[Smurf]

great chapters i'm glad Hammie is back with Criss can't wait to read more

[Veritas]

The first episode of MindFreak since the quake aired the second week of October, a two-hour episode dedicated to all the volunteers who helped with the relief effort. It consisted mainly of pre-recorded taped interviews with survivors, FEMA workers, municipal employees, and the few celebrities who remained to do their part; scenes of devastation, such as buckled pavement, buildings with whole sides missing, and various landmarks damaged or destroyed; and footage of those in the shelters and how they were coping.

Criss was shown helping with the heavy work and entertaining whomever he met, whether they were National Guardsmen, FEMA workers, Red Cross volunteers, or just ordinary people struggling to put their lives together. There was laughter, there were tears, there was hope, there was despair, there was anger, there was love--all that and magic, too. Criss couldn't do anything elaborate, of course, but with some sleight-of-hand and a bit of levitation, he lifted the disaster-weary spirits of his audiences all over the city.

Costa himself took time out from his busy schedule to put in his two-cents worth on the show. Still wearing his Red Cross cap, he related how he had been pressed into service just a week after receiving his certification. His interview served as the voice over for scenes of ARC workers doing what they did best: treating the wounded, drawing pints of blood, and tending to the needs of survivors. It was on that episode that he revealed the recurring nighmare that drove him to apply for ARC certification.

"It drove me nuts," he confessed. "I'd see these bleeding, dying people reaching out to me, begging me to help them, but I didn't know how. The whole city looked as if a bomb had hit it. I don't know if it was a warning, or a premonition, or what, but when I signed up for Red Cross training, the dreams stopped. But then, the real nightmare began..."

Criss sat in his usual darkened studio while the cameras rolled. "I am very proud of Costa for all he did for the Red Cross. I'm not into dream interpretation, but I think it really was a premonition, and I'm glad he acted upon it in a positive way."

There was also some scenes with his former DWD crew, with Supervisor Mel notably absent. "I lasted one day on the job there," Criss confessed. "Then I had a falling out with the guy in charge, and he kicked me off the crew. I'm all for doing my part, but I'd rather do it my way than be drafted into something I really don't want to do."

Criss' friend and former crap crewman, Shane Tobey, had also been interviewed, but he had used so many coarse expletives it was never aired. Assistant Supervisor Rachel Goldfarb, however, was more open about Criss' daylong stint with the crew.

"He really did his part," she said on tape. "He was out there with the rest of the poor schlubs, shoveling dreck off the sidewalks. He took a little potty break and Mel, the supervisor got all hot under the collar about it. Mel wanted to do a head count, holding up lunch, and Criss told him where he could get off, and he got kicked off the crew. Mel's good when it comes to engineering and all, but he's got a real people problem. Criss came back a few days later and did some card trick for the guys. Mel told him to disappear, and that's what he did--literally! Picked up a tarp, held it in front of him, and poof! Gone, just like that!"

Mel, on the other hand, could not be reached for comment.




"Nini?"

"Hadley!" Nini set down the stack of shirts and ran to greet her friend. "Oh, God, it's so good to see you! Where have you been?"

"Oh, Sis and I've been sifting through the pieces of our lives, getting things back in order," she said. "Marcie got out of the hospital three weeks ago, so I've been taking care of her."

"What happened? She got hurt in the quake somehow?"

"No, no. It's just that she developed some sort of virus from drinking contaminated water," Hadley explained. "She was pretty sick for a while, but she's okay now. She was so thirsty from all the dust flying around that she drank some water flowing from a pipe somewhere and got sick."

"Gee, that's too bad," Nini said sympathetically. "Glad she's all right, though. What about yourself?"

"Me? Oh, just been doing this and that," Hadley replied glibly. "The company's been performing a benefit for the quake survivors in Carson City. We managed to raise a couple of thousand dollars."

"Not too shabby," Nini commented.

"Yeah, well, I wish it could have been more," Hadley sighed. "But what about you? What have you been doing since the quake?"

"Well, just cleaning this place up," she replied. "Classes have started again. I may have to take some over again, because of the time constraints."

"Hmmm."

"Well, I got to get back to work," Nini said. "Maybe we can hook up after I get off?"

"Are any of the clubs open?" Hadley asked.

"LAX is set to open tonight. Maybe we can try there?"

Hadley smiled. "Sounds great. Eight o'clock do it for you?"

"Works for me," Nini replied. "And, Had?"

"What?"

"Thanks for stopping by. It really made my day."




The only incoming commercial flight landed that mid-October evening around six-thirty Pacific Time at McCarran Airport. JD waited inside the terminal, sections of which were still under repair were cordoned off with yellow warning tape. There was no valet parking available; it had taken him twenty minutes to find a space in the garage that had not been closed for repairs to park the Range Rover. He figured it would take another twenty just to find it again, drive out of the garage, and pull up to the entrance to pick up his mother and his cousin, George--if he was lucky.

Many of the roads had been repaired enough by now to make them passable, but the freeways and sections of the Strip were still a mess. Orange and white channeler barrels lined the streets, shifting traffic to only one or two lanes, slowing everyone down. Detours were everywhere, sending JD and other drivers into parts of the city he never knew existed. Mass transit was extremely limited, down to only a few buses a day, with two to three hours between them. More than a few cars overheated, and many more drivers as well. Road rage rose to near epidemic levels, and JD had witnessed a fist fight in the middle of an intersection after a driver had turned a corner at the same time a pedestrian was crossing the street, cutting him off. It got so bad that even he began to succumb to it; he found himself flipping off the driver behind him when he honked his horn after a light had turned green while he had been momentarily distracted by something on the radio.

Tensions were high off the road as well. Just the previous evening, JD had blown up at Lynn for spending what he thought was too much time on the Internet, shopping for replacement items.

"So what if you can't find another soup tureen like the one your grandmother had?" he had exploded. "Who gives a (bleep)? We never used it anyway!"

"It was a priceless antique!" Lynn had argued. "It had been in my family for four generations!"

"So what?" he had yelled. "We got a lot of other things more important than that to replace! Who the hell cares about a (bleeping) soup pot, anyway?"

"You don't care about how I feel!" Lynn had accused him, bursting into tears.

From there it went all downhill, ending with Lynn storming into their bedroom, sobbing. JD had thrown himself into his favorite chair, simmering with rage. All that fuss over a soup tureen they had never used in the first place, he had thought. Didn't Lynn realize that there were more important things in life than family heirlooms? Didn't she have any sense of priorities?

They didn't speak to each other in bed. They hardly spoke at breakfast. When their daughter, Dima, asked her mother what was wrong, she had muttered "Nothing," and drove her daughter to school. JD left for work as usual, with tiny needles of guilt starting to prick his conscience. Now, as he sat in the terminal, waiting to pick up his mother and cousin, he had come to the realization that he had been a total dipwad.

The gates opened, and the few passengers who were brave enough to make the trip to Las Vegas trooped out of the corridor. It was George who hailed JD first.

"Hey! How ya doin'?" he called out jovially, spreading his beefy arms for a quick bear hug. "Glad to see you're okay! How's everything?"

JD embraced his cousin happily. Seeing him again seemed to relieve the tension of the past six weeks. "Doin' good, George," he said. "Where's Ma?"

The small, frail figure of Dimitra Sarantakos materialized from the dark interior of the corridor. JD was so happy to see his mother again he wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her away with him. Instead, he had to settle for a hug and a kiss. "How ya doin', Ma?" he greeted her.

"Good, good," she replied. "How are you doing?"

JD sighed, still needled with guilt about his blowup with Lynn. "As good as can be expected," he replied, "considering."

It didn't take twenty minutes for JD to come around with the car to fetch his mother and cousin--it was more like thirty-five. The line going out of the garage was longer than the one going in, and he had to dodge the construction areas to boot. By the time he got to the main drive where his passengers were waiting, his nerves were frayed to the point of breaking.

George heaved their luggage into the back of the Range Rover and climbed into the back seat, graciously allowing his elderly aunt the passenger side of the vehicle. Then came the frustratingly slow exit from the terminal, every car inching its way to the main gate to pay the toll before being granted freedom. Two lanes had to converge into single file, each lane alternating vehicles to allow a smooth transition. JD sat in the driver's seat, doing a slow burn, while his mother sat beside him, the personification of patience. George dozed in back, glad to stretch out in the roomy rear of the Rover after having folded himself into a near fetal position on the plane for three hours.

Suddenly, the car next to JD slingshotted into the space in front of him, cutting him off. Boiling with fury, JD stuck his head out the window and shouted a few choice words at the inconsiderate driver. "YOU SON OF A (BLEEP)! YOU (BLEEPING) CUT ME OFF, DAMMIT! WHY THE HELL CAN'T YOU WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING?"

Dimitra stared at her eldest son, appalled at this sudden outburst. "JD!"

"The (bleeper) cut me off, Ma!" he argued. "I had the right of way, and the son of a (bleep) cut me off!"

"Now, just calm down," his mother told him in her sternest maternal tone. "Everything's all right."

"Yeah, Jay," George chimed in from the back. "Just chill out, willya? It's no big deal."

"No big deal?!" JD exploded. "Some guy almost runs into me and you say it's 'no big deal'?"

"JD, what is the matter with you all of a sudden?" Dimitra demanded. "You never let things like this bother you before! Now here you are, all hot and bothered over a little thing like this! I had really expected better from you, I really did!"

JD leaned his head on the steering wheel, heaving a huge sigh. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's just that, well...this whole earthquake thing has everyone on edge, you know. No water, no electricity, not much food, just...I dunno."

He turned to his mother. "You picked a bad time to come here, you know that? You should have waited for a better time, like when the roads are better, and the house is fixed up better. You really picked the wrong time to come to Vegas."

"From the way you're acting," Dimitra said, "I'd say I came just in time."

The Range Rover inched to the toll gate. Halfway there, JD spotted a dark Jamaican man with dreadlocks down to his chest, waving cellophane wrapped bouquets of flowers in his hands. "Flowers for sale!" he sang out in his distinctive island accent, so tunefully one could almost hear the music of steel drums in the background. "Flowers for sale! Five dollars each! Flowers! Five dollars each!"

JD honked his horn, then rolled down his window again. "Hey!" he called out to the flower man. "Over here!"

The flower man trotted up to the Range Rover. "You want to buy flowers, mon?" he asked in his thick accent.

"Yeah, I'll take a couple." He handed a ten note to the flower man, who gave him two small bouquets of long stemmed wildflowers. "God bless you, brothuh," the flower man said, then returned to his post, a plastic bucket filled with bouquets.

George looked at JD, puzzled. "Who are you buying flowers for, JD?"

"Lynn," JD replied. "We had a...bit of a fight last night. I just wanna make it up to her, that's all. No big deal."

[RACHEL02189]

We all thought JD was the strong one

[Smurf]

Great Chapter poor Jd , Can't wait to read more

[Loyal Lady Dee]

And the suspense and tension build! Can not wait for the next chapter, thanks so much again for this story, Veritas!

[Veritas]

Criss pulled up his Escalade to JD's house and parked on the curb. It had felt good to drive again after six weeks of hiking over cracked, buckled streets, being crammed into buses filled with volunteers off to their designated work sites, and squeezed into the camera crew van during taping of his show. He had chosen the Escalade because he did not dare risk driving his high-end sports cars through the rubble strewn streets. The spaciousness and comfort it afforded, not to mention the privacy, was gratifying.

He climbed out of the SUV, removing a dozen red roses he had purchased for his mother when she arrived. He had ordered them specially from a florist twenty miles from the disaster zone, all the other shops damaged or destroyed. It had cost him seventy-five dollars, but it was worth it. He strode up to the newly repaired front door and rang the bell.

His niece, Dima, answered it. "Uncle Criss!" she cried out happily, flinging her arms around his shoulders. Criss embraced her back with his free hand.

"Come on in," Dima invited him. "Mom's in the kitchen making dinner."

Criss entered the house, setting the roses on a side table. "Hey, Lynn," he called out. "How's it going?"

Lynn stood grimly at the counter, chopping up vegetables to be mixed with the ground beef for the stuffed tomatoes. "Hi, Criss," she said, putting on a brave face. "How are you?"

"Good." Criss reached around and gave her a peck on the cheek. Lynn went on chopping. Criss sensed something wrong from the tension on her face and her terse reaction to his greeting.

"Lynn?" he said. "You okay? Anything wrong?"

Lynn shook her head hastily. "It's nothing, Criss. Nothing at all."

Criss placed his hands on her shoulders. "It's something, I can tell," he persisted. "You're upset about something."

Lynn set down her knife and turned to face her brother-in-law. "It's nothing, really," she insisted. "JD and I just had a little disagreement, that's all." She returned to her chopping, more vigorously than before. Criss laid his hand upon hers, stopping her in mid chop.

"It's more than a 'disagreement', I can tell," he said. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Look, Criss, it's none of your business, okay?" Lynn snapped. "JD and I can handle it ourselves, so just...mind your own business, all right?"

Criss backed off. "Sure. Fine. Whatever you say."

Lynn returned to her work chopping vegetables. Criss left the kitchen, perplexed at her sour mood. What happened between her and JD? he wondered. Must have been more serious than she let on.




"Where are we?" George asked JD from the back of the Range Rover. "You taking the scenic route or what?"

"Detours," JD explained. "Lot of the roads are closed for repairs. Gotta take the long way around."

"I don't remember this part of the city before," Dimitra said. "Do you?"

"Hard to say from all the damage," JD replied.

They drove another half mile on the mystery road. On the shoulder to the right, JD and Dimitra saw white steam billowing out in their path, and a familiar looking figure standing on the side, his thumb stuck out, signalling for a ride.

"Hey, that's Costa!" JD said, pulling over, honking his horn.

Costa looked up, brightened, and trotted over to the Rover. JD rolled down his window. "Hey, buddy," he joked. "Need a lift?"

"Dude, I owe you big time!" Costa laughed with gratitude. "My car overheated from all the detours I had to take and--"

"Just get in the car," JD told him impatiently.

Costa pulled open the back door and climbed inside. "Hey, George, how are ya?" he greeted his cousin. Then he leaned forward to the front to kiss his mother sitting in the front seat. "Hi, Mom, good to see you again."

JD started up again, driving down the mystery road. Costa settled back. "What a lucky break you guys showed up when you did," he said. "I was going to call Triple-A to come and get me."

"You know where we are, by the way?" George asked.

"If you keep on this road, you should hit Harwood," Costa instructed. "Then hook a right, and it'll take you straight home."

JD sighed with relief. "Good. I've been taking so many detours since we left the airport, I feel like a mouse in a maze."

"You and me both," Costa said, laughing.

True to Costa's word, Harwood did take the Rover home without furthur incident. JD pulled up the driveway and killed the engine. "You go on in, Mom," he said. "We'll take care of the bags."

Dimitra made her way up the walk to the front door. She needn't have bothered knocking, because Dima had seen the Range Rover coming up the street and had sprung up to greet her grandmother.

"Grandma!" she cried happily, throwing her arms around Dimitra.

"Hello, darling," Grandma smiled, kissing her only grandchild. "So good to see you again."

Dima led her grandmother and namesake into the house, her sons and nephew following in her wake with the luggage. Criss stood there in the foyer, roses in his arms, smiling. "Hey, Mom," he said. "How are ya?"

"Christopher!" Dimitra gathered the roses in her arms. "Oh, my goodness!"

Dima ran to find something in which to put the roses. Criss stooped over to give his mother a peck on the cheek. "Have a good trip?" he asked.

"It was fine," she said. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Why don't you go upstairs for a while and rest?" JD suggested. "We got the guest room all fixed up for you. New windows and everything."

Dimitra went upstairs. Dima and Criss arranged the roses in a watering can found in the basement, the only container big enough that had not been damaged in the quake. JD drew a deep breath, gripped the cellophane flowers he had purchased from the street vendor at the airport, and stepped into the kitchen.

"Lynn?"

Lynn stopped stuffing tomatoes. She did not turn around to greet him, but she did not entirely ignore him either. She simply stood there, paralyzed with uncertainty. Suddenly, two small bouquets of colorful wildflowers appeared before her eyes.

"I just want to say I'm sorry for acting the way I did," JD said softly. "I've been such a (bleep)hole this past week, what with the quake and all."

Lynn threw her arms around JD's neck. "Oh, God," she sobbed. "I'm sorry, too. Here I was all upset about broken dishes when I should be appreciating you and Dima."

"It's okay, hon," he assured her. "Let's just put it all behind us and get on with our lives. Okay?"

Lynn nodded, wiping her eyes with her hands. She still had tomato juice on them and it ended up getting into her eyes, causing them to burn. Lynn cried out in pain, groping for a towel. JD turned on the kitchen tap and soaked a paper towel for her to rinse out the stinging acid. Groaning with relief, she blinked a few times and looked at her husband again.

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him for the first time in almost twenty-four hours.

JD smiled back. "Come on," he said. "Let's get dinner on the table."




On the patio of Oak Tree Mother's home, Leslie and her fellow Wiccans were also preparing for dinner. It was the celebration of the harvest, the autumn solsitce. Actually, the solstice had fallen a few weeks ago back in September, but due to the quake, it had to be postponed until mid-October. There were organically grown vegetables from Mother's own greenhouse, there was fresh-baked bread, and plenty of apples and other fruits in season.

There was also a new addition to the coven--Rainsong and Del's new baby boy, Geo. "We named him after the earth," they explained. "It was the earth that brought about his birth."

Everyone cooed and petted little Geo, now a month and a half old, lying in the handwoven basket that served as his carrier. The formal blessing would come after the feasting. Everyone happily tucked into the spread laid out on the trestle table before them.

Red Wolf leaned back on a colorful woven blanket beside Leslie/Sunsinger, a hunk of bread in his hand. "I heard about your daylong shift at the dispatch station," he said casually. "You must have been going nuts in there, all by yourself. How did you cope with it?"

"It wasn't easy," she replied. "I just had a few granola bars, a half-bottle of water, and the wastebasket to go to the bathroom in."

Red Wolf grimaced. "Oh, geez!"

"Well? What would you have done under the circumstances?"

"Hey, I'm a dude," Red Wolf retorted. "I could whiz out the window if I had to."

"Well, I can't," Leslie retorted. "I have a different plumbing system than you do. At least there was a good supply of plastic bags in there."

Red Wolf laughed, almost choking on his bread.

"And anyway, can't we talk about something else? Bodily functions is no topic for discussion while eating."

"Okay." Red Wolf sat up. "You wanna come up to my place after the meeting? I can show you my Tarot cards."

Leslie looked at Red Wolf in surprise. "You do Tarot?"

"I do a lot of things," he said, stroking her thigh with a single fingertip. "You'd be surprised at what I can do."

She smiled. He smiled back. "I'd love to," she said.




"You say Leslie is a what?" Morton stared at Regina incredulously.

"She's a witch, Morton," Regina told him again. "She's a devil worshipper. Now I know that she went above and beyond during the quake and all that, but I just can't work with a Satanist. Didn't you say we should always reflect our civic integrity at all times? Well, this doesn't exactly reflect it."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Morton asked sarcastically. "Burn her at the stake?"

"No, nothing like that," Regina replied. "Just talk to her, that's all. Tell her that her witchcraft is going to put us in a bad light. Tell her...tell her that it will ruin not only her own reputation, but the station's as well. I tried to turn her away from witchcraft, but she wouldn't listen to me. Maybe she'll listen to you instead."

Morton shook his head. "Regina, I know that you are a practicing Jehovah's Witness and all that, but it's our policy not to get involved in other people's religious beliefs. I've tolerated your putting your magazines in the break room, but I can't fire someone whose faith is different than yours. Your church isn't the only one in town, you know. Other people have a right to their own beliefs, no matter how wacked out they may seem to you."

"But it's not a faith, Morton," Regina argued. "Leslie is a devil worshipper, a full blown Satanist!"

"I don't care if she's the Wicked Witch of the West!" Morton snapped. "Leslie Fanning stayed on duty for twenty-two straight hours handling every emergency call that came in on the only available line after the quake, and in my book that makes her a hero! She not only reflected civic integrity, as you put it, she exemplified it! What she does on her own time is no business of mine or yours! If you can't handle working with Leslie, then you can hand in your resignation right now! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Morton turned back to his computer terminal. Regina turned and walked out of the office, facing a crisis of faith. On the one hand, she needed the work, but on the other, to work with a devil worshipper went against everything she valued as a Witness. To do both would by hypocritical in the eyes of the Lord and the church. Maybe she could put in for a transfer? If not, then she would have to quit her job. There were no other alternatives that she could see. She would finish her shift here and then go to Morton's office for a transfer to another station or to resign altogether. Yes, that is what she would do. After all, her eternal salvation was of far greater importance than a weekly paycheck; what good was money when the Kingdom was at hand?

Regina returned to her post, put on her headset, and resumed her duties, totally disregarding Leslie sitting next to her. Leslie, for her part, was oblivious to her co-worker's attitude; she was too busy with her new responsibilities as Assistant Supervisor, as well as handling calls. The dispatch office was still a bit shorthanded since the quake, and the new dispatchers had not yet finished classroom training, so Leslie had to not only do her new job, but her old one as well. Once the newbies were assigned their posts, she would be supervising them, noting their progress during their probationary period and offering advice and assistance.

All this didn't matter to Regina, however. All that mattered to her is that the newly appointed Assistant Supervisor was a witch. It was bad enough that her copies of The Watchtower and Awake! ended up in the trash as soon as she set them out, but to have a pagan devil worshipper as a supervisor was well nigh unbearable. No, she couldn't stay here any longer. For the sake of her immortal soul, she had to get out of that station and either into another one or find a new job altogether. The church would understand; in fact, she was confident that they'd support her decision unanimously.

When the shift was over, Regina rose and walked into Morton's office again. When she emerged, she had some transfer forms in her hand and a smile of relief on her face. As she and Leslie stood at the bus stop to go home, the latter grew curious about the former's sudden cold-shouldering.

"Regina?" Leslie approached timidly. "What's wrong with you all of a sudden?"

Regina kept looking straight ahead as if she had blinders on. "Oh, nothing," she replied airily but with a tinge of sarcasm. "It's just that I put in for a transfer to another station because the new Assistant Supervisor is a Satanist, that's all."

Leslie sighed in exasperation. "Regina--" she began, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Regina went on. "I'll be okay. You just go on with your pagan rites and devil worship like you always do. Maybe the new station they'll send me to will be a little more tolerant of my beliefs--not like this one!"

"You know, Regina," Leslie sighed, "I used to think you were a pretty nice person to work with, in spite of your Jehovah's Witnessing or whatever you call it. If you hadn't been so narrow-minded about religion, we could have been great friends. But no--you had a sacred duty to strong-arm everyone you met into your church and its belief system, no matter what. You just couldn't wrap your head around the fact that all paths lead to God, and all faiths are really one, be they Jesus, the Buddha, the Goddess, or whatever. The only reason that you think I'm a devil-worshipper is that long ago the Christian church created a smear campaign to destroy the Old Religion. We didn't create Satanism--you did!"

Regina whipped her head around. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. You and all those narrow-minded priests and ministers who wanted to take over the world with their dogma of hellfire and brimstone, blind conformity and repression! You claimed to be bringing Light, but instead you plunged the world into darkness, burning wise women who had more skill and talent than they did as witches, and torturing those who disagreed with you! The ancients had more wisdom and possessed more knowledge, and had greater respect for the earth than all you Christians! Even today, you persecute us; I heard what you said to Morton earlier today. You don't want to work with a witch--fine! Go someplace else! I don't need this aggravation!"

Leslie's bus pulled up to the curb. Without sparing her former co-worker a glance, she bounded onto the bus, flung her fare into the box and took a seat on the opposite side of the curb. Regina stood at the stop, watching the bus pull away as it always had, her face inscrutable, her heart hardened against her erstwhile friend and co-worker. Just you wait, Leslie Fanning. When the Kingdom of Heaven comes, you and your devil-worshipping kind will be cast into burning Hell for all eternity, while I and my fellow Witnesses will be enjoying the delights of Heaven. Then we'll see whose path led to God!

WHEREAS: The Luxor Hotel and Resort has performed a great service to the citzens of Las Vegas in providing food, shelter and medical care during and after the earthquake on August 30, 2008...

WHEREAS: The President of the Luxor Hotel and Resort, Felix Rappaport, has performed a great service to the citizens of Las Vegas through his co-ordination and organization of relief efforts to the victims of the earthquake...

WHEREAS: The Luxor Hotel and Resort has given time, money and resources toward the restoration of the city of Las Vegas, either by donation or fundrasing...

THEREFORE: The Municipality of Las Vegas, upon recommendation by the City Council, hearby award Felix Rappaport and the staff of the Luxor Hotel and Resort this commendation for their generosity and support to and for the citizens during the earthquake of August 30, 2008, by order of the mayor, Oscar B. Goodman, on this day of October 17, 2008.

Oscar B. Goodman, Mayor.




Upon the recommendation of the Board of Directors, the AMERICAN RED CROSS has conferred upon

Costa Sarantakos

this commendation for exemplary performance above the call of duty during the Las Vegas earthquake on August 30th, 2008.

Signed this day, October 17, 2008.



Nevada State Board of Corrections

Name: Tobey, Shane Allen

Current Address: 17345 Ranchero, Rm. 23, North Las Vegas, NV.

After careful review by the Board of Corrections, the above has been
X Granted parole
__Denied parole

Date effective: 10-30-08. Date scheduled to end: 04-30-09

Television cameras from every major network lined up along the newly restored Las Vegas Avenue that cold December Friday for the official relighting of the fabled Strip. It was a gala event, even by Vegas standards; the sidewalks were covered with red carpet from one end to the other. Inside the newly renovated hotels, champaign flowed ceaselessly as those VIPs privileged enough to be invited strutted around in outfits from every major designer in the world, from Chanel and Dior to Armani and Vera Wang. Those outside milled around as if it was New Year's Eve already, wearing party hats and armed with noisemakers, ready to let loose when the lights went on.

One hotel in particular had an extra special reason to celebrate: it was the birthday of its biggest star, Criss Angel. A huge birthday cake in the shape of the Luxor, complete with a lighted apex on top of the pyramid, crowned the big buffet table. The birthday boy himself mingled with the guests, noticably out of place among the more formally attired with his frayed jeans and leather biker jacket, but resplendant with jewels. He smiled, shook hands, thanked everyone for coming, accepted happy birthday wishes, and generally played the celebrity to the hilt.

A reporter for E! managed to corner him for an interview. "Hello, Criss," she said loudly over the general din. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," he replied.

"I hear that it's your birthday today," the reporter went on. "Happy birthday to you."

"Thank you."

"So, tell us," she went on. "Where were you during the earthquake? Do you remember?"

"Yeah, I was out shooting the latest episode of MindFreak, and doing a card trick for someone when it happened. It was pretty scary."

"Were you hurt in any way?"

"I wasn't," Criss replied. "But I know a lot of people were. My brother, Costa, had some Red Cross training, and he was out there, helping everyone who was injured."

"Tell us, what have you done to help with the restoration? You do any volunteer work?"

"Well, I was on the DWD crew at first."

"DWD?"

"Debris and Waste Disposal. We called it the crap crew."

The reporter laughed. "How long were you with that?"

"About a day. Then I went around and did a little of everything, you know, like help out building here, work at a shelter there, things like that."

"Do you feel that you've changed in any way after your experiences?"

"Oh, we've all changed, all of us," Criss replied. "It's like Nine-Eleven. You're never the same person you were after going through it. I felt that God had blessed me with so much, but now I know it can be all taken away from you in a minute. There's still a lot of work to be done here in Las Vegas--so many homes still need to be rebuilt, you know? It's like New Orleans after Katrina. It's gonna take some time."

"Well, thank you, Criss, and again, happy birthday!"

"Thank you." Criss flashed a peace sign and walked away.

Night fell. Las Vegas Avenue was still eerily dark; only shadowy silhouettes of the casinos lining it could be seen. The recently rebuilt Luxor light still remained as black as the pyramid it crowned. Only a few spotlights were on for safety and guidance. The excitement built to a near climax as Mayor Goodman stepped up to the podium for the lighting ceremony.

"For three months," the honorable mayor began, "Las Vegas had been shrouded in shadow, but its spirit was not eclipsed by despair. We overcame a great tragedy, and we are ready to shine again!"

The crowd roared its approval. Then the mayor began the countdown.

"Ten...nine...eight...seven..."

Criss stood at the main entrance of the Luxor, eagerly anticipating the big moment.

"six...five...four...three..."

Cameras were focused along strategic points along the Strip. The crowd readied their noisemakers, camera phones and camcorders.

"two...one! LET THERE BE LIGHT!!"

The mayor punched a giant red button. A loud airhorn blasted deafeningly, momentarily reminding Criss of his stint with the DWD, then it happened: the fabled Strip flickered on, then glowed and danced in a joyous display of neon light and color. "Vegas Vic" smiled and waved for the first time in months, greeting one and all like a long lost friend. The enormous crowd cheered, screamed, wept, blew their noisemakers, and took pictures. Elvis belted out "Viva Las Vegas" over giant loudspeakers all along the Strip. Criss whipped out the bandanna hanging from his back pocket and buried his face in it, not wanting the photographers to see him weeping with joy.

"Oh, God!" he sobbed quietly to himself. "Oh, God! It's beautiful! I love it! This has been the best birthday ever! Thank You, God! Thank You."

He pulled himself together and stuffed the bandanna back into his pocket. He looked around the main entrance, estatic to see it all aglow again, but he felt that something was missing. There was one more thing he had to do...

Criss walked away from the main entrance and headed for the parking deck. The top of the deck was crowded with revelers, but from the stairwell, Criss could see the top of the Luxor. The apex light shone blindingly upward into the infinity of space, a triumphant beacon of hope and renewal.

"Criss?"

He turned around. "Nini?"

"I thought I saw you there," Nini said. "How come you're not down with the VIPs?"

Criss turned back to the sight of the Luxor light. "I had to see this again," he replied.

Nini smiled. Criss drew his arm around her. "You know, I never properly thanked you for getting me some clothes when I was...well, you know..."

"Streaking through the Luxor in a towel?"

Criss couldn't help but laugh. "I wouldn't say 'streaking', but--"

"It's okay," Nini said. "Personally, I thought you looked pretty hot in that towel."

Criss snorted in embarrassment.

"No, really," she insisted. "You did. I confess I was a bit disappointed when you went into that fitting room to dress."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you."

"It's okay, I'm over it."

"Good." Criss leaned closer. "So, you got any plans after this?"

Nini looked at Criss in astonishment. "Criss!"

"No, really. If you want, you can come up to my suite."

Nini thought about it. "Do I get to see you in a towel again?" she asked mischeiviously

"Sure," Criss replied. "If I get to see you in one."

Nini blushed. Criss smiled. "Hey, you asked first, you know," he reminded her.

"I know," Nini said, lowering her eyes. Then she quickly raised them again. "You wanna?"

"Wanna what?"

"See me in a towel?"

"I'd love to," Criss said. "But even better, I'd like to see you without one."

"Ditto that."

Nini and Criss dashed down the stairs, hand in hand, giggling like high school kids. Around them, the celebration went on. Car horns blared, people cheered and danced in the streets, basking in the neon glow. Sin City had been dead, and was alive again. Viva Las Vegas, indeed!




That's the end as far as I can relate it. In a real disaster, the story goes on as the characters rebuild their lives as well as their city. There are survivors of Hurricane Katrina who are still getting their lives back together after three or four years since the storm.

I wish to dedicate this story to all of the Red Cross volunteers who work tirelessly in times of disaster. Who knows? Maybe Costa really DOES have some ARC training (I would if Criss was my brother!).

Now, I need to clear up some business:

In Update #4, the quote I used was from a real study done by the UNLV seismic team.

There is no such thing as NEDA, but there is a similar organization dedicated to monitoring potential disasters. FEMA is a real federal administration which deals with disasters. I doubt they are as totalitarian as I portrayed them; I think they would be more like Rachel Goldfarb than Mel the supervisor.

The Peak Ground Acceleration Study in 50 yrs. study was from a map I Googled when researching fault lines in Nevada. From the map, it's safe to say that Vegas is pretty safe from a 6.9 quake for the time being.

The Disaster Medical Facility does exist. In fact, Nevada is the first state to have such a facility. It really was tested in 2004, and passed with flying colors. See Update #46.

In Update #92, St. Mary's is a real hospital in Las Vegas.

It is hard to say just how a massive earthquake like the one I wrote about would really affect Las Vegas. The damage may be more severe than how I portrayed it. And it would take longer than a few months to fully restore the city to at least a functioning level. Look how long it took to restore New Orleans after Katrina. Of course, Las Vegas may be more heavily insured against losses than New Orleans, and so would have more funding.

I thank all of you who took the time to read my story. This was the most heavily researched story I have ever done. Thank God for Google! I'm going to take a quick break right now, but I have some ideas swirling around in my head. In the meantime, I promise to read your stories as well.

See you soon!

[RACHEL02189]

'Clapping Clapping'

WHO WOULDN'T MIND SEEING CRISS IN A TOWEL OR WHAT'S UNDERNEATH IT (WINK WINK)

[Loyal Lady Dee]

Standing Ovation and many thanks for this story, Veritas! It was amazing and it sparked a lot of memories, the most of the times I went to Las Vegas. Keep writing, you have a great talent for it! To the next story and beyond!

[Smurf]

Great Story veritas I would love to see Criss in a towel

[RACHEL02189]

Originally Posted by smurf

i would love to see criss in a towel

who wouldn't