Twenty Nine

can't understand where everyone thinks they're going!"

Wendy replied, a smirk of subtle superiority decorating her face, "I think it would be better if you didn't know."  With that she slunk off into the gaping hole so recently blasted through the outer wall of her house, and sat down on the only part of her settee not currently smoldering.  Thom's eyes followed her, then lit upon the box which, incredibly, still perched on the corner of the coffee table.

"Well," he croaked, smoke stinging his larynx, "at least we still have the pin."  He moved to the edge of the hole, his feet crunching atop the charred embers littering the ground.  The glowing bits of red-hot debris worked at the soles of his heavy boots, sending the pungent stink of melting rubber up to his nostrils, which flared slightly at the intrusion.  He pinched his nose between his thumb and first finger, sniffled, and crawled through the rabbit hole into the remains of Wendy's living room.

Wendy moved to make room for him.  "Yes," she smiled quietly, "we still have that."