Now Starring Craig

Craig was walking.

At least, he thought he was walking. The road beneath his feet was yellow. Not painted yellow. Not concrete stained by some industrial accident. Actual yellow bricks, each one slightly different from the next, winding through an impossible landscape beneath a sky so blue it looked almost artificial.

Craig slowed. Something about this was wrong. He looked down at himself. A blue-and-white gingham dress covered his body. The dress was gathered neatly at the waist, the fabric falling in soft folds toward his knees. White socks reached almost to his calves. On his feet were a pair of impossibly glossy ruby-red stilettos, their pointed toes catching the sunlight every time he moved.

Craig looked at the shoes. Then at the road. Then back at the shoes.

That all seemed normal.

But if it wasn't him, then what was different? His hands were still his hands. His arms were still his arms. His face, judging from the reflection in a shallow puddle beside the road, was still unmistakably Craig.

"Okay," he muttered.

A small dog trotted along beside him. Craig looked at it, a hazy memory starting to surface. The dog looked back.

"Toto?"

The name came naturally. Craig knew that name. Of course he knew that name. Toto was his dog.

He also knew where he was supposed to be going. He knew there was a great green city somewhere beyond the horizon. He knew a wizard was waiting there, and somehow the entire situation felt familiar even though Craig had never actually been here.

Oz.

He was in Oz!

And he'd come from somewhere else. There had been an accident. Or a disaster. Something terrifying. Dramatic.

A tornado!

It all rushed forward at once. Of course. He'd been at home, on the farm, in Kansas. And then there was the storm. And now he was there, in Oz, trying to find the wizard so he could get home. How had he been so confused by that? He shook his head at his own silliness.

Something rustled nearby. Craig turned toward a field of corn. A scarecrow stood above him, suspended from a wooden post. Straw poked out from his sleeves and collar. A floppy hat sat crookedly on his head.

The scarecrow moved. Craig froze.

"Good afternoon."

Craig stared. Had it just spoken to him?

The scarecrow looked down, staring straight into Craig's face.

"You're going to the Emerald City, aren't you?"

"I..."

The very idea that a scarecrow could speak to him was insane. Still, he was in a land where things were done differently than in Kansas. Munchkins. Witches. Why not a talking scarecrow?

"Why, yes I am," he answered with a smile.

The scarecrow seemed pleased.

"Would you mind helping me down?"

Craig stepped closer to the post. For several seconds, everything seemed perfectly normal. He wrapped his arms around the scarecrow's waist, his face pressed into the strawman's groin, and lifted him from the post, bending over to put him on his feet.

Watching the scarecrow made him giggle as he flopped this way and that, trying to how to walk properly. He bobbed in and out of the corn...

Corn...

Popcorn...

Wasn't there something before? Something... not Kansas... but something else...

Craig's hand paused against the wooden post. The memories floated somewhere just beyond reach. As if he'd lived two lives, the real one there, in Oz, but another one somewhere else... somewhere...

Then the scarecrow began talking about wanting a brain, and Craig listened with genuine sympathy. The way he spoke had a musical, energetic quality, and soon Craig found himself arms linked with the scarecrow, skipping and dancing down the road together. If the wizard was going to help him get home to his Auntie Em, then why couldn't he also help with this poor scarecrow's brain problem?

And as they started walking together down the Yellow Brick Road, the crazy thoughts of another life had disappeared completely. They were off to see the wizard. Craig had never felt as helpful as he did in that moment. So many people still considered him a little girl, but finding this poor scarecrow, helping him achieve his dream, he knew that it was an important part of growing up.

And Craig was sure that everything was going to work out.

The world darkened. Not suddenly. Not like someone had switched off a light. It simply became dimmer and dimmer until the yellow road faded beneath his feet and the blue sky dissolved into black.

Craig blinked.

The darkness vanished.

Heat replaced the cool Oz breeze. Music filled the air. Craig stood inside an enormous palace. His first thought was that he had somehow fallen into a very expensive desert-themed nightclub.

Then he looked down.

Gold.

Gold gleamed everywhere.

A metallic bikini covered his body, leaving his stomach and much of his legs bare. A heavy collar rested around his neck, connected to a chain that disappeared behind him. On his feet were delicate gold high-heeled sandals, their thin straps winding around his ankles. The heels should have made standing on the uneven palace floor difficult. Strangely, Craig stood perfectly balanced.

A moment of confusion ed over him. Why would he have problems standing in heels in any environment? Heels were the most comfortable, practical thing to wear. They always had been. Not only for hiking, or running, or climbing trees when he was a child, but also for formal events like state dinners and royal gatherings.

He was, after all, a princess.

Across the room, a massive slug-like creature sat upon a throne. Jabba. Craig's ploy to free the man he loved, Han Solo, from the vile gangster's clutches had failed. Yes, he'd completed the task of freeing Han from his carbonite prison, but then had ended up a prisoner himself.

Still, there was always "Plan B".

Luke Skywalker was here.

Han Solo was here. Chewbacca was here. Lando should be nearby. And so was Luke.

There was a time when Leia had considered Luke Skywalker as a potential partner. He had natural leadership abilities, not to mention the other abilities that had begun to surface since his time away. What exactly had happened to him before Cloud City?

But the time away from Han had solidified Craig's feelings. He loved him. There was no denying it. Yes, love often took a back seat when it came to his life, his struggles. Being a princess came with responsibility, and even the destruction of his home world hadn't changed that. The galaxy needed freedom from the oppression of the Emperor. He needed to unite the rebel forces. They were so close to a victory, he could feel it. But there was no point in pretending that he didn't feel close to something else. Someone else.

Luke stepped forward, attempting to negotiate. Craig listened. The conversation unfolded around him with the strange inevitability of a dream. Everyone spoke as though this were exactly what was supposed to happen. The scene unfolding in front of him had a rhythm to it that felt familiar. Was he starting to feel the same things that Luke had described? The Force?

Or was this something else? Something in the back of his mind told him that there was a piece of his story missing. But what? As hard as he tried, nothing came to mind. He was Princess Craig. He was a leader in the Rebellion. He was going to find a way out of this.

Craig touched the gold collar around his neck.

"This is ridiculous."

Luke looked at him.

"What?"

Craig stared.

"Nothing."

The scene continued. Jabba refused to release Han. Craig felt anger rising inside him, genuine and immediate. How dare this villain keep the man he loved locked away? Hadn't he done enough to pay back his debt? The man was a hero! For a moment, the strange unreality of the situation disappeared. The chains around his neck were real. The oppressive heat was real. The enormous creature watching from the throne was, of course, real.

An intense feeling of resolve settled on Craig as he thought of the struggle they were in. Gangsters, smugglers, and a galactic empire, all working to prevent freedom everywhere. Corruption and suffering were everywhere he looked, but none of it made an impact. No hopelessness could be found in Princess Craig. He would see this thing through, this fight, this war that spanned the stars.

So what if he was currently enslaved. His friends were there, and together they'd figure this out. Who cares if he was stuck in this humiliating costume. He wasn't ashamed of his body. Let them look. Let the last thing they see before they die be Princess Craig in the gold bikini.

A smile formed on his lips as the room began to darken. Craig looked around.

"Wait."

Nobody answered. The palace disappeared. The darkness engulfed everything.

Craig's next awareness came with the uncomfortable sensation of sitting in a hard chair. Fluorescent lights shone overhead. A table stood in front of him. The room had a dim, blue hue to it.

A crowd of detectives sat on the other side.

Male detectives.

Craig looked down. A white jacket and dress covered his body. The material was immaculate, expensive and fitted with deliberate simplicity. The neckline was modest. The skirt ended above his knees. His legs were crossed.

A lit cigarette was in his right hand.

Craig stared at the men. They stared back. Why was he here? Was he in trouble?

It had to be trouble. He didn't trust these detectives. They were prying into things that they shouldn't. Something about Johnny. That's right. Johnny Boz.

He took a slow drag from his cigarette and let the smoke curl out of his mouth. Men were fools. They always noticed the wrong things.

"There is no smoking in this building, Ms. Tramell," the detective said.

"What are you going to do? Charge me with smoking?" he answered, blowing another cloud of smoke back at the detective.

And then the questions began. They obviously suspected him. Nobody was trying to hide it. Maybe it was hubris, having written the book that outlined the crime, but it wouldn't matter. These men would never outsmart him.

It was tiresome, listening to them prattle. They asked about rough sex. Craig flirted with the fat one. They asked about the scarf. Craig took off his jacket. They asked about Johnny using his hands.

Slowly, consciously, Craig uncrossed his legs, ensuring that every man in the room could see that he'd decided not to wear panties that day, then gently crossed them the other way.

The detective's eyes followed the movement. Craig smiled. It was over. They'd never catch him now. Every time the detectives tried to make him uncomfortable, some basic instinct buried beneath Craig's own thoughts seemed to know exactly how to respond. A slight smile. A raised eyebrow. A leisurely adjustment of his posture.

Still, there was something off about the experience. Not that it was strange to be interrogated by police. That was inevitable, he realized. No, it was something else. A different dark room. The chair had been soft, comfortable. Hadn't he been somewhere else?

Craig snapped back to the moment. The detectives were still watching, waiting for him to become nervous. Waiting for him to crack.

Instead, Craig found himself enjoying the control. He was smarter than they were. He was better than they were. It was like a game. And he was going to win.

Craig smiled through painted lips as the room began to darken. Details began to fade. The detectives were gone, as was the room, as was the chair.

As was Craig.

The darkness became complete.

Euphrosyne sat alone in the dark theatre. Her feet rested on the seat in front of her. A bucket of popcorn sat in her lap. On the enormous screen, Craig was trapped inside another movie. Euphrosyne picked up another handful of popcorn and smiled.

"This is wonderful."

She leaned forward, eyes shining as the scene continued.

"Movie night is the best."

A few kernels disappeared into her mouth. Her smile widened.

"I hope he's having as much fun as I am."