Blue Sun Chronicles

By Andie Kirkdale

A young woman named Jane researches her grandfather’s mysterious work during the Third Reich. Her quest takes her from Germany to a blue sun planet in the Andromeda Galaxy. There with the help of a telepathic spider, she discovers traces of a previous alien civilization and the aliens’ connection with Earth. She then risks everything to investigate what happened to the shadowed souls of history who found themselves on a bright, psychedelic planet in an afterlife they never expected.

Will Jane discover the planet’s hidden history before the blue sun goes supernova?

Combining elements of fantasy, science fiction, horror, and speculations about what happens after death, Blue Sun Chronicles presents an alien landscape where minds are made manifest, where inner and outer space meet, and darkness lifts into light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9780359035113

Book preview

Blue Sun Chronicles

Andie Kirkdale

Copyright

Blue Sun Chronicles

Copyright © 2018 by Andie Kirkdale

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, scanning, recording, printing, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First digital edition: August 2018

ISBN 978-0-359-03511-3

Blue Sun Chronicles is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, products, organizations, and incidents are creations of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, products, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design and Art: Dancing Blue Sun by Andie Kirkdale  

Blurb by Andie Kirkdale

Blurb

In a novel told in short stories, a young woman named Jane researches her grandfather’s mysterious work for a secret project during the Third Reich.

Jane’s quest takes her from Germany to a blue sun planet in the Andromeda Galaxy. There with the help of a telepathic spider, she discovers traces of a previous alien civilization and the aliens’ connection with Earth.

Jane then risks everything to investigate what happened to the shadowed souls of history who found themselves on a bright, psychedelic planet in an afterlife they never expected.

Will Jane discover the planet’s hidden history before the blue sun goes supernova?

Combining elements of fantasy, science fiction, horror, and speculations about what happens after death, Blue Sun Chronicles presents an alien landscape where minds are made manifest, where inner and outer space meet, and darkness lifts into light.

Dedication

Many thanks to the spiders who taught me how to weave on through sun, storm, and drought.

And to my main sequence star: shine on.

Epigraph

Call the world if you please ‘The vale of soul-making.’ -- John Keats

Blue Sun Chronicles #1: Illumination

Invocation to Yiqal

We call on the Lady of Blue Fire

To illuminate our minds.

Your rays are a shimmering light

That give us life, give us might.

Remind us that love is the power

Nothing else should we seek.

Remind us truth is the liberation

From the shadows of lies.

One day you will transform

And thus shall we.

In the space between birth and death,

We will keep the Weaving.

We shall drink from the Cup,

A joining of hearts, of souls.

To be our own true selves

For nothing is hidden from your light.

We rejoice in your Unfolding,

Your ascension into the next level.

Take us with you into the light,

O beautiful is the road Home.

Part I: Illumination

Friedrich Crashes a Party

Nürnberg, Germany, 1938

Friedrich runs down the street in Nürnberg.

Throughout town, bells ring from churches, swastika flags fly from the top of buildings. People look out from the windows of medieval, half-timbered houses. The sidewalks fill with the faithful, the followers, and the curious who have come for the Nazi party rally.

Friedrich stops to check his pockets to make sure his copy of the letter is still with him. The letter with his proposal. One that would change Germany, the world.

Storm Troopers in brown uniforms stride down the street on patrol. Friedrich turns away, pretending interest in a poster advertising events at the rally. When the Storm Troopers pass by, he steps back out into the street.

Ahead of Friedrich is the Nürnberg city hall. Long black cars pull up to drop off their passengers, people he knows by face, by name, by reputation. He looks for one and sights him, a spectacled man of medium height, a rounded face, and wearing a black uniform. He presses himself against the side of the building and waits for the man to walk in before following him.

The reception hall inside is a palette of brown and black uniforms, red swastika flags, and congratulations. The mayor of Nürnberg shakes the hand of the leader, the man of destiny whose will they celebrate every year.

Mein Führer, says the mayor, "once again I welcome you to Nürnberg for the annual Party Congress. This year’s theme is Tag des Grossdeutschlands to mark the Anschluss."

Thank you, Liebel, says Hitler. Now we go to work on Czechoslovakia.

They discuss Styrian wheat yields, Viennese cafés, and the appointment of Austrian Nazi party members to key positions. Everyone around Hitler nods and heils and grins. The Ostmark is now part of the German Reich. And so will the Sudetenland.

Friedrich slinks along the wall until he finds the man in the black uniform, the one who has not yet answered his letter. He approaches the man, who now speaks with three other officers in black SS uniforms. Two are tall and blond and the third is shorter and dark-haired, all elegant, sleek, and arrogant.

Friedrich is aware of his modest suit and old shoes but still walks forward. Herr Himmler, he says in a wavering voice. Then after clearing his throat, he says in a louder, more confidant tone, Reichsführer.

Himmler looks up from a document he’s reading. Do I know you?

Yes. Friedrich takes a few more steps, despite the frowns of the attending officers. My name is Friedrich Winkelmeier. I’m a student at the University of München. I assist Professor Ritter.

Yes, I know Ritter, says Himmler. Good scholar and SS officer. But this is hardly the time to discuss academics.

It’s not about that, says Friedrich. Last month I sent you a letter about my project. About my training with the Vril Society.

Himmler’s eyes, at first concealed by his glasses, now light up. Yes, I recall now receiving a message to that effect.

I trained with the Vril Society as a remote viewer. Friedrich grins, unable to stop his excitement. Reichsführer, I contacted an alien race in the Andromeda Galaxy. They live on a planet that orbits a blue sun.

There’s a long pause. They stare at him. Then one of the blond SS officers, one with narrow blue eyes, breaks out into snorting laughter. The other two shake their heads.

An intriguing speculation, says Himmler, but…

The aliens have an advanced civilization, says Friedrich. Art, music, and film. And fruit trees.

The SS officer stops laughing. You’ve had your say, he says, Now get out.

Wait, it’s important, says Friedrich. We must get there before the blue sun unfolds.

Himmler nods at two nearby guards. They walk over and grab Friedrich’s arms.

Listen to me, shouts Friedrich. Everyone in the room now turns toward him. The aliens have advanced technology, weapons, and abundant resources.

The guards lead Friedrich away, but he tries again. The aliens can help us, he says. "They are Übermenschen who know how to reach the source of all universes. Their scientists can show us…"

The guards push Friedrich out the door. After a moment’s pause, the gathered Party leaders exchange looks and then laughter.

A short official in a brown jacket says to a taller, larger man in a blue uniform, You hear that, Göring? Utter nonsense. How did that man get into university?

Indeed, touched in the head, says Göring. Maybe you should put that in your speech, Goebbels. Appeal to all the nice ladies to take a one pot meal to starving students so they don’t go mad from hunger.

And yet, says another Party official who looks out the window, it is possible there is intelligent life on other planets.

Come now Hess, there’s hardly intelligent life on this planet, says Goebbels.

The dark-haired SS officer attending Himmler taps his temple. Crazy. The fellow’s been out in the sun too long, he says. Or should I say under a blue sun? He laughs.

Or he’s an idiot, says the officer with the narrow blue eyes.

Fruit trees? The other blond officer grimaces. What does that have to do with anything important?

Hitler finishes a conversation with the mayor and turns around. Is that strange person gone? Has everyone had their laugh? Because I don’t have time for nonsense. We have to discuss the Sudetenland.

Everyone nods and heils and forgets the visitor. They follow Hitler and the mayor into a conference room. On the way in, Himmler pauses near the door and says, Wolff, take a note.

Ja, Reichsführer. One of the blond officers stops next to him and takes out a notepad and pen from his pocket.

When we get back to Berlin, look up that man’s letter and get his address, says Himmler. Send him an invitation to meet me at Wewelsburg. I’d like to speak with him.

Wolff’s pen pauses over his notepad. You’re certain?

Yes. He mentioned the Vril Society. Because, Himmler lowers his voice, they wrote about a blue star planet. I want to know what he’s researching.

Jawohl, Reichsführer. Wolff writes the man’s name down.

They enter the conference room, and a guard closes the doors.

Water in the Desert

Palm Springs, California, present day

Jane runs down the street in Palm Springs.

While the band on the stage grooves disco and the heat waves September, tourists and residents gather on Palm Canyon Drive. From their booths, vendors offer vegetables and candles, memorabilia and dreams, desert sands and cacti blooms. It’s a street party in the California desert.

She stops to check the flyers from the print shop. Yes, all there. Time to spread the word.

At a café, her friend Natalie waves at her to come over, then does a double take when Jane approaches the table.

You finally found your hair color, says Natalie. It’s fabulous.

Jane grins and tosses back her long locks of pink. Thanks, found a good stylist. My parents will freak out, but I had to do it. Life is too short not to have fun.

That’s right, says Natalie. I’m waiting for Jarrett to set up our booth. She nods at the flyers in Jane’s hands. Are they paying you?

It’s an internship. I get a resume entry and glory. Jane takes her phone out of her pocket. Can you take a picture of me? I want some pictures to show my uncle when I see him.

While Natalie lines up the shot, Jane brushes the lint and sand off her black jeans and black t-shirt. Natalie takes the picture, then hands the phone back. When’s your flight? she asks.

On Friday, says Jane. My first trip to Germany. And my first Oktoberfest. She pockets her phone, then takes out a pharmacy bottle.

Didn’t you already take one today? asks Natalie.

This medication is once a day, but I like an extra. Jane gulps a white pill down dry.

Don’t overdo it, says Natalie. She checks her phone. That’s Jarrett. Come over to our booth when you’re ready.

After Natalie leaves, Jane considers the view. The sun sets behind San Jacinto Mountain, bringing a relief of dark into the scorched day. Lights thread the palm trees lining the street, creating a weaving of gold. Midcentury modern vibes and of margaritas everyone imbibes.

Drought awareness, Jane calls out to the crowds. Tonight’s concert is for drought awareness. She hands flyers out to passersby. Support the Coachella Valley water conservation drive.

A visitor takes a flyer from her, then tosses it into a trashcan. There’s nothing you can do about it, he says.

If we all work together, we can… says Jane. But he walks away.

Undaunted, she continues her mission, passing out flyers and educating people about the drought. Her next stop is at the margarita booth. Something about the pomegranate calls her, multi-seeded bursts of a mysterious sun that lights up a secret tequila distillery. Salt rim and lime ring and she’s off to pass out more flyers.

Are you registered to vote? The voice comes from a woman in a rainbow flag t-shirt at a nearby booth.

Yes, I don’t want to miss this election, says Jane.

Good because too many young people don’t vote, says the woman. I hope you’ll support Callahan.

Of course I’m voting for her, I’m a Democrat, says Jane.

Thank the nonexistent God for that, says the woman. Because if you vote Republican, you’re a Nazi.

Sure, everyone hates the Nazis, says Jane. They’re all fashion sense and no common sense.

What? cries the woman. This isn’t funny. If Newcombe is elected, he’ll take us back to the 1930s. She turns to the people behind Jane.

Jane moves on, ready for November to arrive already. Elections get worse every cycle.

She reaches her friends’ booth. Natalie and Jarrett line up bottles of craft beer, their side gig to the corporate grind.

We have a new flavor, says Jarrett. He turns a bottle around to show its label. Schrödinger’s Brew. Collapse the taste wave.

Jane starts to ask whether any cats were harmed in the making of the beer but a homeless man carrying a plastic shopping bag walks up to them. Change? he asks.

Jane scoops change from her pocket and puts it into his hand.

Thanks. The homeless man puts the coins into his bag. By the way, you have to find the key.

The key? asks Jane.

That’s right, says the homeless man. Don’t let the shadows bite into your mind.

Shadows can bite? asks Jarrett.

The man nods. They fly all around us, but you can’t see them yet. He walks away.

Natalie watches the homeless man as he weaves in and out of the pedestrians and vendor booths. What was that about a key?

Never mind, says Jane. Random strangeness.

They catch up on work weeks and family news. While sipping her drink, Jane watches her friends with her usual mix of affection and envy. Friends since their first semester at CSU-Coachella Valley. As a couple, Natalie and Jarrett complement each other in a way Jane hopes she can find with a guy.

She walks down the street, handing out flyers and educating people on when to use sprinklers and to shut off the tap while brushing their teeth.

But this is America, says a tourist. I’ll water my lawn whenever I want for as long as I want. He walks away.

Jane shrugs and goes to the next booth to look through tourist knickknacks. She thinks about taking a gift to her uncle. Then, as she browses a collection of cacti, she sees him. Tall, sandy blond hair, black leather jacket despite the heat. And she has a flyer left.

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, takes out a flyer, and says, Hi, I’m with the water conservation project. It’s drought awareness week.

He takes a flyer. Do you have any tips?

At the sound of his Scottish accent, her heart does a flip. My friends brew craft beer so you can drink that instead of water.

He laughs. I can do that. He holds out his hand with a smile. Ian McCullen.

She shakes his hand. Jane Winkelmeier-McBride.

You live here then?

Yes, since middle school. And you?

I live in L.A. Out here with a tv production crew. Any visitor recommendations?

Plenty. As she tucks another strand of hair away, her elbow knocks over a display of candles. Fargh!

He helps her pick the candles up. What’s a fargh? he asks.

My parents don’t like f-bombs, so I use made up words.

There are terms in Scots you’d probably appreciate.

She’s about to ask him where in Scotland he’s from when a woman in a yellow dress steps out, margarita in hand. Despite the woman’s big hat and sunglasses, Jane recognizes her from television.

Hey, Sunny, says Ian. I was talking with…

It’s getting late, says Sunny, putting her arm around Ian. Let’s ditch this tired scene. This place is where old golfers and Republicans go to die.

The Coachella Valley is an important agricultural region, says Jane. The tribes here knew how to live with the environment and…

What are you, a nature nerd? Sunny gives Jane a once over. Interesting suntan you got there. She puts her margarita glass down near the candle display and says to Ian, We need to get back to the hotel. I have to get ready for my concert in Germany.

I got the tickets, don’t worry about that, says Ian.

Sunny tugs at Ian’s arm. Let’s go.

As they leave, Jane turns away, annoyed at Sunny’s comment about her appearance. Still, it was mild. She’s heard worse.

Back at Natalie and Jarrett’s booth, she says, I saw that singer Sunny Ray. More like sour storm. She takes out the pharmacy bottle to check how many pills she has left.

Natalie gives Jane a concerned look. I’m worried about the number of pills you’re taking.

You know medication got me through school, says Jane. I can’t focus without them.

What about meditation though? Your med has all these side effects: irregular heartbeat, insomnia, dangerous when mixed with other drugs.

Jane shrugs. Nat, you worry too much.

I’m Italian, caring too much is what I do, says Natalie.

While her friends talk to customers, Jane scrolls through job listings. The restaurant she waitressed at in college went out of business so she’s getting by on freelance writing and a part time job at a clothing store.

After chatting again with Natalie and Jarrett, Jane leaves for home. While walking to her apartment complex, she dry swallows another pills. She dashes up the stairs to her apartment and trips on a box lying on the doorstep.

The Problematic Box

Jane stumbles, catches herself, and picks up the box, puzzled. She doesn’t remember ordering anything. The return address on the package reads Sebastian Winkelmeier, Haching, Germany. Her uncle.

Inside, she places the box on the kitchen counter and starts a pot of coffee. As she takes a mug out of the cupboard, a small black spider runs down from the shelf and across the counter. She grabs a nearby book, smacks it on the counter but misses the arachnid. It eight-legs away into a crack where counter and wall meet. After making sure the spider is gone, she pours a cup of coffee and wakes up her laptop.

For a moment, she glances at her hand as it lingers on the keyboard, remembering Sunny’s comment. Only it’s not a suntan but a distinct bluish tone she’s always had. She still hopes it’ll go away somehow.

While reading a website about Oktoberfest history, Jane takes notes for an article. Jokes she’s written about her background run through her mind: why can’t we be something people have fun stereotypes about, like Canadian? I could get into hockey, toques, and Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day. No, with Germany, it’s war, questionable facial hair, and ve vould like to ask you zome qvestions.

But curiosity drives her to open the box. The item under the packing peanuts is a small book bound in brown leather with gilt-edged pages entitled Deutsche Lyrik: Ausgewählte Gedichte. The table of contents reveals the usual suspects in German poetry: Goethe, Schiller, Novalis, Walther von der Vogelweide. Goethe’s Faust laments the two contrasting souls in his breast. Eichendorff’s narrators wander in beautiful landscapes.

She examines the book’s flyleaf for information about its former owner and finds the name Friedrich Winkelmeier. Below the name is a rubber stamp mark with the words, Reichsführer-SS Bücherei.

In the middle of the book is an envelope with a letter from her uncle. Dear Jane, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. I enjoyed my trip to Palm Springs, and I’m delighted that finally you can come to Germany. After many years of teaching history, I’ve retired and have time to look through family photos and documents. The enclosed book belonged to your grandfather, a Yule gift from Heinrich Himmler. Your grandfather was a student at the University of Munich where he researched Alpine supernatural folklore with the support of Himmler.

Jane scans the rest of her uncle’s letter. Himmler sponsored her grandfather’s studies? That’s problematic. She then notices there are two other documents in the envelope.

One is a black and white wedding photograph. The handwritten caption on the back reads Friedrich und Kora Winkelmeier (nee Bachmann) bei ihrer Hochzeit April 1945. Her grandfather wears a dark suit, and her grandmother wears Bavarian traditional dress. So romantic. Except for the giant swastika flag behind them. And the picture of Adolf Hitler under the flag. Jane sighs. Nothing like shaking the family tree to watch the nuts drop out. But there is another photograph in the envelope.

This photo shows three men standing on snow-covered ground near a brownish-gray stone wall. The first is a tall, slender man in a black SS uniform, his mouth a thin line of determination. The peaked cap of his SS officer’s hat shadows his face but his icy eyes pierce right through her. Underneath him is the caption Obersturmbannführer Professor Doktor Wolfgang Ritter.

Her grandfather wears a tweed suit and a grin. She stares at his face, wishing she could ask him zome qvestions. Then she studies the third man standing between them, wearing a black uniform and glasses. Heinrich Himmler. Castle Wewelsburg, Germany, 1939, runs the photo’s caption.

She picks up the poetry book again. A small object slides out of the book and onto the counter. She peels the fragile, dried tape away from the object and holds it up to the light. From the leather cord dangles a silver medallion in the shape of a galaxy.

Puzzled, Jane puts the medallion, the pictures, and the book down on the counter. Her mother rarely spoke about her grandfather, only mentioning he was an alcoholic. Now she understands why. You don’t ride with Himmler unless you’re hardcore.

Her peripheral vision catches a movement. The spider runs out from its hiding place and up the box. Its eight eyes appear to twinkle with mischief. But before she can throw a book at it, the spider runs away.

An idea forms in her restless, attention-depleted mind. Oktoberfest is next week already. The schedule is tight, and she needs to make arrangements and phone calls. But desire for the big story pushes her forward. If she could get over to Germany and find what her grandfather did exactly, it could be the break she’s looking for.

Of Stars and Margaritas

At JFK airport Jane calls her mother, preparing for the worry fest.

Are you sure you’re ready for this trip? asks Karla.

Jane tightens her grip on her carry-on bag. Mom, I need to get out in the world and write travel articles, she says. This is only the second time I’ve ever seen Uncle Sebastian. Since I’ve never been to Germany.

We were busy working, and you were in school. Besides, Sebastian is strange. When we were young, he thought we had a poltergeist in our house. Jane, writing as a career will never work out.

Jane scans the hallway and finds the sign for her gate. I’m bored with routine jobs. I want travel, adventure, activism.

Be realistic, says Karla. You’re not capable of undertaking a big task like this. Besides, nothing ever works out for our family.

Because you don’t give things a chance, Mom. In high school Herr Knopf said I was good at German, but you wouldn’t let me study abroad, even though Uncle Sebastian offered to help.

Germany isn’t like America, says Karla.

Lyra offered me more work at her store, but you wouldn’t let me.

She was strange, says Karla. She thought aliens were real.

But it was fun working at her store.

There’s more to life than fun, says Karla. You should turn around and go back home. This is too much for you.

I can do this. I gotta do this. Jane clicks off. Which she hates to do, but it’s necessary. The gate is up ahead along with her future. She stops to dry-swallow another pill.

On the plane Jane flings herself into her seat in the last row. She settles in and thinks about her high school job at Aurora Books. The owner, Lyra Kindred, opened the shop to bring the Age of Aquarius to people still living in the Age of Pisces. Jane went to the store on opening day, bought a book about aliens, and applied for a job. Lyra hired her on the spot. She loved the job but then Lyra closed the store and moved to Santa Barbara.

Now she’s learned her Nazi grandfather also had an interest in the paranormal. Too strange. She re-reads Uncle Sebastian’s letter and leafs through the poetry book. Then she notices inside the book’s back cover a list of words in an unknown language: xexe quivax, w’jet tol, va bava je. Part of her grandfather’s research? Himmler’s shopping list?

For the next few hours Jane reads up on Oktoberfest, makes notes for an article, waiting for exhaustion to tire her out. But she still feels wired and takes sleeping pill. Her consciousness falls into a dark place and stays there. A second later, or so it feels, a flight attendant is speaking to her.

The plane has landed, she says to Jane. We’re in Munich. Do you have a connection?

What? Jane looks around, groggy. For a moment she doesn’t know where she is or what she’s doing. Something about stars and margaritas. Then she remembers and says, Thanks, but my trip ends here.

At the Munich airport, Jane picks up her suitcase and looks for the commuter train line that will take her to her uncle’s suburb of Haching. Jetlag fogs her mind, but she takes a pill.

On the train, she can’t stop looking at everything. For the first time in her life, she’s in another country. The air is different. The landscape is different. She feels different. Outside the house and storefronts go by. In the distance are wide green fields. On the side of a wall, she notices a graffiti scrawl about Dachau, but it goes by too fast for her to read.

"Hhhhaaaachhhing," says the conductor over the P.A. She realizes the conductors isn’t clearing his throat but announcing her stop.

On the train platform in Haching, she shoulders her backpack and follows Sebastian’s directions to his house. The early autumn heat makes her sleepy, but she pushes on. Several blocks and a winding path through tree-lined streets later, she knocks on the door of a small white house with a red roof.

The door opens. An older man with gray hair and dressed in a Bavarian jacket and knee-length lederhosen stands on the other side. Jane, you’re here at last! he says.

"Guten Tag, Onkel Sebastian," she says.

House of Memories

Sebastian pulls Jane into a hug. I’m so happy to see you. Come in. As he takes her jacket, he says, Your hair, it’s…

I have a great stylist, she says, looking around the hallway. This is all so German with the wood and the pewter and the Meissen china. What are those things on the wall?

"Stadtwappen, city coats of arms, from around the country. He takes her backpack and coat, then points to a yellow shield with a monk in black robes. That’s the Stadtwappen for Munich. The figure is called the Münchner Kindl. Munich was founded in 888 AD. Ach, he breaks off. Too many years a teacher. Let’s have a seat."

Jane walks into a living room with a large window looking out into a garden. On a mantelpiece is a collection of pictures: Karla and Sebastian as children, Jane’s school pictures that Karla mailed over, and a woman in a formal wedding portrait. Jane recognizes her as Ursula, Sebastian’s wife, who died before she was born.

She pauses to study a color picture of her grandparents with teenaged Karla and Sebastian on holiday in the mountains. Like her, the siblings both have a blue tone to their skin. She wonders where the trait came from because neither grandparent has it.

Sebastian returns with a bottle of mineral water and glasses. Please have a seat, he says. The couch is new, but the chairs and tables are authentic Biedermeier. The carpets are handmade by your great-grandfather who was a weaver. And this, he indicates a green wooden cabinet with a painted floral design, was built by one of your great-uncles.

I didn’t know my ancestors were creative, says Jane. Mom doesn’t talk about the family or Germany much.

Karla wanted to be an American, says Sebastian as he sits down on a chair across from her. Let’s catch up. Tell me about your writing.

Local publications, mostly. The most exciting project was my senior thesis. I presented a paper about John Steinbeck at an English conference up in Carmel.

I’m proud of you, says Sebastian. You accept challenges. Like your grandfather. You know, he communicated with aliens.

All right, let’s get to this strangeness, says Jane. That’s what you meant by his research in supernatural folklore?

Yes, in a region of Austria near Salzburg where he and Professor Ritter went to conduct their research, the locals told stories about mysterious entities that might have been extraterrestrials.

Nice that my grandfather was into aliens before they were cool. But come on, did he really contact another planet?

He claimed he did, says Sebastian. I must tell you though, that after the war, he drank and was under psychiatric care.

That’s not good, says Jane. That could be hereditary.

He was ambitious and that’s what got him in trouble, says Sebastian. Karla and our mother didn’t want to know what he’d done. But I wanted to learn if there was any truth in his madness. Before he passed away, he related to me some details of his work. I’ve been working on the rest with documents he left behind.

His secret work for Himmler?

Yes, Himmler had an interest in the occult and sponsored his trip to Austria. Friedrich was certain there was an inhabited planet in the Andromeda galaxy. To start with, he trained with the remaining members of an occult group, the Vril Society. They attempted to re-establish the visionary traditions that European cultures lost.

You mean the paranormal?

I mean shamanic wisdom, says Sebastian. The knowledge of how the universe works. There is little in modern Western civilization that prepares us for the mysteries. Fairy tales are one of our few connections.

I remember you sent me a book of fairy tales when I was young, says Jane. I also liked the Romantic poets and writers.

Those movements were the rebirth of the visionary in the West, says Sebastian. Your grandfather was skilled as a remote viewer.

I’ve heard about remote viewing, says Jane. Spooky Cold War psy-ops stuff. Does it work?

Yes, I’ve tried it, he says. Although in my case I find it helps if I use marijuana.

Jane sits up in her seat and peers out the window at the garden outside. Another surprise. She had no idea her well-mannered teacher and librarian uncle was a mystical toker.

I don’t grow it, says Sebastian. It’s illegal here, too. He reaches over to a bookshelf and pulls down a volume. This is a sketchbook your grandfather made of his visions. The name of the planet was Mayavi.

"Mah-yah-vee, Jane repeats as she looks through the sketchbook. Drawings of a man wearing a plaid kilt, a woman sitting in a tree, a farmer in a field of crops, flowers, strange mechanical devices, and what looks like an oversized spider. She shudders at the spider and says, The aliens look human. Like a tribe that could have lived here."

The tribes on Mayavi were called the Tullaqor and the Telendi, says Sebastian. Friedrich thought they had a connection with the Celtic tribes in that region of Austria.

Jane repeats the words Too-la-kor and Teh-len-dee, then reminds herself that her grandfather was a strange person before asking, What was this planet like?

Inhabitable like Earth, with a warmer climate. It orbited a blue star. The tribes had a religion based on the star going supernova.

That would make you consider your mortality, says Jane. She points at a drawing of a tall, shaggy figure. Looks like a bear standing on its hind legs.

It also looks like a Perchtenlaufer, an Alpine tradition. During Yule, people wear costumes like that in honor of the goddess Perchta. Friedrich thought this custom had a connection to a similar one on Mayavi.

This is seriously interesting but seriously weird, says Jane. Try talking about this in everyday conversation. Wait, don’t.

That’s because over the years our perspective on life and the universe has become smaller, says Sebastian. We’ve lost our visions.

Tell that to most people and they’ll say it’s bullshit. Jane digs into her jeans pocket and pulls out the galaxy medallion. Was this his?

Sebastian nods. Yes, it’s a representation of Andromeda. Himmler invited Friedrich out to his castle Wewelsburg to discuss how use the alien technology to create a weapon.

Now that sounds Germanic. As in, grim. Jane examines the drawings again, then shuts the sketch book. That man was either crazy or stoned out his mind.

You’re quite the skeptic.

Microbes on Mars are one thing. Ghosts might be something. But weapons of weird destruction are quite another topic.

It’s the Faustian spirit, part of our heritage says Sebastian. The quest for the impossible, the transcendent.

Which is fun until it isn’t, she says. How committed was he to Nazism?

Sebastian pauses for a moment, then takes out a photo album from the green cabinet. The words die guten alten Zeiten are embossed on the album’s black leather cover. The good old days.

The first page shows pictures of relatives who lived during the Kaiser’s era. Then a picture of a Leopold Winkelmeier who died in the Battle of Verdun in 1916. Across from him is an attached letter from bakery owner Karl Winkelmeier to the editor of the Völkischer Beobachter in 1923.

His letter is about Hitler’s Beer Hall Putsch, says Jane. Something about people he calls the Immortal Sixteen.

The ones who died at the Feldherrnhalle while marching with Hitler against the Bavarian government, says Sebastian. The Nazis made them into heroes for the movement along with the Storm Trooper Horst Wessel.

On the next pages, Winkelmeiers write letters to newspapers complaining about the Weimar government and inflation. In another picture, swastika flags decorate medieval buildings and flutter from the hands of cheering people. Hitler stands in an open car, saluting a passing Storm Trooper column. Nürnberg 1938, runs the handwritten caption. Today I too will make history for Germany. It’s signed with her grandfather’s name

Jane sighs, closes the album, and stands up. Uncle Sebastian, this is too much. I’m tripping but not in a good way. I have to go. I need to process this alone.

I understand, he says. It’s a difficult history. But don’t stay out too late. Call me and I’ll take a train up to the city. There’s another matter related to Friedrich’s work we should discuss. He spoke of a place called the Jarok T’ar and about a woman named Pinala.

She nods. More strange alien stuff. All right. I’ll take a tour, visit Oktoberfest, and call you when I’m ready.

Ghosts in the City

As Jane walks up the stairs from the train station to the Marienplatz, Munich’s central square, she gasps. She has never been in a place so historic. Palm Springs was incorporated in 1938, but Munich is from another era altogether. The words medieval and renaissance were terms in history books. Now they’re a reality in front of her.

She sits down on the edge of a fountain in front of the neo-Gothic City Hall and takes a guidebook out of her backpack. White and blue checked Bavarian flags flutter from the pointed spire of City Hall. A tall white pillar with a golden statue of the Virgin Mary rises above the Marienplatz. Hundreds of people stream up from the subway station. Voices in dozens of languages echo through the square. Shoppers, students, locals, and tourists hurry up and down the streets that fan out from the square. In the distance to the south and west comes the roar of Oktoberfest on the Theresienwiesn.

She walks away from the Marienplatz into the side streets and takes notes. Every sight from the Bavarian royal family palace to the tall twin onion domes of the Our Lady Church to the fruit and flower-filled stands of the street market reminds her how little she knows about her own background.

On a side street Jane takes out her phone and presses record to pick up the ambient noise. The clouds part and the sun appears, beginning its afternoon dip into the western sky. She takes notes and pictures of buildings for her article then heads for the city museum.

At the museum Jane stands in line for tickets and notices a sign for a special exhibit about Munich during the Third Reich. She wavers, tempted. Then a tall, thin man in a black suit walks by. He looks insubstantial in the late afternoon autumn sun. Jane blinks and then he’s gone. A hallucination from jetlag and sleep deprivation.

After the museum, she heads west to a grass field surrounded by Greco-Roman buildings. She consults the guidebook, noting it’s called the Königsplatz, commissioned by King Ludwig I. The Nazis then paved the place to turn it into an administrative center connected to the Party headquarters nearby, the Brown House. She shades her eyes against the afternoon sun. At the entrance of the Brown House stands a tall, thin man dressed in black. Despite the distance, she can see his eyes. Blue, icy. She looks away, then keeps walking.

While standing on the paved open area of the Odeonsplatz, she takes pictures of the long, columned building of the Bavarian royal palace and a Baroque building painted yellow, the Theatiner Street Church. In front of her is the Feldherrnhalle memorial, a columned building with two lion statues flanking the steps. She glances up from the guidebook and sees a group of young men with short hair, jeans, and polo shirts on the steps.

She squeezes through the crowds up to the lions to look at the plaques dedicated to the German armed forces. The guys on the steps don’t look too friendly. She guesses they’re Neos, paying their respects to the Putsch.

Then inspiration strikes her. She pulls the galaxy medallion out of her pocket and lets it rest in her palm. Sunlight flashes across the spirals. The young men do double takes, get up, and walk in the direction of Oktoberfest. She pockets the medallion and sits down on the steps of the Feldherrnhalle to watch the crowds.

Then the tall, thin man in black shimmers into view in front of her, silhouetted by the late afternoon sun. Silver flashes from his black hat and collar. She blinks. He’s gone.

She takes out her phone and plugs in a set of ear buds. The ambient crowd noise with its multiple languages, music, and murmur sounds good. She rewinds a segment and listens again. Underneath a crowd murmur comes another sound, something low yet distinct, an aspirating noise as if a thousand people were exhaling, "Heiilll… She stops the recording, astonished. How did that get on there? She rewinds the segment and listens again. The sound comes through clearer now, a distinct Heiilll…Hitler."

Jane hits the stop button and pockets her phone with a shudder. At Lyra’s bookstore, she read about electronic voice phenomena, how paranormal researchers record ghost voices. Spooked out by the ghost in black and the voices on the recording, she stands up to leave the past for the present.

Hello, excuse me.

At the sound of the voice, Jane looks up, startled. The man in front of her wears a Munich policeman’s uniform.

I’m Officer Hausler, he says. Are you all right?

"Of course! Everything is wunderbar."

Good. He checks her eyes. Because you were sitting on the steps of the Feldherrnhalle looking distressed.

I love Oktoberfest! She grins, aware it’s too wide.

Many people do, he says. If you need any help though, please contact us. He nods to her and moves on.

After he leaves, Jane runs away from the Feldherrnhalle and the Odeonsplatz. Encounters with the police are not on her to-do list.

The evening dusk creeps in, bringing shadows. She takes another pill and puts an extra in her pocket for later.

Wyrdtoberfest

The flow of the night crowds carries her along down the streets to Oktoberfest. People stream through the main gate and fan out to the different tents. At the first tent, a giant lit-up beer mug calls the sailors, the drunks, and the doomed like a lighthouse. The scent of roasting chickens and fresh-baked bread mingle while traditional blasmusik booms and thumps with thunder tubas and elephant trombones wailing the beer apocalypse.

In a tent she buys a Masskrug of beer and a heart-shaped gingerbread cookie with the word Liebe stenciled in frosting. She loops the attached red ribbon around her neck and strolls around, beer in hand. Hundreds of people sit in rows at long tables. Waitresses hustle, clutching six mugs at a time. Pine wreaths interwoven with Bavarian blue and white ribbons shake above them from the beat of the music.

At a table she finds a group of students from Berlin, dressed in seapunk fashions.

We hate Oktoberfest, says one wearing a starfish hat. Such a cliché. The rest of the world thinks all Germans are drunk lederhosen-wearing Bavarians.

The real culture is in Berlin, says a woman in a black velvet gown and pirate hat next to him.

But then again, the beer’s good and it’s a party, says starfish hat. Hey, want some fun? He moves a napkin toward Jane.

She takes the napkin, feels the shape of the pill wrapped in it, and puts it in her pocket, intending to dump it later. Who knows what it is. But she found an opening for her article: party drugs and Prussian pirate snarking.

Outside the tent, neon lights pulse. A large Ferris wheel spins, carrying cars of tourists. The summer warmth lingers as the moon rises. Jane checks her phone. One more hour and she’ll call Sebastian. Now it’s time for her medication. She gropes in her pocket for the pill she shook out earlier.

Hello, says a voice. Standing in front of her is a young man with a beer in hand. "I saw you in town. Ich heisse Ralf."

Your name is Adolf? Wait, I have to take my medication. She finds the pill and chases it down with beer.

No, it’s Ralf. But to be named after the Führer would be great.

She recognizes him as one of the Neos at the Feldherrnhalle memorial. Can’t stay. Have to go to the restroom.

The lines are long. I can stand with you and keep you company. And, he lowers his voice, I noticed you have a galaxy medallion.

It was my grandfather’s. Her eyes dart around. The wooziness increases, a pleasant, light-filled, and gentle sensation, like nerves singing a lullaby to themselves.

The web of wyrd has brought us together, says Ralf.

The weird? Now her skin feels hot, alien, and strange.

Wyrd as in fate or destiny, strands woven together. Ralf leans in closer, eyes wide. This summer, I visited Himmler’s castle. He was interested in the occult and sponsored several secret projects, including one about looking for alien technology.

Sweat beads Jane’s forehead. Her vision tunnels. My regards to the castle lord. I have to leave.

I wish you’d stay, he says. There are so few women in the National Socialist movement.

She searches for the exit. I’m not in the movement.

Hallo, Oktoberfest, rings out a DJ’s voice. From the central stage come sounds of dance music. Are you ready to party?

The urge to dance works its way through Jane’s arms and legs. Each drumbeat turns the air into colors. At the edge of her vision, the colors turn into choreography, notes taking the form of bubbles that perform their own dance in a perpendicular dimension.

Her mouth disconnects from her brain. I’m not in the movement but still we should dance, she says to Ralf.

Ralf hesitates. Normally I don’t dance to degenerate music. But I’ll make an exception for you.

People push by, yelling and hoisting their steins. A drunk reels into Jane from behind. She falls, but hands catch her.

You’re an asshole, shouts Ralf as he pulls her up.

Get out, Nazi, the drunk yells in return.

The term is National Socialist. Ralf lowers his head, then charges, his fist flying in the direction of the drunk’s face. The booming of the bass muffles the cracking sound as Ralf’s fist meets the drunk’s nose. The drunk staggers back, hands pressed against his face.

Someone yells and more people rush over to watch the fight. Feet pound the walkway. Animal instinct propels Jane forward, tearing and clawing her way out of the mad flesh press of the beer-soaked, enraged crowd. She runs into the cool night.

Tourists fill the streets, in sidewalk cafes and in chattering groups. She weaves in and out of them, ignoring their side-eyes at her unsteady movements. When she reaches the Feldherrnhalle again, her legs give way. The world spins. Emotions alternate. Despair. Elation. Then a distant voice mutters, took the wrong pill, now go over the hill.

The sidewalk tilts to a steep angle. She paws at the phone in her pocket, but her fingers feel disconnected, like they’re on someone else’s arm.

Lurching down the street, she tries to hail a cab. Her arm tells her if it waves long enough, one will appear from somewhere.

Down the narrow street roars the engine of a vehicle. A sports car swings around the bend with a driver in a black leather jacket and a woman in a yellow dress.

Hey, shtop, Jane slurs at them. I’m looking for a key.

Tires screech, brakes squeal. A bang explodes the air. The vibrations send a wind through her. Something hurts, something is wet.

Darkness sweeps in.

Into the Beyond

The stars above blink out one by one, their silver lights turning black. Shadows fill the sky, the buildings, and the sidewalks. The moon rises, round and pale.

A cool wind sweeps through Jane’s body, loosening knots in her muscles, pulling her up. In the distance something pops, like a cork from a champagne bottle, followed by silence.

Around her on the Odeonsplatz, people run toward a red sports car parked in the street. The car’s driver leaps out and runs to the sidewalk. His passenger remains in the car, her mouth open in a silent scream. Officer Hausler talks to a man who points at something on the sidewalk.

Jane turns to a woman next to her. What’s going on?

But the woman doesn’t appear to notice Jane. Instead her mouth opens in that same soundless scream as the car’s passenger.

A woman’s body lies on the sidewalk, splashed with mud. The driver of the sports car gestures at the crowd to move back. He kneels next to her body and puts his fingers on her wrist to check for a pulse.

Jane remembers to call Uncle Sebastian. She reaches for the phone in her pocket to check the time but finds nothing. Including her jeans. And the leg that is usually in the jeans. Where jeans and legs ought to be is a mist. She looks at the body on the street and then back at the mist.

An ambulance steers around the corner, its lights staining the windows of cars and buildings red. It screeches to a halt next to the crowd. Two medics jump out and run over to the body on the sidewalk.

Jane looks up at the sky. Far above, farther than she can measure in the beyond, a distant star blinks back on in the empty sky. It twinkles and then shines a light like blue fire. Come find the rest of yourself, the star seems to say. Curiosity overcomes her. She wants to visit that star, the lone light in an ocean of dark. The wind blows again, lifting her up into the air.

She drifts away from the street and up the Gothic spire of City Hall. The golden dome of St. Peter’s church glints from the distant blue star’s light. Munich lies below her, streets radiating out from the Marienplatz nucleus like sunrays.

The Earth’s sun rises yellow and fiery, turning oceans, forests, and ice caps into glittering blue, white, and green landscapes. The landscapes turn into deserts with small, sandy hills that grow into a system of vast mountains. Her flight takes on the heights, her mist-feet brushing jagged mountain tops drilling white into the blue.

The mountains rise into the sky, clouds trailing from the snow-covered peaks. The wind pushes her up. She hovers above a mountain with a jagged sheet of ice. Behind her, the sun sinks below the horizon and more stars blink on. The sky turns sapphire, then darkens into navy.

Rings of indistinct, smoky forms fill the air. Faces appear within the rings. A murmur of voices reaches her. I have to stay and watch, he’ll only screw up again. Why can’t I have that drink? I knew they would waste my money. Of course he married her.

A face turns to Jane. Stay with us.

No thanks, she thinks back. There’s a star I have to see.

Then Jane remembers Lyra talking about Earth-bound spirits who hold on to their old lives. Not her scene. She begins to propel herself away from the spirit rings. But if those are Earth-bound spirits and she’s floating…

I’m dead. That was over so fast.

She floats for a while, thinking. Her life was a rush of school and work and paying bills so it’s nice to have nothing to do. Below her, the Earth turns with its problems, its fears, its wars.

After a while, she feels bored. She wants to move on.

There’s nothing out there, calls a voice from a spirit ring.

But Jane orients herself toward the universe. As a child she once asked her mother if God existed. Karla said no, yet Jane felt something different. Somewhere out there is a mystery, a beyond. Even if she never solves the mystery, it’s worth pursuing. After one last look at the Earth, she says goodbye to her parents, uncle, and friends.

Jane feels herself going up and up, away from the Earth. In the great distance, the blue star twinkles. Come find your Great Mother, it sings.

The backbone of the Milky Way stretches across the black of space. Bands of dust and stars widen, opening a rift of darkness in its center. Earth rolls away like a blue-green-white marble, the moon in tow. The sun reasserts itself with a fiery yellow-orange glow of flares and prominences, its gravity forcing Mercury and Venus on fast orbits. Mars rises into view, orange-red. Jupiter flies by, its surface a revolving band of bright reds, oranges, and yellows. Its massive red storm pulses with a rhythm. Saturn, a golden planet encircled by ribbons of ice and shadow, flashes by. Green and blue Uranus and Neptune glimmer. The sun recedes to a small white disk. Pluto flashes by. In the vast distance a comet rushes onward. The sun dwindles into another tiny point of light against the black.

Space opens before Jane. Stars and nebulae and dust clouds and galaxies, distant and bright, enormous and ancient. And space never ends. The stars, the galaxies, the dust clouds, the darkness, the vast light-studded darkness extend forever and forever.

Then shadows arrive. They curl, twist, and writhe, wrapping around nebulae, stars, and planets. Starlight dims, planets fade, colors mute. Jane tries to look through these shadows, to search the universe for its wall, for its center, for its ceiling, for its floor, for its source. The universe goes on and on and on. Until in the tremendous far distance, something awakens, a vast, roaring presence….and it looks back at her.

As she’s about to lose her remaining consciousness, she finds herself in a hallway.

The Hallway

The hallway is dimly lit and empty. Doors of all shapes and colors line the walls. Jane walks down until she sees a wooden door marked with the sign if the star you want to find, first start with your mind.

Jane tries the door, but it’s closed. She’s never prayed before but now seems a good time to start. God, if you exist, I’m sorry I was ignorant. My life on Earth seems shallow now. My last words with my mother and my uncle were angry ones. I regret that. I’ve never even been in love.

Love, she whispers.

The door opens into a room. A glass multi-colored flower-shaped chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, giving off a soft glow that illuminates the dainty, elegant furniture, and golden wallpaper. Ladies and gentlemen with powdered wigs and beauty marks look out from gilt-framed portraits.

Jane walks in. Hello? Her voice rings out with a forced cheer. Ok, hi, dead person here. When does the afterlife party start?

A sound crackles overhead. Hello, Jane. The voice is warm, female, and seems to come from everywhere in the room. Welcome to your solar system’s branch of the Hyperdimensional Hallway. We thank you for your participation in the Earth experiment and wish you success in the next stage of your journey.

Then images flicker on a gilt-edged mirror in a rapid succession: Jane’s birth, her childhood in Illinois, her parents’ divorce, the move to California with her mother, high school and college, Oktoberfest. She recognizes the driver of the sports car. Thanks a lot, Ian, she mutters. First dash my hopes, then run me over.

Then epiphanies bloom in her. The Earth is an experiment, to test the evolution of consciousness and free will, she says. There are other planets that help us, but we don’t listen to them.

Good, says the woman’s voice, the voice of the Hallway. You may proceed.

Then a door on Jane’s left opens. A large, shaggy-coated bear ambles out. Jane flattens herself against the wall. Getting eaten by a bear in hyperdimension is also not on her to-do list. But the expression in the bear’s eyes is one of concern. Jane can hear its thoughts, something like, take care love, you’re entering the Jarok T’ar. The bear turns and lumbers away.

A door at the end of the room opens. Jane walks through and finds herself in a modern twentieth century room. A nearby portrait of a blond woman in a blue dress begins to move. Jane recognizes her grandmother.

Of course I supported Hitler, says Kora Winkelmeier. "Bei Hitler war alles in Ordnung. I didn’t know what happened to the Jews."

Where do you live now? asks Jane.

With my family of origin, the Bachmanns, says Kora. You see, I’m actually your step-grandmother. I was a war widow and married your grandfather, a widower with two infants.

Before Jane can ask more questions, the image fades away. Then a nearby clock face shows images of Jane’s fourth grade classroom, her last year in Illinois.

Her teacher, Miss Wilson, asks the class questions. Young Jane in the clock face raises her hand every time. After another question, Miss Wilson regards the silent class. Is Jane the only person who does the homework? She sits down with the tired moves of the near-retirement teacher. Please continue reading.

While the students read, a boy named Derek stares at Jane. Then he says in a stage whisper, Of course she studies a lot. She’s ugly. She has nothing else better to do.

Several classmates break out into laughter. Miss Wilson sighs and says, Puts your books away. We’re having a pop quiz.

This is your fault, Derek says to Jane.

Jane looks away from the clock face.

His parents abused him, she says.

That’s right, says the voice of the Hallway. Children learn how to treat others from the way they’re treated. You may proceed.

A door in the back opens. Jane enters a warehouse room. Items, too many of them for her to distinguish, clutter the shelves and floor. An early 2000s model television sits on a shelf. Across its surface flickers scenes she remembers too well: Derek watches her and yells, Hey ugly girl, why are you blue?

On screen, Jane asks her mother what to do about Derek.

Ignore him and he’ll go away, says Karla.

In the warehouse, Jane sighs. Then the on-screen Jane stands in front of her classroom. On her hand is a felt duck puppet.

This is Buddy, she says. He’s an activist duck.

A murmur of curiosity rises among the students. At her desk, Miss Wilson says, Buddy needs a more practical occupation.

He wants to make a positive difference in the world. Jane makes the duck’s beak move and says, Quack, quack! School lunches suck!

The children laugh. With her.

Quack, quack! says Buddy. I prefer whiskey for lunch.

The children laugh again but Miss Wilson frowns.

Quack, quack, says Buddy. Do supply-side economics really work?

That’s enough, Jane, says Miss Wilson. Turn in your toy and report to the principal’s office.

Jane hands the duck to Miss Wilson and tries to slink out of the room with as quiet movements as she can make. In the silence, Derek shouts, Quack, quack! Jane is ugly! At first, a few students giggle. Then they all laugh. At her.

In the warehouse, Jane says, I had a big mouth. But I wanted people to think. That’s what activism is about.

That’s right, says the Hallway’s voice through the speaker on the television. You may proceed.

A door in the back of the warehouse opens. Jane walks out. For a long time, she walks down the silent Hallway. The doors to her right and left remain closed. Her feet make muffled noises on the thin carpeted floor. Portraits line the walls with human, animal, insect, and alien faces. Another picture shows four people in bright-colored clothing sitting at a picnic table outdoors. Other pictures are too alien and complex to make out.

Finally a door with a picture of a large spiral galaxy appears on her left. Underneath the picture runs the caption come to Andromeda and you’ll see how everything was meant to be.

Curiosity and fear wage a battle in her. The galaxy rotates, its blue stars sparkling, a song emanating from its rotations in an alien language that entices and frightens her. She tries the door, but it’s locked. She continues down the silent Hallway. Then a door on the right opens. After pause, she walks in.

The new room is dark. It takes a moment for her vision to adjust. When it does, she finds herself in a dark garage, a dirty, rusted old car with a missing hubcap next to her. Old gardening tools, a lawn mower, and junk clutter the floor and shelves. Against the back wall leans a cracked mirror.

Jane looks out the small, smudged windows of the garage door and makes out dim images of a housing development outside.

Then a light flashes out of the cracked mirror. Scenes move across it, showing the rest of her last school year in Illinois. At his locker, Derek watches her walk by. Hey, ugly girl! he yells.

After this incident, she makes a decision. She fills up her thermos with water. In the cafeteria, she throws the water in his face, right in mid-yell. The following scene shows Jane and her parents in the principal’s office. The