It was around three o'clock in the morning when the unconscious man washed ashore. Red tendrils escaped into the seawater as blood seeped from the gashes and scrapes in his face. Cracked and broken, his nose was bent at an unnatural angle, and friction burns covered his arms and encircled his chafed wrists.

Unnoticed by everyone save for a lone seagull that decided to use the man's back as a perch for eating a bit of shellfish, the sleeping figure rested there on the cold beach of Santa Barbara, awaiting the daylight...

And when the daylight finally came, the man stirred, still undiscovered in the early morning hours on his bit of coast. A rocky outcrop had hidden him from view—not that anyone was out at the beach at that hour, especially not with the drizzling rain steadily dumping out its lukewarm droplets on the city. Moaning in pain, the man slowly sat up, bracing himself against a rock until a wave of dizziness had passed, and experimented with moving his aching limbs. Dazed, he bit back a yawn that shot bolts of lightning-hot pain up through his broken face and tried to mentally assess himself. He slowly shook some of the stiffness from his joints as he slurred, "Nothing's broken..."

He blinked. Was that his voice? It sounded funny. Kind of thick, or something. Was this a concussion? He'd had concussions before. This didn't feel like one. He frowned. When had he ever had a concussion? He seemed to think that he'd hit his head often...but when, and how? "I don't remember..."

He looked down at himself. He saw feet bereft of shoes, and he saw soaking wet blue jeans. He saw a soggy black jacket with torn sleeves, and he saw an algae-stained white t-shirt that was thin enough to be translucent now that it was saturated with saltwater. ...And he saw his hands. His nails were cracked and dirty, caked with sand and sea-grime.

As he winced in pain and disgust, he reached up to feel his face. Short, limp strands of hair. A deep cut on his chin and tender bruises across his forehead. Chiseled cheekbones etched with scratches. Chapped lips.

When he touched his broken nose, he quickly jerked his filthy fingers away, but the pain was somehow more than physical... He was in mourning for his nose. No, not for his nose, but...something else. But...what? What was it?

And what had happened to him? He wasn't at all surprised that he was hurt, but...shouldn't he be? After all, it wasn't normal for a person to be bloodied up on a beach somewhere, was it?

And speaking of "somewhere"...

"Where am I?" he said. Nothing about this beach was at all familiar. Using the rock to pull himself up, he got to his feet and looked around. Nothing. "I think I need help..."

He walked along the beach until he came in sight of a footpath, and from there, he walked until he found a road. He followed the road and the sidewalk past several closed buildings until he found a 24-hour gas station. Hobbling in on his sore legs and grimacing as his bare feet touched the cold tile floor, the man walked up to the counter and looked at the cashier.

The young, red-bearded cashier took a step back, eyes widened. "Dude, you okay?"

"I don't really know," replied the man, still confused and wondering why his voice sounded so strange in his own ears. "Do you know where I can find a police station? And do you know where I am?"

"Uh, right now, you're next to the beach. The police station isn't far. It's just a few blocks away. Uh—you gonna take the bus, or...?"

The man frowned again and felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. He honestly hadn't considered how to get there, apart from walking. He needed a car... He remembered a big, black van. Was that his car? If so, where was it? Did he even have a license?

His hands slid into his jeans pockets and then into his jacket pockets, checking. No wallet. "I guess not. You have to have bus fare, right? No change."

"Oh." The cashier blinked. "Well, you can walk there, too. It's only, like, five minutes away. You just go down the street and turn—well, would you like me to write it down for you?"

"Please."

In just a few minutes, the man walked out of the gas station with some directions and a haphazard map hand-scrawled onto a brown paper napkin, and following the water-stained map, he soon came across his destination. With one hand shielding his eyes from the sunrise, he read the sign aloud to himself: "Santa Barbara Police Department." He squinted. "California? I'm in California?"

Pushing back a gnawing feeling of apprehension, the man walked up the steps and through the glass doors. The harsh fluorescent lights caused him to squint for a second, and when his eyes had adjusted, there was a female officer with short hair touching his arms and looking at him with concern.

"Are you all right? Sir? Are you all right? Do you need help?" she asked.

"I think so," the man replied, looking down at her name badge. "Um, Officer Allen. Yes. I'm pretty sure I need help."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't think anything's broken. Except for maybe my nose. But that's not such a big deal anymore. I don't think."
"What happened to you?"
"Well, that's the problem. I'm not really sure. I kind of just woke up on a beach."
Officer Allen crossed her arms as she nodded intently, taking in every detail of the man's appearance and story. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"Uh, well, that's the thing," said the man. "I honestly don't remember anything. I know it's strange, but I literally can't remember anything before I woke up this morning. I don't know what happened."
"Can you remember your name?"

The man fell silent as he thought for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. I really tried, but I have no idea who I am. And I don't have a wallet or anything with me. I already checked."
Officer Allen nodded again. "Let me get Officer McNab to take down an official statement from you, and I'll arrange for a doctor to see you. And then, I know the perfect person to help you figure out who you are."
"You do? Really?"
"Absolutely. He's the best detective in the business—and he's a psychic!"

*********************

If there was one thing the man was certain that he remembered from the void that was his previous life, it was that he didn't believe in psychics. He especially didn't believe in psychics that were arguing with their sidekick over whether Twinkies or Zingers were the best snack cakes. But since Officer Allen was the kindest face he'd seen that day—ignoring the fact that he'd seen less than ten the entire day and barely remembered what a kind face even looked like—he decided to go along with her and trust her when she took his shoulders and steered him across the police station to meet this supposed detective genius.

After all, he didn't have anything to do until Officer Allen's doctor friend showed up to patch up his face, and it wasn't like he had a place to be, so why not?

That's what he told himself as he watched the psychic throw a Thundercat at the dress-shirt-clad sidekick's face.

"This is Shawn Spencer," Officer Allen said to the man, grinning in excitement. "Mr. Spencer, I'm sorry to interrupt you and Mr. Guster, but this young man here has amnesia, and he just woke up on the beach this morning, so we were hoping that you could help us divine his true identity."

"Allen, what are you doing?" came a sharp, intimidating voice from behind them.

Startled, the man whirled around, instinctively raising his fists and dropping into a crouch before he could realize what he was doing.

The person behind the voice narrowed his ice-blue eyes. "All John Does should be investigated through the proper channels, not by immature idiots."

"Look what you did, Lassie! You scared him," said Spencer.

Not wanting to reveal that he had been indeed scared, especially since he didn't really know why, the man relaxed and stood straight. "I just got startled, that's all." His brows knitted together. "I'm not John Doe. Someone else is John. I just... I don't know who."

The scary man—Lassie—scoffed and folded his lean arms. "Right. Well, that's such a great start to figuring out who you are. That really narrows it down. Thanks."

"Actually, it does help," said Spencer. "The spirits are zooming in with their search. I just need a little more."

"Spencer, you couldn't divine your way out of a paper bag! What makes you think you can figure out this guy's case?"

Then the man's jaw went slack. Something flashed in his mind. Paper bags... They were important to him, somehow.

Brown and thin. Obscuring, hiding...hiding what? Hiding...evil. Paper bags... Safe and comforting...

"Paper bags!" he blurted. He froze for a second when every pair of eyes within earshot turned to stare at him. He could feel his cheeks reddening beneath their sticky veneer of dried salt and caked blood. "I mean... I just... I remembered something. Paper bags—I recognize them for some reason. They're important, but I don't really know why. I can't remember."

"So, you're not John and you like paper bags," Shawn said. "That's a good start, right? We'll figure out who you are by lunch!"

*********************

An hour later, the doctor Allen had promised was running behind and the man had already refused McNab's offer of a trip to the emergency room three times. He didn't like hospitals, either, he remembered that, but then again, who did?

At least he'd gotten the chance to wash off some of the sea grime and borrow a fresh change of clothes.

Shawn and Gus hadn't gotten any closer to "divining" his identity, but thankfully, the scary detective had left him alone and had gotten too busy to provoke the psychic and his sidekick. As the psychic's latest charge, the man had somehow been given free rein to move around the police station and observe the goings-on, and he liked the friendly, oddly informal atmosphere of the police station. It seemed that Shawn and Gus held some sort of magic power over the SBPD, suspending reality and probably legality as they chatted up officers and shared doughnuts in the break room. The man didn't mind to hang out with them. He found himself oddly at ease among them all. It reminded him of...something.

Shawn had even given their newest friend the honor of letting him take a nap on the cot in the room next to the one where the police received psychological evaluations. In return, the man had to allow Shawn to call him "Buttercup Jones." The man didn't mind one bit. Ever since he'd woken up on the beach, he'd felt exhausted, so getting a dorky nickname in exchange for a warm bed seemed a small price to pay. Besides, it wasn't like he knew his real name anyway. Heck, for all he knew, Buttercup Jones may very well have been his real name all along.

Stretched on the cot, with a fluffy pillow and a Power Rangers blanket to cover him, the newly-christened Buttercup felt like he was sailing away into nirvana as he fell asleep.

But the nirvana didn't last long. Buttercup found himself walking through a long narrow hallway, with dingy white-gray walls and flickering lightbulbs. His steps echoed on the wood floors. He was looking for a door, but he couldn't see one, and the hallway just kept getting longer. Just when he thought he'd be walking and looking forever, the hallway came to an abrupt end, and he found himself face to face with a mirror. He saw his reflection—a hideous monster, too ugly to behold, a face that would make children cry and grown men turn away. The mirror shattered and the shards flew forward to slice at his face and hands, and the blood turned to black ink that wrapped itself around his wrists like ropes, cutting and chafing, and then he saw a face, a face like a snake's with long green fangs and a bifurcated tail that had come to drag his ugliness and unworthiness down to—

"Jonesy! Jonesy! Hey, Buttercup! Wake up, dude!"

Buttercup woke up with a start, drenched in sweat in the blackness, seeing nothing but a figure in the darkness beside him and a cold hand clenching his shoulder. Thinking of the snake in his delirium, he swung his fists wildly, feeling the solid thud of his knucklebones connecting with soft flesh as suddenly the lights clicked on.

"OWWW!" came the screeching cry from Shawn Spencer, who was nursing a bright red cheek.

"What the heck?" said Gus, who still had one hand on the light switch.

"Oh!" said Buttercup. "I am so sorry! I'm so sorry, man. I—I didn't know it was you."

"No, it's okay," said Shawn. "I'm fine. But dude! You hit hard."

Buttercup wiped some sweat away from his face and kicked the tangled-up blanket away from his legs. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, man, everything's fine," said Shawn. "The doc's here, that's all. He's going to look at your face."
"My face?" Buttercup said darkly, remembering his nightmare. "No... I don't want him to see me. Turn out the lights. I don't want anyone to see me. Not like this..."

"Shawn? What's going on in here? I heard yelling," sounded an unfamiliar feminine voice from the doorway.

"Turn off the lights!" Buttercup yelped, fingers scrambling to cover up his horrible, awful, disfigured face...his shattered nose...to hide his ugliness, his unworthiness...his brokenness...

Reacting without thinking, Gus switched the lights off. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"No," Buttercup whimpered. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Shawn?" said the feminine voice again, this time sounding perplexed rather than concerned. Buttercup could hear the whole thing from his place on the cot, ears sharpened by the darkness.

"It's okay, Jules. This is our new buddy, Buttercup Jones. Didn't Lassie tell you?"

"No," said Jules. "I haven't seen him yet. I just came in a few minutes ago. Remember, I told you I'd be late today because of my..." As she trailed off, her voice changed tones, and she sounded hurt. "Did you forget? Did you even notice that I was gone?"

"Of course I noticed," replied Shawn, and Buttercup could hear immediately that it was a lie. "I was just busy taking care of Jonesy here. He woke up on a beach with amnesia and also, pretty sure his supersniffer's broken."

"A John Doe? With amnesia? That's pretty serious," said Jules.
"Oh, his name's not John," said Gus. "He remembers that for sure. That's why we picked out the name Buttercup Jones."
"Right." Buttercup could practically hear the eyeroll in Jules' voice.

Shawn said, "Allen brought him in. He walked here from the beach. He's so brave. And also, he's got a mean right hook. I'm going to have a bruise on my face for a whole week."

"Paper bag," Buttercup whispered.

"Sorry, buddy, what was that?" Shawn asked.
"I said, paper bag!" Buttercup shouted.
"Dude, there's no need to yell. I just needed you to—"
"Shut up!" Buttercup roared, clamping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut as he buried his face into the cot.

"Shawn," he could hear Jules whisper, "the sooner you bring the doctor in here, the better."
Buttercup laughed softly. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? It's okay. I'm starting to think that I'm crazy, too."

It didn't take long to convince Buttercup Jones to see the doctor, and it didn't take the doctor long to figure out that, thankfully, Buttercup was neither hurt nor crazy. Apart from the broken nose, all of his injuries were minor and superficial, and for reasons that no one could seem to explain, Buttercup had recovered nicely from his outburst.

"I'm sorry, Shawn, Gus," he told them. "I don't really know what came over me. I think it was this nightmare I had. It really freaked me out."
"You had a nightmare?" asked Shawn with an excited smile. "Dude, this is great! Dreams are like the caverns of the soul. We can use your dream world to help figure out your identity! Tell us everything that happened."

"Okay," Buttercup said, wiping his mouth nervously. "Well, first I was walking down this hall, and there weren't any doors. Then, I got to the end of the hall, only there was this big mirror there. And I could see—I could see how awful I looked and how ugly I am, and—and what a failure I am, and everything. And then—then there was this snake, and it—it was horrible!" Buttercup coughed quickly, trying to cover up the fact that his voice was cracking toward the end of his story, and he blinked to stop the stinging in his blue eyes.

"Wow, that's intense," commented Gus.

"Yeah, it was, and it tells us absolutely nothing except that you have rock-bottom self-esteem and an Indiana Jones-like fear of snakes," said Shawn. Then Shawn glanced over at Gus. "Dude! Seriously? Are you playing a video game while Buttercup was telling us about his nightmare? That's so insensitive!"

Gus frowned as he looked up at Shawn over the screen of his silver Game Boy. "Like you have the right to lecture me about being insensitive, Shawn. Besides, I've been working on this same level for three days, and any minute now, I'm due to beat the Aquamentus."

"Aquamentus?" Buttercup said, quickly and loudly enough to surprise everyone, including himself. Apparently he knew what that was. A vision swam behind his eyes, an image of three gold triangles. "Give me that!"

Without saying a word, Gus passed the device to Buttercup, and immediately Buttercup knew what he was looking at. "I know this game. Oracle of Seasons." Thirty seconds later, the dragon was defeated, and Buttercup passed the little Nintendo back to Gus.

"You beat it already?" Gus said, eyebrows flying up in shock. "Wow, you must really be good!"
"I have no idea how I know what that is, but apparently, even though I don't remember my own name, I know everything about The Legend of Zelda," Buttercup said sheepishly.
Shawn grinned. "Dude, this is awesome! You're like Rain Man, but with video games!"

Thirty minutes and six video games later, Shawn and Gus and Buttercup were startled out of their pixelated haze by the return of the blonde detective, Jules. Buttercup squinted nervously up at her blond-framed face, covering up his face with one hand.

"Shawn," Jules repeated as she put her hands on her hip. "Shawn, are you listening to me?"

"Huh?" came Shawn's answer as he finally looked up from the computer. "Oh, hey, Jules!"
Jules frowned. "Have you seriously been playing video games instead of helping your John Doe uncover his identity?"
"Not John Doe, remember? Buttercup Jones is what we agreed on," said Shawn.

"Well, it doesn't matter now, because unlike you, I've been working and I've figured out who he is."

Buttercup's hand slid away from his face as he sat up straight. "Did you really?"

"Yes," replied Jules. "And Shawn, you're an idiot."

"What? That's so rude!" Shawn pouted.
Jules shook her head. "Shawn, how many times a week do you and Gus watch wrestling?"
Shawn stared at his girlfriend in confusion. "At least two. We have to watch Raw and SmackDown."
"And we watch it more than that if there's a pay-per-view," added Gus.

Jules scoffed as she held up a piece of paper, unfolded it to reveal a photograph, and slid it across the desk in front of them. "Who is that?"

Shawn glanced down at the photo, looking at the dark-haired, blue-eyed man pictured with a serious expression on his youthful face. "Cody Rhodes. Why?"

She rolled her eyes and gestured to Buttercup. "What would Buttercup look like without those scratches and with his nose fixed?"

Shawn squinted, and then suddenly his eyes went wide and he let out a strangely girlish squeal. "Cody Rhodes! Buttercup! That's you! You're Cody Rhodes!”

Gus gasped. "It is him! It's Cody!! I can't believe we missed it!"

"Wait, wait!" protested Buttercup. "Let me see that picture again." He snatched the photo up from the desk and stared at it for a long minute. "That's not me. There's no way this is me. It can't be. I'm not—I'm not Cody. ...Am I?"

"I believe you are," said Jules. "Cody Rhodes went missing 22 hours ago, and he was last seen less than 100 miles from here. Not to mention that there are so many facial similarities. It could easily be you."
"But...this guy could be a supermodel. I don't look that good. I'm—I'm so ugly," said Buttercup. "And there's no way I'm famous. Did you say this guy's a wrestler? I can't be a wrestler. I can't be athletic. I'm a video game nerd. That's got to be a coincidence."

"Maybe you recognize one of these people," said Jules, pulling photo after photo from a case file she was holding. "Ted DiBiase, Jr. Dustin Rhodes. John Cena.

Ted, Dustin, John... Buttercup knew all of those names. Maybe... But no. It was impossible. There was no way. There was just no way.
"Randy Orton." Another photo slapped the desk, and Buttercup felt a sudden chill.

The snake... The green-fanged snake from his nightmare, dragging him down, pulling at him, staring at him with ice-blue eyes... Randy Orton...
The Viper...

The Viper's venom runs deep...
The scars of Legacy...

Buttercup gasped.

Jules paused. "You know him?"
"Yes," Buttercup admitted finally. "I don't know how, but I know all of these people."
"Cody," Jules said softly.
"No!" Buttercup shouted and jumped to his feet. "No, I don't know who you're talking about. I'm not Cody!"
"Yes, you are," said Jules. Her voice was gentle but firm. "There isn't another explanation. I'll have to find a way to contact your next of kin and confirm your identity, but it's got to be you."

Buttercup licked his lips nervously. "But I don't want it to be me," he whispered.

"Why not?" she asked.

Buttercup paused for a moment, mulling over the answer to her question. Why, indeed? It seemed foolish to turn down a perfectly good identity, one that logically had to be his own. She was right, about everything. She had to be. But...no.

"I don't know," he said at last. "But that guy—that guy, Cody Rhodes—Cody... That's not me. I'm not Cody. And somehow, I've got to prove it." He cleared his throat and took a few steps away from everyone. "Is there some way that I could get a paper bag? Just a brown paper bag. I—I don't know why I need one. I just do."

Shawn and Gus both stood up, odd expressions on their faces as they looked at him. Buttercup didn't like it. They made him uncomfortable. They knew something he didn't—or they thought they did.

Shawn shook his head a little bit. "Man, if you really don't remember... Dude, you got your nose smashed in a while back, by Rey Mysterio."

A faint wave of an almost phantom pain lapped at Buttercup's face, and as if of its own accord, his hand lifted up to just barely touch the edge of his shattered nose. Twice-shattered, now? Or more?

"And you came back with some kinda plastic mask," Shawn continued. "They were talking about all this facial reconstruction stuff, but the really weird part was that you were all freaking out because you thought you weren't dashing anymore..." The psychic trailed off for a brief pause before finishing, "...and you liked putting bags on people's heads..."

Buttercup's mind jolted with another memory, unwanted and unbidden.

The Viper was in his clutches...he grabbed the evil snake by the neck, intent on destroying it. They were at a crossroads...it was either him, or the Legend-Killer... Would you like a receipt with your paper bag?

The laughter seeped between his lips so quickly and so softly that at first he didn't realize he was laughing. He only fully became aware of the laughter, and the increasing volume and intensity of his laughing, when he realized that the other three people standing there with him were staring with wide eyes. He didn't care.

All people are inherently bad... They will crush you, they try to destroy... No one is pure, or innocent, or untainted... "Not even you! Not anymore..."

The laughs continued, forcing their way out of his throat, squeezing his larynx, crushing the breaths as they entered and exited his lungs.
Then, with an abrupt and horrifying snap, he came back to his senses. His hands were clammy and his entire body was slicked with a thin sheen of cold sweat. He sucked in a deep breath of air as the awful laughter cut off, and his ocean-sky eyes went wide.

"Oh my gosh..." His breaths came quicker and shallower as he began to comprehend what had just happened. "I'm so sorry... I don't know what happened... Is there still a doctor here? Can I see a doctor? Are we sure I don't have a concussion?"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Jules slowly. "I saw the report myself. You don't have any major head injuries apart from—" She cut herself off.
Buttercup took another deep breath, craving more oxygen. "Apart from the broken nose."

Jules lifted her chin in a tiny nod. "Yes."

"So what you're saying," Buttercup said, "is that it's all in my head. Isn't it?"

Jules said nothing, and nobody else said a word.

*********************

Buttercup was sitting in a plastic chair with his head in his hands, waiting for something to happen—he wasn't sure what—situated somewhere behind Officer Allen's desk when Jules came to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft and low, like she was trying not to make him angry or upset. "I should let you know that I made a few calls, and now there are some people here to see you. I think they can help us verify your identity and figure out what happened to you. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," said Buttercup. He stood up, wiping his hands on the legs of his pants, and followed Jules to one of the conference rooms to meet the people who would finally tell him, once and for all, who and what he was.

As the detective and the amnesiac approached the conference room, the psychic intercepted them.
"Come on, Jules," said Shawn. "Can I pleeaaaasssseee go in there?! Or can you at least tell me who you found to bring in for this? C'mon, Jules, you know Gus and I are huge fans! Don't deprive us of this!"

"I can't," Jules said, her voice stern. "It's a confidentiality issue. I'm sorry." The tone of her voice made Buttercup think that she wasn't sorry at all. That was fine by him. No offense to Shawn or anything, but he thought she could do better.

She led him inside the conference room, the room that had its blinds drawn shut, and tightly closed the door behind her before the psychic and his friend could slip in. Buttercup stared at the two men before him. One was blond and bulky with shorter hair, and the other was brunet and thinner, with long hair. Both men wore business suits, but the brown-haired one wore a cowboy hat.

"Do you recognize these people, Cody?" asked Jules quietly.

Buttercup stared at them for a second, taking in their faces. The one with the cowboy hat had a kind face, and open, like someone you could trust. But he knew straight away that, though he couldn't remember the reason, he definitely didn't like or trust the blond one. "I recognize them, but... I don't know." He shook his head slightly. "If you don't mind, I'd still rather go by something else. I'm not Cody."

The two men looked at him strangely, but it was the blond who spoke first.
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're Cody. You're one of my best wrestlers."
"Who are you?" Buttercup asked. "How could I possibly be an athlete?"
"Well, you didn't get those muscles overnight," said Cowboy Hat, smiling good-naturedly.
"You must have gotten seriously hit on the head if you don't remember us," said Blondie. "Especially after we beat you and your buddies so many times."
"Come on, Hunter, that was years ago," Cowboy Hat said. "Things have changed." He extended his hand to Buttercup, still smiling. "I'm Shawn Michaels, and this is Hunter Hearst Helmsley. He's your boss. Well, one of them."

"Okay," Buttercup said slowly, shaking Shawn Michaels' hand. "Are you one of my bosses, too?"

"No," said Michaels, chuckling a little. "I don't even work with you anymore. Nowadays, I'm just along for the ride." The smile reappeared, and this time Buttercup smiled back. He could see that in the folds of his white dress shirt, Michaels was wearing a metal cross necklace. That symbol gave him comfort. Michaels was a Christian. Did that comforting feeling mean that Buttercup was a Christian too? He didn't know, couldn't remember for sure. Before he could ask about it, he heard something.

"Is that the Heartbreak Kid in there?" came a wailing from behind the closed and locked door. "Is that HBK in there?!"

Blondie—or rather, Helmsley—glared at Jules. "I thought you said this would be a private meeting."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Helmsley," Jules said, wincing slightly. "It's difficult to keep things constrained in here sometimes, when we have so many people going in and out..."

"Call me Triple H," he said with narrowed eyes. "And maybe you should keep a better eye on who comes and goes around here. I have a lot of experience with private security, and I can tell you right now that enforcing the rules and establishing your authority is key."

As Buttercup looked at Jules from the corner of his eye, he could see that she was trying very hard to keep herself composed, but for the most part she was failing. She nodded. "Thank you, Mr.—I mean, Triple H. I'll keep that in mind."

Triple H nodded. "See that you do." His gaze turned on Buttercup. "Come on, Cody. It's time to get back to work."

"I'm not going with you," said Buttercup, surprising himself with the intensity behind his words. Why was he disagreeing so vehemently? It seemed foolish to turn down the opportunity to step into a life and a job that was being handed to him so freely, to turn down a chance to maybe get his memories back... But at the same time, he just didn't want to do it. He didn't want to go. Whatever life he was going back to...that was Cody's life, not his.

"What?" said Triple H.

"I said I'm not going. I'm sorry, but I just can't. I'm not coming with you."

Triple H's eyes narrowed even more, until they were tiny catlike slits and Buttercup wondered how he could even see. "What do you mean, you're not coming?"
Shawn Michaels stepped forward a little and put a hand on his friend's shoulder to rein him back. "Give him a second, Hunter. He's confused. He doesn't remember us at all. Just give him time to think about it. He'll come around."

"He'd better." Triple H's eyes bored holes into Buttercup.

He didn't like it. He didn't like the lack of choice, he didn't like the evil eyes, and he definitely didn't like the intimidation factor that Triple H was trying to exert. Buttercup tipped his chin upward in defiance, as if to challenge the other man to do something about it, to change his decision by force if he dared.

Triple H's slits met Buttercup's blue eyes for a second before the blond man finally and slowly nodded. "Fine. I'll give you a couple hours. Detective, if you can just keep him here for a while, I'll come back to pick him up once he remembers his place. You have my number. Call me when he's ready." He nodded for his best friend to follow him as he headed for the conference room door.

As Shawn Michaels passed by Buttercup, he gave the younger man a pat on the shoulder. "Good luck getting your memories back, Cody." He paused for just a second. "And listen, Detective O'Hara has my number, too. Feel free to call me if you need anything or if you want to talk. I know Hunter can be intense, but it's only because he wants what's best for the business and everybody in it."

Buttercup nodded and mumbled his thanks, returning the good-natured smile once more as Cowboy Hat followed Blondie out of the room and, he thought, maybe out of his life too. He could hear Shawn and Gus screaming outside the conference room as he followed Jules out. The psychic and his sidekick were being physically restrained by Officers Allen and McNab as they shouted and kicked, trying to run for their heroes.

Buttercup smiled. He hoped that, at some point in the shadowy life he could no longer remember, he had once loved something that much.

After a couple more hours, Buttercup still had no clue who or what he was, and that was pretty much fine with him. He'd spent those couple of hours with Shawn and Gus, playing more video games and eating nachos and once even helping them solve a case involving a stolen car (much to the chagrin of the scary Detective Lassiter). And the two of them had reassured him that, despite their love of HBK and D-Generation X, they thought that he had made the right choice in not following the evil, untrustworthy, shady HHH. They told him that he had made the right choice in staying with them, staying with Psych.

Buttercup had decided that, even though he still had amnesia and his nose was still horror-movie disfigured, he liked his new life. Maybe it was better not to know the past. Maybe it was better to leave people like Triple H and the Viper behind—whoever they really were. This was a fresh start, and the possibilities were endless. Buttercup Jones would be perfectly content to spend the rest of his life eating junk food, assisting in crime-fighting, playing Zelda, and sleeping on a warm cot.

But all good things must come to an end, and Buttercup Jones knew that his life had ended—again—when a pair of icy ultramarine eyes entered the glass doors of the police station and stared right at him.
He felt faint and out of breath. He felt like he needed to sit down or pass out but he couldn't move.

He was here. It was here. The snake from his nightmare. Randy Orton.
He stood stock-still, frozen solid with fear, even as the Legend-Killer closed in on him. His arms and legs began to tremble. The muscles of his neck began to tense. His entire body, mind, and soul seemed to brace for pain and impact, and he squeezed his eyes shut...

The embrace closed tight around him, the arms flung protectively around his shoulders like a brother. His eyes flew open. Were the predator's tattooed arms hugging him? He blinked. What was happening? How could it be happening?

"Randy?" The name escaped his lips before he could process a single instant. His eyes widened. He just kept surprising himself with what he did and didn't know. What was he missing this time?

"Cody!" Randy exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you! I've been worried sick! Where have you been?"
"I've been here," Buttercup said.
"Why didn't you call? I'd have come by and picked you up hours ago!"
"I couldn't remember your number. I have amnesia. Didn't they tell you?"
"Didn't who tell me?"

Buttercup's brow furrowed. "The two guys who came earlier. Shawn Michaels and Hunter Hearst...something."

Randy frowned, eyes flashing with concern. The emotion looked genuine enough to Buttercup. "I didn't know they came by. Why didn't they tell me? They should've told me first thing."
Buttercup shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they're still waiting for me to call them to come get me. But I already told them I'm not going with them."
"That was a smart move," said Randy.

"I know it was," said Buttercup. "But why do you think so?"
"Because nobody can trust Triple H. I should know, because we used to be in Evolution together, remember?"
"No, actually. I don't." Buttercup frowned. "I have amnesia, Randy. I don't remember anything."
Randy raised one eyebrow and smirked. "You remembered me."
Buttercup shook his head. "No, I recognized you. When they showed me a photo, I recognized your face, but I wouldn't have even known your name if Jules hadn't told me."

"Jules? Who's Jules?" Randy looked puzzled.

"Detective O'Hara," said Buttercup. “She’s probably the one who called you.”
"Whatever. Look, Cody, it's time for you to go home, you know? Check in with your old man and your brother, get some sleep, get some better bandages for that—that nose thing you've got going on," Randy said.
Buttercup winced at the reminder of his broken face. "I'm not Cody," he muttered.

"But you are," said Randy. "I know it's you, Cody. You're my brother. When we were in Legacy, we were such a great team that—"

Buttercup shoved Randy hard, his muscular arms pushing Randy back and hitting him flush in the chest. "I don't know what you're talking about!" he snarled.

In his heart, Buttercup knew that the Viper had to be right. He was Cody. He had to be. At this point, there was literally no other explanation. His name was Cody Rhodes and he was a professional wrestler and apparently he enjoyed handing out paper bags to random people. He had a father and a brother and some teammates, and he had enemies and allies and an intimidating, overbearing boss. He had a life and memories that were probably just waiting to be unlocked, hidden behind some floodgate of amnesia and repression.

But he didn't want it. He didn't want any of it.

The doctor said that he didn't have a concussion, which meant that whatever was blocking his memory wasn't a physical trauma. No, it had to be all psychological. Which meant that whatever he had endured, it must have been too horrible to recall. So horrible that he wasn't just blocking out memories of the trauma itself, but he was blocking out everything from his past, everything from before.

Everything was obscured from him, bricked up behind some invisible wall, except for vague impressions. Like how crosses and Zelda were good, but HHH and Legacy were bad. He had a good deal of instinctive fear left over, but no solid and clear memories of good moments at all.
So was it possible that he just didn't have any good memories in his mind to fall back on? Was his past life so miserable and scary that he had lived each day without joy, without happiness at all, and maybe now his brain was trying to give him the fresh start he needed but could never have?

Was it possible that it was better to not know?

"I'm not going with you, either, Randy," Cody said finally. "I'm willing to accept that my name might be Cody—and I'm willing to admit that it's probably a better name than Buttercup Jones."

Randy blinked. "What?"

"But I'm not going with you," Cody continued, ignoring Randy's question. "I'm staying right here. Whatever my old life was, it's gone. I don't care who comes back to get me. I want to be here, in Santa Barbara, with Psych. I'm finally happy, and I'm not letting anyone take that away from me."

Randy leaned in with a scowl, almost vicious in his demeanor, vicious to the point that for a moment, Cody feared that the other man might try to hurt him. But then just as quickly as it arrived, the rage vanished, and was replaced instead by a kind of sorrow that settled into Randy's eerie blue eyes. "Fine," said the Viper. "If you want to stay here and leave the wrestling life, I understand. You've been through a lot these last few years, and I know I contributed my fair share of problems. And I'm sorry for that, Cody, I really am. I'm sorry for everything I ever did to you. But listen, there's something you need to know."

Cody crossed his arms. "What is it?"

Randy leaned forward a little and parted his lips to speak.

"RKO, outta nowhere!" came a loud shout, causing both men to whirl around and raise their hands in a defensive position.

Shawn laughed. "Man, I really gotcha there, didn't I?" The psychic grinned so big that Cody thought his face might split. "You were startled so bad, you jumped right out of your skins!"

"Out of your snakeskins," added Gus.

Shawn grinned huge at his best friend and the two gave each other a fistbump.

Cody felt a strange little hurt inside. A little pang of...loneliness. Had he ever been best friends with someone like that?

Ted, a tiny voice whispered inside him, sending the answer floating into his brain. Cody shook it off. He needed to stick to his game plan and not get distracted. Nothing and no one was going to convince him to leave.
When he glanced back over at the others, he saw that Randy was giving Shawn and Gus the evil eye. A very HHH-esque evil eye.

"As I was saying," said Randy, "there's something you need to know. Why do you think you cropped up here in this town all beat up like you are?"

Cody shrugged. "I don't know. Apparently I used to fight for a living. Maybe somebody got a little carried away."

Randy snorted. "Carried away. Yeah, no. When things get carried away in the ring, maybe you get hit with a steel chair or maybe you wind up having to get a couple stitches, no big deal. But you—you look like you got run over by a freight train and scraped up as roadkill."

"Stop talking about how I look," Cody said through gritted teeth. "I already know I'm hideous."

Randy rolled his eyes, but continued. "The point is, somebody really tried to mess you up. Okay? Somebody didn't just want you to hurt—they wanted your career over. They may have even wanted you to die. How else do you think you could've ended up in the ocean, washing up on a beach? Somebody had it out for you. And me—as your friend, or former friend, whatever you want to call me—it's my duty to look out for you. I want to help you, Cody. Come on. Let me help you. If it's Triple H who has it out for you, I can keep you safe. You know I can." Randy held out his hand. "Please, Cody. It's too dangerous for you to stay here."

Cody scoffed. "Too dangerous for me to stay in a police station? Please."

"I'm serious," said Randy. "Triple H has deep pockets, and you know his father-in-law's go even deeper. How hard do you think it would be for him to get somebody in here on his payroll?"

"Very hard," said Cody, showing his rebellion by lifting his chin just as he did to Triple H earlier. "This police department is full of good people. They're my friends. I believe in them."

Randy shook his head. "I used to have friends, too. I was the golden boy, hanging out with the likes of Ric Flair, Batista, Triple H... We were such good buddies. I trusted them. I believed in them. And do you know what happened?" Cody started to make another remark about having amnesia, but Randy cut him off before a single word could come out. "I'll tell you what happened. They turned on me. They abandoned me."

"We won’t abandon anybody,” protested Shawn. “We’re not like you and your buddies in Evolution. We’re friends to the end! Right, Gus?”

“Sure, right, whatever you say,” replied Gus, but he was already back to playing his Game Boy, fighting off the Façade.

"We’ll see about that,” said Randy, putting a protective hand on Cody’s shoulder. When Cody shrugged it off, a look of hurt crossed Randy’s face. “Look, Cody… I can’t make you come with me and I won’t. I tried to mentor you when you were in Legacy, I tried to protect you… But I understand.” He shot another glare at Shawn and Gus before grabbing a notepad from McNab’s desk and scribbling down a telephone number. “This is my number,” he said, shoving the torn slip of paper into Cody’s hand. “I’m always here for you, man.” He clapped Cody on the shoulder before turning and walking out of the police station.

Cody stood by the glass door and watched Randy walk down the street. He kept watching until the other man disappeared, obscured by traffic and glaring sun. Then he glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand.

There was a part of him that was thinking about going with Randy. For a second, it really did seem like Randy was sincere, that he really did think of them as brothers.

Cody tilted his head and wondered where his real brother was. He did have one, right? A brother and a father? Where were they right now? They obviously weren’t out looking for him, because by now Triple H or surely Shawn Michaels at least would have called them. If they hadn’t come by now, they weren’t going to.

Cody sighed. Was he that much of a disappointment in his other life, that life he couldn’t remember? Was he that estranged from his family, that his own flesh and blood couldn’t care less whether he lived or died?
Probably, he admitted to himself. But then he shook his head. Things weren’t like that anymore. He didn’t have to be like that anymore. This was his fresh start, his clean slate, he reminded himself. The Psych crew had offered to let him stay onboard their little adventure for as long as he wanted, and that’s what he intended to do.

This place was warm and inviting, with no pressure and no worry. No fear or insecurity. This was his home now. This was his life.

Cody smiled a little. “My name is Buttercup Jones,” he murmured to himself. He threw the scrap of paper in Officer Allen’s wastebasket and started looking for Shawn.

“Listen, Jules,” said Shawn in a hushed whisper as he leaned over her desk. “I don’t know if you saw because I know you were in the interrogation room for a while, but Randy Orton was just in here.”

“Randy Orton?” Juliet looked up in curiosity. “Well, what happened? Did Cody remember him?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t pretty,” Shawn replied. “You should have seen his face when Cody said he wasn’t going with him. The guy looked like he could kill him. And I think—Jules, I think maybe he did it.”

Juliet frowned. “You mean, you think he beat up Cody and left him on that beach? But why?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling. But, listen, did you call him?”
“What?”
Shawn glanced around and repeated, “Jules, did you call him? Did you ask Randy to come here? This is very important.”

“No,” said Juliet. “I only called Helmsley and Cody’s father. Mr. Rhodes and Cody’s brother Dustin are flying in from Georgia to come and get him. I just got off the phone with them when you came over.”

Shawn’s eyes widened. “Then it is Randy. It’s got to be. He knew that Cody would be here and he also knew that Cody had been found on a beach. But none of that information was ever released. The only people who would know that are the people in this station and the attacker himself!”

Juliet gasped. “Oh, my gosh. If Cody’s attacker knows where he is, then…”

“Then he might come back to finish the job,” Shawn finished.

“But what can we do? We don’t have any evidence. We don’t even have a real motive.”
“Evidence, no, but motive, yes. Randy himself gave us one. He talked about how somebody must’ve wanted Cody’s career to end. He just didn’t mention that it was him.”
Juliet rubbed her face. “We’ve got to do something.”
“Exactly,” said Shawn. “We’ve got to get him out of here. Cody can’t stay here anymore. He’s got to go, and fast.”
Juliet nodded. “I’ll call Triple H. Maybe he can find a place for Cody to stay.”

*********************

From the place he was standing behind one of the yellow-painted columns dispersed here and there around the police station, Cody heard only the tail end of the conversation. He heard Juliet saying that something had to be done, and then he heard Shawn talking about getting rid of him. They didn’t want him here after all. Randy had been right.

Randy had been right all along.

Cody’s bandaged head was swimming. Nobody wanted him. Nobody but Randy. His mentor, his friend, his teammate…someone who cared for him as a brother.

But that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. It just couldn’t.

The scars of Legacy…

The Viper’s venom runs deep through my veins…

Since our days together, when he used me and abused me in Legacy…
But he says he’s my brother, my friend, my mentor,
My brother, my family…
The venom is now in my blood…

The scars of Legacy…

Our legacy.

My legacy.
RKO, outta nowhere…
Crossroads…
I’m at a crossroads…
Crossroads…

Cross-Rhodes.

Cody whimpered. His head ached. Mechanically, his hands shoved him out the front door of the police station, and his automaton legs dropped him to shredded knees on the steps, nestled between two huge stone flowerpots brimming with half-wild decorative shrubs. His head rested on his legs and his arms hugged his torso. “Where’s my dad? Where’s Ted? What happened to me? What’s wrong with me?” His vision grew blurry with tears.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered to himself.

So what if they didn’t want him there, if they were planning to call Triple H? What was Triple H going to do? They couldn’t make him go anywhere he didn’t want. They didn’t have any say over him, no control. He could still have a clean slate. He could…he could…

His head rolled back and he leaned on the flowerpot behind him, ignoring the bits of mulch that were probably soiling his dark hair. He couldn’t.

He was being naïve. He was a fool to think that he could escape whatever hidden past lay behind him. A fool. He’d rebelled, he’d made his stand, but now it was time to give in. It was time for the prodigal son to return to the fold.

But he was going to do it on his own terms.

If they were going to do this, to betray him, to turn him in, to call Triple H without even asking him…

…then he was going to call Randy Orton.

*********************

Triple H tugged at the lapels of his dark gray business suit as he shoved his way through the police station doors for the second time that day. “All right,” he said, catching the eye of Detective O’Hara. “Explain to me what’s going on. And where’s Cody?”

Juliet nodded at Shawn, who flashed her a thumbs-up and walked off to round up the amnesiac. “We don’t have any proof, but we have reasonable suspicion that Cody’s attacker may have been Randy Orton.”
“Orton?” replied Triple H, stroking the dark blond stubble on his chin. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Why do you think he did it?”

“We don’t have a clear idea of his motives yet, but he came here to look for Cody, and during their conversation, he mentioned some information that wasn’t ever released. Information that he couldn’t have known unless…”

“Unless he did it,” Triple H finished. “All right. Well, where is he now?”
“Cody?”
Triple H scowled. “No, not Cody. Orton. Where did he go?”
“Well, after he left—”
“You don’t know where he is?”
Juliet hesitated. “No.”
“That’s all right,” Shawn Michaels interjected. “He’ll show up again eventually.”

Juliet had to stare for just a second. Her Shawn and Gus had given her a brief run-down on all these wrestler people, so she recalled that Triple H and Michaels were best friends, but…this state of going everywhere together, being conjoined at the hip…that seemed a little excessive.

…Then again, what was she saying? Shawn and Hunter weren’t any worse than Shawn and Gus.

Triple H’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “Well, that stupid psychic guy doesn’t look too pleased right now. And where’s Cody?”

“Uh, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” said Shawn as he walked back to the others alone and empty-handed. “I can’t find him anywhere. I think—I think he might be gone.”

Triple H scoffed. “This is great. This is just great. Two of my employees are missing and one of them is probably trying to kill the other. That’s exactly what I needed to hear today.”

Michaels frowned, crossing his arms, deep in thought. “Are we sure that Orton did it? I mean, why? Why Cody?”

“Dude, haven’t they had some kind of rivalry going on?” said Shawn.
“Well, sure, but that’s hardly a reason to beat a man to pieces and leave him on a beach.”
Gus looked up from his dance contest in Subrosia for a moment. “It may not be a reason for a normal person, but this is Randy Orton we’re talking about. He’s the Apex Predator.”
“The Legend-Killer,” Shawn added.
Gus nodded. “The Viper.”

“Yes, we know who Randy Orton is,” Triple H sneered, voice dripping with disgust. “I made Randy Orton. That little upstart would never have made it this far if not for me.”

“And you’re so modest, too,” Juliet commented dryly. She was about fed up with all these men and their egos.

Triple H just gawked at her for a second, unused to having anyone talk back to him. The Heartbreak Kid just started laughing.
“Seriously, we need to find my wrestlers,” Triple H said finally, eager to change the subject. “Any idea where they might have gone?”
Unfortunately for Cody, everyone in the room was silent.

*********************

Randy Orton smiled as he found Cody by the pay phone at the gas station across the street from the police department, still clutching the scrap of notepad paper in his fist. “I was hoping you’d call me,” the Viper said. “I hate to say it, but I missed you, Cody. Things haven’t been the same for me since Legacy split up. It took me a long time to deal with some of the demons I’ve had to face, but lately I’ve realized how much I miss having some good friends to have my back.”

Cody watched Randy nervously, playing with the hem of the plain gray t-shirt he’d been wearing. “I still barely remember you, and I’m pretty sure we’re still not friends. But thanks for coming by to pick me up.”

“No problem,” said Randy. “I found out that your dad’s coming to get you, so all we have to do is hide you until he can get you on a plane outta here.”

“My dad’s coming? Really?” Cody’s eyes lit up for a second, but then his face fell. “But what happens after that? What if whoever attacked me follows me? What if…” He hesitated, not sure if he should ask the most pressing question on his mind. Not sure if he could trust the person in front of him.

“What if…?” Randy prompted.
“What if he’s disappointed in me?” Cody’s words tumbled out in a whisper.
Randy blinked. “Who? Your dad?”
Cody nodded.
Randy laughed. “Cody, your dad’s not disappointed in you. He couldn’t be prouder of you. Besides, it’s not your fault you got your head cracked open.” He smiled.

Cody breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Then something occurred to Cody. “I don’t even remember what he looks like.”

Randy’s jaw dropped. “You really do have amnesia, don’t you?”
Cody frowned. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that, Randy!”
“Right, right. Sorry.” Then Randy looked around, left and right. “Come on. Let’s get moving. I have a weird feeling about this place.”

“Really? Why?” Cody followed Randy down the street, wondering where they were going.

“Have you seen the statistics for Santa Barbara lately? It’s like the murder capital of the world or something.” Randy took a sharp right turn and led Cody into a parking garage.

Cody’s stomach twisted and he got a sore, constricting feeling in his throat, like all the breath was being sucked out of him. “Randy? Where are we going?”

“Just trust me, Cody. Trust me.”

*********************

“I’m looking over Orton’s phone records,” said Juliet to Shawn, who was looking over her shoulder at the Manila folder in her hands. “But I’m not seeing anything that would help us. It’s not even anything suspicious. He’s only made 20 phone calls this month, and half of them were to WWE’s corporate office and the other half were to his family members. None of it gives us any clue about where he could possibly be.”

Shawn’s ears picked up on footsteps coming to a stop beside Juliet’s desk and looked up to see Lassiter. “Hey, Lassie.”

“Are you still wasting your time on that John Doe case?” Lassiter said with a frown. “Come on, O’Hara! I’ve been having to solve the State Street homicide by myself and you’re just lollygagging around.”

“I’m not lollygagging, Carlton,” Juliet snapped. “I’m trying to prevent somebody from being attacked and killed, and that isn’t easy when I have no leads and next to no information. Not to mention the fact that Triple H keeps bothering Officer Allen and breathing down my neck about this!” With one hand she gestured to the little waiting area by the front door where HHH and HBK were sitting, talking about the glory days of DX and periodically shooting meaningful looks in the detectives’ direction.

Lassiter just scoffed. “Whatever. Anyway, who’d you say you were looking for?”

“Randy Orton,” said Juliet. “We think he’s the one who attacked Cody, and Cody’s probably in serious danger right now.”

Lassiter shook his head, crossed the room to his desk, and then came back with a thick stack of papers in hand. He dropped them all on Juliet’s desk and they landed with a muffled thud. “You’re looking for the wrong guy,” he said.

“What makes you think that?” Shawn challenged him.
Lassiter scoffed again and lifted up the first paper in the stack. “McNab brought these traffic reports to me earlier today. This is a shot from a traffic light camera. Take a look at who’s in the driver’s seat.”

Juliet grabbed the paper and took a close look. “Randy Orton…” Then she looked at the time stamp on the photo. “This is from 8 o’clock in the morning. That’s around the time Cody came into the station and reported his attack to Allen.”

Lassiter nodded. “That’s right. Your suspect was on the other side of town. That red light is right next to the hotel he checked into this morning. And look at this. It’s another traffic report—from Arizona.” He pulled the folded sheet of paper from his suit pocket and passed it to his partner.

Juliet scrutinized it and frowned. “Randy was pulled over and detained for reckless driving in Phoenix. They let him off with a warning… But this is from 11 p.m. last night, and Cody was reported missing at 2 p.m. yesterday. He went missing in Los Angeles, and that was before Randy had even left Arizona, so there’s no way Randy could have gotten there in such a short amount of time.”

“It’s a seven-hour drive,” Lassiter confirmed. “And I made a few phone calls for you. Their head of talent relations can confirm that your suspect was at a stadium for an event at the time your John Doe went missing. Apparently one show was going on in Phoenix while another was being taped in L.A. The alibi checks. He’s not your guy.”

Shawn stared at Lassiter. “Lassie! All along you’ve been judging us for taking this case, but look at you, being so helpful with your cute little detective work and your Irish hairline. You do care!”

Lassiter scowled. “Shut up, Spencer.”

As Lassiter began to walk away, Shawn called out, “And he’s not John Doe! We agreed to call him Buttercup Jones!”

Juliet shook her head. “He’s not a John Doe at all if we know his identity. Now, come on! We’ve got to figure out who the real attacker really is, and we need to do it before they get to Cody and finish what they started.”

Shawn sighed. “I know, but the spirits—they’re not giving me anything, Jules! I mean, nobody at all has a motive except for Randy, with this feud thing going on.” He shook his head. “My only other guess would be Rey Mysterio or something, but he’s not even on this side of the country right now. There’s just no one!” He paused. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Juliet asked.

Shawn gazed out at the now-vacant waiting area and pointed at the empty benches. “Triple H.”

"I'm not going any farther until you tell me where we're going, Randy," said Cody.

Randy paused, stopping in front of a big black van near the entrance of the garage. "It's my car, Cody," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing ever. "I'm just going to take you to the hotel I'm staying at. You can hang out with me until your dad gets here. I'm sure the cops will call when he shows up looking for you. By now, I'm sure they've figured out that you're with me."

That answer reassured Cody for a second, until Randy slid open the van's huge door. The interior was black leather and it looked immense. Glancing inside, Cody realized that the windows were darkly tinted, and there was a crowbar lying in the back seat.

"Go ahead, Codes," Randy said. "Get in." His surreal blue eyes glinted in the dim evening light filtering into the parking garage.

Cody's instinct told him that something was wrong. "I don't think so." He took a step back, shoes scraping the rough concrete.

Randy's brow furrowed and his lip twisted in frustration. "Come on, Cody! Don't back out on me now." His eyes went wide suddenly and he lunged forward in a predatory leap. Then something hit the side of Cody's head, the impact making his vision swim as the thud echoed in his own muffled, ringing ears before everything went black.

He woke up cold and for a moment, he feared he was back on the beach, but he soon realized that the ground beneath his back was hard and not soft like sand.

He got up and immediately wished he hadn't. His head was splitting, a white-hot pain behind his eyes, and a wave of dizziness overtook his senses. He leaned forward, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the pain to go away. When he felt well enough to open his eyes, he saw concrete and an empty parking space with chipped yellow lines. He was still in the parking garage, but Randy and his van were gone.

And suddenly, like a sunburst exploding in his mind, Cody Rhodes realized two things: one was that he actually did have a concussion this time, and the other was that he remembered everything.

He knew exactly who had attacked him, and it wasn't Randy Orton. He got to his feet, bracing himself on the concrete walls of the parking garage, and made his way out as fast as he could. He didn't know how long he'd been knocked out, but he did know that he had to stop someone from making a terrible mistake.

A fatal mistake.

*********************

When Shawn and Gus bolted outside the police station, tripping over each other and half-falling down the steps in their haste to get to the street, Shawn spotted the big blond businessman right away. He could see Triple H stepping out of the gas station across the road from the police department, holding a bottle of water and looking at his surroundings with a wrinkled nose.

Ignoring the busy traffic lining the street, Shawn charged across the road, dodging taxis and dancing past a couple of tattooed motorcyclists who gave him the finger as he went by. As soon as his feet hit the sidewalk on the other side, he flew at Triple H and shoved the wrestler in the chest as hard as he could.

Triple H didn’t budge.

“What are you doing?” Triple H asked, the disdainful nose-wrinkling morphing into a look of outright disgust as he pushed Shawn back with one muscled arm and looked at the psychic like he was being forced to touch a flea-bitten rat.

“Where’s Cody?” shouted Shawn. “I know you attacked him!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t! But it couldn’t have been Randy and you’re the only other person who would do such a dastardly deed!”

“I always knew Randy would turn out to be a babyface,” said Gus, who had somehow managed to follow Shawn across the road in his haze of solving sliding block puzzles.

Triple H squinted at the crime-solving duo like he was examining a piece of roadkill on the street. “I still don’t know what you mean. Why would I beat up one of my cash cows? Cody hasn’t bothered me since Shawn and I taught him a lesson back in our DX reunion, and this rage that he has against Orton and Rey Mysterio? That’s what’s putting butts in seats these days! You never know when Cody’s going to show up and paper-bag somebody. That’s what’s making tickets sell like hotcakes. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t like the guy, but even I have to admit that for the moment, he’s what’s best for business. I’d have to be an idiot to take him out right now.”

“I don’t believe you!” the psychic shouted again. “I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you! And considering that I couldn’t even shove you just a second ago, I don’t think I could throw you very far!”

“Would you stop shouting everything?” said Triple H. “You’re blowing out my eardrums. If you want proof, fine, I’ll give you proof.” He reached into the pocket of his still-immaculate gray suit and produced a ticket stub. “This is my airline ticket. Vince made me come out here to the Santa Barbara show because he couldn’t make it, and he’s been a huge pain in my neck lately, so I didn’t bother asking to use the private jet. I just flew commercial. You can look at the date and time. I don’t know when Cody showed up here, but since it takes five hours to get from Connecticut to Santa Barbara, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got here first.”

Shawn looked at the ticket and frowned. “Oh. I guess you were still in the air when Cody woke up. Well…” He frowned. “Okay. I guess you really are innocent after all. …Hey, what are the odds of me getting free tickets to the Santa Barbara show? It’s tomorrow, right? We’ll have the case solved by then.”

Triple H responded with a menacing growl.

“I don’t think he’s giving us tickets, Shawn,” whispered Gus.
“You’re right, buddy,” Shawn whispered back. “I think we should just back away slowly…”
As the two started backing away, Triple H watched in amusement. “You know you’re about to step off the curb, right?”

Gus caught himself and Shawn just a split second before they stumbled into the road, but the Game Boy that slipped from his hand and landed on the pavement wasn’t so lucky. A speeding taxi plowed right over the tiny computer, smashing it into chunks of silver casing and thin green motherboard. Gus fell to his knees. “Nooooooooo!!!”
Shawn patted Gus on the back gently as he bowed his head. The two friends shared a moment of silence for the game before he said, “It’s okay, buddy. It’ll be missed.”

Triple H rolled his eyes. “You guys are so stupid. I can’t wait to tell Shawn what you morons just did.”

Then the psychic looked up sharply. “What did you just say?”

As he unscrewed the cap of his water bottle, Triple H shrugged and repeated, “I said I can’t wait to tell Shawn how dumb you are.”

The psychic glanced at the Cerebral Assassin out of the side of his eye. “I thought HBK was with you.”

“No,” Triple H said. He paused to take a drink before continuing, “He didn’t want anything, so he stayed behind.”

With the aid of a nearby light-pole, Gus got to his feet and said, “Uh, the Heartbreak Kid wasn’t at the police station. We don’t know where he is.”

“So that means that Cody, Randy, and Shawn Michaels are all missing,” said Shawn Spencer. “What are the odds of that being a coincidence?”

“Uhhh…” said Gus.

Shawn nodded. “I was afraid you’d say that. I’m afraid I’ve got some more bad news: I think our hero might have just turned heel.”

Triple H coughed on his water and sprayed both psychic and sidekick with a fine mist of H2O and spit before he took off running, one hand already raising his cell phone to his ear.

“Huh,” Shawn said, jumping into the backseat of the police car that Lassiter and Juliet had conveniently just pulled up in. “I guess it’s time to play The Game.”

*********************

“Wait, so…Shawn Michaels is the bad guy, and we’re following Triple H?” said Juliet, listening as her psychic boyfriend filled her in on their encounter with the Game and their epiphany about the attacker.

In the driver’s seat, Lassiter was following the taxi that Triple H had jumped into, trailing it through every turn and intersection, scowling all the way. “You’d better be certain about this, Spencer, because if you’re wrong and I catch any kind of backlash over harassing one of the most powerful business leaders in the country, you’re going to regret it.”

“No, I’m positive, Lassie,” said Shawn. “It’s got to be the other Shawn. The only other Shawn in the entire world—nay, the entire Universe—with better hair than me.”

Lassiter muttered some choice words under his breath.

“But where is Triple H even going?” said Juliet.
“I don’t know,” said Shawn, “but you can bet that wherever it is, he’s leading us to HBK. It had to have been him that Triple H was on the phone with.”
“What if he’s just leading us away from Michaels? After all, it’s his best friend we’re talking about,” said Juliet.
Shawn blinked. “Huh. I guess that’s possible.”

“Wait!” cried Gus suddenly, rolling down his car window. “Look! There’s Cody!”

“Quick, Lassie! Pull off the road for a second!” Shawn said.

Lassiter pulled his blue Crown Victoria into the emergency lane, and Cody, seeing his friends, squeezed into the back seat alongside Shawn and Gus.

“I have a concussion,” Cody said as he buckled his seat belt.

“We should get you to a doctor,” said Juliet as Lassiter pulled back onto the road.

“No time,” Cody replied breathlessly, “Randy’s in trouble, and I’ve gotta save him.” He paused for a second as he realized, “He would do the same for me.”

Shawn grinned. “I think Cody just turned babyface.”

Cody’s blue eyes glared sharply at Shawn, almost Lassiter-esque in their intensity. “You realize that using those kinds of slang words around real wrestlers is not a way to make friends, right?”

Shawn coughed. “Sorry, Buttercup.”

Cody shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked up to see where Lassiter was driving. “I’m not exactly sure where we need to be headed, but if I had my guess, I’d say that we need to head for the arena where the show’s going to be.” He glanced over at Juliet. “Detective, I finally remembered who attacked me.”

“Was it Shawn Michaels?” Juliet asked softly.
Surprised registered on Cody’s battered face. “You know?”
“We finally figured it out,” said Gus.
Cody nodded and looked back over at Lassiter. “Step on it.”

Lassiter pulled into the arena’s nearly-deserted parking lot, glancing around at the WWE-labeled tractor-trailers and the rows of cars near the entrances. “I’m guessing that the only people here are the ones who are setting things up for the event.�

Cody nodded and pointed to one of the doors. “We should be able to get in over there. It looks like the crew has that one propped open.�

Finally, Lassiter’s eyes spotted a lone taxicab leaving the parking lot. “Looks like Triple H got here first.�

“Awww, Lassie,� Shawn said. “You actually called a wrestler by his ring name. I’m so proud of you.�
“Shut up, Spencer,� Lassiter growled.

“Come on,� said Cody as he got out of the car and half-ran, half-hobbled to the arena’s door. “We don’t have time to lose.�

The psychic detective and his friends followed Cody down several hallways, catching up to the wrestler easily.

“Cody, are you sure you’re okay?� said Juliet. “You have a concussion. You should let us take care of this.�
“I’m fine!� Cody snapped. “This is something I have to do.�
“Dude, how do you even know where we’re going? This building is huge! They could be anywhere in here!�

Cody shook his head, his steps not faltering for even a heartbeat. “We’ve done shows here before, and a lot of these places have similar floor plans, so I know the general layout. Triple H usually asks the crew to set up his office somewhere between the Gorilla position and the restrooms.� As he walked past a set of taped-up printer-paper signs, he tapped two of them. “And if these backstage directions are right, both of those things are this way.�

Shawn boggled at the signs for a second, falling a few steps behind the others. “Does this sign really point the way to the Divas’ locker room?!�

Juliet grabbed his sleeve and dragged him off. “Come on, Shawn!�

“Well, what makes you think any of our perps would be heading for an office?� Lassiter snapped. “That wouldn’t make any sense! Wouldn’t it be smarter to drag them off to a basement or a catwalk or something?�

Cody rolled his eyes and rounded one more corner. “This is the WWE, Detective. Do you really think anything around here makes sense?�

*********************

Cody heard Triple H’s booming voice when he was still in the hallway, several yards away from the closed door that was clearly marked by a red and black Authority placard. He shook his head in wonder. Did the C.O.O. of this billion-dollar corporation really not care if anyone else overheard his personal business?

Then Cody thought about that question once again and realized---well, probably not.

“You should have told me, Shawn,� Triple H said.

“I know, Hunter,� came HBK’s weary voice. “I thought I could handle it myself. I know you’ve had Vince breathing down your neck lately. I just didn’t want to put anything else on you. I only wanted to help.�

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand about all of this. Why Rhodes?�

Cody could practically hear the shrug in HBK’s voice as he replied, “He got in the way, that’s all. And I don’t mean that to be cute, like he knew too much or something---I mean he literally got in my way.�

Cody rolled his eyes. He’d been beaten up by the Showstopper, lost his memory, had his whole life turned upside down, and gotten a concussion out of sheer happenstance? What were the odds? It was just his bad luck!

At his side, he saw his posse of detectives and signaled for them to stop moving and stay quiet. Lassiter shot him a dirty look, but all of them obeyed. Cody edged closer to the closed door. He wanted to hear this.

Triple H laughed. “That little idiot’s always underfoot. He’s like a cat. So he got in your way. And what?�

“I swear I thought he was Orton from the back. He was carrying Orton’s bag, and he was in the very back of the parking garage, so it was dark. I popped him with a Superkick to the back of the head, and it wasn’t until I got him in the face and broke his nose again that I realized I’d gotten the wrong guy. And by then, it was too late. I figured that the last thing you needed was some kind of Legacy reunion---after all, I was trying to get rid of Orton, not rally all his friends or something. And not that I couldn’t beat them, but I didn’t really want them after me. I mean, I’m supposed to be retired!�

“Right.�

In his mind’s eye, Cody could picture Triple H nodding thoughtfully---the Cerebral Assassin taking in information and making some kind of sinister plan.

Triple H continued, “So you attacked the wrong guy, and then decided to dump Rhodes in the ocean---hoping he wouldn’t realize it was you?�

“He was pretty out of it after both kicks. I knocked him out cold. I just needed to buy some time.�

“Time to get rid of that punk Randy Orton.�

“Exactly. It would’ve gone all right, except that Randy was harder to find than I thought he’d be. But I knew he’d come back for Cody eventually, so I just went along and kept my eyes open.�

Triple H laughed. “Shawn, I’m so proud of you. It’s not the plan I would’ve gone with, but I’ve got to say, I’m impressed. You took a lot of initiative in getting rid of one of my enemies, and that---I can’t tell you what that means to me.�

Modestly, HBK replied, “I just did what any good friend would do.�

By that point, Cody had heard enough. It was time to confront the both of them and find out for sure what Shawn Michaels had done with Randy. He charged up to the door and flung it open…

…To find the two halves of D-Generation X locked in a (very manly) bromance hug.

Jolted, the two of them sprung backwards and away from each other, staring at the open door and the wild-eyed figure of Cody Rhodes with a mixture of shock and horror.

“Where’s Randy?� Cody hissed.

The menacing figure of Hunter Hearst Helmsley loomed over the younger man, hands on his hips, showing off his bulky and well-toned muscles. “None of your business, Rhodes. I’m sure he’s fine…wherever he is.�

Unwilling to be intimidated, Cody stepped closer to his huge boss, toe to toe with the King of Kings. “You’re going to tell me where he is and what you’ve done with him right now. I won’t stop until I find him. I won’t stop even if I have to tear you apart.�

Shawn Michaels crossed the room to stand beside his best friend, arms folded across his chest and the light of loyalty shining in his eyes. “You and what army?�

Without bothering to look, Cody jerked a thumb back towards the hallway, where he knew that his new detective friends would be gathering to back him up. “That one.�

Hunter Hearst Helmsley was not a foolish man, and he hadn’t gotten as far as he had in life by making poor choices. Years of experience---and more than his fair share of backstabbing---had taught him how to recognize opportunities when he saw them. He was very good at grabbing opportunities and wrestling them---both literally and figuratively---to the ground until they submitted to his will. However, he also was smart enough to realize when things weren’t going his way. He wasn’t a coward by any means, but he knew well enough that discretion was the better part of valor.

Which is why, rather than battle it out with one of his more skilled employees (who had connections of his own in the wrestling world) along with at least two trained law enforcement officers, Triple H decided at that moment that a temporary truce and surrender would be the best option.

He slowly nodded, putting one protective hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “Fine. We’ll take you to him.�

His free hand gestured to the door of the office---which, if he wasn’t kidding himself, was little more than a cleaned-out, glorified janitor’s storage room that his team of devoted (and terrified) tech crew monkeys had converted into an acceptable working space. But he would never admit that to anyone. He watched as Cody and his little group of friends backed out of the room and into the hallway, leaving enough space for the Game and the Showstopper to emerge…without taking their eyes off the duo for a single second.

Triple H glanced at Shawn. “Take the lead and I’ll text Stephanie,� he muttered in a voice low enough that Cody and his posse wouldn’t be able to hear.

Confident that his best friend always had a plan, the Heartbreak Kid nodded almost imperceptibly and walked out the door. “He’s this way,� Michaels said sheepishly, walking down the long and echoing arena hallway with his old friend and his new enemies in tow.


*********************

One of the key components of success in life is picking up new skills and abilities as you go along. Triple H was a firm believer in the idea that a man should always be learning---which was why, even though he didn’t always know everything, people called him the Cerebral Assassin. You never know what kind of little scrap of information or seemingly pointless skill will come in handy later on. Everything is useful for something.
But unlike some people---the arrogant intellectual Damien Sandow, for example---Triple H didn’t like making his intelligence obvious. Only a fool exalts his knowledge in front of everyone. The truly smart man hides what he knows so that he can use it against you later.
And one of Triple H’s hidden skills---a skill he’d picked up from his brother-in-law, oddly enough---was the ability to send a text message with one hand from the inside of his pocket. Only the barest glance at the screen was all he needed to send a short but mostly coherent message to his wife.

Unfortunately for the Skull King, one of Shawn Spencer’s hidden skills was the ability to read text messages from relatively far away, and while the average person would have no clue that Triple H had even used his phone---let alone know what he wrote---Spencer’s powers of super-observation allowed him to get a good enough glimpse of the message to know exactly what he had to do next.

Since Cody, Juliet, and Lassiter were focused on following the two most famous members of D-Generation X, Spencer was free to grab Gus by the head---one hand clamped over his buddy’s mouth so that no one would hear his screams, of course---and drag the both of them off into a nearby open room.

In the darkness of the broom closet, Spencer whispered, “Gus, Triple H just texted somebody asking for reinforcements. We have to make sure that nobody tries to stop us!�

“But what about Lassie and Juliet?� Gus whispered back, shoving Shawn’s hand away from his mouth. “Won’t they take care of it?�

“Dude, these are wrestlers we’re talking about!�

“All the more reason for us to let the cops handle it!�

“We have to do this, man! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Tighten it up!�

After a brief moment of thought, Gus finally nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it!�

“Yes!� Shawn punched the air. “Come on, let’s see if we can find some gear!�


*********************


Stephanie McMahon did not know what she expected to see when she noticed a text message from her husband, but she definitely did not expect to see the ten words that appeared on her screen.

“Me & Shawn in trouble. Send lawyers & backup. Arena.�

“Awfully verbose today, aren’t we?� she muttered to herself.

“What was that, Princess?� remarked the one person that she really didn’t want to talk to at that particular moment.

Stephanie took a long, deep breath and counted to ten.

“I’m still waiting for an answer,� the voice added when she’d gotten to seven.

Eight, nine, ten.

Stephanie looked up from the laptop that was opened on her desk at WWE headquarters in Connecticut to see Chris Jericho standing in the doorway. “Jericho. What brings you to my office?�

“That’s the welcome I get? That’s how you’re going to treat the Ayatollah of Rock ‘n’ Rolla, after my long-heralded return from my amazing world tour with---�

“Just stop talking. You’re giving me a migraine.� Stephanie rubbed her head. “You don’t happen to have Kane’s number on speed dial, do you?�

“Well, actually… I mean, it’s not on speed dial, but it’s---�

“Just give me the phone, Jericho! Hunter’s in trouble!� snapped the Billion-Dollar Princess.

Jericho raised an eyebrow and smirked, flipping his sleek silver cell phone between his fingers. “Oh, really? What happened? Did he run afoul of Big Daddy McMahon again?�

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “None of your business. Just give me the phone.�

“I’m surprised that you don’t already have his number.�

“I don’t keep a little black book of wrestlers! That’s Hunter’s job!�

Jericho laughed. “No, you just keep a little black book of people who pay you in singles.�

Stephanie jumped to her stiletto-clad feet and reared her hand back for a billion-dollar slap.

In an instant, Y2J had his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine, just take the phone!�

Smirking triumphantly, Stephanie plucked the device from his hand. “Thank you. Now you can go.�

“Go? What? But I haven’t even negotiated my contract ye---�

Stephanie shoved him out of the office and slammed the door in his face, savoring the sound of The Man of 1,004 Holds making an indignant squeak.

Next, she dialed Kane’s number and waited for the answer.

“Why are you calling me, Jericho?� came Kane’s low growl.

“It’s not Jericho,� said Stephanie. “I know you wouldn’t answer if you knew it was me.�

Kane’s response was a noncommittal grunt; he wasn’t going to deny the truth, but he wasn’t prepared to offer any false apologies or explanations to his annoying boss.

“I need you to do something for me,� Stephanie replied.

“What is it and why?� Kane asked cautiously. He knew that when Stephanie asked for favors, she was really just giving orders, but for her to pose it in that way meant that her task for him had to be something big. Something possibly painful.

“I know that you’re in Santa Barbara for Raw tomorrow. I need you to go to the arena…�


*********************


Shawn Michaels took the group of people down to the arena’s basement and began to walk toward a cluster of rooms that appeared to be storage closets.

“I guess you were right, Detective Lassiter,� Cody remarked. “He did drag Randy down to a basement after all.�

HBK shrugged and glanced back at them. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.� He was acting fidgety, almost embarrassed.

“I thought you were supposed to be a good guy,� Juliet said.

“He’d do anything for his best friend,� Cody said. “Just like how I’d do anything for mine.�

Triple H snorted. “Since when have you and Orton been best friends?�

“We’ve been best friends for a long time. I just didn’t see it.�

“I guess it’s hard to see anything when your nose is on the side of your face,� Triple H replied with a smirk.

Something inside Cody snapped right then. Without being fully aware of his actions, he flung himself at Triple H, attacking the Game viciously with a string of punches. While Triple H tried to shield himself with his arms, Lassiter shoved them both.

“Break it up! Both of you!� Lassiter snapped.

At that moment, the Showstopper saw his opportunity. After the most fleeting eye contact with his best friend, Triple H took a rapid step back, getting himself out of Shawn’s way.

Cody’s eyes widened. He knew what was coming, but he was too slow to stop it.
Shawn Michaels Superkicked the lanky detective in the face.

Lassiter fell to the ground, dazed almost to the point of being unconscious.

Cody watched in shock as Juliet ran to her partner to check on him. Filled with rage, he started to lunge for the Heartbreak Kid, wanting nothing more than to strangle him.

But he was stopped in his tracks by a punch to the gut. He felt his arms being lifted up, grabbed by strong hands.
Not the Pedigree!

Cody squeezed his eyes shut as Triple H slammed him down onto the concrete floor. Pain rippled through his entire body, and his injured head felt like it was trying to rip itself in half. Distantly, he could hear Triple H and HBK running off, but he couldn't find the energy or the willpower to move. For once, he actually wanted to drift away into unconsciousness, but he couldn't---the pain was too much. After a few seconds of just lying there, he managed to roll onto his side to look for the detectives. Juliet was hovering over him, and Lassiter was starting to come back to his senses, but---

"Where are Shawn and Gus?" Cody slurred.

"I'm not sure," Juliet said, sounding worried. "But they didn't come through here with us. They must have wandered off somewhere."

Cody tried to sit up. "We have to find them and Randy before---"

Juliet gently pushed him back down. "You're hurt. You need to stay here. You could have serious injuries."

"I'm fine," he insisted.

Juliet scrutinized the wrestler for a second, deep in thought. Then she made her decision. "Stay here with Lassiter. I'll find Shawn, Gus, and Randy." She reached over and grabbed a Taser from Lassiter's belt before she stood up. "Call for backup!"

Cody watched her run down the hall, and the only thing that stopped him from going after her was the paralyzing pain in his head and neck. Backup, he thought. But who should I call?


*********************

Shawn Spencer was flying high---or at least, he felt like he was in the luchador mask he'd donned after raiding the men's locker room. It looked like a lot of the athletes had set up shop in the arena early, probably to save time getting ready for the show, and duffel bags full of ring gear were readily available. Naturally, he and Gus had raided the most interesting ones, which meant that Shawn was wearing a Sin Cara mask with a pair of black and yellow Spandex tights while Gus wore jorts and a Sheamus t-shirt.

“Gus, this is so cool! We’re going to stick it to whoever Triple H has coming for us! And then, maybe Mr. McMahon will be so impressed that he’ll give us contracts to be real wrestlers!�

Gus checked his reflection in a mirror and grinned. “Well, I’m going to be a real wrestler. You’re probably going to be worse than Super Liger!�

“You take that back!�

“Nope.� Gus grabbed a bottle of water from a box in one of the lockers. “Tighten it up.�

Shawn pouted. “Hey, don’t use my own catchphrases against me!� Then he shook his head. “Come on. We should get going. I’m sure that the backup that Triple H called for will be here soon!�

“If they’re not here already,� Gus agreed.

Shawn started to walk out the door, looking back over his shoulder to make one more remark to his buddy. But he ran smack into a solid surface. “That’s funny. I just walked into the door! Could’ve sworn I left it…open…� Shawn trailed off when he looked in front of him and realized that it wasn’t a door he’d walked into.

From this angle, the solid surface he’d collided with almost appeared to be a human chest, covered in black fabric with a red stitch pattern. Shawn gulped. There was only one person who wore an outfit like that.

He slowly looked up.

Towering over the fake psychic was, of course, the Devil’s Favorite Demon.

Kane.

“Gus, buddy,� Shawn whispered.

“What?� Gus asked, coughing on the mouthful of water that he’d inhaled while trying to replicate Triple H’s entrance.

“Run.�

“Why?� Gus turned to look. And then he screamed.


*********************


Juliet tried to keep her steps silent as she pursued her two suspects, but that was difficult in the concrete basement, where even the slightest sound echoed. But on the other hand, there was a benefit to that: she could easily hear where the suspects were going. They led her deeper into the labyrinthine basement, down so many twists and turns that she was afraid she’d gotten too lost to find her way back to where she’d left Cody and Lassiter.

She checked her cell phone for a quick second. It was as she’d feared; down here in the basement, close to the center and surrounded by concrete and metal, she had absolutely no reception. She had to hope that Cody would be able to get to a signal and call for help.

Then, she realized that the sounds of footsteps had stopped. She froze and pressed herself against the wall, willing herself to keep quiet and listen. She could hear the sounds of hushed whispering; they must have known she was there. She clutched Lassiter’s Taser in her hand and edged forward.

The footsteps were slow, deliberate. One by one, the sounds grew closer. They were approaching her.

She prepared herself to spring at whoever came around the corner.

The footsteps grew closer and closer, until it sounded like they were right there. She could hear the sound of another person breathing.

Juliet jumped into view and aimed the Taser at the man standing there. “Hands in the air!� she said.

Wide-eyed, the Viper threw his hands up in surrender.

Equally shocked, Juliet lowered the Taser. “Randy Orton? But where’s---�

She never saw the sledgehammer coming because Triple H slammed it straight into her back.

The Game smirked at the Apex Predator over Juliet’s crumpled body. “Nice work, Orton. You had her completely distracted for me. Thanks.�


*********************


“P-please don’t hurt us, Mr. Demon Kane Sir,� stammered the man in the stolen mask.

Kane grabbed the man around the neck. He could feel the guy’s pulse speeding up. Panicked. Like a rabbit, or like the beating of a hummingbird’s wings. Fast and weak. He smiled. Mismatched eyes glared from behind the red mask at the idiot in the jorts. Dragging the masked man along with him, Kane crossed the locker room.

The terrified bald guy kept screaming and pressed himself against the wall, desperately trying to get away from the Big Red Monster. Kane grabbed him by the throat, too. He lifted both of them in the air.

“W-wait,� the masked man choked out. “You---you don’t want to chokeslam us, M-Mr. Kane!�

“I think I do,� growled Kane.

“B-but I’m a psychic! I work for th-the police!�

Kane tightened his grip. “I don’t like psychics.�

“You’re not helping, Shawn,� Gus hissed, despite the pressure of Kane’s massive hand crushing his windpipe.

“I can sense---I can sense that you don’t want to be here,� Shawn managed to say. “I know you don’t really want to help Triple H.�

Kane glared at the masked man. “How do you know what I want?� He lifted Shawn a little higher into the air. “Maybe all I want is to chokeslam you straight to---�

“Waitwaitwait!� Shawn cried. “Y-you’re the Devil’s Favorite Demon! The---the Big Red Machine, right? You---you don’t take orders from anyone!�

“I’m not taking orders,� Kane retorted. “I’m doing Stephanie a favor.�

“Wha---Stephanie? She’ll---she’ll stab you in the back!�

Kane just watched the squirming, powerless men in his clutches for a moment, thinking. What the psychic said wasn’t news to Kane, but maybe these men knew something that he didn’t already know. After all, they’d managed to be a threat to Hunter Hearst Helmsley, one of the most powerful men in WWE history. Perhaps they knew something else that could be of use. He lowered the psychic slowly, so that the man’s feet almost touched the ground.

“What do you suggest?� Kane grunted.

“Well, first…let us go. I can’t talk if---if I keep running out of air.�

After a moment of hesitation, Kane released his grip on the two. “Now talk.�

Shawn coughed, rubbing his throat, and nodded. “Fair enough.� After he’d coughed again and sucked in another lungful of air, he said, “I know that you don’t want to be running around out here in California. I’m sure you hate all the sunshine and the liberals.�

Kane nodded. “Demons belong in the shadows, and libertarians aren’t welcome here.�

“So I’m sure that Stephanie had to offer you something to get you to leave your nice shadowy---um…hotel room? Dwelling-place? Lair?---to come here and fight for Triple H, the very same guy who accused you of being inappropriate with your girlfriend Katie---�

“I know what Hunter’s done,� Kane cut the psychic off. Truth be told, the pain of losing Katie all those years ago was still there, and so was the rage he felt towards Triple H for exploiting his loss for personal gain.

Shawn continued, “I know that you don’t want to defend Triple H, so either Stephanie offered you something or she threatened you with something.�

“Or both,� Gus added.

“But if you tell us what she said, then we can match her offer, or at least help you get away from her threats,� Shawn finished with a hopeful look at the demon.

Kane’s gloved hand stroked his chin while he mulled it over. “She said that something big was going to happen in the WWE. Soon. She and Hunter are going to take complete control, and she offered me power. What can you offer me?�

Shawn glanced at Gus and shrugged. “The chance to hit Triple H in the face.�


*********************


Now that he’d mostly recovered from the Pedigree, Cody watched Lassiter groan and sit up. The detective had a fresh bruise that wasn’t likely to go away anytime soon, but at least nothing was broken. Cody examined him carefully. “I don’t think you have a concussion, and Juliet said you’d be okay. I’m glad you’re all right.�

“What was that?� Lassiter hissed. “Seriously, does that guy line his boots with lead or something?�

Cody laughed. “I don’t know, but your first Superkick is like a rite of passage, and they never do get easier to take. It’s even worse when he loads up, somehow.�

Lassiter huffed. “I never even liked the WWF. I always watched World Championship Wrestling.�

“Nothing wrong with that. Lots of good guys worked in WCW.� Cody frowned. “Let me see your phone. I need to call for help.�

The detective reached into his pocket and passed his outdated flip phone over to the wrestler. “Where’s O’Hara?�

“She went after Triple H and Shawn Michaels.�

Lassiter swore and started to get to his feet.

“Wait!� Cody commanded. To his surprise, Lassiter stopped what he was doing and looked at Cody to listen. “We need to stay together. There’s safety in numbers. Ted and I learned that the hard way when we tag-teamed against DX. Stay with me while I call for help. Then we can go find the others.�

Lassiter wasn’t happy about the decision, but given the situation, he nodded and waited.

Cody took a deep breath and dialed one of the very few telephone numbers that he’d committed to memory: a number that he hadn’t called as much as he should have in the past few months. Please pick up, he thought silently.

He heard the comforting, familiar voice over the phone lisp, “Hello? Who is this?�

Cody’s heart pounded in his chest. “Hey, Dad.�

“Stay away from me, Hunter,� the Viper warned, taking the smallest of steps backwards. “Stay away from me---and from her, and from Cody!�

"Just what do you think you're going to do, Orton?" Triple H had a smirk on his face and a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You're all alone now. It's two against one. You've got no chance."

Randy just sneered right back. "You know something, Hunter?" He stepped forward until he and his rival were standing toe-to-toe. "You sound more and more like Vince every day."

With a snarl, Triple H heaved himself at Randy, striking wildly with the sledgehammer. Randy deftly dodged with quick, lithe movements, grunting with exertion. Finally, Randy saw his opportunity to get the upper hand. With Triple H off-balance, Randy jogged backwards a few paces, rearing up for his infamous punt kick.

This, he thought, will get Trips away from me once and for all.

"This is for Cody, and for all the other people you trample on," Randy shouted as he began to charge. He didn't even see the Heartbreak Kid's distinctive black-and-silver boot until it was slamming into his face.

Hunter Hearst Helmsley looked down at the two bodies crumpled between him and his best friend. A rugged athlete and a homicide detective, both unconscious and wounded. Both needing to be disposed of. He grinned. "Thus always to my enemies. Ferrum Pugnus, Ferrum Regit.�

“What’s the plan, Hunter?�

“We bury them.�

In a matter of moments, the two wrestlers loaded up their victims into an equipment crate and placed it onto a nearby forklift. Heavy filming equipment and ring gear was moved around and transported in and out all the time; no one would question them. Of course, no one would dare to question one of the leaders of the WWE in the first place. Hunter grinned. Nothing was as satisfying as destroying someone who stood in his way…except for doing it without getting caught.

They reached the garage door that led out of the arena, and HBK jumped off of the forklift to open it. Hunter drummed his fingers on the controls pensively.

When the door finally rolled open, he was shocked by who stood in his way.

“Cody Rhodes,� Hunter growled. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?�

“Let Randy and Detective O’Hara go,� Cody said stubbornly.

“Give me one good reason.�

Cody lifted his chin. “They’re my friends.�

Triple H laughed in scorn. “Do you think friendship really matters in this business? Do you think I care about who you’re friends with? Because you’re wrong. I don’t care about you at all. Now, get out of my way before I move you by force.�

Cody took a deep breath. “I’d like to see you try.�

Triple H grinned ruthlessly. “Now’s your chance.� He eased the controls forward, driving the forklift straight for Cody.

Then Lassiter jumped out from his hiding place around the corner, sidearm aimed and ready to go. “Freeze and keep your hands where I can see them!�

Thinking fast, Triple H combat-rolled away from the forklift, leaving the levers locked in position and counting on speed, momentum, and lack of anyone pressing the brake to keep it rolling. He grinned as Lassiter and Cody scattered to avoid the out-of-control machine, taking the opportunity to join HBK in closing in on their two opponents, disarmed since Lassiter had been forced to drop his weapon while evading the forklift.

Shawn Michaels had circled around behind them while they were distracted, and now they were trapped between two dangerous fighters. Lassiter flinched as Triple H kicked his gun away, sending it skittering across the ground.

“Not so confident now, are you, Cody?� Triple H sneered. “You should’ve backed off when you had the chance.�

“I’m not afraid of you,� Cody retorted. “I’m not afraid of anyone! You’re all just smoke and mirrors! But you could never beat me in a fair fight!�

Triple H cracked his knuckles. “That’s the whole point of being the boss. Don’t you get it? I don’t have to fight fair!�

“Oh, yeah?� shouted a voice from behind Triple H, from back inside the darkness of the arena basement. “Well, neither does he! …Not---not because he’s the boss or anything, though. Just because he’s really big. And scary.�

“Shawn!� Cody said, startled as Shawn and Gus emerged from the arena door…along with Kane.

Triple H whirled, with HBK keeping an eye on Lassiter and Cody. “Kane,� Triple H growled. “Nice to see that Stephanie got my message. Take out Cody Rhodes and bury his friends. Now.�

Kane stalked forward mutely, coming within a yard or so of Triple H and then stopping in his tracks.

Hunter frowned. “I told you to take them out! Get moving!�

Kane said and did nothing. He stood there on the pavement, as still as a monument in red and black.

Triple H growled and charged up to the Big Red Monster until the two of them were toe to toe and chest to chest. At seven feet tall, Kane still seemed to tower over his aggressive boss. “If you want to keep your job, I suggest you remember your place in the WWE,� Triple H growled. “I'm the Authority. I'm the boss. I have all the power. You do what I say, or else.�

Faster than a cobra strike, Kane's hand shot out and wrapped itself around Hunter's neck. Hunter's eyes went wide and his face went pale.

Lassiter saw the opportunity to lunge for his gun and ran forward. His weapon was almost within his reach when Kane lashed out and grabbed him, too. The detective struggled, but he was powerless in Kane's massive clutches. The Big Red Monster smiled mirthlessly.

“Wait!� Shawn cried. “Dude, let Lassie go! He's with us! He's a good guy!�

Whether Shawn's protest came too late or whether Kane didn't care really didn't matter; the end result was the same. With a sneer of rage, Kane lifted both men up in his colossal hands and threw them down in a double chokeslam.

When Lassiter hit the pavement, he thought he was going to die. White-hot bolts of pain shocked his head and upper body, from the back of his skull and his aching trachea all the way down his spine. Helpless, he could do nothing but lay there on the pavement with the wind and his senses knocked out of him, grit dusting his hair and suit.

Shawn stared at his friend and Triple H in boggle-eyed horror. “Lassie! What are we gonna do?!�

“I'm out of here,� Gus said in a panic, turning to run.

And then Kane's meaty arm blocked Gus’ retreat.

The Demon's mismatched eyes stared down Gus from behind his mask. He was too full of rage to stop now, blindly destroying everything in his path with no regard for enemies and newly-made allies.

He hoisted Gus over his head and carried the man like a rag doll over to the nearest car---and stepped onto the hood. Gus shrieked in terror as Kane lifted him up even higher.

“No!� Shawn screamed as he ran after the Big Red Monster, but there was nothing he could do.

The next instant, Kane hurled Gus down into a perfect Last Ride powerbomb---right through the car's windshield.

Shawn dashed into the spray of safety glass, ignoring everything except for Gus’ crumpled body amidst the wreckage. “Gus! Gus, can you hear me? Are you okay?�

Gus moved slightly, causing Shawn to nod with a hint of relief; at least he could be certain that his friend wasn't dead.

But then Shawn felt a pair of giant hands grabbing him, too.

“Drop him, Kane!� Cody shouted, swinging a fist at his fellow wrestler. Kane shoved him aside like a bear swatting at a fly. Cody tumbled backwards, but got his bearings in just enough time to notice the whiny engine sound of a forklift.

HBK had taken advantage of the distraction to fire the machine up again, and now he was revving it up, the parallel tines held up high. The big equipment crate was still balanced on the forklift, but HBK didn't bother to lower it and drop the crate before he set a course directly for Cody and Kane. The forklift charged ahead to ram the two, and Cody rolled out of its path. He could see HBK's lips set into a grim line.

“Look out!� Cody shouted hoarsely, head spinning and woozy from going through so much activity with his concussion.

Kane half-turned, but wasn't quick enough to dodge; the forklift was right there next to him at ramming speed. The crate in the front reached him first, slamming into Kane and knocking him backwards. He fell on top of Gus in the debris field of safety glass, with the crate sliding off the forklift and resting on top of his body.

Shawn fell to the side, screaming as he scrambled backward to avoid being pinned between the forklift tines and the crushed car. The metal spike hovered just over his chest and Shawn screamed. Blocked by a chunk of car, he couldn't move back any farther. He squeezed his eyes shut...

But the forklift was blocked in too, and couldn't move ahead because of the debris. Quickly, HBK threw the forklift in reverse, backing up as fast as he could and frowning when the machine didn't go faster. If he could just get enough momentum for another pass…

Shawn was frantically looking around for some way to escape when he heard some strange noises from within the crate. Muffled screams and desperate banging. Either it was the world's largest box of stray kittens, or…

Shawn lunged for the latch and heaved the top open. As soon as the latch was undone, Randy Orton practically exploded out of the crate. He rolled out onto the pavement and grabbed the blonde
detective, lifting her out next.

Glancing around, he spotted Cody and shoved Juliet into his arms.

“Take her and get out of here, Cody,� Randy growled.

“I can't leave you here alone. Triple H and Shawn Michaels are out for blood!�

“Gentlemen,� Shawn said urgently.

“Just get the cops and go get some help! I'll hold them off!�

“He's got a forklift, Randy!�

“Gentlemen!� Shawn repeated, grabbing the wrestler's heads and turning them to look at the long black limousine that had just screeched in to idle between the forklift and the targets. “I believe the cavalry has arrived.�

One of the rear doors opened, and a big white and gold cowboy boot emerged, followed by another. As if in slow motion, a large man in a blue button-up shirt and an enormous beige cowboy hat came out of the limousine.

“Dad!� Cody shouted.

“Dusty Rhodes!� Shawn said in awe.

Randy crossed his arms. “Well, what do you know?�

Cody felt Juliet wriggle in his arms as she shook away the last grips of unconsciousness, and he quickly let her down.

She dusted herself off and glanced around to regain her bearings. “Shawn? Where’s Gus? Where’s---Carlton!�

Cody couldn’t stay focused on Juliet checking up on her partner or Shawn checking in his best friend, because he was occupied with tunnel vision. He felt his throat starting to tighten. “Dad, you really came.�

“Of course I did, son!� Dusty said, clapping his hands on Cody’s shoulders. “When I found out that you were missing, I was worried half to death, and so was your brother!�

Cody’s blue eyes widened. “Is Dustin here too?�

“Hey, Cody,� Randy said with a grin, pointing behind Dusty. “Check it out.�

Cody and Dusty turned to look just in time to see a blond man in a business suit with black-and-gold facepaint dragging HBK off the forklift.

Cody grinned. “Dustin!�

Goldust hit HBK with his most famous move---Shattered Dreams. Cody winced as he watched the Showstopper double over from the powerful low blow.

Randy shook his head, unconsciously moving his hands to cover his waist. “Remind me to never make your brother angry.�

Dusty cackled. “That’s my boy!�

Goldust dragged Shawn Michaels over to them by the hair, with HBK still groaning in pain. “I got him, Pops,� the eldest Rhodes brother said in his distinctive raspy voice. Then he nodded at his younger brother and added, “and the police aren’t far away. When we heard you were in trouble, we called for help.�

Cody grinned as he picked up the sound of approaching sirens in the distance. “Thank you. You really saved the day. Now I guess we should help Gus and---� Cody cut himself off, eyes widening in horror as he saw Triple H standing up, recovering from his chokeslam onto concrete. “Hunter!�

Dusty spun on his heel to see The Game charging at them. And he smiled.

Compared to Dusty, Hunter seemed to be moving in slow motion. For every step that Triple H took, the American Dream lifted his arm up just a little higher, bent at the perfect angle. Hunter’s eyes widened and he struggled to skid to a stop, but in vain; he was already locked into Dusty’s sights, and a split second later, the Dream nailed the Skull King with a skull-cracking Bionic Elbow.

Cody whooped and whistled. “Yeah, Dad! That’s what I’m talking about!� Then he winced and grabbed his own head. “Oh, man, my concussion…�

Without hesitation, Goldust shoved HBK to the ground and went to his brother’s side. “Let’s get you to a doctor, Cody.�

Randy nodded. “Go with your family, Cody,� he said, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll take care of these guys.�

“Just a second,� Cody replied. “There’s still one more thing that I have to do.� Proudly holding his head up high, “Dashing� Cody Rhodes, the American Nightmare, walked over the wreckage of the car that had been destroyed in the melee.

Disregarding the throbbing in his head, he toppled the heavy equipment crate to the ground, grabbed Kane by the front of his red-and-black suit, and hauled him to his feet. Kane growled, but didn’t struggle, still dazed from being crushed under the crate and pushed by the forklift.

Without hesitation, Cody promptly reared back his right arm and plowed his fist into the side of the Big Red Monster’s head. “Don’t you ever, ever mess with my friends again.�
He started to walk away, but then he stepped back. “There’s going to be a time when you have to pick a side, Kane. We all will. Stand up for ourselves, or bow down to Triple H and others like him. I know what I’m going to do. I hope you make the right choice.� Then he returned to his family, leaning on his father and brother for support. “I think I’m ready for that doctor now,� he groaned.


As the Rhodes family gathered into the limousine, Shawn cheered. “Great work, Buttercup! You’ve still got a mean right hook!�

Beside Shawn, splayed out amidst crunched glass, bent fiberglass, and twisted metal, Gus groaned. “Shawn, I feel like my body’s made out of splinters.�

“Don’t worry, Gus. There are police coming, and EMTs.�

“EMTs? Good.�

“Possibly lady EMTs, I don’t know.�
Gus immediately sat up a fraction. “Did you say lady EMTs?�

“Dude, did you really just do the nose flick right now?�

Meanwhile, The Viper Randy Orton dragged the two pillars of D-Generation X to their feet and grinned. “Detective, where do you want ‘em?�

Juliet smiled. “Hold them right there. We can get started reading them their rights before the uniforms come to book them.�

“O’Hara,� Lassiter groaned from the pavement.

“What is it, Carlton?� Juliet asked in concern.

Lassiter’s arm flopped over in her direction, holding something clutched in his fist. “Use my cuffs.�

Juliet grinned. “You got it, partner.�

“You can arrest us all you like, but Vince and Stephanie’s lawyers will have me out of this mess within 24 hours. Shawn, too,� Triple H spat.

“He’s right, you know,� the Heartbreak Kid said politely. “We’ll be back home by the end of the week.�

“I’m sure that’s true,� Juliet replied. “But until then, you’re in my custody. Both of you.� She tightened the cuffs a little extra, relishing the feeling in a way that she never had before.

Unbeknownst to her, Triple H and his best friend were sharing a look---and The Game was very impressed.

Before long, Buzz McNab and Dobson had arrived on scene with several other officers, and two paramedics were loading Gus and Lassiter into an ambulance.

“Are you sure you don’t need to be checked out, too, Shawn? I mean, you got hit pretty hard,� Juliet said, raising her voice enough to be heard over the sound of Lassiter’s vehement protests.

“Are you kidding me, Jules? If anyone needs to be checked out, it’s you. You got hit by a sledgehammer. And a forklift.�

“Maybe we should all get checked out,� she suggested.

Shawn shook his head. “And risk sharing a hospital room with Lassie? I think I’ll take my chances!�

“You know, there’s one thing that I’m curious about.�

“What is it, Jules?�

“Where did Kane and Randy disappear to?�

Shawn looked around and shrugged. “I have no idea. And you know, as much as I love watching wrestling on the TV screen, I’m starting to think that maybe the world of WWE is way too much for me to handle.�

Juliet tilted her head. “I don’t know, Shawn. I think I could get used to it.� Then she wrinkled her nose. “In a way, it kinda reminds me of my brother.�

“What, Ewan?� Shawn laughed. “No way. He’d never be a wrestler. He’s too serious! And have you seen some of the people in the women’s division? I’d bet you five churros that they’re demonic vampire women.�

“Just five churros?�

“Six, plus a DVD collection of MizTV segments if one of them shows up in the roller derby or as a sidekick for a dead British rock star.�

“Now you’re just being ridiculous!�

*********************

Cody Rhodes walked into the Santa Barbara Police Department, took a deep breath of air, and smiled. He gently placed his duffel bag onto the bench by the door and leaned up against Officer Allen’s desk, waiting for her to look up.

When she did, her eyes widened and she gasped. “Ohhhh!� In a flash, she was around the desk and giving him a big hug. “You came back!�

Cody tightened his hug around the sweet woman and beamed. “I had to say goodbye.�

She pulled away from him, holding him at arm’s length, and grinned as she watched his face. “I’m so glad that you’ve finally gotten all your memories back. Congratulations! Oh---I’m so sorry, though. The others are all out right now---something about working on the case of the missing rubber ducks.�

Cody smiled. “It’s all right. I’ll send them a postcard when I get to the next town.�

“What’s next for you, sweetie?� Allen asked.

He shrugged. “I’m going to wrestle. I’m a wrestler. That’s what I do. It’s in my blood.�

“You’re not really going back to work for that horrible man, are you?�

“For now, yeah. The WWE is like my home.� Cody shuffled awkwardly for just a second. “And the SBPD was like my home, too, and I have you to thank for that. Thank you, Officer. For everything. You have no idea what a difference you made.�

She smiled, tears welling in her eyes. “We’re all going to miss you, Cody.�

He returned the smile and tried not to show the ache in his own chest. “Not as much as I’ll miss all of you.� He chuckled and nudged her shoulder. “But hey, if you want, you can still call me Buttercup Jones.�

Allen laughed. “Well, before you go, I have something for you.�

“Oh, no, really, you don’t have to do that.�

“No, no, no, I insist!� She rummaged through her desk drawer and crowed triumphantly when she found a tiny glass bottle of shimmering gold glitter suspended in clear liquid. “This is for you. It’ll protect you wherever you go.�

Cody smiled, lifting the bottle up to the light and watching the glitter swirl. “Thank you, Officer. I really appreciate it. …um…if you don’t mind me asking---what exactly is it?�

“It’s stardust!�

“Stardust,� he echoed. “Huh. I like that.� He slipped the bottle in his jeans pocket. “I’ll take it with me wherever I go, and I’ll never forget you.�

“And you’ll stop by whenever you’re in town?�

“Of course I will!� Then he snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot.�

Quickly, he unzipped his duffel bag and grabbed a small silver device from the top. He grinned as he showed it to Officer Allen. “Do me a favor and give this to Gus for me, okay? Tell him that I already got him past the Aquamentus.�

She returned the grin and stashed the GameBoy in her desk. “I will.�

“Goodbye, Officer. I’m going to miss all of you.�

“One more hug before you go!�

Cody obliged, and then he walked out into the California sunshine, closing his blue eyes for a second to bask in its sweetness. He took the bottle of glitter out of his pocket again and swirled it around as he reached the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps.

“Stardust… Yeah. Yeah, I like that. Stardust…�