CHAPTER 1:  Facing the Hard Facts

Biebe looked at Zack.  "How did you guys get down here?"  He was thinking of how the strange door in the hallway had locked so firmly behind him.

Zack jerked his head toward Max.  "It was him.  He showed us how to come through the parking garage."

"The PARKING GARAGE?" Biebe exclaimed.  "You can get to the Hall of Mirrors through the...the...parking garage??"

"Yeah," Zack continued.  "You just hafta pull back that red velvet curtain with the big 'DO NOT ENTER' woven in gold thread."

Biebe narrowed his eyes.  Surely SOMEONE in all the history of Woolloomooloo would have wondered about such a curtain whilst parking their vehicle.  But...obviously not, as until Max had come, that way in had gone completely unnoticed. "And Max?  How did HE get here?"

"I don't know.  There we were," he indicated his fellow, living characters, "in the hotel bar and in he walks.  Says, 'Come with me. Himself needs some saving.'  And, well, we all just got up and followed him here."

"Who exactly IS he?" Biebe frowned.

"One of us," Zack replied.  "But I don't know...how."

"Doesn't seem like Himself knows that, either, does it?"

It, indeed, did not.  Himself looked from the half de-rocked K&R agent back to where Max still stood near the chair.  You could easily tell from his facial expression that he was not, um, exactly happy with the recent turn of events.  Not only had his newest character been created without his presence, but 4 1/2 of his characters now posed a terrible problem regarding the matter of, well, transport.

Terry's top half still flopped about a bit, as yet being unused to being a statue from the waist down.  Since his bodily functionings from the waist UP worked just fine, he was being a bit, um, vocal about his current predicament.  "%$#@*&%$/!!!!!!!!" he vocalized, successfully getting Himself's attention returned to him.

Himself reached out, touching Terry's knee.  "This won't do," he muttered under his breath.  "This simply won't... do."

"Won't DO!" Terry bellowed.  "WON'T DO!!!"  Terry leaned his top half a bit forward, looking down at both himself and Himself. "My &%$#@& equipment is ROCK!"  

Himself nodding, sighing.  He knew this could, in the long run, be much worse than merely being blunted.  Now annsmac would have to have the capabilities of a Michelangelo to tend the K&R.  "Does annsmac have a...chisel?" he asked softly.

"CHISEL!" Terry shouted.  "Nobody's getting NEAR me with any %$#@& CHISEL!"  Even Himself blinked at the language.  My, my! Terry WAS upset!

"Terry, I know it's hard...," he tried to soothe.

"HARD?" Terry almost screamed.  "HARD? It's %$#@&*%$##@*!@# GRANITE!!!!"  

As pleased as he might have been at the way Terry had obviously kept up with his geologic studies, Himself also knew that certain, oh, difficulties had presented themselves regarding the future mobility of not only Terry, but the still-entirely-bestatued Nash, Cort, Steve, and Hando.  

"I'll be back," he said Terminatoristically, and walked over to the former Prime Minister.  "Was that all?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the man.

"All what?"

"All of the antidote?" he growled.

Harold smiled.  "Completely."

Himself licked his lips.  "And where might there be...more?"

"Can't say," Harold grinned.

Himself once again gripped him by his ruffles and ugly 1950's American tie, lifting him several inches off the glass floor.  "You WILL say," he said, his voice low, filled with a promise of...unpleasantness.

"That was it!" Holt gasped.  "There isn't any more!"

Himself's fingers tightened their grip, his knuckles pressing in on Harold's Adams' apple.  Holt started to go a bit blue around the lips.  "WHERE?"

"T...tingle tree," Harold gurgled.

"Tingle tree?" Himself repeated, frowning.  "You mean the giant eucalypts south of Perth?"

Harold nodded feebly.  "Mutant tingle tree."

"Mutant...tingle tree?" Himself could not help repeat.  His eyes narrowed. "The tingles  in the Valley of the Giants?" (I tell you, dear reader, I did NOT make up those names! That IS where the tingle trees grows, er, grow. Some Aussie things, like unto the Never Never River by Bellingen are just marvelously already there!

Harold, set back on his feet, explained, "Only one of the tingle trees...the mutant one...has the red liquid in a small spring between its roots."

Himself turned his head, gazing at the row of his statuesque characters sadly. Obviously, sigh, he would have to take them to the Valley of the Giants.  He turned back to Harold, intent on getting directions to the single mutant tingle just in time to see the top of the former Prime Minister's head disappearing through a formerly invisible trap door in the mirrored floor.  Damnation! Now he would have to locate the single tingle in the forest of tingles without Harold Holt's help! He frowned. "Ack!" he commented, his frustration level rising considerably.

Pausing only to defibrillate the heart of an elderly Woolloomooloo resident unfortunately having just stepped out of his car as our underground cast carried the 4 1/2 statues from behind the red velvet curtain,  Max led the way back to the Northern Apartments.  Himself gave directions for them to stop, setting the statues in the hallway before entering.  He needed a moment to compose himself, to think how he would break such rocky news to certain of the females.  The entire cast, indeed, had by this time gathered within Himself's apartment, anxiously discussing what to do.  

"I could go in first," Max offered.  

"What good would that do?" Himself frowned.  "You don't know any of them."

"Oh, but I do," Max smiled.

"No, you don't," Himself contradicted.  "You have never been with them."

"Have YOU been with them?" Max asked, his brain following along twisting thought trails.

"You know I have."

"Right!" Max agreed.  "Am I you?"

Himself's jaw muscles tightened.  "I'm not yet sure of that."

Max laughed.  "Am...am...I, um, George Clooney?"

"Not funny," Himself growled.  

"You have no idea if I made commercials in Provence, now do you?" Max continued, eyes dancing.  

Himself's mouth dropped open a bit.  "You...you...DIDN'T?" he gasped.

Chuckling, Max said, "No, of course I didn't.  I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done."  He looked closely then at Himself.  "I COULDN'T do anything you wouldn't have done because I AM you. Simple as that."

Himself didn't find it simple at all.  Not in the least.  "You still don't know the blokes inside my apartment."

"Do, too."

Himself covered his eyes with one of his hands.  "You can't."

"Can, too."

Just then Bud opened the apartment door.  Max smiled.  "Hullo, Bud,"he said.

Bud looked at Max.  "Who in hell are YOU?"

"SEE!" Himself said triumphantly.

"I said," Max continued, "that I knew them.  I didn't say they knew me."

Bud, looking still at Max, asked of Himself,  "Who IS this guy?"

"He says he's me."

"Looks like you," Bud agreed, adding, "Looks a bit like me, too."

"Sorry you had such a hard time in the Cathedral Rocks, Bud," Max said kindly.  "I know that was a bad go for you."

"You can't know that," Himself grumbled.

"But I do."

"He seems to know, Himself," Bud said thoughtfully.  "What's your name?"

"Max," Max grinned, extending his hand to shake the officer's.

"Going to be a bit confusing," Bud commented.  Suddenly he whirled to his side in realization.  "HIMSELF!" he shouted, grabbing the person in question in a big bear hug.  "WHERE have you BEEN?"  

"Glad you noticed I was gone," Himself grumped.

"He's been under the Wharf with...them," Max pointed to the statues lined up behind him.

Bud let out a long, low whistle and walked down the hall a bit, his eyes wide in disbelief.  Stopping in front of Terry, he looked the K&R agent slowly up and down.  Blowing out a breath, he said, "Annsmac has yet to recover from thinking you left your equipment in the hall."

"His equipment IS in the hall, Bud," Max supplied.

"Well," Bud said, rubbing his hand across his jaw, "at least it's...attached."  

Terry glared terribly at him.  "Look, Bud," he began, "I'm having a hard day...."

Bud couldn't help himself, really he couldn't.  He laughed.   Terry lunged for him, obviously intending to strangle the cop just a bit. Alas, his upper half being flung forward caused his, um, immobile lower half to topple toward the floor. Bud caught him just before impact.

Annsmac walked out the apartment door just in time to see upward regions of her love visible beyond Bud.  "TERRY!" she cried, delight and joy welling up in her in various places. "You're HERE!" She ran to him, brushing past Officer White, who still maintained a rather precarious grip on Terry's toppled torso.  

"Don't drop me!" cried Terry, terrified of breakage.

"T...T...Terry?" annsmac murmured, confused.

He managed a very weak smile.  Looking at his slightly still greyish face, she asked with mounting concern, "Is...is... everything all right?"

Inadvertently his eyes dropped downward, her eyes following.  "I...I...," he stammered.  

Her eyes widened, kept widening until they began to narrow.  Little puffs of steam blew out her pink, shell-like ears.  "She WOULDN'T!!!" she shouted.

Terry nodded sadly.  "She did, annsmac.  She really did."

"Let me AT her!" she shrieked, turning, looking wildly down the hall in both directions.

"You can't," Terry sighed.  "She's in...Pittsburgh...and it's, it's winter."

Annsmac, in her anguish, had forgotten about Pennsylvania winters and what they did to the brain.  She sighed. "Ah....right."

"Didn't they win the Superbowl last night?" Bud asked.

"No matter," annsmac sighed again.  "It also snowed." She looked grim. "You KNOW how she gets when it snows.  Have you any idea at all of how cold her bathroom is?"

Sighing, she turned her full attention to the now-being-set-upright Terry. "Be careful, Bud!  Don't break it!"

Terry blushed a bit, not particularly liking all the focus on his so-very-solidified you-know-what.   As annsmac stood there, staring at it, thinking, Himself turned and went into his apartment.  "Ando," he said softly, tapping the former Welshwoman on her arm.  

"Himself!" she cried in delight.  "You've returned from wherever it was you were!  Is my tasty young Melbourner with you?"

Himself closed his eyes a moment.  Finally fixing his seagreens on her face, he said, "Um, Ando, I have some, um, hard news to tell you."

"Hard?" she repeated.  'What's hard about it?"

"He is," Himself sighed.  "He's what's hard.  Very hard."

"He?  You mean Hando?"  She smiled as fond memories of his hardness flooded her with unladylike thoughts.  

"Yes, I mean Hando," he continued.  "I need you to come with me out into the hall."

"Hando's in the hall? HANDO, baby! Come to Mama!" she called out.

"He can't come," Himself murmured.

"Why can't he come?" she frowned.

"He's too hard to come."

She, knowing well that that was when he usually came, did not comprehend. "I can make him come," she announced, striding toward the door.

"Ando, WAIT!" Himself called.  But, alas, it was too late and she had already gone out the door, admittedly licking her lips a bit in anticipation due to what Himself had told her of the Melbourner's condition.

Before he, too, could regain the corridor, a loud, rather strident even, "AIEEEEE!" blew through the open doorway.  

Sue the Vile turned, commenting to Franki, "Did you hear a strangely formerly-Welsh-sounding 'aieeee' like I think I heard?"

"I did, indeed," agreed the Texan.  "Shall we investigate the cause?"

"Let's," said Sue.

Not far out into the hallway they passed annsmac, standing and staring at Terry's equipment.  As that was her usual behavior, they paid no real attention to them and kept walking.  Just a little further on Franki noticed Nash, his back to her, wearing a deep grey suit she'd not known he'd had.  "John," she said, circling around to his front.  She stopped, staring at what was obviously a statue of the man she loved. "Wow," she said to Sue, who had also stopped.  "Is this not a realistic statue or what!"  

"Yeah," Sue agreed, "and it comes complete with pigeon."  She nodded to the top of Nash's head where the very pigeon he had followed so untowardly down the corridor some time ago was now perched, cooing softly and contentedly.  

Himself, intending to follow Ando, paused beside Franki. "Where'd you get the life-like statue of John?" she asked him admiringly.  

"It's not a statue," Himself sighed.  "Well, technically it IS a statue," he amended, "but it's actually John."

"Of course it's John, Silly," she laughed, pointing to the slide rule and protractor sticking out of the pocket of the slightly rumpled stone suit. "They have him right down to the details."  She reached out, touching his chin.  "This is really GOOD!"

"No, Franki," Himself sighed again.  "I'm afraid it's not good at all.  Not at all."

"Why would you say that?" she asked, truly puzzled, as in her estimation it was a wonderful piece of work.  

"It's him, Franki.  It's truly...him."

"You just said it wasn't good and NOW you say it truly looks like him?  Make up your mind, Himself!" she huffed.

"I didn't say it looks like him, Franki," he added, being as gentle as he knew how.

"You did, TOO!"

"I said it IS him, Franki."

Suddenly the redoubtable Texan remembered she was in the midst of an epi. "My GOD!" she cried, looking anew at the solid form before her. "It...it's...JOHN?" Himself merely nodded, not knowing what else to say at such a time.

Sue's eyes had begun to narrow.  Her whip hand moved toward the leather coiled at her hip.  Slowly she turned her head down the hall, letting her eyes drop foot by agonizing foot to what lay a few feet further along.  A grey form knelt there, its face nearly touching the floor.  She had no way of knowing that Cort had been in that position, kneeling on the mirrors, surrounded by a pile of white collars when the red powder had come evilly sifting down upon him, freezing him into stone in that pose.  His swingy hair had swung down over his cheeks but was swingy no more. She reached out, letting her fingers run along its cold stoniness.  

"Cort?" she said softly, then began to grind her teeth together in that way she had before she killed someone. Thank heavens she was in Sydney and Sydney was a looooooooooooong way from Pittsburgh! Whew!

Ando, meanwhile, was staring in what would pass for shock in anyone other than the formerly Welsh, who had gotten past being actually, truly shocked by much in this world.  Hando, like Cort, had been statuated whilst kneeling, his forehead pressed against the mirrored wall beyond which Davey had just stabbed his reflection.  As Himself came up beside her, she said, a bit of excusable bitterness in her tone, "You said he was hard.  I didn't know you meant....all over."

"I'm sorry, Ando," Himself said, genuine regret in his voice. "If it's any comfort to you, I just want you to know he suffered terribly."

"What did you say?" Ando exclaimed.

But Himself had clapped his hand over his mouth in the true shock only Kiwis who live in Australia have come to know. What had he just SAID??? He was NOT thinking those words.  No, no, no!  His eyes narrowed. Someone... somewhere...who obviously liked to torture the former Welshwoman, had MADE him say them!!

Looking into his seagreens, Ando discerned the truth just in time to avoid bashing his brains in.   

"Hi, guys!" Laura said, coming down the hall.  "Glad to see you've made it back, Himself.  You've got a new movie coming up, you know. We have work to do, papers to sign, places to go."

"Single tingles to locate," he added under his breath.

"Oh, and have you seen Steve?" she added.  "He left his camera equipment in the hallway."  Bud nodded in approval. At least some of the cast used enough adjectives.  

"Just past Hando," Himself muttered.

"What's with these three kneeling statues?" she asked, stopping by the Stevish one, on its knees, its face buried in its hands rather piteously. "My, but this one almost reminds me of Steve. Where did you say he was, Himself?"