't be a coincidence. Two explosions which he was present for, both times he escaped unscathed, this was bad, so damn bad.  He might have been able to explain away the bar, claiming he wasn't there when the explosion went off. This one he wasn't so sure, and it was going to draw attention that he desperately didn't need.

Samuel took a second to think.  Who could be doing this?  He replayed the conversation with Randerawl. "Had to blow the place up". He admitted to blowing up the bar, he knew where John lived. It wouldn't be a big stretch to think he arranged for this explosion also. Why though? Why save John only to kill him in a second explosion. What if it wasn't Randerawl? Maybe it was someone else, but who?  And why?

Whoever was responsible, the fact that Samuel was about 20 minutes from being confronted by the police. He needed to decide what to do. Was he going to try to avoid the police, or would he risk talking to them. Avoiding them would be safer, but his parents knew he was coming to John's, and they would likely fear he was killed in another explosion. Damn, he needed to call them, let them know he was ok.  He flipped his phone open and dialed home.

?