Spencer stood at the top of a mountain—an icy mountain, like you’d see on the Discovery Channel. He was at the summit of it on his skateboard, waiting to start the long journey down. At the bottom were Mum and Leon. Mum was waiting to take him to the hospital to see Dad, who was in a coma and hadn’t shown signs of life since the Drifter had crashed; Spencer had been the one flying.
Leon was waiting for him because Spencer had the keys to his house, and his mum was locked out again. Spencer peered down the icy slope. He did not want to go down there—not on a skateboard; not on his hands and knees; not by any method.
Above him silently hovered the Millennium Falcon. It was trying to land—it was there to help him. But there was no room for it. He would have to send it away. The summit was a one-person rock, and everything else was sheer up to it.
Down there, they all needed him. This was the only way down. He had to do it.
Spencer woke, his sheets wet and cold with sweat, his body slick and raging hot.