Later, the others sank into an exhausted stupor around the toon TV. Neal hung back, then went back to the porch.

Steve was already there, trying to make music come from the Gibsim. He didn't stop, only stared at Neal.

"Perry," Neal said hesitantly, "when you were...in that car...what did you see?"

Steve didn't answer, though he dropped his gaze to the guitar.

"Steve," Neal said. "I have to know. I need...I mean..."

"Nothing," Steve said softly. "Nothing at all."

Neal swallowed. "Me, too."

Steve set the guitar down, turned and headed inside. He stopped for a moment at the archway, spoke over his shoulder. "And it scared me $#!%-less."

"Yeah," Neal said softly, to Perry's retreating back. "Me, too..."

Night fell again, or at least the colors dimmed down. Exhausted and scared, the band curled up on the dingy beds...

The colors brightened, and something forced them up and out of bed, all at the same time. After a few minutes of just blinking at each other, they found themselves trooping out to the back porch again.

"Taken & trapped & tired," Jonathan said. "If that's not a top 40 hit, I'll shave my head & go grunge."

"What's grunge?" Neal said.

Smitty listened for a minute, nodded slowly. "You're playing better. At least it sounds like music again."

Jonathan said nothing, concentrating on the keyboard. It was a basic Chopin piece, slow and soothing.

However, Ross let his fingers wander idly over the strings. "You gotta think it in your head," he said finally. "Like feeling for what pixels make which notes."

"You mean," Neal said slowly, "we didn't lose our talent...we just have to learn to play pixels?"

"Great," Steve said. "Where the !@#$ does that leave me?"