《Movement 1: Earth》 Chapter 1 Chapter 1 There is no book so bad¡­that it does not have something good in it. - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote Dear L, You have already begun reading, but it is not too late to stop. I wouldn¡¯t blame you for putting this whole mess aside and never thinking of it again. But Mr. de Cervantes, quoted above, speaks the truth; every story has something good in it, even a story like ours. So please, trust me. This is the last time. Everything is on fire now, which is more or less a worst-case scenario in a library. And the color of the fire is purple, which, as you know, is among the worse colors for fire. This is the end. A closed book can be reopened, but a burned book is gone forever. It was your idea to call this the ¡®Rough Draft,¡¯ remember. In life, there are no do-overs, not even for us. You get one chance, and only one, every minute of every day. You were right. Apologies; my mind wanders. It must be the smoke. Getting rather difficult to breathe. Since you are still reading, I take it you are still interested. Good. Pay close attention, then. Everything here is important. Maybe when this is all over, if you and I are still around, we can get some ice cream. Your Veracious Friend, Dearly, DC Isaac Milton April A man is a very small thing, and the night is very large and full of wonders. - Lord Dunsany, The Laughter of the Gods He lay in yellow stubble, prickly and cold, and the clear silence of a wintery night hung all around him. Snow-dusted fields stretched away into the darkness. Frost gleamed in the faint starlight, sketching a capricious topography of ghostly hills. The lights of Pikeston clustered to the east like a fallen galaxy. Cloud shadows darkened the foothills in the other direction, where vague suggestions of form and shape in the distant earth soared up to become mountains barely visible as hulking forms against the starry horizon. Isaac Milton lay alone in the quiet, cold starlight. He was a tall, thin boy with a pale pimply face, short brown hair, and dark eyes enlarged by thick rectangular glasses rimmed with blue plastic. He wore battered tennis shoes that let the snow in to dampen his socks, khaki shorts because it wasn¡¯t really all that cold, a black T-shirt with a minimalist depiction of various dice on it, and a faded denim jacket that he thought was cool primarily because it reminded him of Dwayne Hartman. He laced his fingers behind his head as he gazed up at the stars, which caused his already notable ears to flare out like wings. It had been suggested to Isaac on more than a few occasions that he utilize these organs for flight. ¡°I don¡¯t see it,¡± he said to no one, squinting up at the stars. A faint breeze rustled the snow for answer. Isaac breathed steam at the glittering path of the Milky Way and watched it vanish to nothing. He sat up, dusted himself off, and turned to the telescope he had hauled two miles from home out to this field. This particular rise, on this particular pasture, provided an excellent vantage point of the entire sky and surrounding landscape, with minimal interference from nearby sources of light. An ideal location for Endeavors of Astronomical Significance. The downside was that the reflector telescope, as big around as a can of paint and four times as long, was drawn to the planet Earth by a gravitational bond of significant strength. Isaac¡¯s journey out of town and up the hill had taxed his limited reserves of muscular power, but it was worth it. It was always worth it to sneak out with a telescope at eight o¡¯clock on a school night, trespass on Mr. Paulus¡¯s field (he wouldn¡¯t mind), and get cold and wet. It was also worth it to open colorfully wrapped packages from his friend Kate, even if they only contained a cracked circular lens. It was not worth it to ask why she would mail him such a thing, because she would only provide some typical cryptic answer. It was Kate; she might mail him a live squid next time. The lens had puzzled him until he had chanced to aim it at the sky. Now, with a thermos of lukewarm coco and ears red from cold, he bent to take another look through the telescope. ¡°It¡¯s moved,¡± he told his imaginary assistant, affecting a stern, professional voice. Ship¡¯s captain. Space Fleet Commander. Many chevrons. ¡°Or rather¡­the stars have moved. And it¡¯s gone right along with them.¡± He removed the lens from the viewport of his telescope, where he had fastened it by employing the advanced engineering technique of Use Duct Tape. He held the cracked lens up to one eye, imagining it as a monocle and snickering for a moment at the thought of himself with a twirly mustache. An irregular flaw ran across the lens, a normal crack in the glass, possibly incurred during its journey by post across the Atlantic and most of America. But when Isaac looked through it at the northern sky, he saw another crack which shone with faint illumination like a solid line of distant stars. It was a flaw in the sky itself, or so it seemed. It shimmered, phasing through a variety of colors in slow succession, as if it was an aurora compressed into a sharp line. And now Isaac knew that, while the stars moved across the sky in accordance with the rotation of the Earth, this line moved right along with them. He traced its path from one horizon to the other. It zigged and zagged like a single long fracture in a pane of glass. At some places it feathered out into spreading fans, which could be more clearly seen through the telescope. It began in Virgo in the east, moved up through Bootes, curved through Draco and Ursa Minor, directly through Polaris, down through Cassiopeia, and then right across the Milky Way. It vanished at about the point that the Rocky Mountains to the west dwindled into shadows on their northward march to Canada. Isaac checked the time. He had been out here for an hour already, charting the fracture. He had accomplished his first objective: to see if it moved with the sky. It did. It rotated with the starry firmament as though affixed to it. This worried Isaac. It didn¡¯t seem right. What was he looking at? Radiation? He had a list of questions to look up when he got back to his room. No cell service in this field. And Kate; he should talk to Kate about this. His reflector telescope could not pick up the bizarre occurrence at all. He had aimed it dead at Polaris and searched in vain for the silvery thread. Nothing. The sky checked out, according to his normal telescope, unaugmented by the lens. He sat down in the snow, then fell onto his back. He gazed at the place where the crack existed. Where he knew it existed, although he could not see it. ¡°Most likely,¡± he said, ¡°it¡¯s some kind of electromagnetic wavelength that can¡¯t be seen with the naked eye.¡± He held up the lens, passed it back and forth over his eyes, watched the shimmery crack in the stars appear and vanish. What on Earth was the lens made of? Not glass, for sure. But if he had seen this phenomenon, then certainly at least some astronomers in the world had noticed it as well. He would check the forums and astronomy news sites when he got back. It moved with the stars. What could that mean? Was it an atmospheric phenomenon moving against the Earth¡¯s rotation? Isaac didn¡¯t think he could glean much more information out here. But the night was still brilliant. Jupiter hovered in clear view over the mountains. He reminded himself that all the stars above him were just ancient light, photons that had traveled countless millions of miles through the void of space, spawned years ago by the raging plasma fires of distant suns, only to end their journey in his retinas. Well. It was getting late. High School tomorrow and all that. Math quiz. He considered the mysteries of pre-calculus as he packed away the telescope and tripod into their case and hauled it up onto his back. Isaac clicked on his headlamp just long enough to inspect the area, making sure he had not forgotten anything. The afterimage blazed in his eyes when he clicked the world back into darkness. When his vision returned, he began the long trudge back through the snow to town. Isaac felt that this newfound astronomical phenomenon merited discussion, but it was getting late. He could bother his friends another day. It could wait. He pretended the telescope case was a bulky astronaut¡¯s backpack, life support systems and thrust jets. He imagined himself traipsing through an alien landscape, an easy task in the snow and starlight and silence. It also helped to imagine that the case on his back had a mass equal to several times its current weight, and that he was simply hauling it through a low-gravity environment. Gradually, he entered in among the lights of Pikeston, the great Montanan metropolis of nearly one thousand citizens. He dropped the case with a crunch onto frosty gravel and paused for a breather by the radio tower, stamping his feet to work some warmth back into his wet toes, watching his breath swirl away. A familiar sound came to him through the night: the coughing sputter of a terminally ill pickup truck. Isaac grinned at the sound, dragged the case to the side of the road, and raised a hitchhiker¡¯s thumb as the feeble headlights slowed. The vehicle wheezed to a halt. The engine shut off, but Isaac could not tell whether that had been intentional. A series of ticks and rattles sounded from under the rusty hood like a tiny and terrible percussion ensemble. The passenger window in this vehicle did not exist, so the driver had no trouble leaning over and thundering into the night. ¡°Need a ride, son?¡± His voice was glorious, the way that an enraged grizzly bear up close, in person, would be glorious. Isaac heaved the telescope case into the debris-filled bed of the pickup truck. He peeled the passenger-side door open, ignoring its squeal of protest, and he struggled to pull it shut again once he had positioned himself on the coarse nappy foam that had once been a seat. He didn¡¯t bother with a seatbelt. There wasn¡¯t one. ¡°What are you doing out here?¡± Isaac asked, though he thought he knew the answer. Dwayne had come to pick him up. ¡°Just goin¡¯ for an evening drive,¡± replied Dwayne Hartman. ¡°And what about you? Star gazing? Don¡¯t ya got school tomorrow?¡± He grinned, teeth shining in the streetlights. The beard and coat, the tattoos on his massive hands, and the simple dark bulk of him there in the driver¡¯s seat all conspired to lend Dwayne an air of menace and mystery. The enigmatic stranger at the start of a fantasy novel. Dwayne smelled faintly of cigarettes and beer, but this was a fine smell to Isaac, like apple pie, or autumn rain, or fireworks. Dwayne endeavored to start his pickup, but the engine was reluctant to catch. Isaac decided not to tell Dwayne about the crack in the sky, not until he knew more. Not until he had something solid to report. So instead of Astronomical Phenomena, he went for Paternal Ambiguities. ¡°So it seems like the state of Montana,¡± he said, ¡°has no idea what happened to my dad, or even who he was, really.¡± ¡°He was a strange man,¡± Dwayne agreed. His voice resembled the guttural growling of a beast. ¡°Always off somewhere.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s coming back,¡± said Isaac, trying to reassure Dwayne that he didn¡¯t have any childish fantasies in that regard. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s been years. But you¡¯d think there¡¯d be some kind of public record. Or something.¡± Dwayne kept waiting for the engine to turn, patient, confident. ¡°Don¡¯t put too much of yourself into this, Isaac,¡± he said. ¡°Whether he¡¯s dead or run off, your life is up to you. Not him. Here we go.¡± The truck finally came to life, evidently against its own will. They chugged through the mostly empty streets of Pikeston, in silence save for the horrific gasping rattle of the truck. It was the best kind of silence, as each of them worked through their own thoughts. Dwayne broke it at last with a teacher¡¯s query about piano. ¡°How¡¯s the Bach?¡± ¡°Complicated,¡± Isaac replied. ¡°I keep messing up the modulation.¡± Dwayne nodded his huge, shaggy head. ¡°Take it slow. One phrase at a time. Stay loose on those runs.¡± More comfortable silence. ¡°I saw a dead eagle,¡± Isaac said as the truck heaved itself to a stop in front of the house he lived in. ¡°Just in the ditch. On my way out.¡± ¡°Hm. Cause of death?¡± Dwayne¡¯s voice sometimes actually rattled the remaining windows in the truck. ¡°Circumstances precluded an autopsy,¡± (Sherlock Holmes voice.) ¡°No evidence of foul play.¡± The unintentional pun cracked him up, as did his subsequent realization that it hadn¡¯t really been a pun at all since eagles aren¡¯t fowl. Dwayne raised a bushy eyebrow. ¡°Thanks for the lift, Dwayne.¡± Isaac threw his shoulder against the passenger door, bruised his shoulder, tried again. ¡°Thursday?¡± Dwayne smiled and nodded. ¡°Thursday.¡± ? Minutes later, Isaac crept into his room with the telescope, fairly certain his return had gone undetected by the Stocker family. Not that they really cared if he was out on a school night with a telescope. Lights on. Isaac Milton entered his domain. His bedsheets depicted the planets of the solar system, as did the upper border of the wallpaper in his room. His bed lay unmade, littered with lavishly illustrated glossy-paged rulebooks and dice of varying colors and shapes. In one corner of the room: an expensive keyboard, the keys hardly visible beneath a flurry of staff paper scribbled with notation or barely legible text. On the many bookshelves: an assortment of science-fiction and fantasy novels ranging from contemporary to classic, and from mainstream hits to pulp paperbacks. On the nightstand: a journal, a Bible, a spare pair of thick rectangular glasses, and more random dice. On the desk: a laptop, more novels, notebooks, pens and pencils, and a CD with the words ¡° Curative Remedy for Loser-ness ¡± written in black sharpie. On the walls: a fleet of sticky-notes; posters depicting astronauts, NASA, and rocket launches; several colorful paintings of considerable artistic quality. On the floor: more sheet music; free sheets of notebook paper rife with maps, charts, and blocks of text; stale potato chips crushed into the blue carpet. On the ceiling: glow-in-the-dark stars, arranged into a rough approximation of the night sky from this location at midnight on the winter solstice. He had chopped up the plastic stars and used their fragments in order to achieve the desired level of detail. He liked them better that way, just little shards of light instead of the full star-shaped stars.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. He shoved the telescope into his closet. He stood for a moment, not tired. Excited. A real mystery! He opened his laptop, recorded his notes from the evening¡¯s observations, closed his laptop, read one paragraph from three different books, scribbled a handful of notes for a Pathfinder game, sat down at the piano and took a crack at the Bach, gave up, opened his laptop to check astronomy sites and see if any of them had noticed a crack in the sky. Nothing. He opened the short story he was working on and spent ten minutes staring at the last line. He was sure he would finish this one. He just didn¡¯t know how. If he did finish, he would have to let Eric read it. A promise was a promise. But that also meant the pressure was on, because the story would have to be good. It would absolutely have to exhibit as few loser-like qualities as possible. Just to be on the safe side, he would write while listening to the Curative Remedy . No decisive evidence yet as to its efficacy, he had recently told Eric, but for the sake of scientific progress, he would keep trying. ¡°Good man,¡± Eric had responded. ¡°I¡¯ll know it works if I never have to read one of your shitty stories ever again.¡± Finally, Isaac decided that he had to talk to somebody. Eric and Jim would be asleep. Kate was across the Atlantic. Elizabeth was, what, two time zones ahead? Or just one. But she stayed up late. Worth a shot. He opened CHIME on his computer. IM: Hey Elizabeth She replied almost at once. EE: Hello Isaac. IM: Did you hear about the man whose left side was cut off? EE: Goodbye Isaac. IM: Wait, don¡¯t disconnect! EE: Why should I not? EE: I have no interest in your low-grade humor this evening. EE: And are you aware of the time here? IM: This is important! IM: Or at least, it is Very Interesting EE: Doubtful. IM: So don¡¯t go away! IM: Stay tuned! IM: We¡¯ll be right back after a word from our sponsors! IM: ... IM: Still there? EE: Unfortunately. IM: (the sponsor, it¡¯s you) IM: (say something) EE: I would not sponsor your program. IM: bummer EE: I understand, though I do not condone, your efforts to inject comedy into our conversation. EE: However, I urge you to consider the lateness of the hour as we proceed with our thus far scintillating repartee. IM: Noted, I guess EE: So... IM: So what? EE: Am I to assume that you have messaged me out of sheer boredom? I really am about to go to bed. IM: Heavens, no! IM: Well, there is that *interesting* thing I mentioned earlier, but first, I just remembered, I have another book recommendation for you! EE: Go on. IM: Wait that¡¯s it? EE: That¡¯s what? IM: No clever remark about my lowbrow tastes in literature? EE: Have I mentioned that I am tired? EE: Also I am a little distracted at the moment. IM: With what? EE: Callie. IM: awwwwww IM: your blind demon ghost bobcat is so cute! EE: Agreed. EE: Anyway... IM: It¡¯s called The Worm Ourbros IM: Hang on EE: I believe you mean ¡°Ouroboros?¡± IM: Yeah that IM: How¡¯d you know? EE: The Ouroboros, a depiction of a serpent biting its own tail, symbolizing infinity or cyclicality, appears in various religions and folklore the world over. IM: haha ¡°our bros¡± IM: Anyway it¡¯s by E.R. Eddison IM: I didn¡¯t just think of you because your initials and last name are the same IM: It¡¯s really good! EE: You can do better than that, Isaac. IM: It¡¯s unique, vivid, and stylistically interesting IM: and it, uh, appeals to sensibilities somewhat foreign to the modern reader EE: Genre? IM: Fantasy IM: BUT IM: It¡¯s a classic. It¡¯s like a hundred years old at least IM: It predates all the tropes and clich¨¦s you hate so much IM: And best of all, IM: It¡¯s really hard to understand what people are saying! IM: Using all archaic language and stuff EE: And stuff as well? IM: You know it. So much stuff EE: Very well. I will investigate further. IM: Just like that? IM: geez I could really go for a scathing lambast of my literary interests EE: Fine. EE: *ahem EE: Although you are but an irremediable wretch in the realm of literary taste, I shall deign to inspect this scum you have likely dredged from the cesspits of hackneyed narrative detritus in which you so indiscriminately wallow. Perhaps at the least it will afford me a modicum of amusement, whilst slaking somewhat my insatiable thirst for a sense of superiority over my fellow man, and more specifically, you. IM: YES! Keep going EE: That is enough for this evening. IM: Oh IM: Are you feeling okay? EE: Sure, fine. IM: Okay, good. IM: I love how you can always tell when someone is actually fine because they say ¡°sure, fine¡± when you ask them IM: Really convenient EE: It is nothing. EE: This big old house just feels empty after having you guys out here. IM: Yeah a few weeks and it already seems like a long time IM: Hey! Jim¡¯s birthday is coming up EE: True. IM: Have you thought of a present for him yet? EE: Thinking of a present for Jimothy is like attempting to determine where to place another star in the sky. IM: Woah deep IM: But yeah, I know what you mean IM: You could give that guy a like a random rock and he¡¯d be actually thrilled IM: It¡¯s like he¡¯s happy with anything but you don¡¯t want to give him just anything, you know? EE: And speaking of unexpected gifts, how is the ravenous turtle doing? IM: Didn¡¯t we agree to not talk about that? EE: April Fools was only days ago, Isaac. EE: None of us have forgotten. EE: You will pay for your crimes. IM: ANYWAY IM: I¡¯ve been thinking IM: Maybe we can all get together for Jim¡¯s birthday like we did for yours. IM: And maybe this time Kate can come IM: So the rest of us can finally actually meet her! IM: Seriously stop hogging our cool friend all to yourself EE: I would like that. EE: Now, your next message had better be about that interesting thing you mentioned or we are done here. IM: Oh yeah, I found a crack in the sky. EE: Elaborate. IM: oh haha it took me a minute to figure out you were using that word as an imperative rather than an adjective EE: Stay on track, Isaac. IM: Kate mailed me a lens and when I look through it I can see a glowing crack in the northern part of the sky. IM: It moves with the stars. EE: Is that all? IM: Whaddaya mean ¡®is that all!?¡¯ EE: Well, what do you expect me to know about it? Talk to Kate. IM: I have an Ominous Feeling! EE: Go to sleep, Isaac. IM: Maybe I will! IM: Say goodnight to Callie for me. EE: Done. EE: Wait. EE: Tell me the answer to your joke. EE: I know it¡¯s going to be stupid, but it will bother me if I don¡¯t know. IM: You mean about the man whose left side was cut off? EE: Yes. IM: Well, don¡¯t worry about him. IM: He¡¯s all right now! IM: ...hello? Chapter 2 Chapter 2 Jacob Hollow April He walked alone on the edge of the road. His tennis shoes crunched on icy gravel, and his breath danced in the air before him like a series of dying ghosts, writhing to nothing against the pale sky. He wore a dirty grey hoodie, and the hood hung unused at the nape of his neck despite the chill morning air. He squinted against the brightness. His long shadow lumbered across the road beside him. He kept his hands in his hoodie pocket, folded together as though in prayer, to protect them from the cold. His eyes watered in the bitter wind, and he could not feel his ears. But he smiled. He walked in a desolate landscape. Barren fields stretched left and right, before and behind¡ªlong, low hills, yellow and white and brown, speckled occasionally with clumps of cattle. The road with its accompanying rows of fenceposts raced on ahead for miles before vanishing against a gradual rise. The sky, a dissipated haze, would by noon dissolve into a crisp piercing blue, marked by whispers of cloud. Far overhead, a hawk circled. The man had never been in a place like this before. He thought to himself: how could it be so cold and bright and dusty and windy all at once? He walked at a steady pace, unyielding. The entire morning only three vehicles passed him. Two were going the other way. The one going his way, a battered green pickup truck, stopped to ask if he wanted a ride. He smiled and shook his head. The driver looked uncertain, because it was cold and the closest town was twenty miles out, but eventually he shrugged and continued on. The walking man looked unremarkable. His pale face, narrow and framed by patchy stubble, would have excited no comment, but a manic energy lurked behind the eyes, a wildness. Something about this man¡¯s gaze had made the driver of the green pickup truck uneasy. Sometimes the walking man removed a hand from his sweater pocket and snapped his fingers a few times. Sometimes he spoke. He spoke as though conversing with another, though he walked alone. ¡°This is the place, right?¡± Fuck if I know. Didn¡¯t you check the coordinates? ¡°I think this is the place. He¡¯ll be there.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. So we¡¯re just trusting that sketchy message now, huh? Unbelievable. ¡°Got any better ideas?¡± Yeah, in fact I do, but you didn¡¯t want to listen. Seriously, all you had to do was murder like twenty humans. Now you¡¯re walking into some kind of trap like a gods-damned idiot. ¡°It¡¯ll be fine.¡± Oh, really? Why didn¡¯t you say so? Wow, that¡¯s so convincing. Okay, then, great. Can you hear how convinced I am? ¡°I got this feeling, that¡¯s all.¡± Bullshit. You¡¯re just following birds. ¡°Problem with that?¡± Listen to this guy. I don¡¯t know why I waste my time. ¡°Because you¡¯re bored.¡± No, I think it¡¯s ¡®cause you¡¯re gonna die. And I want to watch. ¡°Hey, I¡¯ll be fine.¡± I think we both know you definitely will not be fine. ¡°Shut up.¡± (Laughter.) Bright streams of powdery snow crawled like luminous serpents across the cold, cracked asphalt. The hawk cried out overhead. The young man peered at the horizon and kept walking. Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Elizabeth Eddison April Elizabeth stood, stretched, wiped her forehead with a glove that left a smear of rich mud. That should do it for now. Still too early to plant much of anything, but her garden stood at the ready. Weeds pulled, soil turned, debris removed. Now, standing in the sun beside a grand old maple, she removed her gloves and retrieved a bottle of sweet iced tea from her bag. She sat in the shade and basked in the glow of satisfaction and anticipation. She schemed, visualizing the arrangement. Her garden this year would be better than ever. The snow had melted into shining puddles and the sky was clear. The sunlight was warm, but the breeze stirring her long hair was pleasantly cool. According to Isaac, things were still frosty in Montana this time of year, but in Appalachia, spring had arrived. Perhaps she would take a stroll through the woods later. They looked inviting, and it would be good for her head cold. The garden adjoined her house on one side; one of her bedroom¡¯s many windows overlooked it. Elizabeth typically planted flowers, leaving only a bit of room for vegetables. She thought perhaps this year she would eschew vegetables entirely. They always seemed to get eaten, and not by humans. Elizabeth suspected that Heidi didn¡¯t plant many flowers in her garden, though the climate on her tropical isle sounded brilliant. ¡°Must be nice,¡± she told Callie, who was resting upon the seed packets. ¡°Heidi can grow things year-round.¡± Callie lounged as she usually did¡ªsphinx-like, as though in vigilant observation despite lacking eyes. Every once in a while, she rested her head upon her paws or licked them with a milk-white tongue. Her stainless fur blazed in the sunlight like a patch of new-fallen snow. ¡°Off the seeds, Callie.¡± Elizabeth heaved the cat up and deposited her on the ground. This was no easy task, for Callie was large. Kate had identified her as some kind of lynx, although it was obvious that Callie was not a normal animal. For one thing, Callie had no eyes. The fur of her face went right on up from her nose, uninterrupted. As far as Elizabeth and her sister AJ could ever tell, this presented Callie with no difficulties whatsoever. Displaced from her throne of gardening supplies, Callie held her head aloft and sauntered off as if she had been leaving anyway. But then she swung back around and rubbed herself against Elizabeth¡¯s jeans, making contact above the knee. The vibrations of her purring made Elizabeth¡¯s heart soar with affection, and she gave Callie a good scratching behind the ears. She spent some time planning how to arrange the garden this year. Since AJ had left home, the garden had been Elizabeth¡¯s private project each spring. Her mother was gone too often to help. Which was fine. Finally, before heading inside for lunch and a shower, she checked the peonies. They had not yet bloomed, but she had strung up the stalks with twine to prevent them from bending to the ground under their own weight. They seemed to explode in size every year. This year they had taken over the entire southern wall. Elizabeth began every morning by looking down from her bedroom window to see if they had bloomed yet. She checked to make sure they had ants on them, and they did, so she decided to call this a sufficient job for the morning. She returned her tools to the shed while Callie watched, yawning in the sun. ¡°I think I could practice today,¡± she informed her feline companion. She felt good today. Confident. Her sore throat was almost entirely gone. Surely it was all the honeyed tea. Callie yawned in response. Her teeth were pure white, as were her gums and tongue and every other part of the inside of her mouth. This always seemed strange to Elizabeth, given that Callie theoretically had red blood. She couldn¡¯t be sure about the blood pigmentation for certain, however, because Callie didn¡¯t bleed. Elizabeth took a final moment to stretch in the fresh spring sunlight before heading inside. She kicked off her muddy boots on the back porch. Her house greatly exceeded its necessary capacity. Half of the rooms lay in perpetual disuse except as storage¡ªmore than ever now that her older sister had officially moved out. Several of the rooms had at some point belonged to Elizabeth¡¯s ex-fathers. She had no interest in those. It was a beautiful house¡ªjust the sort of place in which a solitary romantic might thrive. The wood-paneling was real wood, the ceilings high and arched, the stone tiling rustic and charming, not to mention frigid cold upon bare feet in winter. Great acoustics, especially in her dance studio. In the kitchen she constructed an elaborate sandwich while listening to The Pearl Fishers , an opera. She skipped to the duet. And she noticed, while devouring her meal, that her mother must have brought in the mail yesterday evening. A bright lime-green package caught her eye. A smiley face, drawn in blue marker, beamed at her from the side of the box. Elizabeth grinned back as she scooted it closer. Another of the sides had a heart drawn on it, the third a butterfly, and on the final side stood a cluster of exclamation points. There could be no doubt who this was from. She finished her sandwich in two huge bites, grabbed a juice from the fridge, and hurried with the package up to her room. Located on the top floor of the oversized house, her many-windowed room overlooked the garden, the field which served as a backyard, and the dense woodlands beyond. This room contained a bed, plain and serviceable, and an abundance of books. Many were leather or faux-leather-bound, looking very important and sophisticated. Some were old history texts and biographies; many more were classic works of literature sure to be found on any formal list of must-reads. Most numerous were books of poetry, especially obscure collections by poets nobody had ever heard of. Some of these books were survivors of single printings that had run only a few hundred copies, and they had been obtained by carefully raiding the remotest cobwebbed corners of dusty bookstores throughout the New England area. She had neatly organized the books alphabetically and by genre on a series of bookshelves which enwrapped most of the room. Besides these and the bed, there remained a reading chair and a desk. On the desk rested a laptop, an assortment of teas, Paradise Lost (with the Dor¨¦ woodcuts), some seeds, an unopened kit full of sparkly sequins and a bespangling device, and several packs of glow-in-the-dark stars, also unopened. A pine-scented candle made the room smell like Christmas. On the bed lay a painting and a long list of ideas for return birthday presents, to which Isaac had not been a helpful contributor. A half hour later, post-shower, the room also contained a young woman who had recently turned 15 years old. Elizabeth Eddison was slender, athletic, slightly above-average in height, and secretly proud of all of these facts. She wore a blue dress which she had received from her mother several weeks ago on her birthday. She only wore it now because her mother was not home. Elizabeth would never admit to her mother that it was actually very comfortable, and she liked the color. She thought it accentuated her golden hair and her eyes, a shade of sky blue similar to that of the dress. She was certain that her mother had purchased it for her only because it was a pretty dress, and girls were supposed to like pretty dresses¡ªnothing at all like the heartfelt, if odd, gifts from her friends. Well, she did like the dress, but that didn¡¯t mean she would ever admit it. Its only faults lay in its shortness and sleevelessness, which revealed the taekwondo bruises that often her arms and shins. Elizabeth also took pride in her long silky hair, although she often bound it back into a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes when dancing, gardening, or practicing. She wore contact lenses for a similar reason; they could not easily be dislodged in the midst of strenuous activity. She believed she looked better without glasses anyway; the sharp features of her face did just fine without spectacles, thank you very much. And besides, did AJ, her beautiful older sister, wear glasses? She did not. Elizabeth had received a thin silver ring from AJ for her birthday. She wore it on her left hand, and in the space of two weeks had already developed the habit of unconsciously turning it with her thumb whenever that hand was unoccupied. She sat down at her desk, Kate¡¯s package before her, and retrieved a pair of scissors as though she were about to commence upon a gourmet meal. She had just begun slicing up the pink ribbon binding the green present when a sound from her computer alerted her that someone had messaged her. It was Kate, of course. KC: Liz! KC: Liiiizzzzzzzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! EE: You rang? KC: :D KC: okay I am free now Liz! KC: how¡¯d it go?! EE: My birthday was weeks ago. Have you been that busy? KC: <:O KC: Liz! KC: Don¡¯t make me feel worse than I already do!!! KC: I HAVE BEEN SO BUSY YOU HAVE NO IDEA KC: I wish I could have been there! EE: I know. I am sorry. EE: You were being a good friend to Heidi. KC: it¡¯s okay! I mean, I really wish I could have been there and seen all my cool and awesome friends in person. But now I have a new friend, and she¡¯s important too! KC: you need to meet her Liz! KC: all the guys will too KC: she will need a lot of new friends, even goofy and weird ones like ours ;) EE: You know something. What do you know? KC: Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzz KC: trust me! EE: I do. EE: The party went very well. Although mother did not approve of me having so many boy friends over.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. KC: 8O KC: Liz! KC: ;) EE: MALE FRIENDS KC: suuurrrre KC: ;) ;) ;) ;) EE: But my sister was there as well. EE: Which prevented my mother from ¡®flipping just completely the fuck out¡¯ as Eric might say. KC: hehe yeah he would say that KC: I guess Jim¡¯s brother was there too? EE: You guess correctly. KC: did they KC: you know KC: talk? KC: and stuff? EE: Why, whoever do you mean? KC: AJ and Mike!! KC: they would be so cute together! EE: You want my sister to go out with Jim¡¯s brother? KC: oh would that be weird? EE: A little. EE: You are correct, though. EE: They would be cute. KC: :D KC: anyway, about that party! EE: It was great. We all talked, played games...nothing spectacular. KC: did you dance? EE: Maybe a little. KC: Jim didn¡¯t hurt himself too badly did he? EE: I don¡¯t recall mentioning that. EE: Did he tell you? KC: well no but such an occurrence is EASILY INFERABLE EE: Jim was fine. EE: Thanks for distracting Callie while they were over. She can be over-zealous in her protective duties. KC: oh I LOVE Callie! she¡¯s so sweet and cuddly! she doesn¡¯t get along with Whiskey though :o EE: Is she over there now? EE: Not that it is by any means a fruitful endeavor to keep track of her whereabouts. KC: I saw her this morning and she was catching butterflies! I had to scold her! >:| KC: Oh! I almost forgot! Did you get my present yet? KC: I mean YOUR present KC: from me!!!! EE: What a remarkable coincidence that I was in the process of opening it when you messaged me. KC: wow! remarkable EE: You can tell it is so remarkable EE: because of how much I am remarking upon it. EE: It is such a surprising coincidence. EE: Can you tell how surprised I am? KC: Liiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzyyyy! KC: do you like it? EE: Kate. KC: ???????????????? EE: I LOVE it. KC: <3!! KC: what other sweet lootz did you rake in? EE: I received from Isaac an abundance of glow-in-the-dark stars as well as an assortment of ¡°exotic flower seeds.¡± I actually suspect that he mixed all kinds of random vegetable seeds and granular seasonings together as a joke. EE: Whereas Eric saw fit to bestow upon me a CD of his ¡°certified freshest beats,¡± a bespangling starter kit, and a bell for Callie. KC: :D they are so silly! EE: I don¡¯t bespangle things. KC: that is why it was a starter kit EE: We will see about that. KC: Jim gave you a painting! EE: Was that a question? ? KC: nope! He told me about it :) EE: It¡¯s cool. KC: I know! EE: Of course you do. EE: And that reminds me. Has Isaac talked to you? KC: like recently? KC: SHOULD HE HAVE??? EE: He was just saying something weird the other night. You mailed him something, and now his feeble grip on reality grows ever more tenuous. KC: hehe yeah that sounds like Isaac! KC: what did he say? EE: He saw a crack in the sky? EE: He may have meant that metaphorically. One can never tell, with Isaac. EE: ...Kate? Still there? KC: haha yeah no you¡¯re right one can never tell KC: with Isaac KC: okay I gotta go now something just came up! EE: Out of curiosity, what would happen if you did not go take care of this something? KC: it wouldn¡¯t explode if that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking! KC: I mean I HOPE not EE: Well, do not work too hard, Kaitlyn Carter. I care about you. KC: I love you too! EE: And Kate? KC: ? EE: Thanks again. KC: :D KC: <3 Many things about Kaitlyn Carter remained mysterious to Elizabeth, but talking to her never failed to cheer Elizabeth up. It was perhaps overly effective at doing so. Now and then Kate would message her and just ruin a good melancholy Elizabeth had spent all day cultivating. Elizabeth sometimes thought she did that on purpose. Kate couldn¡¯t stand it when her friends were sad, and somehow she always knew. Kaitlyn Carter was a genius. She had an eidetic memory. She didn¡¯t need to see the board in order to play chess. She could thumb through an incomplete deck of cards once, rapidly, and then tell you which ones were missing. Elizabeth had once shown Kate her sister¡¯s calculus homework and had watched Kate write down the answers, one after another, faster than Elizabeth could even read the problems. And this was saying nothing about the science thing, which she got from her father. Kate had built her own lab, and Elizabeth neither knew nor understood what went on in there. But Kate never said anything about her superior intelligence to Elizabeth; instead, she gushed with awe and encouragement toward Elizabeth¡¯s own talents. Kate had mailed Elizabeth two treasures in the bright green box. The first was a hand-crafted journal. It had Kate written all over it: bright colors, cute animals, and little doodles of Callie and Elizabeth and all their friends. She also had included inspirational quotes from Elizabeth¡¯s favorite authors written in bright colors in Kate¡¯s loopy, swirly, hearts-dotting-the-i¡¯s style. A lot of effort had gone into this, and the thought of it warmed Elizabeth¡¯s heart. Inside the cover of this book was a note from Kate describing how she really really really wanted to read more of Elizabeth¡¯s poetry, so she was making the first move. Some poetry had already been entered on the first few pages. Did she want Elizabeth to continue on the blank pages and send it back? That was an interesting and potentially fun idea. The second treasure was a colorful butterfly brooch made of stained glass, which according to Kate¡¯s notes was also a tracking device that linked up with satellites and could be used to summon Callie. Elizabeth stared blankly at the instructions (the colorful, swirly instructions) for a moment, not sure whether she should be rolling her eyes or rolling on the floor laughing. But summoning Callie, if true¡­now that sounded useful. No time like the present for trying out your friend¡¯s crazy gadgets. Now how¡­ah, wait. One-time use. For emergencies. What was Kate thinking? Better question: What did she know? Well, Elizabeth would be proud to wear the brooch until such a time as she needed to use it. To alert Callie, apparently, she had to break it, and it went so well with her blue dress. Maybe someday. Chapter 4 Chapter 4 Shape and Sky April Amelia Shape rested her head on her thin arms, face-down on the table. The early-morning noise and activity of the bustling diner washed over her. Her dark hair made symmetrical swirling patterns where it fell upon the peeling plastic surface of the table. A steaming mug of black coffee sat untouched before her. The steam formed into elaborate shapes as it rose from the hot liquid: snowflakes, pyramids, tessellated triangular patterns, perfect spheres. They shifted rapidly on their ascent into nothingness. Elmer Sky detected agitation in the shifting figures, and he expressed concern as he prepped his family-platter breakfast for ingestion. ¡°Whatever¡¯s the matter, dear? Here, have some coffee. You¡¯ll feel better in a snap , I daresay!¡± The coffee steam took the form of dancing lightning bolts. Elmer Sky glanced around to see if anyone nearby was taking note of this vapor¡¯s strange behavior. The interior of the caf¨¦, hazy with smoke from the fryers and lit by solid golden rays of the glancing morning light, murmured to itself and paid no attention to the two of them. Satisfied, he dug into his breakfast with double-forked enthusiasm. Amelia Shape slowly raised her head to blink at her companion. ¡°Elmer.¡± Elmer Sky finished swallowing a mouthful of pancakes and washed it down with a swig of milk. ¡°Yes, Amelia?¡± He patted his mustaches with a napkin to remove any residual milk and crumbs, then wiped his pudgy hands and neatly laid the napkin aside. ¡°I can¡¯t remember anything.¡± ¡°I know, dear.¡± ¡°Neither can you.¡± ¡°Well, yes, I suppose that¡¯s the case indeed. Quite! But there¡¯s no call to be upset about it!¡± He gave her a cheerful wink and returned to the business of breakfast, a business he took seriously. Amelia gradually rotated her head to gaze out the window. She squinted against the morning sun beaming across the overpass. Elmer scowled briefly down at his meal, as if in thought. By coincidence, a cloud passed over the sun at that moment, shadowing the diner.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Thanks,¡± said Amelia, still gazing outside. ¡°We¡¯re being followed again. Grey van.¡± ¡°Oh, your perspicacity is as delightful as ever, Amelia! I do hope we won¡¯t have to make another mess. Er, speaking of which, you still have a bit of blood. No, no, on your cheek. There¡ªgot it!¡± Elmer resumed his meal. ¡°But seeing as how we¡ªmmph, excuse me¡ªhow we don¡¯t know who they are, or what they want with us (or even what we want with us for that matter!), what¡¯s the use of being upset? Come now, Amelia, cheer up! And, er, could you stop with the coffee steam? I think one of these lovely civilians is looking at it.¡± The coffee steam assumed a more normal form of ascent. ¡°You should get some breakfast,¡± continued Elmer between bites. ¡°You could use a breakfast or two, if you don¡¯t mind my saying so.¡± Amelia, her head on the way back down to her cradle of arms, stopped to glower at Elmer, but he seemed not to notice. She sighed and rested her head on her thin arms once more. ¡°I¡¯ve always hated early mornings,¡± she mumbled. Elmer froze with a forkful of hash browns on the way to his mouth. ¡°Have you? Indeed? Aha!¡± His cry of delight caused several heads to swivel in their direction, but he paid them no mind. He stabbed the forked hash toward Amelia. ¡°There, you see! Already you¡¯ve remembered something. And now that I consider it, there are quite a lot of things that we remember entirely without effort! For example, I recall that you are quite marvelously beautiful in the morning sunlight (or indeed any light, as well as any darkness), and I love you dearly, as I sense that I have done for many years. There, you see? The important things are not lost to us, and they are all that we require.¡± Amelia did not respond, and her expression remained obscure, facedown as she was on her folded arms, but the fading steam arising from her mug of coffee assumed a series of heart shapes. Elmer cheerily examined the sky outside as he swabbed grease from his plate with a wedge of dry toast. He winked at the sun, which then reappeared from behind a cloud. A propitious rainbow manifested around it, vibrant and grand, baffling any meteorologists who chanced to glance that way. No, things were never so bad when the sky was around. And the best part was that it always was! Elmer was quite sure that everything would be just fine. Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Eric Walker April Chicago. Springtime. Afternoon, after school, after remembering to pick up some ice cream for Leah on the way to her elementary school. In the shadows of tall buildings on a partly cloudy day, Eric Walker stepped out of the ice cream shop with a cup of the weekly weird flavor. He was a short kid with blonde hair and hazel eyes, in jeans and a blue t-shirt with a red jacket, who wore sunglasses on his face and headphones around his neck. They knew him by sight at the ice cream shop. He didn¡¯t like ice cream. He scuffed his shoes on the sidewalk to make a simple rhythm with his steps, holding the cup of ice cream in front of him like a compass guiding his way, tapping his fingers on the paper cup, embellishing the rhythm. Distracted. Thinking about weekend plans, homework, where that fire truck was going. He passed by the park. People walked dogs in the brisk afternoon, sat on benches with coffees, herded small children. Eric was waiting for the stoplight to turn, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat, when he caught sight of a kid, probably three years old in a puffy blue coat, walking along the edge of a raised concrete embankment a yard off the ground. Eric saw it coming before it happened: the kid fell. The little guy just missed a step and dropped right down sideways onto the sidewalk. The kid was fifty feet away, too far for Eric to do anything about it, too far for Eric to catch him. Nevertheless, Eric had dropped the ice cream and got three steps into a running start by the time the kid hit the pavement. The child began crying; his parents materialized out of nowhere; Eric pulled to a stop when he was not even half, not even a third of the way there. And then he just stood there like an idiot while the streetlights changed and people glanced at him, the bawling child, the fallen cup of ice cream, while they went on their way. The parents¡¯ full attention was on their kid, for which Eric was grateful. Awkward and unsure, he slunk back to where he had been standing, observed the cup of weird ice cream splattered onto the sidewalk. ¡°Stupid,¡± he muttered. He disposed of the ice cream cup in a nearby garbage can, returned to the ice cream shop, and bought another. He arrived some minutes later at Leah¡¯s elementary school, this time without making an absolute chump out of himself. School was over here, but a handful of children still scampered around, probably waiting to be picked up like Leah. She must have seen him arrive at the gate, because she met him just inside the entrance, suited up and ready to go. Eric¡¯s adopted little sister was Korean. She was six years old, and starting to get a little obnoxious. She wore a blue coat and a fish-themed backpack, and she was holding some kind of craft project. Eric thought he knew what it was. She watched him arrive with a fiercely expressionless face, and they departed in silence. He offered his hand as they left the school together. ¡°So,¡± he said. ¡°What you got there?¡± She held it up, a boxy object made of glue, construction paper, and pipe cleaners. ¡°It¡¯s a radio tower,¡± she told him, confirming his suspicions. ¡°I thought you grew out of the radio tower phase,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t you have like ten of those back home?¡± ¡°This one can get radios from the future. Is that for me?¡± She knew damn well the ice cream was for her. ¡°Maybe,¡± he said. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided. Might give it to some random kid, or like a squirrel or something.¡± ¡°What flavor is it?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s like roast beef or old shoes or whatever. You know I go in there, I tell ¡®em, ¡®hey get me one for Leah,¡¯ and they just go spelunking back in these frozen dairy catacombs of bizarro ice cream flavors that nobody else in the world wants.¡± His claim at ignorance was a lie; motivated by horrified curiosity, he always checked the weird ice cream flavor. Today it was pizza. He waited for her to stow the new radio tower in her backpack before handing down the cup of ice cream. It was a short walk from Leah¡¯s school to their apartment. When they were almost there and Leah had gone through most of her pizza-flavored ice cream, she said, ¡°Let¡¯s play a game.¡± ¡°What game?¡± She turned to stare up at him with the most serious countenance Eric had ever seen. This was her default expression. ¡°Let¡¯s play All the Cars.¡± ¡°Is this like the one where you pretend to have all the elephants in the world? But with cars this time?¡± She nodded. ¡°All of them.¡± The problem with Leah¡¯s games was that Eric had no idea how to play them. ¡°Uh, maybe later.¡± Into the building, up the elevator to the ninth floor, and down the hall to their apartment. ¡°Got something for you,¡± he told Leah as they entered. She must have been able to tell from his tone what it was, because she dropped her backpack, hurried to the cluttered table, and scrounged around in the mess until she found a pencil. Eric dug around in his backpack, found his algebra homework, and slapped it down in front of her. ¡°Have fun.¡± He used to feel guilty, not to mention a little embarrassed, about having his six-year-old little sister do his high school math homework. Those feelings had not lasted long. For one thing, she liked doing it; it was a game for her. For another thing, fuck homework. He already knew how to do it, mostly. She was probably going to end up doing college-tier math soon. Would she be in university classes? Getting some kind of degree before she could even spell the word ¡°calculus?¡± Eric didn¡¯t know. It was ¡°in discussion¡± between their parents and a school advisor. Apparently, she might even spend part of the year in some special school outside Chicago. Eric hoped not. He left Leah at the table, grabbed a soda, and settled down at the desk in his room. He cracked the can, took a sip, and set it in a clear spot among the tangle of wires covering the left side of his desk. These wires connected his computer to the keyboard, and both of these to the amp on the floor, and all three of these to a small mixer/soundboard, and all of the above to an electronic drumkit over on the far end of the room. And of course all this shit had to be plugged in. His room was a catastrophe of wiring, like someone had just gone nuts spraying around black silly string. He had shoved the bed into a corner as far as it could go. The desk took center stage, surrounded by all the above-mentioned musical paraphernalia. The swiveling black office chair stood like a throne in this miniscule kingdom of technological chaos. Eric spent a lot of time in this chair, and often he repositioned it in front of the drumkit or the keyboard. Other items of interest in this small, cluttered room included a basketball, a pile of military recruitment brochures, a Frisbee, a wall chart of chords and chord progressions, some low-level piano books gathering dust in a corner, a strange assortment of metronomes, a coat rack with a collection of hats and jackets, and a number of crayon and fingerpaint drawings (not his) scattered here and there on the walls. These small works of art shared equal honor with the larger and admittedly superior paintings Eric had received over the years from Jimothy. Eric spent some time on non-math homework before he got bored and opened one of his recent digital music projects. He was contemplating the indecipherable muddle of layers when a voice spoke behind him. ¡°Eric.¡± Eric swiveled around to face the door. His adopted little sister stood there. ¡°Leah, I told you to knock.¡± ¡°I did knock. You were talking to yourself.¡± ¡°Okay. Well, I¡¯m busy. Leave me alone.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not busy; you are just listening to music.¡± She handed over the completed homework. It was a mess. She had doodled random shapes and indecipherable images all over the margins. Eric had learned early on to grab two copies of his math homework. All he had to do was transcribe. ¡°Is there more?¡± Leah asked. ¡°Nah, just play the math game on the tablet. It¡¯s on the counter.¡± A sound came from his computer, alerting him that someone had messaged him. He swiveled back around to check it out. ¡°Buzz off, Dragonfly. I¡¯m busy.¡± She made an annoyed noise and slammed his door. Eric shook his head as he read Kate¡¯s message. KC: yo! what up dog? KC: sorry KC: dawg KC: :) EW: don¡¯t do that KC: aight homie KC: for shizzle EW: no EW: stop KC: hehehe :) EW: thats not even how I talk KC: it so is! EW: negatory EW: i have never said for shizzle EW: ever KC: oh, are you TOO COOL? EW: you know it EW: too cool for school EW: the educational establishment cannot deal with this excessive cold front moving in EW: its all like whoa step off dude you better get outta here this place is fucking frigid KC: sooo cooool! KC: bro! ;) EW: bro is fine i say bro all the time EW: so what¡¯s up? KC: I have exciting news! you¡¯ll never guess!!! EW: well? KC: you¡¯re not even going to try guessing?! EW: why would i you literally just said i wouldnt guess KC: I¡¯m not telling you until you at least try EW: fine EW: my guess is that your uncle finally cracked and blew up a city or something KC: that is NOT FUNNY KC: and that would be horrible if it did happen! EW: but exciting KC: >:( KC: the news is that you get to see Heidi!! EW: is this some april fools shit EW: cause just let me say EW: i had more than enough of that shit from Isaac the other day KC: didn¡¯t we all? KC: WHAT WAS WITH THE TURTLE?!?! KC: 8| EW: the fuck is that emote KC: trying to roll my eyes :p EW: lame KC: you¡¯re just mad you got pranked by Isaac!! EW: youre just mad you cant spam emotes in this new chat client KC: no, I just have to be MORE CREATIVE KC: ;) EW: winky face? EW: thats not creative thats just basic level one shit KC: >;( EW: thats better KC: ?:] EW: what KC: :^) EW: this is too stupidIf you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. KC: =O KC: you try one! EW: no KC: Eric you are being a STICK IN THE MUD KC: >:| EW: @#^%$! KC: your emote game is peculiar! It could use some improvement EW: ok im out KC: HEIDI IS GOING TO CHICAGO!!!!!!!!!!!!! EW: damn chill EW: that is pretty cool though EW: i havent actually talked to her that much EW: shes coming to chicago? KC: yes! KC: you¡¯re going to meet up EW: ok cool EW: so was that like EW: a directive or a prophecy KC: don¡¯t be silly, Eric! Of course it¡¯s going to happen! KC: it will be KC: ... KC: exciting!!! EW: wow fuck that sounded kind of ominous EW: but ok EW: when is she coming? KC: she¡¯ll land in three days KC: and something interesting is probably going to happen then too :o EW: what KC: when she gets there you should share your sick jamz EW: my ill beats? KC: your unwell tunes KC: your most afflicted flows EW: but really whats going to happen in three days KC: I don¡¯t know! KC: :( KC: but it is something important! KC: and we¡¯re all part of it! Heidi too KC: so you take care of her okay mister? EW: ok but is her dad guy coming? KC: her dad guy has a name! >:| EW: yeah shepherd or something right? KC: *Sheppard KC: ^spelled like that KC: and he¡¯s not her dad! EW: yeah but hes like a total badass KC: yeah he is! KC: but he won¡¯t be there KC: at first KC: in fact KC: he¡¯ll be in danger! EW: yeah see this is what I mean like how do you know that EW: will I be danger? KC: I don¡¯t knoooow!! KC: maybe KC: <:( EW: cool EW: im all about that danger EW: shady guy on the street corner says to me EW: ¡®hey kid how bout some danger?¡¯ EW: im like hell yeah ill take like six KC: SIX danger?!?!?! EW: for shizzle KC: 8O KC: so coooooool KC: ;) EW: ok well thanks for letting me know EW: gotta go whip up some sick jams for heidi KC: !!! KC: send them to me when you¡¯re done!! EW: duh youre like my biggest fan KC: <3 KC: see you later! EW: see ya Eric leaned back in his chair. Heidi coming? Three days? Danger? Cool. He could skip school, no problem. Did Heidi go to school? Based on what little he knew of her, he sort of doubted it. He pictured her Tarzan-ing it up on some wild jungle island while also being some kind of legit hacker. Like swinging from a vine with one hand while typing super fast on a holographic keyboard with the other and walking a secret agent through disarming a nuclear bomb on her cool headset. That was probably Heidi exactly. Yeah. He should text her to find out when her flight arrives, be a gentleman and wait for her at the airport. Eric got the vibe that this Sheppard guy would go all Liam-Neeson-from-Taken if anything were to happen to Heidi. Eric wanted to meet him, despite some preemptive intimidation. He swiveled to face his keyboard. He had only started mixing music a couple years back, but he thought he was getting pretty good at it. At least, he almost believed his friends when they told him they actually liked to listen to it. So he may not be some genius musician like Isaac, or an artistic savant like Jim, or some kind of Young Stephen Hawking or whatever like Kate, but he must be improving. Even Leah liked his music. His parents¡­they hadn¡¯t listened to it much as far as he knew, or provided much in the way of feedback. They weren¡¯t around too often. Eric rolled over to his workstation, a cobbled-together mess of wires and digital mixing devices centered around his keyboard, and got to work. He had learned most of what he knew by watching such YouTube legends as Ronald Jenkees. Unfortunately, the keyboard of a piano remained daunting. He was a drummer, and as such, his compositions were typically rhythm-heavy. Just the way he liked it. That evening he wrapped up a pretty simple song he had been working on. He posted it to YouTube and made sure to send Kate the link. Kate really did seem to be his biggest fan. She seemed to be everybody¡¯s, actually. He had never met or seen her, but there was something strange going on, because he was pretty sure he had encountered her in his dreams the other day. He rarely remembered his dreams, but this one had stuck with him. Danger, she had said. Danger, but no specifics. Not helpful. He ended up staring at the paintings on his wall, which gave him an idea. If anyone knew about bizarre happenings that may or may not be actually real, it was Jim. He shot Jim a message, and Jim answered back almost immediately. EW: been having some crazy dreams jim JW: I know! EW: oh no not you too EW: wait you mean you¡¯ve also been having crazy dreams EW: like in addition to myself JW: Yeah that EW: good i thought you were pulling a kate on me EW: bein all up in my business mysterious like EW: telling me what I ate for breakfast EW: how many fruit loops were in my bowl JW: She does that? EW: nah EW: she just does lame stuff like give ominous hints about possible future danger EW: anyway EW: jim you always have crazy dreams JW: yeah EW: remember how you got all mixed up in banana quest? JW: haha! yeah EW: well just let me tell you EW: a couple times now EW: i think ive been seeing kate in my dreams JW: That¡¯s not so weird. I see her sometimes too. EW: im not talking about the crazy dreams you have EW: im talking im having just a normal dream right EW: and boom theres kate EW: like not even part of the dream but just dropping by to check it out you know? JW: But I thought you¡¯ve never even seen her? How do you know what she looks like? EW: thats the thing its straight up fucking uncanny JW: Uncanny? EW: as uncanny as an empty vending machine jim JW: Haha! EW: wait how do you know what she looks like JW: I have an idea. You tell me what she looks like and then if it matches what I see then we¡¯ll know its really her EW: yeah youre right EW: ok so EW: when I see kate shes like this cute girl with round glasses and long black hair and always wearing like a colorful dress and this complexion like shed explode into flame if she saw the fucking sun EW: and of course shes all laughing and hyper EW: thats a dead giveaway JW: Yeah, that¡¯s her EW: damn it JW: What¡¯s wrong? Don¡¯t you like Kate? EW: of course i do EW: i just dont want to deal with the fact that i might be seeing her, like the real her, in my dreams EW: between your paintings and her psychicness or whatever ive got enough weirdness in my life EW: oh yeah and elizabeths demon cat JW: I think it¡¯s a lynx EW: i think its creepy as hell JW: That¡¯s probably why Callie doesn¡¯t visit you. EW: wait does she visit you? out in LA? JW: She did once but Hazel chased her around and she doesn¡¯t like that. EW: i bet leah would like seeing callie EW: shes into cats JW: Eric? EW: still here bro JW: I think something is about to happen. EW: yeah? JW: I have been having nightmares. I keep dreaming that everything¡¯s going to be in danger and on fire and the sky is breaking and a scary man is following me EW: did you t EW: fuck maybe you should talk to kate about it? she might know something JW: I did! JW: She said its all going to be okay. It made me feel better. EW: and then she backed up and unloaded a truckload of cryptic hints and vague admonitions? JW: I guess. EW: well you just let me know if a scary man actually does start following you EW: and michael obviously JW: Thanks Eric! Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Shade April He sat in the grass, in the park, in the middle of the city. It was such a strange place. He had never seen anything like it. Extraordinary. So many people, all oblivious, wandering around without knowledge, and therefore, without fear. A fearless world. Amazing. To be fair, this planet stood apparently devoid of any evil overlords or armies of darkness. No impending doom. No monstrous demons. Not until recently. Shade smiled, and his smile was such that passersby, who already were giving him a second glance, began to walk a little faster and more purposefully when they saw it. He wore a fine suit, black and charcoal grey. He had the pocket square; he had the tie clip; he had the pocket-watch on a golden chain. He wore an expensive pair of sunglasses with the left lens missing, like a bizarre eyepatch. He leaned back easily on a wooden bench in Millennium Park, Chicago, basking in the sunlight and grinning at the ignorant throngs.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Two months. He never ceased marveling at how strange this whole place was, how strange its people were. What they thought, what they didn¡¯t think. The interstices were all tangled. Figments running around. Exiles like himself, far from home. Seven billion humans? And nothing else? Not very interesting. There were museums in this big city. Shade had arrived only the day before, but he had already visited most of them. None of them turned out to be important. Disappointing. He had just finished with the one called the Art Institute. It had¡ªwhat? A bunch of pictures? Shaped stone? Not even very many doors. Now, this Internet, on the other hand¡ªthat was where things were happening. That was where he found the good stuff. That was where all the data was hiding. Shade had spent two months sifting through it. He had got most of the important details by now. He knew what had happened; he knew what was happening; he had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen. And he, Shade, was in a position to make sure it never happened again. Finally, an end. All he had to do was kill someone. Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Jimothy Whyte April Jimothy Whyte was thin, bony, and awkward, like a skeleton poorly assembled out of mismatching parts. He walked the way a badly managed puppet would walk¡ªin irregular jerky movements that carried him forward whilst keeping onlookers in a state of suspense. He should have been walking carefully on this warm afternoon, watching the sidewalk as Mike always told him, but the world kept distracting him. The grass of well-trimmed lawns flamed green in the sunlight; birds flurried and twittered in the branches of a blossoming tree; an old lady in a denim apron carefully showered her flowerbeds with a shiny cherry-red watering can. The cool breeze brought a distant scent of meat cooking on a grill that made his mouth water. Jimothy spotted something of interest and came to an abrupt halt. One of his legs received the message too late and continued on in such a way that he ended up sitting down hard on the concrete. He grimaced from side to side to see if anyone had observed his fall. The sunny street, a backwater path lost in the mysterious depths of suburbia, lay deserted. Nothing stirred, and all was quiet on that warm, bright avenue. He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair. It was starting to get into his eyes again. Jimothy redirected his attention to the object of interest, a blue rubber ball the size of a small orange. He watched it expectantly, as if waiting for it to begin the conversation. He picked a pebble out of the sole of a sandal. He noticed the fascinating way the sun¡¯s light bloomed off of the dull rubber surface. He became aware of a beetle somehow overturned on the concrete nearby, its little legs wiggling in desperation, and he carefully leaned over to nudge it upright. At last, satisfied that the ball was not going to make the first move, he got to his feet. This action, for most people a very simple one, was for Jimothy a complex procedure of leverage and balance. He had taken his eyes off of the ball while he stood. When he stooped to pick it up, he found that the ball had vanished. Puzzled, Jimothy made a thorough inspection of the surrounding terrain. He was happy to see that the beetle was well on its way into the shade of a mailbox. But the ball was nowhere to be seen. This did not much concern Jimothy. He had forgotten to check the Line, that was all. He should have made sure the ball was real before stopping to try to pick it up. He proceeded down the street, carefully, back toward home. Spring had descended at last upon the city of Los Angeles. A cool breeze slithered through the neutral air, giving Jim goose-bumps and stirring the budding branches overhead. It smelled like flowers, like Easter. Like light and rain and mystery. A regular pattern of clouds crawled across the sky, which burned with a frightening shade of blue. Somewhere else, across the city, shadows drifted across freshly mown baseball fields. In that same direction, farther, much farther, through falling rain and beyond many mountains, a person was walking in the cold, in the snow, on a barren gravel road between crooked barbed wire fences beneath a cerulean sky. A bird circled far overhead, a hawk or an eagle. The type of bird did not matter, but its presence did. It had to be in the picture. Jimothy shivered at the cold. It was all clear in his mind: the lighting, the motion, the composition. His fingers twitched with the need to hold paintbrushes, to spread and mix colors over textured canvas. And it was real, what he had just seen. He remembered to check the Line, and it was real. It was in Montana. It probably didn¡¯t mean anything important, though. Something struck his right foot, and the daydream popped with a sound of sudden silence. He stopped, successfully, and watched as a blue rubber ball rolled to a halt five sidewalk-squares ahead. It came to rest on the indent between two of them. Jim tilted his head at it. He approached with caution. The ball retreated, rolling over the sidewalk in a disturbingly normal way. Jim stopped. The ball stopped with him. He gave it a where-do-you-think-you¡¯re-going? look. He checked the Line. The ball was real; he was not imagining it. When a bouncy ball is dropped, it will bounce in place, progressively lowering with each rebound until at last it does a fast little tap-dance and comes to rest. What happened next in front of Jimothy was exactly like that, only in reverse. The blue rubber ball vibrated on the sidewalk and began bouncing, devoid of apparent cause. Its bounces grew steadily in height until with each bounce it came up to Jimothy¡¯s eye level. A steady thock , thock , thock sound filled the silence which Jimothy suddenly sensed around him. Jimothy noticed the shadow which the ball cast, flickering back and forth like a dark creature scurrying over the ground in sync with the bouncing. For Jimothy, the shadow seemed to reinforce the reality of what he saw, confirming the verdict of the Line. Without preamble, the ball bounced away down the sidewalk. Jimothy grinned and chased after it. He immediately fell on his face. When he had eventually regained an upright position, the ball was nowhere to be seen. Jimothy Whyte was not concerned. In some dusty, cobwebbed corner of his brain, he was dimly aware of the implications of what he had just seen. He was, in a way, conscious of the fact that something unprecedented had just occurred. But he¡¯d always, in a way, been expecting something like this. He suspected that chasing the animate ball would be useless, not to mention harmful to himself. So he continued home. Jimothy poked his head inside and peered around the door. There was their small living room, right where he¡¯d left it¡ªand there was his older brother on the couch. It was just the two of them in this house now. Mike¡¯s head was hanging over the back so that he looked at Jimothy upside down. His unbound hair hung from his inverted scalp like the tendrils of a black jellyfish. ¡°You don¡¯t need to creep in here, Jim,¡± said Michael Whyte. ¡°You live here, you know.¡± Jimothy looked around, trying to remember exactly how things had been when he had left their house that morning. All seemed well. Nothing out of place. ¡°I saw a broken bottle on the sidewalk,¡± he told Mike. He spoke slowly, and his voice came out slightly slurred. His tongue had a limp, as Eric would say. Mike raised his head. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°It was really cool.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± ¡°It looked like brown fire.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± ¡°Like molasses lava.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± ¡°Like¡ª¡± ¡°Then go paint it. I¡¯m busy.¡± Mike was doing something on a laptop. Editing, maybe. Jimothy paused before telling Mike about the more unusual thing. What if Mike didn¡¯t believe him? But it was important to tell him these things. ¡°I saw a ball today.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°It was bouncing all by itself.¡± ¡°What color was it?¡± ¡°Blue.¡± ¡°What, cobalt blue?¡± ¡°Just blue. The ball was old blue. Old rubber blue.¡± ¡°So it was rubber?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± ¡°Rubber doesn¡¯t bounce all by itself, Jim.¡± ¡°I know. But what does?¡± Mike shrugged, still bent over whatever occupied him. ¡°Go figure it out. And put something on your face. That could get infected.¡± Jim shrugged, although Mike was not looking. ¡°I don¡¯t pay attention to my feet.¡± He thought for a moment. ¡°And I didn¡¯t take my cane.¡± ¡°Well, that explains it, then.¡± Jimothy sensed that Mike had just closed the conversation, so he went into the kitchen, obtained a half-empty bag of dry cereal, and retreated to his room upstairs. His room had a clear two-fold purpose: sleeping and painting. Color was everywhere: on his bed, on the walls and ceiling, stored in a vast assortment of tubes and bottles, and carefully arranged on many prepared canvasses. Jimothy took painting seriously. He owned an array of fine tools and supplies, which he financed by selling his work as concept art to movie and videogame studios in the area. He already made nearly as much money this way as Mike did by working as a fiction editor. Since he didn¡¯t go to school anymore, he could paint as much as he wanted, which was a lot. He did paintings for his friends too. He put extra work into those. Jim went to his window and looked down into his backyard. It was full of a crazy Australian shepherd named Hazel. As a dog, Hazel¡¯s defining characteristic was frantic insanity. At the moment, down below, Hazel was circling furiously around a sprinkler. The dog lunged in to bite the spraying water before leaping back and performing swift evasive maneuvers, a black and white blur circling and darting back in to catch the sprinkler off-guard. Hazel sometimes battled the sprinkler for hours. Occasionally, Hazel would leap up, bite a roofing beam protruding from the wooden shed in the back of the yard, and hang there for a few seconds. Mike didn¡¯t allow Hazel in the house anymore because he had a tendency to jump on Jimothy and knock him over. This was hard to argue with, but Jimothy did sometimes miss being randomly surprised by his dog¡¯s aggressive affection. Hazel reminded him of Elizabeth¡¯s cat, Callie, because they were totally different. Callie carried herself with class and poise, which was unlike Hazel, but a lot like Elizabeth. Jimothy thought for a while about Elizabeth and her birthday party and how much fun it had been to see everyone again. After a few minutes, he came to suspect that he was thinking about Elizabeth because she wanted to talk to him. He checked his phone. Sure enough, she had left him a message. EE: Hello, Jimothy. JW: Hello Elizabeth! He had to wait a few minutes for her to respond. He entertained himself by trying to sketch the broken beer bottle reflecting the sunlight, just as Michael had suggested. It was challenging getting all the reflections and refractions just right. And it needed color, of course. He became so involved that the vibration of his phone surprised him when Elizabeth returned his message. EE: How are you doing? JW: Pretty good JW: Mike was just out of town for a few days, so I was here alone JW: But he¡¯s back now and I¡¯m doing fine EE: Where did he go? JW: Some thing for his publishing company EE: Is he ascending at last to the heights of editorship? JW: Uh JW: MaybeUnauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. JW: He didn¡¯t seem too excited about it JW: Did you know he got something from Heidi¡¯s dad? EE: Mr. Sheppard isn¡¯t her father. But no, I did not know that. What did he receive? JW: He won¡¯t talk about it, but whatever it is, I don¡¯t think he¡¯s very happy about it EE: Interesting. EE: How does Mr. Sheppard know Mike? JW: No idea EE: Very interesting. EE: Have any other strange things been happening over there? JW: Today I saw a blue rubber ball that was bouncing all by itself. JW: Out on the street. EE: Bouncing by itself? JW: There was no one around. EE: Maybe it was a prank? JW: I don¡¯t think so. JW: I don¡¯t think Mike believed me. EE: I believe you. JW: You do? EE: Of course I do! I live with Callie. What¡¯s an autonomous bouncing ball compared to that? EE: Keep me apprised of the situation. JW: What? EE: Tell me if anything else strange happens. EE: Anyway, it was nice to meet Mike when you came over. EE: He certainly seems like an excellent big brother. JW: Well you have one too! JW: A big sister, I mean JW: An excellent one JW: AJ¡¯s really cool and nice EE: She is indeed. We lucked out, Jimothy. JW: Yeah Mike really liked her too EE: Oh? JW: Yeah when we were driving back he was telling me all about how funny and pretty she is and how he wants to see her again EE: Jimothy EE: Thank you for telling me. But in the future, try to remember that when someone tells you something like that, they might not want you distributing the information to others. You should ask them first. JW: Oh right! We¡¯ve talked about that JW: Like an implied secret JW: sorry JW: Eric always tells me that stuff JW: like sometimes you shouldn¡¯t pass along certain compliments JW: it¡¯s like when he told me that he thought Kate is cute JW: so like I shouldn¡¯t tell other people he said that, I guess EE: ... JW: uh JW: was that another one? JW: Can you forget about that one? EE: Jimothy stop. EE: I¡¯m laughing. JW: Is Callie there? EE: Yes, she is watching me type. JW: But she doesn¡¯t have any eyes EE: Good point. She manages. EE: Speaking of which, and I hate to bring it back to this, but I¡¯m curious. How does Eric know that Kate is cute? EE: I know she is, since I have seen her. Has he seen her? JW: He¡¯s been seeing her in his dreams JW: we both have! JW: we compared notes to be sure we were seeing the same person JW: Wait JW: Was that another thing I shouldn¡¯t have said? JW: It¡¯s so hard to tell sometimes JW: Mike says I need to read between the lines JW: But that doesn¡¯t make any sense at all JW: There is nothing there JW: And he should know since all he does is read EE: I am glad I decided to talk to you today. JW: Thanks! EE: Your birthday is coming up soon. JW: I know! EE: Do you think you could see fit to provide me, and by extension your entire friend group, with some manner of hint as to what you might desire for said birthday? JW: Wow, I don¡¯t know EE: I know you don¡¯t. Just think about it, okay? JW: Wait, I do know! EE: Oh? What? JW: What I want is for us to all be together again JW: But this time with Kate too JW: and Heidi JW: It was so much fun going to your house! EE: Yes, it was. EE: Again, I am reminded of a question. It is about the painting you did for me. JW: Reunion? EE: Yes, the one depicting a quartet engaged in camaraderie around a campfire amid a fantastic landscape while colored lightning glints in the distance and stars speckle the heavens. JW: You are so good with words EE: I was looking at it closely the other day, and... EE: Are the figures supposed to be us? JW: Oh, I thought it was obvious EE: Okay. It was Eric¡¯s headphones that gave it away. EE: I suppose you did not depict Kate because you don¡¯t know what she looks like. EE: Or didn¡¯t, at the time. JW: No, she¡¯s there EE: But there are only four figures. JW: Oh man JW: I guess I should have added more detail JW: I¡¯m not in the painting! Isaac isn¡¯t there either JW: It¡¯s you, Kate, Heidi, and Eric JW: we¡¯re not all there JW: that¡¯s why it¡¯s kind of sad JW: can¡¯t you tell that it¡¯s kind of sad? EE: I can tell. EE: But Jimothy? JW: yeah? EE: Why didn¡¯t you paint yourself or Isaac into this Reunion, thereby significantly reducing its level of sadness? JW: Well I thought about it JW: But that just isn¡¯t how I saw it JW: If I did that, it wouldn¡¯t be right JW: It would be like lying JW: Like if you were writing a poem JW: Oh, I know! JW: for my birthday, since I gave you a painting JW: You should write me a poem! JW: I¡¯ve only read a few of your poems JW: And they¡¯re so good JW: They make me feel the same way that a good painting does EE: Coming from you that is perhaps the greatest compliment my poetry has ever received. EE: Thank you. Chapter 8 Chapter 8 Kaitlyn Carter February HS: Kaitlin? KC: it has a y in it :p KC: Kaitlyn HS: Oh! Sorry. KC: don¡¯t be sorry! KC: my friends call me Kate! KC: so you should too KC: (because you are my friend) KC: ;) HS: Wow. Thanks. HS: We just met. I¡¯m guessing you have lots of friends? KC: Only a few really KC: and I only talk to them online like I¡¯m talking to you now KC: they are all an ocean away! KC: two oceans in your case KC: but they¡¯re all great people! I can¡¯t wait for you to meet them HS: You want me to meet them? KC: :o KC: Of course!!! KC: You want to, don¡¯t you?? You don¡¯t get to meet many people out on that island I bet :( HS: I didn¡¯t tell you I live on an island. KC: I deduced it! Like Sherlock Holmes!!! KC: ;) HS: And how did you know about the two oceans thing? KC: I¡¯ve been talking to Mr. Sheppard KC: he¡¯s so cool! HS: Well he is pretty cool. HS: I guess. HS: So you know what happened. KC: only a little KC: he got fired KC: <:( HS: He told me that he quit. KC: I think it was a little of both KC: how are things with him? HS: He is acting like kind of a jerk right now. KC: oh no! HS: He¡¯s not letting me leave or go anywhere, and he won¡¯t tell me why. KC: he is probably trying to do what¡¯s best for you KC: I bet he is worried about you! HS: Of course he is. He¡¯s just so over-protective. It¡¯s really been getting on my nerves. KC: I think most people would not consider him leaving you alone on an island for days at a time ¡°overprotective,¡± but I respect your feelings about it! HS: I am considering leaving anyway. KC: !!!! HS: Just for a while. Just to be on my own for a while. KC: that sounds a bit drastic! KC: are you sure you aren¡¯t blowing it out of proportion? HS: Maybe it would teach him a lesson. That I can take care of myself. KC: now you¡¯re just being dramatic HS: I could even just hide away on an island for a while. Someplace he wouldn¡¯t look. KC: (DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA) KC: also he would totally find you HS: Well what would you do? KC: what would I do if I had a loving guardian who treated me with respect and hung out with me and was concerned for me all the time and stuff? KC: I don¡¯t know KC: it¡¯s kind-of hard to imagine HS: I¡¯m sorry, Kaitlyn HS: I mean, Kate. HS: I didn¡¯t mean it like that. KC: well I shouldn¡¯t make light of your problems either KC: they¡¯re just so... KC: unlike mine KC: oh, I got the packages! KC: that¡¯s what you wanted to talk about, right? HS: Yes. Alan wants you to find out what they do. KC: sir yes sir! KC: I think I can do that :) HS: You¡¯re amazing. I couldn¡¯t even begin to figure them out. I¡¯ve never seen anything like them. KC: <3 KC: they sure are weird! HS: It¡¯s lucky we started talking recently. ? KC: sure is! KC: and don¡¯t worry KC: I¡¯ll keep it all secret KC: I won¡¯t even tell my friends KC: but maybe YOU should ;) HS: You are really set on me meeting your friends. KC: yes!!! KC: pllllllllllleeeeeeeaaaaaaaaasssssssssse HS: Okay. KC: :D HS: Tell me about your friends. KC: I already told you about Eric. he plays drums and his little sister is super adorable! and he is adorable too (only don¡¯t tell him that!) because he wants to be like a firefighter or somebody that saves people¡¯s lives KC: then there¡¯s my best friend Liz! she dances and reads old books and she uses big words when she talks but she does it just because she loves words, not because she¡¯s trying to impress anybody. It¡¯s her birthday soon! KC: Jimothy and Isaac are both weirdos :p KC: Isaac is a silly goof who likes nerdy stuff and also he gets excited about making things like stories and music KC: Jim is a great painter, and he¡¯s really special! He really actually cares about everybody all the time, and there aren¡¯t a lot of people like that KC: and I also have this extra cool new friend... HS: ...? KC: she¡¯s a computer genius and is adventurous and brave and lives in an exotic place and hunts dangerous animals and stuff HS: Oh. KC: it¡¯s you!!!!This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. HS: It¡¯s me. HS: I¡¯m not a computer genius. KC: *she said, TOTALLY MISSING THE POINT HS: Okay. I¡¯ll talk to them. HS: It does get a little boring here. KC: yeah! KC: oh! KC: you should choose a text color! HS: A text color? KC: yes! KC: we all have them in this chat client KC: mine is blue! HS: I don¡¯t believe you. KC: ?:\ HS: About the blue. HS: It was a joke. HS: A bad one. HS: sorry KC: ehehehe HS: Why do you all have text colors? KC: Because BANANA QUEST HS: Okay. Thank you for the explanation. KC: :D KC: it¡¯s for group chats KC: to tell us apart KC: and because it¡¯s PRETTY HS: You all have colors? KC: yup! HS: Then black will be fine for me. KC: :\ HS: My text will still be easy to tell apart, right? KC: i guess... HS: I need to go soon. KC: okay! See ya later! KC: and Heidi? HS: What? KC: please try not to be too mad at Mr. Sheppard KC: I¡¯m sure he¡¯s just trying to take care of you KC: and maybe KC: since he¡¯s an adult and we¡¯re still just kids KC: you should listen to him! HS: Okay. KC: I¡¯ll let you know as soon as I find out anything about the weird gadgets KC: and I won¡¯t blow myself up this time! HS: This time? KC: that was a joke KC: hehehe HS: Oh. HS: Okay. A girl leaned back in her pile of stuffed animals and grinned at the wall in front of her. What Heidi didn¡¯t know was that she had almost blown herself up just last week! Luckily, her lab was in the old barn and Aunt Becky didn¡¯t really care if it got blown up. Actually, Aunt Becky hadn¡¯t seemed awfully concerned about Kate, either. :( Kate was tall and lanky. She wore a colorful dress and fuzzy blue boots and big round glasses that tinted in bright light and magnified her green eyes. Her long dark hair spread around her, always getting into things, but of course she bound it all up in a bun when she was working. She liked to sit in a big pile of cute stuffed critters both real and fantastical when she was doing things on her Room Computer, the screen of which was projected onto a blank wall. Murals of clouds and skies and sunsets which she had done herself adorned the other walls. (They weren¡¯t nearly as good as Jim¡¯s, though!) Also on the walls were pictures of her heroes: Steve Irwin, Sherlock Holmes, James Jamerson, and Dr. Albert Einstein. These reflected her many interests, which included but were not limited to: chess, zoology, music, mechanics, and avuncular physics. Also in this room: her colorful and pillow-infested bed, her electric bass with its amp, an assortment of Christmas lights, lava lamps and snow globes, and a general chaotic frenzy of clothes and books and cute animals and scribbled-on index cards. It was cozy . She unwrapped the bandages on left arm and inspected the wound. A week later, and it was probably okay now to go without the bandages. There was no blood on them. It would definitely leave a scar, though. Damn it! Well, it would just have to be a reminder for her to be more careful next time. A jagged spiderweb pattern, like the fracture lines of broken glass, ran from her left forearm up her shoulder and even up her neck onto her left cheek. It was extra bizarre because, while normally black, the scarring occasionally glimmered with faint colored lights¡ªdoubtless a result of the McFinnium involved in the explosion. She cleared a snow globe off a hand mirror at her side and examined her face. She grimaced at what she saw. It didn¡¯t hurt much anymore, but she wasn¡¯t sure she liked the idea of her skin looking like it had shattered for the rest of her life. She had been wearing turtleneck sweaters lately, even though no one had been around to see her except Aunt Becky. And she hadn¡¯t told anyone about it, or about the explosion. She had messed up, but she was fine. No need for them to worry. Jim and Liz would freak out! Eric would be all like ¡°huh¡± but he¡¯d secretly be worried too, and Isaac would be like ¡°woah cool you blew up, that¡¯s crazy.¡± Kate also had no intention of explaining any of this to uncle McFinn, despite the fact that he certainly knew more about all this than she did. She would do it herself, thank you very much! She would show him that she could be like her father. The legacy of Nicholas Carter would live on! Kate hopped to her feet, filled with determination. She turned to the three strange devices on her bed. They looked like props out of one of Isaac¡¯s lame science fiction movies, but they were heavy and complicated and probably dangerous, and Alan Sheppard had asked her to find out more. The world was full of mysteries, but the one on her plate for now was this: What happened last week at October Industries? Well, Kaitlyn Carter was going to find out! She would take these weird gizmos down to her lab and dissect them! The secrets of Mr. Sheppard¡¯s shady former employer could not hide from her! She stuffed the three strange devices into her backpack, carefully , and slung it over her shoulder. She flipped a switch that would begin heating the lab. It sure did get cold in the winter, especially now with a big hole in it! Kate had an entire wing of the estate mansion to herself. She could have spread out and taken up a bunch of different rooms with all her stuff, but that was just too much empty space! She liked her cozy, colorful room. But it was a long walk just to get to one of the many back doors. This mansion was just lousy with doors! Kind of like the place she¡¯d been dreaming about lately. She stopped and peeked out the back door¡¯s window before exiting. The coast seemed to be clear. No eccentric and/or intoxicated aunt in sight¡ªjust the wild, wintery English countryside. Off in the distance rose a hill that marked the boundary of Wales. In that direction was a big old barn that nobody used anymore except her. It had sturdy stone walls on two sides that just last week had probably saved her from being blown to smithereens. A bunch of stitched-together blue tarps covered half of the roof and part of the north wall of the barn. It had been a real pain for Kaitlyn to climb up there and nail down the tarps, and she had nearly broken her arm doing it, but it was necessary to protect her lab from the elements. It was just a temporary measure, of course. She would pester her aunt until she hired a crew to come fix the roof. The repair crew wouldn¡¯t ask silly questions like ¡®what blew that big hole in your barn?¡¯ That was one advantage of having a famous eccentric relative. Nobody asked questions. ¡°Why are we shipping radioactive isotopes to a remote English estate? Oh, yeah, Rebecca Carter, right. Whatever.¡± She stepped out the door, but instead of going to the lab, took a detour around the corner of the mansion to her left. She high-stepped through the ankle-deep snow in an effort to keep it out of her tennis shoes. Her multicolored dress of overlapping circular patterns dragged through the snow behind her. Around the corner was her butterfly house, or Lepidopterarium . It had lots of colorful flowers, but the flowers weren¡¯t important (except the ones from Liz, the peonies, those were important). What really mattered was the panoply of Lepidoptera that she bred and cared for. Kate liked the butterflies better, but she would never say that out loud in front of the moths. Her most recent addition was the rare and very beautiful Apollo Metalmark Butterfly ( Lyropteryx apollonia ), which she intended to breed. Kate¡¯s knowledge of zoological taxonomy was vast, particularly when it came to Lepidoptera , but even she couldn¡¯t know all of them. Ten percent of all species of described living organisms on Earth were Lepidoptera ! This was one of her favorite Butterfly Facts! Callie liked to come into the butterfly house and chase the butterflies. Kate understood. She probably would do the same if she were a cat¡ªeven a weird white lynx like Callie. (Callie most closely resembled a Eurasian Lynx, scientific name Lynx lynx .) Nevertheless, Kate often had to reproach Callie for disturbing the butterflies . But Callie was not in the lepidopterarium, and the humidity and temperature were normal, and the chrysalises looked healthy. Excellent! Back to work! She stomped through the snow across the blank field. What a beautiful day! The sky was a low slate-grey void overhead, spread with wisps of white like cotton candy, and the air smelled fresh and free. No breeze, which was good because she thought her tarp flapping overhead might distract from her work in the lab. The snow made the world look like a blank canvas. It was so pretty! She loved snow! Whiskey came running when she was partway across the field. Whiskey was a common wallaroo ( Macropus robustus) , which was like a small kangaroo. Aunt Becky theoretically kept Whiskey as a pet, although actually he just sort of ran around and did whatever he wanted, though he never stayed out long in the cold. Aunt Becky had brought it back from one of her adventures. Whiskey always seemed excited about something. The fact that he was out and about meant that Callie was probably in Pennsylvania. She marched into her lab and slammed the door dramatically behind her. The interior of the barn was plain wooden planking and stone walls, with a few stalls along one side to her right and an old tack room to her left from when this barn had housed horses. There used to be a loft on the north side. Now there was a big patch of blue tarp, lit by the sun, making everything below look blue. And while Kate liked the new blue coloration of everything, such lighting was not conducive to Science . She flipped a switch, and bright fluorescents sterilized the atmosphere. She¡¯d had a rough time cleaning everything up last week, but it was finally back to its typical immaculate condition. The interior of the lab was spotless¡ªeverything neatly organized, in place, and free of dust or other outside contaminants. Kate took off her shoes at the door and slipped into her lab boots . She donned her cool lab coat that she had customized by painting awesome stuff all over it. She put on her lab safety goggles and tied her hair back into a lab bun . Finally, she put on her lab tool belt, which contained such important lab essentials as a magnifying glass, calipers, stopwatch, Geiger counter, Skittles, etc. She took the three items from Mr. Sheppard to the workbench and set them each in a clear space on the stainless-steel surface. She gathered nearby all the tools she thought she might need for taking the things apart and testing them. She made sure the heating system was in working order. ( Brrr ! Still cold in here!) She double-checked the functionality of the emergency fire-extinguishers, the surge protectors, the video recording equipment, the mass spectrometer (which had been on the fritz since last week), and the sound system. She made sure that her McFinnium samples were in the lead vault, inert. Finally, she pushed a button on the Lab Computer , causing Eric¡¯s ill beats to resound throughout the room. Her lab had great acoustics. Kaitlyn Carter got to work, being extra-super-careful not to blow herself up. Again. Chapter 9 Chapter 9 Heidi Sheppard April On a small remote island in the south Pacific, a girl sat on a beach. The beach was narrow and sandy, overhung by palm trees and jungle foliage. Large breakers rolled in from the south, carried by a stiff warm breeze that rushed through the fronds overhead and scattered loose white sand above the waterline. The girl was short, stocky, dark-skinned, her mother a native Hawaiian. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, her eyes concealed by sunglasses. She wore a plain blue swimsuit and a headband made from a green bandana. From her wrist hung a crystal pendant, a special gift from Alan, her surrogate father. Alan sat beside her, whittling a piece of wood as he leaned against the trunk of a palm tree. He differed from Heidi in appearance: tall, pale, close-cropped hair and well-trimmed beard, both fading to grey. The only physical trait they shared was muscularity. Beside Alan lay their shortboards, the remains of their packed lunch, their shoes, and no fewer than four firearms: two rifles, two handguns. Some knives, too. They sat in silence for some time, Alan whittling and Heidi staring out at the sea. Other islands broke the line of the horizon, but most of the sea touched the sky in a hazy far-off line. ¡°Waves are picking up again,¡± said Alan without looking up, his voice low and rough. ¡°You gonna head back out?¡± ¡°I think I¡¯m done,¡± said Heidi. She continued staring out. ¡°What are you making?¡± ¡°Replacement chess piece.¡± Heidi nodded. A white knight had gone missing last week. Monkeys, possibly. They had left the board out. They sat for a few more minutes. Waves washed up on the beach, nearly reaching them, receding and undercutting fresh waves. Clouds scudded like sails, like snowy hills. ¡°How¡¯s Manchester?¡± the man asked. ¡°Won last week,¡± the girl replied. ¡°It was close.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± Waves washed up the beach. And receded. The breeze blew. Little flakes of wood flickered out and down into the sand as Alan chipped away. ¡°I¡¯m gonna get that boar,¡± Heidi said. ¡°Been diggin¡¯ up the garden already.¡± ¡°Trap him or hunt him?¡± ¡°Hunt. This island¡¯s not that big.¡± ¡°Big enough it could take a while. Make sure you bring a tarp. Monsoon season. I¡¯ll make some roast before I go.¡± Heidi smiled. Alan made the best roasts. Her mouth watered just thinking about them. But her smile quickly faded. The waves crashed, the trees sighed, clouds drifted across the sky. The sun was warm on her skin. ¡°What do you think?¡± Alan asked, handing the chess piece over for her inspection. Heidi turned it over in her hands and held it up to the sunlight. Except for a slight variation in color, it appeared virtually indistinguishable from the lost knight. Which made sense; Alan had crafted the entire set. ¡°Perfect,¡± she said, returning it. ¡°Juice.¡± Alan traded her the chess piece for an unfinished bottle of juice. ¡°Excited to see your friend in Chicago?¡± asked Alan. He leaned back against the tree and looked out at the sea. Heidi drank the rest of the mango juice. It was warm and thick and sweet. Heidi nodded. ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, sounding more confident than she felt. She was pretty nervous, actually, but she wouldn¡¯t let Alan know that. Alan didn¡¯t get nervous. He was leaving tonight to go do something dangerous, though he wouldn¡¯t tell her what, and here he was looking at the sea, whittling chess pieces. Not a care in the world. Heidi snuck a glance at him. She had flown around the world by herself before, but after whatever had happened in January, she was still surprised he was letting her go. Maybe Kate had something to do with it. ¡°I trust you, Heidi,¡± said Alan. Heidi quickly looked back out to sea. ¡°Just be careful. I sent a package ahead. It¡¯ll be waiting for you.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± They watched the sea rolling in. In and out. Birds called and whooped in the jungle. A cloud shadowed them for a while. Heidi stealthily grabbed a nearby coconut. When she judged Alan to be least suspecting, she flung it into the air in front of them. Alan¡¯s arm whipped out like a snake, and a knife protruded from the coconut¡¯s husk when it hit the wet sand. Heidi laughed and clapped. She could never get the drop on Alan. He frowned at the stricken coconut, probably thinking he shouldn¡¯t have done that. If he¡¯d missed, that would¡¯ve been a knife out there somewhere in the surf. Dangerous. But he hadn¡¯t missed, and she saw his face relax as he accepted this and moved on. The coconut had landed in the darker wet sand, and each incoming wave nudged it. They watched it tilt back and forth a few times. ¡°You be careful too,¡± she said. She immediately regretted saying it. It sounded so sappy. And of course he would be careful. He was always careful. He was a damn professional . He chuckled. ¡°Of course I will,¡± he said. As the tide came in, it threatened to carry the knifed coconut out to sea. Alan stood to retrieve the knife before this could happen, and that seemed to be the cue that their wonderful day¡ªthe wonderful part of it, at least¡ªhad ended. They gathered their surfboards and other belongings, put their shoes back on, armed themselves, and trekked back to the bungalow. It was not far. Heidi took out a slingshot, created by Alan, and periodically paused to target coconuts, other fruit, or pestilential creatures like gulls. Not the lizards, though. She would never shoot at a lizard. Two boats flanked the makeshift wharf that Alan had put together. One was loaded and ready to go; seeing it created a familiar dull ache within Heidi. But Alan had a roast to make first. The breeze stirred the homemade wooden wind chimes clustered around the corners of the house. Heidi and Alan had made them together. They didn¡¯t sound too great, from a musical perspective, but Heidi had become so used to them that she had a secret fear that she would find it difficult to fall asleep without them in Chicago. Their bungalow seemed larger than it was because of all the windows and open space. A breeze usually drifted through, though sturdy storm shutters could be quickly installed. Alan had made numerous repairs and modifications to this bungalow. One room in particular was unusual: the computer room. It housed several state-of-the-art machines, a workstation for assembling, dissecting and repairing hardware, neatly stacked containers of parts, and perhaps strangest of all, high-speed internet. This was Heidi¡¯s workplace. She spent most of her time here when Alan was away, which was most of the time. She worked on computers, building and programming them. When she got bored with that, she hunted or kayaked out on exploratory expeditions to the nearby islands, whose secret landscapes she knew as well as her backyard. Sometimes she spent days out there. And when she became bored with this, she watched movies, or played videogames, or wasted time on the web. It became pretty dull sometimes. Most of the time. Especially since she did all of this alone. Two months ago, a peculiar girl in England had messaged her out of the blue. Now she had friends to talk to, and doing so put a smile on her face, even if it also made her a little nervous. Except that one boy, Isaac. He annoyed her with all his silly, stupid word games. When Isaac had first heard the name of Alan Sheppard, he had gone off on a meandering tangent about some astronaut with the same name who was apparently the first American in space and the oldest man to walk on the moon. Which, yes, was pretty cool. But Isaac was still annoying. After washing up a little, and while Alan chopped wood for the promised roast, Heidi sat down at a computer and saw that Elizabeth had messaged her. EE: Heidi, are you there? HS: I¡¯m here. HS: Hi Elizabeth. EE: How are things? Any adventures planned? HS: Yes. I just decided to hunt a boar. EE: Haha! EE: Wait, really?This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. HS: Yes, it has been digging up my garden. EE: You have a garden already? I still cannot plant yet. HS: I live in a warm place. EE: Near a beach, isolated from civilization. You have a tendency to make it sound idyllic. HS: It¡¯s pretty nice sometimes. EE: So you are hunting a boar. Is that a great endeavor? HS: It could take a few days. Lots of rain this time of year, which might make him difficult to track. EE: That sounds exciting. My intention is merely to read books and practice. HS: Practice Taekwondo? Or singing? EE: Both I suppose. EE: Who told you that I sing? EE: It was Kate, wasn¡¯t it? HS: Jimothy, actually. He said you are very good. EE: What? EE: He¡¯s never heard me! EE: I did not believe so, at any rate. Perhaps AJ is the culprit. HS: You shouldn¡¯t be so shy about it. HS: Even if you¡¯re not that great, the best way to improve is to just do it. HS: But, you probably are great. Just a hunch. HS: In which case you¡¯re just being selfish. HS: That last part was a joke HS: kind-of HS: about you being selfish i mean not about you being great HS: I just think you shouldn¡¯t be afraid for people to hear you sing. EE: I understand, Heidi. No offense taken. EE: And I know, that is what AJ tells me on a regular basis. EE: But even so... HS: We may be able to meet in person soon. EE: Really? EE: When? HS: I am flying to America in a few days. HS: To Chicago. HS: I¡¯ll be staying with Eric for a while, but I¡¯d love to make it over to where you live. It¡¯s not too far. EE: That is exciting news, Heidi! EE: If you get the chance, I would love to have you over. EE: Why are you going to Chicago? EE: Is it just to see Eric? HS: No. Alan is leaving for a while, and suggested I go somewhere too. I just thought of Chicago. HS: Actually, it was Kate¡¯s idea. EE: Hmm...What is she up to? HS: I don¡¯t know. But it is definitely something. HS: She has been hinting that something is going to happen. EE: I am aware of this. HS: It¡¯s frustrating. HS: I don¡¯t like it. HS: If she knows something, especially something about October Industries, why won¡¯t she tell me? EE: She¡¯s just like that. Kate often hints about things she does not fully understand herself. HS: What does that mean? EE: She has SOURCES. ? EE: And I think she just likes being mysterious. EE: Where is Mr. Sheppard going? HS: He won¡¯t say. HS: He likes keeping me in the dark, too. HS: I¡¯m worried about him. He always goes off on assignments, but he¡¯s been making this one sound dangerous. EE: How long will you be in Chicago? HS: I don¡¯t know. Probably a few days, or until I hear from Alan. I think he might come get me. But I don¡¯t know. EE: Awfully adventurous of you, to travel to a new city on a whim, reside with a new friend you have never met, and remain ignorant of how long you will stay or what will happen after. HS: Maybe. I¡¯ve traveled plenty on my own before, though. EE: I see. I imagine that our relative perceptions of what constitutes as adventurous are somewhat out of sync. HS: I guess. Have you traveled much on your own? EE: Only when I visited Kate last year. AJ was studying abroad and stopped in the UK on her return. So she visited Kate because she wanted to explore England a bit, and required a place to stay. EE: I went to see them both, because I had not seen AJ in two years, and I had not seen Kate ever. HS: That sounds like it was fun. EE: It was. Kate is even more ridiculous in person. AJ was there with her alone for a day before I came, and I think she was a bit overwhelmed. EE: Where have you traveled? HS: Thailand, the Philippines, Australia, the EU, and Hawaii, that¡¯s where my mom¡¯s from. HS: I¡¯m sort of technically in New Zealand right now. EE: All of those by yourself? HS: No, just Hawaii and Europe by myself. EE: You are 16, correct? HS: 15 HS: But only for another couple months. EE: I am surprised you were able to do all that at such a young age. HS: Alan got me a fake I.D. I can be 18 if I have to. EE: Ah. EE: Heidi, it seems I never stop learning interesting things about you. HS: Isn¡¯t that just how it goes when people are getting to know each other? EE: Yes, you are correct, but what I am saying is that you are extra interesting. EE: I imagine Eric is excited to see you. HS: I don¡¯t know if he knows yet. EE: ? HS: Kate said she would tell him. HS: This is sort of a last-minute plan. HS: She said it would be no problem for Eric, though. She seems to know his schedule very well. I¡¯m just taking her word for it that he¡¯ll be okay with me staying. HS: But it¡¯s fine if that doesn¡¯t work out. EE: Do not worry. Kate¡¯s word is as good as it gets. EE: And Eric would likely remain unruffled even if a circus troupe appeared out of nowhere to stay in his apartment. HS: Okay. EE: I will leave you to your boar hunt. I wish you luck in bringing that garden-rummaging ruffian to justice. HS: Thanks. I will let you know if I am able to make it down to your place. EE: Understood. Goodbye! HS: Goodbye. Hmm. Heidi looked at the last word she¡¯d typed. Should she have put an exclamation point after her ¡°goodbye¡± as well? Did it seem a little standoffish? She wondered if she had come across as grumpy the way Kate sometimes teased her about. No, she shouldn¡¯t worry. Elizabeth was smarter than to make assumptions like that. Right? The smell of cooking meat and the crackling of the fire filtered into the computer room from outside, mingling in the air with the lazily scattered notes of the wind chimes. The smell made Heidi¡¯s stomach growl. Yes, she was excited to go to Chicago and see at least one of her new friends. She also was nervous, especially about whatever Alan was going to do. But there was nothing she could do about that. For now, she would enjoy her meal, and enjoy spending a few more hours with him. One thing at a time. That was the Alan Sheppard way. Chapter 10 Chapter 10 Dwayne Hartman The most important thing about Dwayne Hartman was his hands. Dwayne Hartman had been able to palm a basketball in Junior High. He could snap an apple in half with ease, even a small unripe Granny Smith, and could crack a handful of walnuts in one fist with little apparent effort. No outdoors warehouse stocked working gloves large enough to fit his hands, but that hardly mattered because these hands had been calloused and scarred beyond the need of gloves. These hands had played Chopin etudes once, and Joplin rags, and of course Rachmaninoff¡ªsomething which seemed almost inconceivable to one who had not witnessed it, for how could fingers so thick press only one key at a time? These hands had worn a custom-made gold wedding band, and had carried a laughing woman from the altar, and had later signed tear-stained divorce papers. These hands had crushed a man¡¯s throat in the steamy jungles outside of Dong Ha, Vietnam. These hands had thrown countless calves down into the bright dust and had held hot branding irons to their sides. These hands had once dragged a drowning child from an icy river. These hands had grasped innumerable bottles of whiskey, had crushed a landfill¡¯s worth of beer cans, had worn the pages off of half a dozen cheap copies of the Holy Scriptures. For most of his life, his hands had borne blue tattoos, now faded but still visible: the words HOLD FAST, written below the knuckles of his right and left hand so that they could be read when he held his fists together. He had bought these words in Vietnam, where he had first met God Himself. They acquired a new meaning when Dwayne Hartman entered a fistfight, for his right hand would feint in and HOLD, and the surprise left hook would come in FAST. That FAST, roughly printed in fading blue ink, was the last thing that more than a few men had seen before succumbing to sweet darkness. His days of brawling had slipped away, as had his days of wrestling calves, playing Chopin, and squeezing the life from smaller men in dark jungles. His great hands had not weakened, but now they held empty bottles of whiskey far more often than before, and now they spent much of their time gripping a pair of wooden canes that he required to steady his emaciated legs when he walked about town. An injury sustained during a rodeo had damaged his spine, crippling him. But now he smiled more than ever, laughed more than ever, cried more than ever. Dwayne Hartman had been a large man, and he remained so even when his legs atrophied. His handshake was renowned and dangerous, and a friendly slap on the back from Dwayne Hartman could lay an unprepared man onto the floor. He wore a battered white cowboy hat, worn leather boots, suspenders, and a wild grey beard that spread halfway down his chest. When it was cold, he wore an ancient and faded military jacket, which reliably held both a Bible and a flask of whiskey, like an angel and a demon haunting him at all times. He drove a technically functional 1972 Ford pickup truck, the same one he¡¯d owned for thirty years. He drove it to church every Sunday of the year, and a spot was always open for him nearest to the front door. Nobody talked or even consciously thought about leaving that space open, yet its reservation for Dwayne Hartman was inviolable. When he went to the bank, he parked in front of the fire hydrant, nearest the door, and was never towed or ticketed¡ªa situation which had to be explained to the occasional new police officer in Pikeston. At church, he always sat in the back right corner, and no member of the congregation ever considered taking that seat, or the one next to it. Pikeston Baptist Church didn¡¯t always sing hymns anymore, which troubled Dwayne, but when they did, he would sing the bass line from memory and cast his voice out through the sanctuary, a voice shredded and scoured by decades of cigarettes and whiskey, awful yet somehow glorious, a voice rising up like a breaking wave above the dozens of others muttering into their hymnbooks. Newcomers could not help but crane their necks to find the source of this astonishing clarion. But when it came time to take the Lord¡¯s Supper, Dwayne sat quiet, small, head bowed. His powerful hands trembled when he took the body and blood of his Lord. He held them tight. Once he had accidentally crushed the tiny plastic cup, thimble-sized in his fingers, and had left a smeared handprint of grape juice on the door when he stumbled out of the church into the bright sunlight, leaving the body of his Lord lying on the forest-green carpet floor of the House of God. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. He knew about blood; he had shed plenty. He had been an evil man, as he would explain to anyone who wanted to hear, and to many who didn¡¯t. An evil man, but in the smoke and thunder and darkness of the Vietnamese jungle, dying alone and afraid in a foreign land, he had seen God, and God had spoken to him. That vision changed his life, and the lightning that flashed that night had been like a pendulous sword swinging at the gates of Eden: no going back, no going back¡ªonly forward, and HOLD FAST. HOLD FAST, for there may be blood and death now, but there is a Promise for the future. Dwayne Hartman spent his days in an empty house, a house as empty as a house can be, even when he was inside of it. This house contained the accumulated detritus of a lifetime of capricious passion. The peeling wallpaper was a different color in every room. None of the blades on the living room ceiling fan matched. One leg of the kitchen table had been replaced by a tall stack of books, marked-out library data adorning their spines. An old upright piano, chipped and stained but well-tuned, a chess set made of pieces from several boards, over a dozen decks of cards, maybe one of them complete, sticky notes like a scaly second skin on all the kitchen cupboards, a record player and a stack of records nearly worn through by the dull needle, photographs which left clear shadows on the wallpaper if removed, half-burned candles, half-smoked cigarettes, a stained plastic garbage bin in the garage dedicated to crushed beer cans. Besides God, there was only one person of special note at this stage in the life of Dwayne Hartman, and this person was Isaac Milton. Dwayne Hartman gave him piano lessons, once weekly on Wednesday after school. He required no payment for this service, for Isaac would stay afterward to play chess and talk about books, about music, about God, and if he could catch Dwayne in a good mood, about the tumultuous life of Dwayne Hartman. Dwayne Hartman loved Isaac Milton. He loved music. He loved, in a general sense, the sea of humanity seething out in the wide world beyond Pikeston. But most of all, he loved God. He read the Good Book through roughly twice a year. He read Jonathan Edwards, John Calvin, Nathaniel Hawthorne. His vision of his heavenly Father was like unto a storm, for he had first seen Him in a storm, in the continual thunder, the flickering flash of lightning and mortar shells, the torrential downpour. Yahweh was a great storm, a mighty and thunderous cloud that filled the skies, a dread being of excruciating reality and inconceivable intimacy. God¡ªthe thought of God, the reality of God, the presence of God¡ªpressed in upon Dwayne Hartman like low clouds on the windy Montana plains, like the beauty of a Bach chorale, like the need for another cigarette. Here was something greater, unfathomably greater, something beyond, something terrible and good and beautiful, and most of all something really real¡ªsomething the reality of which made all else seem but shadows and echoes. Here was the only one who could truly say ¡°I AM.¡± God towered over Dwayne Hartman, and Dwayne Hartman wept. Chapter 11 Chapter 11 Isaac Milton April On Sunday after church, Isaac sat in his room and read a book. This was an almost-guilt-free method of procrastination. He finished his book by late afternoon and placed it back in the blue crate. He took the blue crate to the library every couple of weeks to replace its contents. The library usually had a limit for checking out books, but they made an exception for him. He was friends with Mrs. Collier, the librarian. It was a good deal, but the Pikeston Public Library was running low on books that interested him. The ending of the book had given him an idea for a character he wanted to use in a Pathfinder game. Maybe the next Banana Quest? He scribbled a summary on a sticky note and slapped it onto his closet door. He had to aim for a clear space among the dozens of other sticky notes. He decided that after dinner he would play a game on his computer. Then he would do his math homework, then he would get some work done on that short story. Like, at least a few hundred words. Like, 500. At least. But a message from Kate was waiting for him. KC: yo yoooooooo IM: Salutations and convivialities! KC: AAAAHHHH! KC: a wild Dorkus isaaci appears! IM: What¡¯s up? I haven¡¯t seen you in a while IM: I mean, talked to you IM: I haven¡¯t seen you since... IM: EVER KC: well KC: maybe you will soon! IM: oh sweet are you coming for Jim¡¯s birthday? KC: well maybe IM: Better decide soon if you want to book a flight IM: Or does your supervillain uncle just have his own private jet he lets you use? KC: okay first, NOT a supervillain! KC: (he does have private jets, though) KC: and as for Jim¡¯s birthday... KC: I think KC: that we¡¯ll all be together then! KC: even Heidi! KC: and even maybe if some things are sad KC: we¡¯ll have each other!!! IM: ... IM: Kate what the hell kind of answer is that? IM: Is this one of those goofy predictions Eric and Liz are always telling me about? KC: THEY are goofy IM: What I think is that you just can only communicate in an obtuse manner IM: which inhibits clarity IM: and leads people to draw weird conclusions KC: duuurrrrrr i¡¯m Isaac and i overthink everything all the time durrrrrrrrrhhhh IM: What¡¯s wrong with thinking?! KC: hehehe KC: nothing! KC: it¡¯s actually a good thing and I like that about you! IM: So about that lens you mailed me. IM: I looked at the sky through it, and there¡¯s a crack IM: Just this shining fracture in the sky that moves with the stars IM: It¡¯s still there KC: yeah I think it¡¯s been there since January KC: January 28, 16:58 GMT most likely! IM: Did you do it? KC: what?! KC: you think I broke the sky? IM: Is that a yes? KC: It is a negative, sir! KC: I am almost certain that was not my fault! IM: Was it your uncle, then? KC: uhhh... KC: unconfirmed IM: Is it important? KC: Definitely, yes! IM: Oh cool. So what does it mean? KC: I AM WORKING ON IT IM: yikes! IM: I just wanted to know why you mailed me that lens, I guess KC: Isaac I didn¡¯t mail you anything! KC: it wasn¡¯t me! IM: oh KC: anyway, I think it¡¯s a piece of McFinnium so if that lens ever starts vibrating you should throw it far away! KC: like to a place where no people are KC: or animals, ideally IM: Well this just got serious KC: nonono it PROBABLY won¡¯t be an issue KC: ;D IM: Winky face is not reassuring KC: moving on, have you talked to Heidi much? KC: Heidi likes weird books and movies and stuff KC: like you! IM: um I don¡¯t think Heidi likes me very much KC: 8O KC: what! IM: I don¡¯t think she gets my jokes KC: But Isaac nobody gets your jokes! KC: Give her a chance!! IM: ehhh KC: written any stories, Isaac? IM: Define ¡°stories¡± KC: will you let me read them? IM: No KC: WHY NOT IM: They suck. KC: it¡¯s not fair! KC: you and Liz! Good grief! What¡¯s the point of making stuff if you don¡¯t share it? KC: I share my stuff with you! IM: But Kate IM: You have no shame KC: >:| IM: And I show you some of my music KC: oh yeah!!! KC: have you started working on our song yet??? ? KC: you said you would IM: wasn¡¯t me KC: >:( KC: you haven¡¯t!! KC: we¡¯re all waiting KC: I told everyone it would be awesome KC: (no pressure) KC: ;) IM: *rolls eyes* IM: *backflips in exasperation* KC: *gets his lazy butt to work writing a song for us all to play* IM: *defies narrative prompt; goes to play videogames* KC: >:O IM: I¡¯ll do it eventually IM: I did promise KC: but what if you don¡¯t have much time? KC: you never know IM: oh, but YOU do? IM: *narrows eyes suspiciously*The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. KC: bye, Isaac! KC: get to work! KC: and maybe keep that lens in like a lead-lined safe or something if you have one KC: <3 Isaac examined the lens on his desk. He was fairly certain that no lead-lined safe existed in the Stockers¡¯ house where he now lived. He could put it in¡­the chest freezer in the garage? He reached out and touched it. No vibrations. McFinnium, she had said? He had never heard of it. Was that some new material named after her mad scientist of an uncle? Hmm. Mysteries for another time! The thing had been fine so far, so he wasn¡¯t going to worry about it for the moment. He should concern himself with the more present and infuriating mystery of writing music, which was An Exceedingly Challenging and Inevitably Frustrating Endeavor! Isaac swiveled his chair to face the keyboard in his room. There was an upright piano downstairs, but he used the keyboard for composing. He practiced on it too, because he didn¡¯t like other people listening to him practicing. Sometimes he used the grand at the school. He had a copy of the key. He had had some frustrating times at that keyboard. Did all composers have so much trouble writing music? He didn¡¯t know. Maybe he was just inexperienced and didn¡¯t know the best ways to do it yet. He had written piano music, arrangements for small ensembles, some solo stuff (even for voice although he Didn¡¯t Sing Ever), and he had big plans for an orchestral piece in several movements. But what Kate wanted was like none of that. She wanted something they could all play together, except Jim, who didn¡¯t do music. That meant piano, drums, bass, saxophone, and voice. Isaac cast a baleful glance at the notebook in which he had tried to jot some lyrics. They were bad, really bad. Did Elizabeth know that Kate was trying to get him to write a piece which included her singing? Probably not. Elizabeth hated singing in front of people. They had all tried to get her to sing at her birthday, to no avail. Her sister AJ had sung (while Isaac had tried to accompany her), and she had been great! But not Liz. The worst part was, Isaac needed her help with the lyrics. He was Not A Poet, whereas she very much was. He would have to trick her into coming up with lyrics that fit with his song, which would certainly be an Enterprise Of Dubious Effectiveness. A tricky business, one might say. Also the drums and bass. He didn¡¯t really know how those worked, or how to notate for them. Lots to learn! Nevertheless, he had some ideas. It would be jazzy, as seemed only natural for such an ensemble. He didn¡¯t know if Liz did jazz singing or scat or whatever, and he didn¡¯t know how to write that stuff even if she did, but he¡¯d worry about that later. He had some fragments of melodies and motifs already stored on his music notation software. Fortunately, a message from Jim provided just the excuse Isaac needed to procrastinate further. JW: Hi Isaac JW: I sent you something in the mail JW: It was a picture JW: I guess JW: Do you have it yet? I hoped it would get there in time IM: Greetings, Mr. Whyte! IM: It was you! IM: In the ballroom. With the candlestick. JW: What? IM: Yeah I got it yesterday IM: I think IM: Is it all just black? IM: Just a piece of paper with black crayon scribbled all over it? JW: Yeah that¡¯s it IM: I gotta say you¡¯re really branching out IM: I never thought you¡¯d go for this postmodern non-representational stuff IM: But, uh, it¡¯s nice I guess IM: Sure is... IM: black IM: Actually to be real with you Jim I don¡¯t really think this is your style JW: Um JW: This could sound weird IM: Jim I know who I¡¯m talking to. Hit me JW: I drew it because of a dream I had JW: More of a nightmare really I guess IM: Bummer! IM: Looks like a garbage nightmare JW: It was IM: What about the title? Does it have one? IM: You¡¯re big on titles IM: Everything¡¯s got a title JW: Yeah. It¡¯s black JW: I mean JW: The title is ¡°Black¡± JW: like the color IM: Wow. IM: Direct, descriptive. No funny business. IM: I like it JW: There¡¯s a person in it IM: ? JW: It¡¯s not solid black there¡¯s a person in it IM: If you say so Jim, but it looks pretty solid black to me JW: Okay well JW: I think you need to look at it in the light JW: When you look at it in the dark you can¡¯t tell JW: I think you just need to know that it¡¯s actually a picture of a person JW: Somehow JW: I don¡¯t really get it JW: But its important IM: Hahaha Jim you¡¯re starting to sound like Kate IM: Trying to be all vague and mysterious and spooky JW: Haha yeah JW: Sorry JW: Just remember, okay? IM: All right, Jim. I¡¯ll remember. JW: Okay JW: Bye Isaac had been so distracted by the peculiarity of the conversation that he had forgotten to ask what Jim knew about Kate¡¯s plans. Or, potentially, a crack in the sky. He looked at the paper in his hands. He had indeed received this in the mail yesterday. He had identified it as either a cunning prank or a Jimothy-Whyte-thing, which was to say, inexplicable. It was a regular sheet of plain white printer paper. One side had been entirely covered in black crayon. Jim must have used an entire black crayon just to do this. There was some crayon box in Jim¡¯s house that was a complete set except for a nubby little stump of a black crayon because of this. But Jim said it was a picture of a person? Isaac got up and stood directly under the ceiling light. He held up the paper and moved it through a bunch of different angles. He didn¡¯t see any¡­ No, there was something. It was visible only because of the texture; the contours of the scribbling. When the light shone full on it, Isaac could see the vague outline of a person in the midst of the black. It actually creeped him out a little. No detail was visible on the figure, of course, but nevertheless it seemed as though it was stalking toward him. There was an air of menace. An unreasonable chill ran down his spine as he looked at it. This was Jim¡¯s special talent with the visual arts. He had an instinctive knack for instilling emotion into a scene. Jim could draw an apple sitting on a table in many different ways: happy, sad, angry, eerie, whatever. Same apple, same table, different feelings. Jim did this sort of thing as practice. It was crazy. And Jim thought this black paper was important, huh? Isaac wished Jim would be more specific but he probably couldn¡¯t. That kid just did things without knowing why. Isaac compared the black paper to Jimothy¡¯s other works of art which adorned his walls. Jimothy had no difficulty giving presents. One-track mind. But he was difficult indeed to give presents to . He didn¡¯t really want anything. Nothing that could just be given as a present, anyway. Time to get to work on that story. Hey, that was an idea. Jim always did paintings for everybody. He would certainly enjoy a Special Birthday Story from his Good Friend Isaac. That would be something to consider. However, it would have to be done fairly soon. Jim¡¯s birthday was in two weeks. He scribbled the words story for Jim? on an orange sticky-note and slapped it onto the wall in front of him, which was already molting a whole stack of them. What he really needed was a more stimulating atmosphere. There was a new coffee shop in town, locally owned. He had it on good authority that aspiring novelists did their best work in coffee shops. Also, he liked the mochas. Also, it was cold outside, which made hot drinks taste even better. By the time he walked to the coffee shop he would be shivering, which would enhance the resulting experience considerably. He loaded his laptop and cord into his backpack, along with his notebook of story ideas and notes. After some consideration he threw in his notebook for the Pathfinder campaign he was running in case he needed to take a break from working on the story. He also added a book of Debussy preludes, because there was a piano there and sometimes people wanted him to play, and he was getting pretty good at The Sunken Cathedral. Thus armed, he proceeded cautiously downstairs. Mr. Stocker, Thane¡¯s dad, was not home, but he wasn¡¯t sure about Mrs. Stocker. He lived in their house, and had done so for the past few years. He had moved in because he used to be pretty good friends with Thane, and he had no close family to move in with after his father had died/disappeared. Things were becoming a bit awkward with Thane and his family, though. He wasn¡¯t sure exactly what was going on, but it had of late seemed like a better choice to just avoid them. Easier, at any rate. The house proved satisfyingly empty, and he was able to abscond without difficulty into the Great Outdoors. The evening light made long shadows. He soon joined main street, and then it was a block or two down. On the way he passed the only stoplight in town, a four-way perpetually-blinking red light. He kept an ear out for Dwayne Hartman¡¯s pickup, but heard only healthy and functional vehicles. Minutes later, he sat warm and cozy in a plush black chair in the corner of Bridges, a hot sugary drink at his side. The rustic wood-paneled room was empty save for himself and Emily at the counter reading a Field and Stream magazine. She liked to fish. He wondered briefly if she was into ice fishing. He knew a good joke about that. Ah, solitude. Perfect. An ideal medium for the Prolific Creative Shenanigans which were about to go down. One hour later he had written about six sentences. Decent sentences, he thought. He had also written a dozen notes in his Pathfinder notebook, sketched a map and drawn up some ideas for NPCs. He had done a visual run-through of the Debussy prelude. He had cracked open the Worm Ouroboros to get some ideas for exotic names, and had ended up re-reading half a chapter. But yeah, about a paragraph as far as the story was concerned. What was he thinking? Eric made his music in his room, Jim painted in his room, Elizabeth did her theoretically-existent poetry in her room. Even Kate did her mad scientist thing, if not in her room, then presumably at least in her house somewhere. Or, like, castle or spaceship or wherever the heck she lived. Should¡¯ve stayed in the room. But before he left Bridges, he could at least do a bit of campaign work. He googled something about common Finnish names, ready to gather some ideas for an upcoming village. The first result made him pause, blink, look around, then peer closely at his monitor. The heading for the first entry read, ¡°Isaac Milton,¡± and the text beneath: ¡°Do not be alarmed. Someone named Jacob Hollow is approaching Pikeston. He is your ally. So am I.¡± Everything in the outside world checked out as normal. Emily at the counter was chewing gum, on her phone, not paying attention. Two people had entered, an older couple, Kim and Jim Holter or something, Isaac thought he had met them somewhere briefly. The rest of the search results were as expected¡ªbaby name generators and websites telling the meanings of popular Finnish names. Isaac clicked the first link, the one with his name. It took him to a long list, starting with Aabraham, Aada, Aadolf, Aamu, Aapeli, Aapo, and so on. Back to the previous page, and the search results were normal. Had he imagined it? Of course not. He had a name now. Jacob Hollow. After some thought, he cleared the search bar and typed, ¡°Who are you?¡± He hit enter. Most of the results were about the Who¡¯s eighth studio album and its titular track, but the top result was headed with, ¡°My name is Clara,¡± and the text preview read: ¡°We are on the same side. I have been instructed to give you warning about an approaching threat.¡± Isaac considered this for a while. He didn¡¯t know any Claras. Who could be behind this? Kate came to mind, but she could have simply messaged him. Was it NASA? A clandestine government agency? Obviously this had to do with that crack in the sky, and the fact that he¡¯d noticed it. Was Jacob Hollow some kind of secret special agent coming to protect Isaac from foreign assassins? Or from aliens!? He took a few deep breaths. No need to jump to any conclusions just yet. The real question was: Why was the Mysterious Communicant using such an arcane means of transmission? Who could alter Google¡¯s search results? Or had his laptop simply been hacked? He needed more information. He typed, ¡°You¡¯re the one who mailed me the lens. Why?¡± This time the other results had nothing to do with what he¡¯d typed. They were all about the Ray Bradbury novel Something Wicked this Way Comes . The first result was different. The header: ¡°Abraham Black is coming.¡± The text: ¡°You can see him with it. Do not engage¡ªrepeat¡ªdo not engage. Stay close to Jacob.¡± This time Isaac was quicker on the reply. ¡°You¡¯re with McFinn. You¡¯re one of his special AIs, aren¡¯t you?¡± If Kate had accurately identified the material of the strange lens, then this clearly had to do with her uncle. ¡®Not a supervillain,¡¯ she said. Yeah, right. The search results were all about Riley McFinn¡ªfamous reclusive engineer, inventor of increasingly concerning devices that proved largely immune to attempts at reverse-engineering. Subject of debate, protests, Interpol investigations, etc. But the top result read ¡°Sharp, Isaac. Just like your father.¡± And beneath it: ¡°Excuse you, sir¡ªI am his only ¡®special¡¯ AI. And I have delivered my message.¡± Isaac typed furiously. ¡°If you¡¯re really a super-smart AI, you¡¯d know that I¡¯ve been trying to find out what happened to my father. What do you know?¡± He hit enter, and he paid no attention to the superfluous results for whatever Google thought he was searching. ¡°Good luck, Isaac Milton,¡± was the heading for the first result. And the text read, ¡°If you¡¯re really what Nikola Raschez thinks you are, you¡¯d already know that it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Isaac fired back with more questions, but with no results, other than the thousands of regular entries supplied by the blind Google algorithms in a vain and puzzled attempt to answer his queries. Clara was not responding. The most important question, situated like a burning coal in the front of his brain, was this: why had Clara selected such a bizarre form of communication? Who, exactly, was she afraid would overhear if she simply texted him? Obviously not Google, nefarious though it may be. ¡°Yo,¡± said Emily from the counter. ¡°You all right?¡± She was staring at him, looking concerned and chewing gum at the same time. Isaac stood, slapped his laptop shut, and stuffed his belongings into his backpack. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, and his voice cracked in exactly the way he¡¯d always hoped it never would in front of Emily. ¡°Fine.¡± His second word sounded without a crack, but it was faint, and it could not have been any more of an obvious lie even if Jimothy Whyte had said it. Emily watched him leave. It was dark outside. Jim had said ¡°in time.¡± Jim had hoped his illustration would make it ¡°in time.¡± And what had Kate said? Something about maybe not having much time. Abraham Black is coming; do not engage. And what the hell was ¡®McFinnium,¡¯ anyway? Isaac removed the crumpled crayon-covered paper from his pocket. The cold wind was picking up; it battered the wax-heavy sheet of paper. Here in his hands was a figure all in black, stepping toward him out of the darkness. Main Street was well lit, but his residential street was not. No streetlights. The asphalt was a black chasm. The stars sparkled overhead. The cottonwoods groaned in the icy gusts. Somewhere to the north, invisible, a crack fractured the sky. He wished he had brought a flashlight. Chapter 12 Chapter 12 Abraham Black January Where¡­? What¡­? No. It did not matter. His questions were irrelevant. The facts mattered, and the facts were these: he had been betrayed. He had been used, abused, exploited. Worst of all, he had been deprived of vengeance at the very moment of its realization. The facts were these: he would find the demons. He would kill them all. It didn¡¯t matter where they sent him with their accursed magic. They could fling him through the farthest door into the darkest void. But if they didn¡¯t kill him, he would find his way back. He understood now; there was always a door. There was always a way to get where you wanted to go. You just had to be willing to pay the price. You just had to find the key. It was a strange thing that he had not understood this until now. A very strange thing. It was all so clear. Abraham Black stood in the midst of smoke and fire and considered these things. Men around him screamed, cursed, cried out in pain, pled for mercy. The halls were blood-stained, the bodies drained, and water rained in uneven sprays from spigots in the ceiling, soaking everything, soaking Black¡¯s hat, running off in rivulets that stirred pools of blood and carried them off to dark drains. Fire glistened in reflection on the wet ceramic walls; corpses sprawled in procession down the dark deserted halls; the light was red and sirens spread their sharp and panicked calls. He stood still in the false rain, his dark leather coat glossy wet and gleaming in the fire and flickering lights. He gazed down at the tiled floor, watching a man¡¯s blood mingle with the water in swirls and spirals. Strange. He felt strange. An armed man charged blindly around the corner ahead. Black raised a revolver and shot him through the heart without looking up. Thunder boomed through the corridors. The man¡¯s radio squawked in panic as he hit the floor: ¡­repeat, do not engage! Evacuation plan C! Code ¡ªthe radio exploded in tandem with another thunderous peal of the revolver. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The right key. Yes. He understood. He just had to find one of them. One of the monsters that was now inside of him. A fresh one. An angel for the demons. He smiled, and blood dripped from his lips, off his chin and onto the floor. Yes. He began walking through the now deserted corridors, seeking an exit. He walked through fire and haze, through screams and shouts, stepping over bodies and through rubble. He stalked like Death through an underground town, muttered through his breath with hardly a sound, smiling wide like a flame-charred clown, trailing blood like a funeral gown. The living men who crossed his path heard thunder, then heard nothing more, no lightning here but a thunderclap resounding through the slippery floor, and blackened bullets sundered locks on every bolted door. He glided out at last into a dark and humid night. He heard noises in the distance: sirens, people taking flight. A city sprawled before him, spread with multicolored light. The sounds of machines. The sounds of humans. Humans like him? Yes. And, of course, not. So different now. It was a strange thing. He had been in a paper world minutes before, and now he was¡­here. A warm and humid breeze blew around him, stirring the vegetation, stirring the column of smoke which rose from the empty structure behind him. Night had fallen, and Abraham Black faded into the night. Only Nikola Raschez watched him go. Chapter 13 Chapter 13 Elizabeth Eddison April Elizabeth wrote with careful purpose in a notebook, turning the ring from AJ with her other hand and nodding her head to the music emanating from her computer across the room. It was Der Rosenkavalier , an opera she hadn¡¯t heard before. She was listening to it in German, a language she did not understand, but even so, she occasionally put down the notebook and just listened. She wrote for a while, soaking in the smell of pine, the soft music, the atmosphere . Elizabeth enjoyed the act of sitting there and writing, even if at times she did not enjoy what she wrote. She glanced every so often at the book currently kindling a flame in her heart, Paradise Lost . It rested atop a collection by Edna St. Vincent Millay, another of her favorites. Sometimes her gaze roved around at the books on the shelves. She had read most of them, and she knew them well. Each produced a flicker of thought, of memory, of emotion. Sometimes it overwhelmed her, as if each book were an individual flame which, conjoined with those around it, created a blazing inferno that walled her in. Elizabeth loved poetry, but she recognized her own as unimpressive, to put it kindly. Inadequate. Anodyne. Hers was a pale candle next to, say, the fires of Milton. (John, not Isaac. Obviously.) There was nothing to do but continue. In the absence of other options, press on. That was all she had¡ªto keep trying. That¡¯s what Joan of Arc would do. Her phone vibrated. She considered ignoring it. She only wanted to write. Yet the thought nagged at her that something odd was going on. Kate had been acting stranger than usual, and Isaac talking about some crack in the sky¡­ It was from Eric. EW: yo EW: sup EE: I hear that Heidi will soon be making an appearance at your residence? EW: whoa i guess EW: this is like news to me too i just heard yesterday EW: kate says i need to crank out some fresh beats EE: Mission critical, no doubt. EW: for real she was all like eric the fate of the world rests in your unparalleled skill at fruityloops studio? EW: you been listening to that mix i gave you? EE: Indeed, I have found a use for it. I relax to the dropping of the beats while I bespangle things. EW: wait you actually use that kit? EW: you putting those sparkly ass sequins on everything? EE: Why would I not, since one of my dear friends gave it to me as a birthday present, utterly devoid of humorous or ironic intent? EE: I have become quite proficient these past two months. Working on an advance present for you. EW: oh no EE: Remember the jacket you left at my house? EW: nonono you stop that i like that jacket EE: Just imagine how much more you¡¯ll like it when I¡¯m through with it. EW: damn it liz EE: No one but Kate is allowed to call me ¡°Liz.¡± EW: how bout lizzy EE: Nope. EW: beth? EE: Negative. EW: lizzifer? EE: Hell no. EW: but elizabeth is such a long ass word to type EW: hey how well do you know heidi? EE: I have been in regular communication since Kate introduced us. EW: well we havent talked much EW: whats she like EW: shes friends with kate but i get the vibe they are a little different EE: Kate watches videos of cute animals on the internet, whereas Heidi likes to watch things getting crushed in a hydraulic press in slow motion. EW: thank you very helpful EW: i know shes a badass EE: Then you will certainly enjoy this. The last time we talked, Heidi told me she was recovering from an injury sustained whilst hunting a wild boar. EW: youre shitting me EE: She emerged victorious, apparently. EW: are you serious EE: Perhaps she will allow you to view the scar. EW: hot damn i need to step up my game EE: Oh? Worried her level of cool may exceed your own? EW: dont be all smug over there what if she was coming to see you? EE: Calm down, Eric. She is pretty much a normal girl. EE: In fact, she told me she was a tad nervous about meeting you. EE: There, does that make you feel better? EE: By the way, don¡¯t tell her I told you that. EW: what the hells to be nervous meeting me about? EE: You should stop trying to form coherent sentences before you hurt yourself. EW: thats my secret EW: i never bother trying in the first place EW: coherence is overrated EW: you watch operas you should know this EW: but for real has kate warned you about our impending doom EE: You are referring to the vaguely alarming phraseology which has recently permeated any conversation with her? EW: yeah that EE: I am aware of it. EW: well EW: jims been having nightmares EW: you know like not normal ones EW: about something about to happen EW: maybe something bad EE: That is... EE: Ominous. EW: yeah no shit EW: something about everything being on fire and the sky breaking EW: i mean its jim so who knows EW: but its jim plus kate i don¡¯t like EE: Hmm. Jim plus Kate? I like that. EW: what EW: what no im not talking about that EW: can you like not be all up in our romance lives or whatever for five minutes EW: making matches like youre freezing to death on the plane of dry newspapers EW: anyway i got dibs on kate EE: WHATStolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. EW: whoa chill like i know youre all up in my grill or whatever but just get in line okay? EW: got ladies for miles EW: take a number EE: I suppose I had better alert Heidi of the leagues of females clamoring for your attention. EE: She may find it alarming. EW: yeah they do sometimes EW: anyway EW: ill let you know how it goes EW: just EW: dont be saying too much stuff about me EW: to heidi i mean EW: you know EW: except good stuff i guess thats cool EW: you still there Elizabeth declined to respond. She rolled her eyes. Just let him stew in his nervous insecurity for a while. She wished she could spectate his meeting with Heidi. She stared at her phone for a while. What to do? She had homework. She could practice singing. But if something really was about to happen, something bad¡­Eric was right. Kate and Jim both being nervous about something was ominous indeed. She looked over at Callie, snoozing on the bed. Callie would protect her, right? She always did. Maybe a little too much, sometimes. And¡­ She opened her desk drawer and checked to make sure it was still there. Yes, it lay atop an informational brochure for the Cirque du Soleil¡ª the stained-glass butterfly brooch that Kate had given her. Supposedly able to summon Callie, but only once. She had better start wearing it regularly, even when out gardening. She fastened it to her shirt. Also in the open drawer lay the poetry notebook Kate had begun. Elizabeth had written a bit in it, only what she thought were some of her best ones, and planned to send it back, eventually. She was pretty sure that was the idea¡ªa back-and-forth trade thing. Kate¡¯s poetry had been a little bizarre. Of course. There was this haiku, for instance: I am dust and breath. I am a small, bright nothing; A handful of sky. Which did sound like Kate. And this one, They say they shall sashay, so shall The sixth sick sheep¡¯s thick Thoughts mops peppers pots Zizzerzazzer fox in socks SIR! in which her frustration with tongue twisters became manifest in written form. That one made Elizabeth grin, as she imagined Kate trying to speak it and giving up in exasperation. But then there was this lengthy and rather dramatic puzzler: There are no words ¨C I¡¯ve checked. But there are birds That wheel and fly Across the open, windy sky. And there are distant hills I¡¯ve never seen, And there are snowy plains, And fields of green, And there are dark rocks standing in the sea. And neither have I wings, For though I try, And leap from the clifftops, Never can I fly. And there are birds, More fleet than me, Who trace the stormy skies O¡¯er dark and thrashing seas. And there are stars above And ships on waters still And there are men in love And men who love to kill. And there are more colors in a single grain of sand Than all the artists in the world will ever understand. And there is music in the spheres ¨C Music I will never hear. And there are beasts that stalk the night, And monsters I will never fight. There are pains I will never know, And wondrous crystal caves below No man has ever seen. And there are fields of ice and stone, Fit for being all alone, Where no man¡¯s ever been. I cannot understand my dreams, And though I know him well, I cannot understand my brother. And though I know my inner thoughts, I cannot understand myself. How could I ever understand another? O poet, say what chance have I To understand a butterfly? As well for me to try to see A rainbow With a sightless eye. There are skies I¡¯ll never know And places I will never go And beauties I will never see And people I will never be. But maybe, someday, I will see. Elizabeth was certain that Kate had not written this. It had butterflies and rainbows in it, true, but Kate would not write about ¡°men who love to kill,¡± nor employ phraseology such as, ¡°O poet, say what chance have I.¡± And of course, she did not have a brother. Most of all, the handwriting was not in Kate¡¯s exuberant style. All of the poetry in the book was unattributed. If Kate had not written this, then who? Surely not Rebecca Carter. Just to keep track, Elizabeth had signed all of her own contributions. So far, she had only done a few. One track of music on her operatic playlist came to an end. What came next, instead of a continuation of Der Rosenkav , was the blaring voice of an old-timey radio announcer. ¡° We interrupt this program to bring you a special message¡­ ¡± Elizabeth swung to a sitting position, vexed that an ad had slipped past her blockers. She froze when it continued in a different voice and style. ¡° Elizabeth Eddison. Do not be alarmed. ¡± The words ¡®Elizabeth¡¯ and ¡®Eddison,¡¯ as well as ¡®do not be alarmed¡¯ were all spoken by different voices, with different sound mixing and audio quality. She was at her laptop without being aware of having moved. Another video had interrupted her Youtube playlist. It was a compilation of short clips from old black-and-white movies and musicals, few of which she could identify, rapidly cutting between them in order to form a contiguous, coherent message. ¡° Danger is coming. You must be prepared! This is a warning. Keep a lookout for shape and sky. They will help you. Beware October Industries. Keep that cat of yours on hand. Remember to use chime when it all happens. Best of luck! ¡± This video was less than a minute in length and comprised around thirty separate cuts. Some of those words were delivered by Humphrey Bogart, the only actor she recognized. The video was titled ¡°Warning.¡± It had zero views, and when she refreshed the page, it was no longer available. She scrambled for a nearby pencil and wrote the message from memory on a scrap of paper. The account that had created the video was a nonsense string of numbers and letters, and it too no longer existed when she clicked it. She sat at her computer for a while, thinking, the music paused. She circled ¡°shape and sky,¡± and eventually tried searching this phrase online with little success. She had more luck with October Industries. Elizabeth looked at Callie, napping on the bed. She walked over, scooped up the pale lynx, and gave her a big hug in spite of the bleary half-hearted yowl of protest. ¡°Something¡¯s going on,¡± she said into the thick fur. ¡°You¡¯ll keep me safe, right?¡± Callie vanished from Elizabeth¡¯s grasp and was suddenly in her own padded box across the room. Her tail twitched back and forth, and she began turning in circles, evidently planning to continue her nap. ¡°Well,¡± said Elizabeth. Typically, when she spoke this word, it was followed by a plan of action. To her annoyance, and vague unease, she had no idea what to do next. Maybe she should call AJ. Chapter 14 Chapter 14 Amber Jane Eddison April Amber Jane Eddison stumbled into her apartment, kicked the door closed with her foot, dropped the bags on the floor and collapsed backwards onto the futon. She scraped her shoes off, freed her long blond hair from its braid and tossed her keys onto the coffee table, where they slid off the far end. She snuggled into the depths of her fuzzy coat and considered pulling a blanket over her and taking a nap then and there. Hunger alone deterred her. What a day. The best part of her job was dealing with people. The worst part of her job also was dealing with people. Sometimes the same people. Lasagna. Lasagna tonight, and fudge if she had enough confectioner¡¯s sugar. She probably made more chocolate than was healthy, considering that she ate most of it herself. AJ lived in a studio apartment near downtown Philadelphia. It bore all the marks of a temporary residence: bare walls, cramped, messy from insufficient space. The kitchen was decent, however, which was the important thing. And it was clean, even if such could not be said of the neighborhood outside. Amber Jane was shorter than her sister Liz, but they had the same voluminous blonde hair. And while they shared the piercing blue eyes, AJ¡¯s features were sharp and pronounced in what was almost, but not quite, a harsh beauty. Lately, these features often revealed an abiding weariness. She had stumbled through the door at around 9 PM. Working as assistant music director at a big church with multiple services meant that Sundays were always strenuous, but this one had seemed exceptional. Heated discussions had taken place this evening, and she hated ¡°heated discussions.¡± Fortunately, tonight her own involvement had been only marginal. She sighed. She had been warned about how emotionally demanding her position could be, but now she got to experience it firsthand. She normally loved it; she had to remember that. She just had to remember the kids. She loved the kids. Maybe it was too late for lasagna, after all. Leftovers tonight. She swung around to a sitting position, and a firm knock came at the door. Three solid, evenly spaced thunks. AJ opened the door and gazed up at the towering figure of Mrs. Jacobiak. AJ gave her a smile; she deserved that much. ¡°Salutations! Come in?¡± Mrs. Jacobiak beamed down at her, crooked yellowed teeth arrayed into a beautiful smile under the shadow of her enormous hat. ¡°Dear, you look tired! It is late. We will come back tomorrow.¡± The Russian accent was strong with this one. She turned to leave and revealed her three children huddled behind her on the landing. ¡°Impossible!¡± said AJ. ¡°Come, come!¡± She motioned the kids in. They grinned and scampered into her studio. It was messy, but they were used to it. One of them, Angela, stopped to give her a hug around the waist. ¡°Aha, thank you!¡± said AJ, tousling her hair. Angela ran past her to join her siblings on the futon. ¡°We heard you come home, and they wanted to come by and say hello!¡± said Mrs. Jacobiak as though announcing this to the world at large. She smiled over AJ¡¯s head at her children. ¡°They were sad to miss their lessons this week.¡± ¡°A tragedy. I am sorry!¡± ¡°Do not be sorry. I know you have had hard week. That is why I brought borsh.¡± AJ¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Verily? Oh, that was unnecessary.¡± Mrs. Jacobiak smiled down at her, her eyes twinkling beneath the wings of her huge felt hat. ¡°Here.¡± She reached into her cavernous carpet bag, which always contained whatever she required at the moment. (AJ had described her to Liz as a Russian Mary Poppins.) She revealed a large plastic Tupperware container with a sealed lid, as well as a half dozen homemade biscuits in a ziplock bag. ¡° Borsh and biscuits? ¡± said AJ . ¡°Thank you so much!¡± ¡°You are welcome, dear.¡± AJ smiled as she retrieved the gifts. She took them to the kitchen, hoisting them in victory as she passed the children. ¡°Now I have all your soup! What will you do now? Ahaha!¡± The youngest one, six-year-old Ana, giggled at her. ¡°Will we have lessons this week?¡± asked Nicholas, the oldest at ten years old. ¡°Verily.¡± said AJ as she retrieved a flat pan from the freezer. ¡°And they will be extra special this week.¡± She removed the cool tinfoil from the pan of fudge and took it over to the children on the couch. They cheered as she let them each take a square. ¡°This kind has walnuts,¡± she said, trying out her Russian on the word ¡®walnuts.¡¯ She looked at the beaming Mrs. Jacobiak in the doorway. ¡°Did I say that right?¡± ¡°Close enough, dear,¡± she said. ¡°Come now, children, can¡¯t you see she is tired? You¡¯ll see her Friday.¡± This was met with halfhearted protests, but the kids jumped up off the couch and filed back outside. AJ followed them to the door. She offered Mrs. Jacobiak a piece of fudge, but the matron declined. ¡°I might be going home soon,¡± AJ informed her. ¡°But I¡¯ll be back by Friday.¡± ¡°Stay safe, dear,¡± Mrs. Jacobiak said, clasping AJ¡¯s hands in hers. She then turned and strode down the landing to their apartment at the other end. Her children followed like ducklings, turning to wave goodbye to AJ. AJ smiled and laughed to herself as she closed the door. They had ¡°heard her come home!¡± No doubt one of the kids had been put on watch to alert Mrs. Jacobiak the moment AJ arrived. Mrs. Jacobiak knew it had been a hard day for AJ. As one of the secretaries at church, she knew all about the heated discussions. And her borsh was delicious. AJ¡¯s stomach grumbled at her just from thinking about it. She locked the door and put a bowl of borsh in the microwave, helping herself to a piece of fudge on the way over. She checked her phone while the microwave ran, finding a few messages from friends and a quick update from Liz. The delicious smell of the beet soup filled her apartment. AJ was eight years older than her step-sister Elizabeth. The age difference had always prevented them from having a lot in common, but now Liz was growing up, and AJ found more and more that she enjoyed being with her little sister. Liz was so funny! And she didn¡¯t have many friends, except for those long-distance ones that came out for her birthday. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. AJ called up Liz. It barely rang once before it was picked up. ¡° AJ ?¡± said Liz . ¡° And none other. ¡± ¡°You¡¯re eating something. What are you eating?¡± Elizabeth sounded like a cop grilling a convict in the interrogation room. ¡°What makes¡ªhow do you know I¡¯m eating something?¡± ¡°You¡¯re always eating something when you call. You only call me when you¡¯re in your kitchen making food.¡± AJ stifled a laugh. ¡°I was actually about to call you,¡± said Liz. ¡°Verily?¡± ¡°Verily. Have you received any strange messages lately? Possibly delivered via Youtube.¡± ¡°Negative, dear sister. My only eccentric correspondences are from you.¡± ¡°Do you know anything about ¡®shape and sky?¡¯ Or October Industries?¡± ¡°Liz, what are you on about? No, I am ignorant of those things. Is something going on over there?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± She sounded serious. ¡°Everything okay with mom?¡± asked AJ. ¡°She¡¯s fine, I guess. Not here at the moment. Do you think you¡¯ll be coming home this week?¡± ¡°Verily. I¡¯m leaving tomorrow. After I get some sleep! My day has been calamitous, Elizabeth. I am on the brink of utter psychological collapse.¡± ¡°Oh, that sounds inconvenient. What happened?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you all about it when I come over, okay? And you can tell me all about October skies or whatever.¡± AJ didn¡¯t want to begin eating soup while she talked on the phone, but it smelled so good . She thought she detected something faintly nutty in the flavor profile. She turned to grab a drink out of the fridge and just caught sight of a large white object as it flashed past her knees. She yelped in surprise and leaped back, nearly upsetting the precious bowl of borsh. ¡°What? What happened?¡± asked Liz, alarmed. AJ tried to calm down. She put a hand to her chest and felt her heart racing. ¡°Oh. Ha. Nothing. It was just¡­Callie almost destroyed me.¡± ¡°Oh, she¡¯s there now? I didn¡¯t know she visited you much.¡± ¡°She does not. That¡¯s why¡­yikes, sorry. My heart¡¯s on the run. Hey, one of the Jacobiak kids is allergic to cats!¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay. I¡¯m pretty sure Callie is hypo-allergenic. She doesn¡¯t shed.¡± ¡°Hmm. Well, she better not get comfortable! I¡¯m not supposed to have pets.¡± AJ watched as Callie hopped up onto the couch and curled up into a fluffy white mass. ¡°Although¡­it would be nice to have her around from time to time.¡± The cuddling potential for Callie was overwhelming. And sometimes AJ just needed a good cuddle. ¡°Oh hey,¡± said AJ, ¡°do you by any chance have, uh, Mike¡¯s number?¡± ¡°Mike?¡± asked Liz. ¡°Jim¡¯s brother?¡± ¡°Yeah. ¡° ¡°Why, yes. Yes, I do. Why do you ask?¡± Liz was smiling. ¡°Hey, what¡¯s with that tone?¡± ¡°Tone? There is no tone. Toneless voice over here. Not a hint of insinuation whatsoever in this suggestive-tone-free-zone. You must be imagining things.¡± ¡°You are being preposterous. I just want to ask him something.¡± ¡°Oh. What?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°What do you mean what? I want to know what you want to ask him.¡± ¡°It is none of your business, Liz!¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t you get his number when you talked to him at my birthday?¡± ¡°Liz, you are unmanageable. I¡¯ll just find him online. Whatever. See you this week.¡± ¡°Bye.¡± ¡°Bye!¡± AJ cut the connection and shook her head. It wasn¡¯t like that! She just had questions for Michael. About Jimothy. About one of Jimothy¡¯s paintings. The one sitting in her closet. She finally dug into the soup. It was, of course, delicious, as were the biscuits, which turned out to have spicy potato filling. AJ watched Callie nap peacefully on the couch as she ate. But she was thinking about a dream she had been having. A dream, and a song, and painting. Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Jimothy Whyte April I dream my painting, and I paint my dream. - Vincent van Gogh KC: Jim! KC: Guess what!! JW: What? KC: It¡¯s me! KC: Kate! KC: ;) JW: Cool! KC: <3 KC: What are you up to today, Jim? JW: Homework mostly KC: The ole GED? KC: Keep at it, Jim! JW: The reading is fine. KC: Yeah! You like reading JW: Because when you read a story it¡¯s okay if you don¡¯t understand it all the way JW: so it¡¯s like painting JW: or people KC: :D KC: yeah! KC: Need any help with those maths again? JW: Math and science are so different JW: there¡¯s always just one right answer JW: it can¡¯t be any other way KC: I¡¯ll take that as a negatory! You got this, Jim! JW: It¡¯s absolute JW: how is that like reality? KC: are you okay? JW: I don¡¯t get how math can be real in the same world where people are real KC: oh no KC: Jim you just need to not worry about that and just do the problems okay? JW: People don¡¯t have answers. KC: okay Jimothy Whyte, listen up! KC: you¡¯re not crazy! People and art are real, but math and science are real too! And they¡¯re not as different as you think! KC: our eyeballs are super complicated, and colors and light are also complicated, and that¡¯s SCIENCE and it¡¯s BEAUTIFUL and it¡¯s the reason why you can paint! JW: But people are more important KC: what¡¯s wrong, Jim? KC: why are you sad? KC: is it the nightmares? JW: How do you know? JW: oh JW: You were there KC: yeah KC: <:( JW: Sorry about that KC: don¡¯t be sorry about things that aren¡¯t your fault! JW: Sorry, yeah. JW: Oh, that was another one, wasn¡¯t it? JW: I¡¯m just nervous about things. KC: I know how you feel KC: but you can¡¯t see the whole story, even when you dream. KC: there is so much more going on! KC: I don¡¯t know very much about what¡¯s going to happen KC: maybe you know more than I do KC: but I DO know that we¡¯ll get to meet soon KC: in person! JW: Wow really? KC: so don¡¯t be sad, okay? KC: Mike will take good care of you KC: and soon you¡¯ll have even more friends! JW: Thanks Kate JW: I might actually need help with some homework later KC: No worries! KC: you were talking earlier about art and science, but you know what is BOTH of those things? KC: Chess! KC: which reminds me of a story that might cheer you up! KC: it is about my favorite chess player, Mikhail Tal! JW: Okay KC: they called him the Magician from Riga KC: he was the best attacker EVER so all his games are really exciting! KC: he had ectrodactyly, which means that he had only three deformed fingers on one hand, but he was a skilled pianist anyway! JW: Wow! KC: he was a weirdo like us, Jim KC: one time he was stuck on a move, and he spent a half hour thinking KC: but his thoughts wandered to a poem about a hippo in a bog KC: and he thought, ¡°how WOULD you get a hippo out of a bog?!?¡± KC: and he spent all his time devising a lifting mechanism for extracting a hippopotamus from a quagmire, Jim! KC: and when he remembered the game, he just made a move on instinct because he was almost out of time KC: like you! KC: and it was the right move, and everyone was impressed by how he spent a half hour figuring it all out JW: Hahaha! KC: he was a weird and cool guy KC: he had problems, but there was no one like him KC: he said that every game of chess is as inimitable and invaluable as a poemThis book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. KC: he loved the game, Jim! KC: just like you love painting JW: I don¡¯t really understand why you told me all of that JW: But it did cheer me up JW: so thanks KC: ;) JW: We got a thing from mr. Sheppard KC: a THING?!?!? JW: yeah JW: It¡¯s like this JW: thing KC: :D KC: it¡¯s probably important! KC: you can trust Mr. Sheppard, Jim JW: That¡¯s what I told Mike JW: ¡®Kate says you can trust Mr Sheppard¡¯ JW: And he said okay well I trust you so I guess I¡¯ll trust you trusting Kate trusting mr Sheppard KC: are you remembering the line? JW: Yeah. Is that important? KC: I think so! JW: Ok. I don¡¯t really understand that, but i¡¯ll try! KC: keep painting, Jim! KC: and even if it gets hard, don¡¯t give up! KC: I believe in you! KC: talk to you later, okay Jim? JW: Yeah JW: anytime KC: ok! KC: <3 Jimothy grinned. Was he going to get his birthday wish? All of them together? That was exciting, even if his dreams were making him nervous. Just thinking about his dreams made him start to get a headache. He swiveled in his desk chair to look at his most recent projects. One of them was an oil rendering of Black , a larger version of the one he had done for Isaac in crayon. It rested on an easel in the corner. It was¡­black. Black like ink, tar, creosote. It had been hard to get the paint black enough, even with oils. The best way was to have layers mixed very subtly with dark blues and greens and maroons, so that there was only the tiniest perceptible difference between the different layers of black. He had used a lot of paint on that one. It was a half inch thick in some places. It wasn¡¯t quite finished, but Jimothy didn¡¯t know if he could finish it now. He had done too good of a job. The painting frightened him. In a superstitious way he was scared of finishing it, as though the figure vaguely depicted in the darkness might coalesce and climb out of the frame. Looking at it made his headache worse. Time to lie down for a while, like Mike said he should when he got the headaches. Take a nap. Jimothy stood, carefully made his way to the light switch by the door, and flipped it off. He stood there for a moment, noting that although it was midmorning, the sky outside was dark and overcast. He turned it back on, went to his desk and flipped the night light on, then went back and turned off the ceiling light again. The night light projected a slowly shifting kaleidoscope of colors on the ceiling. Jimothy crawled into his bed. He laid there for a few minutes, then sat up. He dismounted the bed, stepped over to the easel carrying Black , picked it up, and rotated it so that it faced the wall. Then he got back in bed. He opened his eyes and sat up. He squinted against the sunlight. He sat in his backyard, except that it suffered from a curious lack of Hazel. The sky was pure blue overhead, and a warm breeze rushed through the trees. A beautiful day! He stood up. It was surprisingly easy. This made him suspicious. He closed his eyes and found the Line. It was there, shining in his mind like a glowing white ribbon. He was on the unreal side of it. This was a dream. ¡°What was that?¡± someone asked to his right, who sounded like they were on the verge of breaking into laughter. ¡°Was that the Line?¡± Jimothy turned. On a chair on his back porch, not far away, sat a¡­person? An alien? It was humanoid, short, with pebbly tangerine skin, wearing normal clothes and no shoes. Bright orange spines ran down the sides of its neck and clustered around its eyes and fingers. It had a distinctly lizard-like appearance. Its eyes were lidded and looking in different directions, and its hands, resting on its stomach in relaxation, were split like a chameleon¡¯s. The creature appeared to be smiling at him with its broad lipless grin, so Jimothy smiled back. Jimothy normally avoided eye contact with people, but something was fascinating and unnerving about the intense orange eyes of this stranger. ¡°Um, yeah,¡± he said. ¡°That was the Line. Can you see it too?¡± Jimothy¡¯s voice came out clear and clean, all words in the correct order and at the correct speed. Another evidence of the falsehood of this experience. The creature shrugged, then laughed a wide toothless laugh. ¡°Sort-of. With your help, remember?¡± The creature reached out a leg, at the end of which was another chameleon foot, and grabbed onto the column supporting the wooden awning overhead. Another foot followed, and then a hand, and the alien grappled onto the post like a gecko. ¡°It was a brilliant idea!¡± He laughed again. His voice sounded strangely normal. Like just another kid on the street, although probably a little older than Jim. The other person¡¯s skin was changing colors, shifting to green, blue. He began ascending the wooden column. ¡°It¡¯s like I told you: you get it, Jim, even if you don¡¯t get that you get it. Belief has power here.¡± He leaned over backwards to look at Jim upside-down while holding the beam with his feet. He winked at Jim with a weird chameleon eye. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re the best.¡± He giggled to himself, reached down, and transitioned into a handstand. ¡°We¡¯re painters!¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said Jim. ¡°Do¡­do I know you?¡± The alien, still doing a handstand, twisted its head upright to look at Jim. ¡°D-man, remember? That¡¯s what you called me. Yeah, I died. Again.¡± He somehow pretzeled his body into a sitting position next to Jimothy, then collapsed in a sudden outburst of mirth, gasping and giggling on the back deck. Jim frowned, puzzled. ¡°D-man?¡± ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a joke. A joke! Because I¡¯m¡­uh¡­¡± He looked at Jimothy as though expecting him to remember. One of his eyes stayed on Jimothy while the other began to wander, inspecting the yard, the porch, the sky. It made Jim smile. Jimothy thought back. He was pretty sure he hadn¡¯t met this person before, or anything like him. He shook his head. D-man smacked himself in the face with one of his odd hands. ¡°Oh no. No, no, no. Did I screw this up? Is this, like, before any of it happened?¡± His expression indicated that he thought this idea was the funniest thing in the world. Jimothy looked around. It was still just his backyard. ¡°I think, um, maybe?¡± D-man tried to speak, but he was rolling on the deck laughing too hard. Finally, breathing hard, he said, ¡°T-trickfate! Ehehehe! Well! Well¡­¡± He took a deep breath and fell onto his back in front of Jimothy, looking up at the sky. ¡°Guess I died for nothing. Sorry, everyone.¡± ¡°Hey, don¡¯t say that!¡± said Jim. ¡°You don¡¯t, uh, look very dead.¡± D-man turned one eye toward Jimothy. His spines shimmered with orange light. ¡°I guess we shouldn¡¯t talk, then. Not now. I mean, not you. I guess? I don¡¯t know if it matters. Especially now that I¡¯m¡­¡± he stood up. ¡°Nice to meet you again, Jim. It was a pleasure reliving the awkwardness of our first encounter. Which¡­maybe was my own fault, because of this? Haha!¡± He continued to laugh for a while, and his laughter was contagious the way that genuine, joyful laughter can sometimes be. It made Jimothy smile, and he even almost began laughing as well even though he didn¡¯t understand anything that D-man was saying. When the stranger finally calmed down, he was looking at the trees swaying in the wind over the backyard, and the clouds in the blue sky beyond them. ¡°Hey, I like your world,¡± he said. Jimothy was surprised to see that D-man was crying. Tears, sparkling like molten copper, dripped down his scaly cheeks. ¡°It¡¯s nice. So much green. It really is a beautiful color.¡± He laughed again, briefly, but this time it was sad. Jimothy didn¡¯t think he had ever heard sad laughter before, but here it was. He didn¡¯t know what to say. ¡°I guess you don¡¯t know this,¡± D-man continued, ¡°but I know everything you¡¯re dealing with right now. So listen: it¡¯s all going to be okay. Is time a closed loop? Acarnus says so. I¡¯m not so sure. You following, Jim?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°They¡¯re going to tell you that you can¡¯t fight entropy. They¡¯re going to say that happy endings don¡¯t exist. And they¡¯re not wrong, but it¡¯s our job to disagree anyway, right? Because we¡¯re painters. We¡¯re prophets.¡± Jimothy blinked at the stranger. ¡°I¡­I like my world, too.¡± ¡°I know you¡¯re struggling to keep up,¡± said D-man, his spines shimmering. ¡°I¡¯m reading your mind right now; hope you don¡¯t mind¡­¡± he was clearly about to continue, but he interrupted himself by laughing for about twenty seconds. He was out of breath by the time he continued. He leaned closer to Jim and spoke in a lower, conspiratorial whisper. ¡°We can do it, friend. Together.¡± His chameleon eyes were too bright, too intense; Jim had to look away. ¡°Listen,¡± D-man continued. ¡°You¡¯re going to meet me in your future. I won¡¯t remember this conversation. I might even be a jerk at first. But when you talk to me, tell me this: that I¡¯m¡­¡± he swallowed a fit of giggles; his skin turned bright green. ¡°Tell me that you know I¡¯m in love¡­with Fiora. Okay? Because I told you. Haha! That¡¯ll get my attention. Can you do that?¡± Jim nodded slowly. ¡°I¡­maybe?¡± ¡°I¡¯m gonna put a trigger in your mind so you don¡¯t forget this. Is that okay?¡± It took Jimothy a moment to realize that D-man was waiting for permission to do something. It sounded important. Did he trust this D-man? He found that he did. But also, did it matter? This was a dream. D-man was laughing again. ¡°Look at the Line, Jim. Am I real? You tell me.¡± Jim found the Line. To his immense surprise, D-man was real. ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jimothy faintly. ¡°You can do the trigger thing.¡± D-man stopped laughing long enough to say, ¡°I knew you¡¯d say that.¡± Everything went orange for a moment. Then they were sitting on the back porch again, and D-man was looking out at the great world beyond and appreciating the colors just as much as Jimothy was. Then the D-man said, ¡°I¡¯m fading, and you¡¯re waking up. We¡¯ll talk later, ok? Those who love each other will never meet for the last time.¡± He paused. ¡°But wait! Before you go, here¡¯s a riddle for the road: No blindness but our sight No beginning but the end No darkness but the light No enemies but our friends D-man smiled at Jim. His spines glowed orange, and a strange multi-tonal hum arose around him. Jimothy felt the hairs of his arms stand on end. D-man reached out, and exhaustion overwhelmed him. He fell¡­ ¡­and opened his eyes. He saw the kaleidoscope of colors from his night-light on the ceiling. He thought he had just had a very strange dream, but he couldn¡¯t quite¡­it had seemed like maybe it was important. He closed his eyes and tried to see the Line. He usually remembered his dreams perfectly with The Line. He had a lot of trouble this time. Something obscured the Line. Something¡­orange? He wasn¡¯t sure why he thought it was orange, but that just seemed correct. Not being able to see the Line worried him a little. He sat up and looked to where the easel holding Black stood in a corner of the room. Did that corner look a little darker than usual? Without the Line he couldn¡¯t be sure. Without the Line he couldn¡¯t really be sure of anything. He should probably burn that painting, though. Chapter 16 Chapter 16 Kaitlyn Carter April Kaitlyn Carter dreamt she was a butterfly. It was a beautiful dream! And it was a normal, regular dream¡ªnot like her dreams of the place with all the doors. She had big, beautiful wings that were white and blue and pink, and they sparkled in the sunlight. The square-cube law didn¡¯t apply in this dream, so she was able to flit about as gracefully as a real butterfly. She fluttered over her house and up into the cloudy sky, which became stained by colors from the sunset. The clouds all moved willy-nilly, scurrying about like big bright beetles on important business. She laughed as she kept flying up, and up, and soon she was in the stars. They were big crystals drifting around, and she could push them. When they bumped into each other they made beautiful musical noises, and they scattered aurora-like trails of light behind when they moved. Kate clapped her hands in delight when they collided. She started a chain reaction, and soon the whole sky was all shivering and sparkling with light and music. She awoke with a smile. She sat up, yawned, fumbled for her glasses on the bedstand nearby. On her lap lay a big book of fairy tales from around the world. Kate loved fairy tales. They were so weird and interesting! She had always wanted to be and/or meet a princess. One of the ones she read last night, she remembered, had been about a man with a horrible scar. He had been in love, rejected because of the scar, but eventually had overcome obstacles and got the scar removed, and it all worked out. Kate had hoped it would end with personal growth on his part, but this had been a false hope. The moral, apparently, was that physical disfigurement obstructs true love. Kate found this to be a big fat load of baloney . She hoped so, anyway. She reached for the mirror by her bedside and took another look at her face. No change. Same as every day since the end of January. Her left shoulder and cheek and neck looked like they were made of glass and partially shattered. Kate hopped out of bed and got dressed. It was a big day! And tomorrow¡­tomorrow would most likely be even bigger . She had to make sure everyone would be okay. In any case, she had to mess with the McFinnium one more time, being super-extra-careful, of course. And for this she needed to talk to Aunt Becky. Aunt Becky didn¡¯t know anything about science, especially theoretical pseudo-science like the McFinnium. But she knew a lot about the scientist named Riley McFinn. After all, she used to be married to him. Kate put on a white and blue dress with green flower print. She went to the window and checked the sky. Grey and overcast. Looked like it might rain. The roof of the lab had still not been fixed, but she had improved the temporary tarp covering to make sure it was completely secure and waterproof. She still wanted to get the roof back, but she had been so busy! And now¡­now she had an uneasy feeling that maybe it was too late, and after tomorrow the roof situation wouldn¡¯t matter very much. Looking at the sky usually reminded Kate of important things, and today was no different. The dark clouds weighed upon her, reminding her that something bad was about to happen. But also, something good. Something, in fact, maybe beautiful, like the blue sky hiding up there unseen behind the clouds. It was always up there, even in the worst storms. And the thing about storms was, they came with rainbows! Of course, this did not include storms occurring at night. Obviously . Her lab coat hung on a hook by the door. She grabbed it on her way out and in the hall she donned it with a spin and a flourish, for a moment surrounded by a swirling kaleidoscope of clouds and snowflakes and butterflies. It was a bit stiff and heavy from all the paint on it, but that was fine. Also there was a big ugly dark maroon spot on its left shoulder, which was not fine at all . But she couldn¡¯t get it out and she didn¡¯t want to make a new coat. Like her scar, it reminded her to be careful. She marched through the shadowy, empty corridors of her wing until she reached the Study. Chess sets filled the study¡ªall different kinds, from all over the world. Aunt Becky had started the collection long ago on her travels, and Kate continued to acquire ones she liked, although she didn¡¯t travel much. Several chess sets were in use, paused mid-game. Most of these were games between Kate and Aunt Becky, who sometimes went days without seeing each other but always found time to come in here and make moves on the different games. It was one of the few activities Kate enjoyed with her aunt. Kate didn¡¯t think this counted as quality time, but it was close. Sort-of. She also had a couple games with Jim, and she had recently started one with Heidi! Although Heidi was impatient and not used to playing an extended game of chess over the course of days or weeks. The Study also contained a large number of maps and globes. A big sepia-toned globe dominated the center of the room like a star around which everything else revolved. It looked like a pin-cushion, stabbed with a little colored pin in every location that Aunt Becky had traveled to, which was almost everywhere. The different colors had different meanings. A big green one skewered their current location. Kate had checked to see where Heidi lived, off the southeast coast of New Zealand. It was roughly antipodal to where Kate lived! She had shared this exciting news with Heidi, but Heidi had not been very impressed. Kate lingered a moment in the Study. She liked it here. Books lined the walls, and all the chess sets and globes created an atmosphere that was very studious . It smelled like paper and ink, like dust and concentration and knowledge! Liz had loved this room, predictably. Callie liked it too, for some reason. The big sepia-toned globe was a gift to Aunt Becky from Kate¡¯s father, Nicholas Carter. He had signed his name on Antarctica, where even his sister had not ventured. Even in the dim light, Kate could make out the black pin on the Atlantic, marking the approximate location where Nicholas Carter¡¯s plane had vanished. His personal plane was probably there at the bottom of the sea, and Aunt Becky believed that Nicholas Carter was right down there with it. He had taught Kate chess. He had taught her calculus, fluid mechanics, quantum theory. His books were all around her, lining the walls of the Study. For years after the crash Kate had believed that maybe someday her father would suddenly show up at the front door and then they would be able to sit down and play their first game of chess in a long time. She would tell him everything she had learned, and all the crazy things her uncle McFinn was doing. They would bring back the horses and ride together again. But maybe that was all childish. She always thought he had been special, like he was secretly some kind of superhero. She always thought there was no way he would just die in a random plane crash. He would come back, suddenly and when the world needed him the most, like Sherlock Holmes from the Reichenbach Falls. But it had been four years. Kate sniffed, slapped her cheeks, wiped her eyes. She had work to do! And she had to do it right. Something her father could be proud of. But first: McFinnium. Some of Uncle Riley¡¯s notes mentioned a cascade, the kind of self-generating exponential increase in energy of which McFinnium was capable. She had discovered these notes in his old study, snooping around after the explosion two months ago. This cascade sounded a lot like what had happened when she had blown up her lab. It sounded a lot like what Mr. Sheppard described happening at October Industries at the same time. And she was beginning to think it had something to do with the Museum. Kaitlyn Carter feared that she might have missed something terribly important. And so, she needed some more McFinnium. She had to make sure. Kate wandered around the mansion searching for Aunt Becky. She found the famous Rebecca Carter in the kitchen. Rebecca Carter was the kind of person who managed to butter her bread imperiously, her every movement deliberate and performed without hesitation. Even her stance as she stood there assembling her sandwich indicated that any man foolish enough to attempt to interfere with her present activity would meet with swift judgment. Rebecca Carter stood tall, strong and indomitable. Her dark hair, now beginning to fade to iron-grey, hung in a thick, short braid. Her thin, hard face bore marks of a ferocious kind of beauty (AJ and Liz thought so, anyway), either marred or enhanced by three old scars running parallel down from her right temple to her jaw. Claw marks from a tiger (Panthera tigris). Aunt Becky had many scars, and they all had interesting stories to go with them. She wore her usual khaki cargo vest, boots, and utility belt complete with revolver and a hunting knife. She always was ready for adventure. On the kitchen table lay a hunting rifle, shells scattered around. More than one man had made the mistake of attempting to court her based on her appearance alone. None of these men proved a match for the violence of her personality or the forcefulness of her lifestyle. Kate thought that Riley McFinn was probably the only person in the world who could have married her, which he did. They were both crazy! An adventurer right out of a book, and a mad scientist. Probably too crazy for each other, or maybe their craziness canceled out. The marriage hadn¡¯t lasted long, anyway. ¡°Aha!¡± said Aunt Becky. ¡°There you are. Saved me the trouble of tracking you down.¡± Kate took a closer look at the table. It was heaped with tools and supplies as though Aunt Becky were packing for a trek in the Serengeti, although it could just as easily have been for a trip to London. Aunt Becky packed like that no matter where she went. ¡°G-go-going somewhere?¡± she asked. ¡°Alan Sheppard is visiting Riley. He advised me to stay out of it.¡± Aunt Becky finished creating her sandwich and took a huge bite. ¡°Oh.¡± This meant that Aunt Becky would definitely not stay out of it. Kate thought that Mr. Sheppard knew what he was doing, and probably they should do what he advised. But there was no use trying to talk Aunt Becky out of it. Or out of anything, ever. ¡°I n-n-need some m-more M-mc-mcfi-finnium.¡± Aunt Becky¡¯s ever-stern gaze softened a bit at Kate¡¯s stutter. Kate hated her stutter. What she hated most about it was the way it seemed to endear her to her aunt and generally make people pity her. She had begged Liz not to tell anyone about it. Not yet. When she met them¡­well, she¡¯d deal with that when it came up. ¡°Don¡¯t have any, kid,¡± said Aunt Becky, chewing. ¡°Only one man can make it, and he didn¡¯t give me much. You blew it all up.¡± Kate considered trying to explain to Aunt Becky that Riley didn¡¯t really make the McFinnium so much as pull it like taffy from another plane of existence, but decided not to bother. Aunt Becky wouldn¡¯t care much either way. ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can bring you some back,¡± Aunt Becky continued. ¡°He¡¯s got a soft spot for his niece.¡± She finished the sandwich in her fourth and final chomp and washed it down with what looked like a whole quart of milk. ¡°Okay,¡± said Kate. ¡°Have a n-nice trip!¡± ¡°Ugh, Scotland in April,¡± said Aunt Becky. She slapped a broad-brimmed leather hat onto her head. ¡°It¡¯s still January there. It¡¯s January half the damn year in Scotland. Now Mozambique¡ªthere¡¯s proper weather for you. When I led the Quairi expedition we nearly froze, drowned and passed out from heat stroke in the same¡­¡± Kate slipped away. She had better things to do than listen to a half-hour-long anecdote about one of Rebecca Carter¡¯s great adventures. There remained a possibility that McFinnium still existed somewhere on the premises of the estate. She needed a means of determining if this was true, and then of locating it. She didn¡¯t think she would need much of it to test the cascade theory (carefully!). One of the weird things about McFinnium was that mass didn¡¯t seem to have much correlation to energy output¡ªeither in intensity or in spectral type. The color and shape of the crystals were much more important. Kate went out back to her lab. Whiskey hopped up and ran circles around her as she crossed the field. The wind pressed against her from the north, carrying the scent of rain, and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. It seemed strangely dark for mid-morning. She shivered. In the lab she hastily donned her lab ensemble of protective gear and then opened the lab vault , where she kept dangerous and/or sensitive items and materials. It had a big scary radiation warning on the front, as well as a biohazard sign. In this vault lay the devices shipped to her from the South Pacific by Alan Sheppard. One looked like a white left-handed glove with circuitry woven into the material. One looked like a complicated spyglass. The last resembled a big grey plate. They had strange properties. The plate, for example, could fix its location at any point, even if it was just hanging in the air. And once so fixed, it could not be moved. Kate had fixed it in the air and then jumped on and down on it, and it hadn¡¯t budged. Nothing she had tried could move it, until it was un-fixed. She still didn¡¯t really know why this happened. But it couldn¡¯t happen anymore. The McFinnium crystals inside of it had died. She didn¡¯t know why this had happened, either. Until the crystals had died, she thought that McFinnium was a conduit for some inexhaustible source of energy from somewhere else . Maybe she was right, and the crystals were flawed? The person she should really talk to about this was McFinn himself, her ex-uncle. But nobody could ever find him if he didn¡¯t want to be found. And he was currently up to something.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. The crystals had died in the other devices as well, their mysterious inner light snuffed out. Instead of being sources of strange energy they became simple crystals, albeit ones with peculiar-bordering-on-the-impossible molecular structures. McFinnium did not appear to have protons, like some weird kind of stable neutronium, and it reacted to other elements in ways that she could not yet fully predict. She spent the rest of the morning disassembling and reconfiguring a Geiger counter. This project met with failure, but it was a successful failure in that it allowed her second attempt to succeed. By noon she was the proud owner of a device capable of (usually) detecting McFinnium radiation (of some types) within a small area. It was a rough job, but she thought it would work. It sometimes accurately detected the dead crystals when she hid them all over the lab. At the very least, it didn¡¯t seem to pick up on anything else . After lunch she systematically scanned the entire mansion. She was locked out of Aunt Becky¡¯s private quarters, but she tried the walls all around it and didn¡¯t detect any McFinnium within. It took her nearly an hour, and the very last place she looked was in her own wing, and more specifically in her own room at the top corner. She had detected nothing up to this point. She entered her room not to look for McFinnium, but to consider what to do next. But as soon as she walked in, the McFinnium Counter began clicking. She scanned her room and narrowed it down to her bed. Under her bed, in fact, where she kept¡­ Kate blinked. She tossed the counter on her bed, twisted one corner of her mouth down and folded her arms in stern disapproval. Really ? Did her father make her a chess set in which the pieces were actually made of a rare, unstable, mysterious substance that his brother-in-law created? Kate shook her head and got down to dig out the chess set. It came in a heavy titanium box (the first clue). It was probably lined with lead, although she had never checked. She pulled it out and heaved it up onto her bed. She unlatched it and flipped the lid open. The squares of the board were alternating cloudy blue sky and starry night sky, expertly painted on stone. But now the board was broken, shattered dead in the center as if it had been struck with a hammer, just like the skin of her left shoulder. Cracks threaded through the alternating day-sky and night-sky surface of the board. But what about the pieces? Kate dumped both cloth bags onto her bed, scattering light and dark. The pieces were of crystal, and they had been beautifully carved in the shapes of animals. The white queen was a butterfly, the king was a dog, the rooks were some kind of lizard, the bishops were dragons, the knights were cats (they looked like Callie!), and the pawns looked like various kinds of birds. The dark side had a bunch of different animals too, like a frog, a shark, a chameleon, an eagle, and more. Now, on her bed, most of the pieces had shattered to tiny fragments. Kate aimed the McFinnium counter at them, just to be sure. It went wild. She picked up the butterfly (which she was sure was supposed to be her, in the cute fatherly way in which her dad designed this board), and whipped out a magnifying glass for closer inspection. Active McFinnium glowed with a subtle inner light. Were these pieces dead? Yes, it seemed so. This was the work of resonance . All existing McFinnium was connected somehow, and when one experienced a power surge (via cascade, for example), other McFinnium around the world registered this, and maybe somehow responded. The pieces must have shattered or burned out from resonance, most likely due to the explosion in her lab two months before, despite their protective case. She frowned at the broken board. Why would her father give her a chess set with McFinnium? Because he knew she¡¯d need it someday? Because it was important? It must be; he wouldn¡¯t just give her something that might explode unless it mattered, right? Unless he didn¡¯t know how dangerous it could be at the time. She paced back and forth in her room, brows furrowed in contemplation. Eventually she realized that she was staring at her door. The door gave her an idea. There might be a way to bring the dead McFinnium back to life. And¡­maybe she should go to Chicago. A message sound from her computer interrupted her brainstorming. Kate collapsed into her pile of stuffed creatures to check it out. Heidi. Good. HS: Kate KC: Heidi! HS: I¡¯m a little nervous about meeting everybody. KC: Don¡¯t be nervous KC: You already know me, and you¡¯ve been talking to Liz a lot right? HS: Yes KC: Well, you¡¯ll meet Eric first. Don¡¯t take him seriously! Isaac is a weirdo but he¡¯s nice. And you¡¯ll love Jim! Everybody loves Jim! HS: I do love Jimothy. HS: I¡¯m sorry, maybe that was weird HS: I didn¡¯t mean anything serious by that HS: Just that he¡¯s different HS: In a good way KC: in a GREAT way KC: ;) KC: oh I wish I could be there with you! KC: actually... KC: I might be going to Chicago to meet up with you guys! HS: Really? That would be great. KC: I don¡¯t know for sure yet KC: there may be some things I have to do here KC: but I will if I can! KC: Heidi, do you know where Mr. Sheppard is going while you are in Chicago? HS: I don¡¯t know. He¡¯s been very busy these last two months. HS: Why? HS: Does it have to do with October Industries? KC: Yes. And I think it has to do with the incident in January. HS: ¡°Incident?¡± HS: Are you saying that you know what happened? KC: I have KC: some ideas ? KC: but it is a capital mistake to theorize before having all of the evidence! HS: I already know that whatever October Industries does, it isn¡¯t entirely legal. HS: Their online presence is a front. HS: But Alan has done a lot of dangerous things. KC: Yes he has KC: Well, whatever happened over there in January, it was something bad KC: like, REALLY bad KC: I don¡¯t know whether they think Mr. Sheppard is still alive HS: But you seem to know that something is about to happen. KC: Yes, but I don¡¯t know what, exactly! KC: AARRRGGH! KC: My uncle knows, but I can¡¯t reach him! KC: I wish my dad was here KC: I¡¯m really not very special HS: Kate, you are the most special person I know. KC: Mr. Sheppard is special too KC: The next time you see him... KC: you should give him a big hug! KC: I¡¯ve got to go now, Heidi! HS: Okay. I trust you, Kate. KC: :D KC: <3 KC: I know you are good with guns HS: Yes? KC: It might be hard to find one once you are in Chicago KC: But maybe... KC: you should try anyway KC: just in case HS: OK Kate. I will. KC: Bye! Kate closed her laptop, then growled at the blank wall for a moment. Heidi was lonely . Kate knew it, and it made her mad. Well not for long! They¡¯d be together soon. All right. Time to play for the butterflies. Kate strapped on the electric bass in the corner of her room. It was black and green and heavy, with angular edges. She had designed it. She liked to play it for her butterflies. She took it, along with the broken white butterfly queen of the chess set, down to her butterfly room. Once inside, she took a moment to appreciate the smell of life, the warmth, the bright happy light, the living confetti fluttering all around her. She always thought the butterflies seemed happy to see her. She knew they were. The lepidopterarium (now there¡¯s a word she would never be able to say out loud!) occupied a space roughly twice the size of her room. Full of plants and flowers and butterflies, there was a little clearing at the back with a chair and table just for her! Also an amp. She set up and tried out a few notes on the bass. Beautiful! She loved the sound of the electric bass resonating in this room. The butterflies did too; they gathered around like an eager audience. Kate closed her eyes, leaned back, and began to play. She didn¡¯t play any of Eric¡¯s or Isaac¡¯s music, although she enjoyed picking out bass lines for their pieces. No, she always improvised for the butterflies. They liked that. She tried to recall fragments of the songs she heard in her dreams. She began with a single line, and bit by bit added layers of complexity. A few minutes in, once she had a good groove going, she opened her eyes. The butterflies danced around her, flitting about in what seemed like some complex pattern on the verge of comprehension. Kate opened her mouth in a broad silent laugh and closed her eyes again. She drifted away in the music. Her mind went back to the butterfly dream. This was as close as she could get to that. To flying. To touching he stars. She didn¡¯t see it happening, but her scar began to shimmer with color, and the crystalline butterfly on the table began to glow. Chapter 17 Chapter 17 Michael Whyte April Michael sipped lemonade from a blue plastic cup at the rickety kitchen table. A blue notebook sat before him, a heap of more notebooks and stacks of paper beyond, and a box containing an inexplicable object. He faced the window, which looked out onto an empty sunny street. The window illuminated the cool interior of the kitchen. Slow week at the publishing house. It gave him time to work on his own stories, for which he jotted notes in the many notebooks lying around the house. Many of his ideas came from Jimothy. For instance, he had one now about a ball that bounced all by itself, disrupting an otherwise entirely normal setting. Bit of surrealism. But what sat in front of him that afternoon was a story by one of Jim¡¯s friends, Isaac Milton. Isaac would never let Mike read any of his stuff, but Elizabeth apparently had no scruples sending his stories to a professional editor of fiction for review behind his back. Jim sure had a funny bunch of friends. Isaac¡¯s story lacked polish, but it wasn¡¯t too bad. Its clever pseudo-self-aware silliness had made Mike laugh. A refreshing break from the heavy-handed self-serious stuff he typically had to wade through. Isaac gleefully disregarded the conventions of which he simultaneously displayed perfect awareness. The genre was oddball fantasy, something along the lines of Terry Pratchett. There was also something of George MacDonald in it: a philosophy of terrible goodness, unbeautiful art. A bizarre yet invigorating brew, altogether. If it had been a real submission, Michael would have returned it with a rejection and an encouraging note to keep writing but to stop trying so hard. Since he had received this story illicitly, he wasn¡¯t sure what to do with it now. So he set this aside and began work on his own project, about the bouncing ball, but the box across the table beeped at him only a few minutes into his writing. It was a single low, sustained beep. This happened every once in a while, and Mike had no idea what it meant. He had no idea about anything pertaining to that box or its contents. And Alan Sheppard, the source of the package, was not returning his calls. The object was a metallic device like a bunch of discs piled up, the approximate size and shape of a six-stack of pancakes. It looked modular, designed to come apart into six pieces, but Michael hesitated to meddle with it. The top surface was embedded with lights and tiny readouts with numbers and wave-form shapes and symbols he didn¡¯t understand. The bottom had a few switches, and one side had some dials and buttons. Nothing was labeled, there were no instructions, and he had no clue what this thing was or what it did even after extensive online research. He put these thoughts out of his head and tried to return to work on his story. His phone vibrated on the table. It was from a number he didn¡¯t know. He hesitated a moment, but then thought it might be Alan. Maybe he would get some answers. ¡°Hello, this is Michael Whyte.¡± ¡°Hi, Michael! This is AJ.¡± ¡°Yeah, I, uh, recognized your voice.¡± Michael closed his eyes and shook his head. After a moment of silence, he continued. ¡°How can I help you?¡± ¡°I have a question, about one of Jim¡¯s paintings.¡± ¡°Oh? Okay. Uh, which one?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t have a title that I can see.¡± Mike gave a quick bark of laughter. ¡°Oh, they all have titles.¡± Jim cared a lot about titles. ¡°Can you describe it?¡± He stood and moved to the computer on his desk in the living room, where he kept a file of all of Jim¡¯s paintings. He removed his running shoes from the office chair and dropped into it. ¡°It¡¯s a killer. Your brother¡¯s a sage with an abyssal soul.¡± Michael carefully did not laugh in response to this, because he still wasn¡¯t really clear on whether AJ used odd vocabulary as a means of humor or whether she was serious. He said, ¡°Wow. Yeah, but I meant, what is depicted in the painting?¡± ¡°Most of it is blank, but along the bottom there¡¯s a field of jagged objects, jutting ruinously at different angles. And there is a person standing apex of one, I think it might be Jim, and he¡¯s holding a paintbrush and painting the sky.¡± ¡°Painting the sky,¡± said Mike as he opened the file and began scrolling through the images. ¡°That sounds like one of his titles. But I don¡¯t remember one like that¡­¡± Jim showed him all his paintings when he finished, so that Mike could photograph them. Mike was pretty sure he hadn¡¯t seen one like that. ¡°Why do you ask? Where did you see it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s in my closet. Someone just left it at church.¡± ¡°Um. You mean you actually have the physical painting?¡± ¡°Verily. It¡¯s pretty big. I took it home because I saw it was signed by Jimothy. And it spoke to me.¡± ¡°Oh. Wow, how did one of his paintings get all the way over there? And I¡¯m not seeing that one. Maybe it¡¯s an earlier one that I don¡¯t have catalogued?¡± ¡°Want a picture?¡± ¡°Yeah, can you do that? Wow, this is pretty cool. What are the¡­odds.¡± Oh no. This was some Jim-weirdness, wasn¡¯t it? This was one of those bizarre things that happened sometimes just because Jimothy. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought.¡± AJ sounded as suspicious as Mike felt. What were the odds? Really crazy, that¡¯s what they were. And AJ was sure smart enough to know it. But hold on. The painting might not even be Jimothy¡¯s. He¡¯d reserve judgment on the odds until he saw it. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ll take a look at it, and then if it¡¯s really his we can talk about how weird this is.¡± ¡°Sounds good! Picture incoming.¡± AJ hung up. Mike swiveled his desk chair back and forth a few times. It began to slowly sink of its own accord; he lifted his weight and reset it. Just wait for the picture. Wait for it¡­ His phone vibrated. He opened up the most recent message, an image file. It wasn¡¯t a very good picture: the angle was askew and glare obscured part of the image. But it was in-focus, and Mike zoomed in to take a closer look. He was no connoisseur of art, but thanks to Jim he had learned quite a bit about styles and technique. Jim¡¯s genre of choice was fantastic realism: highly detailed renderings of fantastical creatures, places, or objects which did not exist. Lots of artists did this, especially concept artists; Jim had introduced Mike to many of them. Jim¡¯s special strength lay in his ability to instill atmosphere into a piece, which he accomplished primarily through brilliant use of lighting, like a combination of Salvador Dali and Caspar David Friedrich. Jim worked prolifically; he had created hundreds of paintings. Mike had photographed all of them, or so he thought, and was therefore intimately acquainted with Jim¡¯s style. The painting he was looking at, discovered by AJ at her church in Philadelphia, was definitely Jim¡¯s style. The signature in the bottom right, also definitely Jim¡¯s, only confirmed it. He called AJ back. ¡°Well?¡± she asked as soon as she picked up. ¡°It¡¯s his,¡± said Mike. ¡°But I¡¯ve never seen it before. It could be one that just slipped past me. Jim¡¯s not good at keeping track of his art¡­¡± ¡°Or? I heard an ¡®or¡¯ in there.¡± ¡°Or¡­I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t think of another explanation.¡± ¡°So how did I just happen to find it? Why did someone leave it in my church? That¡¯s not a normal thing, by the way. People don¡¯t just drop off paintings in the foyer.¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know. This is Jim, and you know, sometimes with Jim¡­ah, nevermind. It¡¯s just¡­¡± ¡°Just what?¡± ¡°Just¡­weird things happen sometimes, I guess? Forget it.¡± ¡°Mike. I don¡¯t know Jim very well, but I¡¯ve heard a lot about him from Liz. I¡¯m sitting here with my sister¡¯s cat Callie, who can go back and forth between us in seconds even when we¡¯re hundreds of miles away. I can handle any weirdness about Jim.¡± ¡°You¡­wait, what? Callie¡ªLiz¡¯s cat? The one I saw at your house, the blind one?¡± ¡°She¡¯s not blind.¡± ¡°She has no eyes!¡± ¡°We saw her at my house, but she spent most of that night at the Carter Estate. In the UK.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°She might even visit you now, since she¡¯s watching us talk.¡± ¡°Um. Okay. I¡¯ll have to¡­think about that. All I¡¯m saying with Jim is that sometimes stuff happens that¡­agh, I can¡¯t explain it.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you a writer?¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°I¡¯m an editor. I¡¯m just saying, don¡¯t expect me to be able to tell you why you found one of Jim¡¯s paintings, one I have never seen, against all odds. Hey, I¡¯ll ask him about it. See if he recognizes it. If he doesn¡¯t, then¡­we¡¯ll see.¡± ¡°We will see, indeed.¡± ¡°Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?¡± Wait, did that sound like he wanted the conversation to end? ¡°Well. Do you know much about Liz¡¯s other friends? The ones that were there for her birthday?¡± ¡°Eric and Isaac? Yeah, I know them pretty well. They used to live here. They made friends with Jim back in elementary before they both moved away.¡± ¡°What about the other two?¡± ¡°Other two? That would be Kate and¡­?¡± ¡°Heidi Sheppard.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Mike narrowed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. ¡°I don¡¯t know them as well. Why do you ask?¡± But he was getting that sinking feeling again. Six kids. ¡°You know, never mind. It¡¯s nothing. It¡¯s just Liz¡¯s been talking a lot about them lately. I guess someone said they might be getting together again for Jim¡¯s birthday? That¡¯s coming up, right?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Okay, wow. This was news to Michael. He¡¯d be fine with it, though. More than fine, honestly, if AJ was also attending. ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t heard anything about it. But you¡¯re welcome. Or, they¡¯re welcome. Whichever!¡± He closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. ¡°Oh, hey. One more thing. Have you heard anything from Alan Sheppard?¡± ¡°Heidi¡¯s dad? Nothing. Why?¡± ¡°Okay. Let me know if you hear from him, okay?¡± ¡°Huh. ¡®Kay. Mike?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay if I call you Mike, right?¡± ¡°Yeah, still okay.¡± ¡°Oh, right.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°What?¡± Mike began silently shaking with laughter. ¡°What were you going to say?¡± ¡°Oh. I was just going to say how weird of a conversation this has been.¡± Mike¡¯s suppressed laughter seeped into his voice. ¡°Yeah you got that right. Mission accomplished, I guess.¡± ¡°Verily.¡± He could hear her smile. ¡°Talk to you later?¡± He smiled too. ¡°Verily. Bye.¡± ¡°Bye!¡± Mike hung up quickly and groaned. So awkward. He turned his phone back on and added AJ to his contacts. ¡°Who was that?¡± said Jim behind him. Michael started at the sound. For a guy who fell down all the time Jim sure could move quietly. ¡°Jim! Just the man I wanted to see. Come over here for a minute. That was AJ, and she found a painting she thought might be yours.¡± Mike swiveled to look at his younger brother. The chair began to sink again; he let himself drop all the way down. Jim held some kind of black board in front of him. Was he experimenting with painting on black backgrounds? That would be new for him. Jim walked to a nearby wall and carefully set the board against it. He had to adjust its position to make it fit among the dumbbell weights lined up there. From this angle Mike saw the texture of paint on it, as well as the white along the outside edges. Was that¡­a white canvas completely covered in black paint? ¡°Jim, take a look at this.¡± Mike plugged his phone into the computer and opened the photo AJ had sent him. ¡°Recognize it?¡± Jimothy squinted at the screen and leaned in close. ¡°It looks like it¡¯s mine!¡± he said after a moment. ¡°Is that my signature?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said Mike. ¡°Do you remember doing this painting?¡± Jimothy unconsciously reached up with one hand and began rubbing his temple. His forehead scrunched up. ¡°Take it easy, Jim. Yes or no. Think of the Line.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t see the Line, Mike. Not right now. But I know I haven¡¯t painted this. Um. Not yet? I think maybe I almost had some kind of idea that could have turned into this?¡± Mike sighed. ¡°Okay. Then don¡¯t worry about it for now. We¡¯ll take care of it.¡± Mike took the opportunity to get a closer look at the black painting. The oil hadn¡¯t dried yet. It looked like just a solid black coat of paint, pretty thick in places. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s Black,¡± said Jim. ¡°That¡¯s the title, I mean. I was, um, going to burn it.¡± ¡°Does fresh oil paint burn?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I was going to find out. I don¡¯t think it matters if it burns completely, though. Wait, maybe it does. I guess it would still be black.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t burn it then? It would still be black.¡± ¡°Maybe you should paint over it. Make it¡­not black?¡± ¡°But then it wouldn¡¯t be Black!¡± Mike shrugged. ¡°Then I don¡¯t know what to tell you. Do what you want.¡± He stood. ¡°Hey, I was thinking of taking Hazel to the park today. Want to come?¡± ¡°Yeah!¡± Mike made lunch for Jim, and a half hour later they arrived at a nearby park. Mike had packed kites, just in case, and after some consideration had thrown the mystery-box with its contents into the backseat as well. Hazel got excited about the park, as he did about everything. As soon as the car door opened, he rocketed out and into the vast expanse of green grass. Jim followed after him, laughing, and fell down onto the grass when he tripped on the curb. Mike brought up the rear, helping Jimothy to his feet with one hand and carrying an expensive camera with the other. Mike strolled around and took pictures while Jim played fetch with Hazel. Jim sat down while he did this because Hazel had a tendency to tackle Jim when returning the tennis ball. Jim always laughed when it happened though. Mike got some good shots of Hazel cannonballing into Jimothy. Hazel eventually became bored with returning the ball and began running around with it, streaking back and forth across the park with inexhaustible energy. Mike sat down beside Jim, but kept an eye on Hazel. There weren¡¯t many people or dogs in the park due to the overcast sky and its promise of rain, but Hazel sometimes became a nuisance to others, running circles around them and trying to get them to play. Sometimes he almost knocked people over. Mike had a whistle that he used to distract Hazel and bring him back if Mike spotted any children playing. Hazel had never tackled a child to the ground before, as far as Mike knew, but he was not taking any chances. ¡°Hey, Mike,¡± said Jim. ¡°Yeah, Jim?¡± said Mike. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking.¡± ¡°Uh oh.¡± Jimothy grinned. ¡°I was talking to Eric. And I¡¯ve been thinking, maybe I don¡¯t want to paint for a living.¡± Mike turned to Jim in surprise. ¡°What? Why? What did Eric say?¡± ¡°Well, he didn¡¯t say anything. But you know how he always wants to help people? Like be in the Coast Guard or something?¡± Jim stared out at the park, watching Hazel run. ¡°Jim, you can¡¯t be in the Coast Guard.¡± ¡°But I was thinking, you know how good I am at finding things? I¡¯m really good at finding things. Especially missing things.¡± ¡°I know, Jim.¡± ¡°And people too. I know I can find missing people. And maybe that would be a better thing to do than painting. There are lots of missing people! And when I think about how sad it would be if one of my friends went missing, or if you did¡­if I can help others not be sad like that, I think I probably should. I want to.¡± Mike looked back out at the park, Hazel running around. He didn¡¯t know what to say, so he said, ¡°Huh.¡± This was something new. His little brother never ceased to surprise. Jim sure could find things. He would just guess where something was, and his guess would just happen to be right. Almost every time. And he wanted to find missing people. That was¡­awesome? But did he really want that more than to paint? ¡°Of course I¡¯d still paint,¡± said Jim. ¡°Just maybe not as much? Or maybe I could paint maps of where things are!¡± Mike chuckled. ¡°I think that sounds great, Jim. Is there something that brought this on? Is there something you want to find right now? Or someone?¡± Jim thought about it for a minute. ¡°Well, I already did,¡± he said slowly, and his tone of voice made a chill run through Michael. His little brother sounded scared. ¡°Remember that painting?¡± ¡°The black one?¡± ¡°Yeah. I know where he is.¡± Jim focused on the grass by his folded legs. His eyes were wide. The overcast sky seemed lower, darker. The wind gusted around them. ¡°He?¡± There hadn¡¯t been anyone in the painting. ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jim. ¡°Who? And, uh, where?¡± ¡°Black,¡± said Jim. ¡°He¡¯s in Montana. I think Isaac might be in trouble.¡± Chapter 18 Chapter 18 Rebecca Carter April On a train bound for Edinburgh, Rebecca Carter sipped a lowball of scotch. She gazed out the window in contemplation. The fading sunset left lingering traces of luminous pink cloud over the dark landscape as it slid by. Her faint smile became a grimace. That pink color. It reminded her of that damned stuff Riley made. The stuff that had scarred and nearly killed Kaitlyn. The stuff that had essentially ended their marriage several years ago. She needed to talk to him. It had been a while. He was just so damn smug . He acted as though nothing had happened between them, as though the divorce had reset their relationship to back before they had been married. Maybe that was actually how he thought of it. Rebecca closed her eyes and drew another long sip of whiskey. God . What had ever made her think marrying that man was a good idea? Was it the promise of adventure? Had she been that na?ve? Maybe it had been the influence of her step-brother, Kaitlyn¡¯s father, Riley¡¯s best friend. Nicholas Carter. He and Riley had been two sides of the same coin, the theorist and the inventor. Then: Nick¡¯s death. The divorce. Kaitlyn. Rebecca shook her head and turned her gaze down to the amber liquid trembling in her glass. It shivered with the reflected lights of the train cab. Science . Science could go soak its head. Kaitlyn got it from them, her father and uncle. It had already nearly killed her. That was one of the things she needed to ask Riley. Another one, maybe the most important one: what did he have to do with October Industries? All of this thinking made her dizzy. She wasn¡¯t her brother; she wasn¡¯t Kaitlyn. She wasn¡¯t made for puzzling things out. She was made for doing . She needed another drink. She sat in the lounge car, an uncomfortably warm, bright room, so it was a short trip for a refill of whiskey. People held quiet conversations, laughter occasionally ringing out over the muttering. It smelled like cologne¡ªwhether expensive or cheap Rebecca Carter had no idea. Either way, she disliked the place. She would rather be out there, in the cold and darkness passing by outside the window. She preferred to drink outside. Her phone buzzed as she sat back down. Alan Sheppard. Now there was a man of action. She answered the call. Alan spoke at once, right to business as always. ¡°Rebecca? I just learned that OI may be targeting you and Kaitlyn. I suggest laying low.¡± Hrm. Targeting? Alan had told her that the October Industries¡¯ manufacturing and research business was merely a fa?ade. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®targeting?¡¯¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure. But they have some interest in the two of you.¡± ¡°Of course they do, dear. We¡¯re close to Riley. He¡¯s the cause of all this, mark me.¡± Rebecca swirled the drink in her glass, seeing memories. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to ask. I¡¯m meeting him soon.¡± ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll see you there. Together we might force him to answer some questions.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s a question: have you heard of a scientist named Nikola Raschez? Has McFinn ever said anything about him?¡± ¡°Dear, I am literally surrounded by scientists. My whole adult life. It¡¯s been horrible, Alan. Why could I not have a family of something sensible, such as game wardens? Bounty hunters? Or perhaps special agents, such as yourself, Alan.¡± ¡°Are you drunk?¡± ¡°Mildly, dear. Mildly.¡± ¡°Nikola Raschez in charge of OI. They¡¯re planning something big. I think Kaitlyn is important to them, and they may try to get rid of her.¡± Rebecca felt cold for a moment. Get rid of Kaitlyn? If true, it proved that Riley had nothing to do with this. Also, if true, it meant Rebecca would take the next transfer directly back home. Her glass clinked on the laminated surface of the table in front of her. Damn, empty already? ¡°Rebecca?¡± ¡°You know, Alan, this reminds me of the time I met a musician in Pakistan. Made the most excellent moussaka. But she was in debt to a local band of ruffians.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mind hearing another story,¡± said Alan, and she could hear him smile, ¡°but how does this relate to Kaitlyn?¡± ¡°Well it¡¯s a long story, but the upshot is that that is when I decided that I shall never bear children, dear. Yet here I am.¡± ¡°Kaitlyn isn¡¯t a child,¡± Alan observed. ¡°Oh, but she was. She was when her father died and left her to me. And I, Alan Sheppard, I was out of my depth. I gave it an effort, you know. I read some books. But there aren¡¯t any books that tell you what to do when your child constructs a device that turns the metal parts of an automobile to liquid without heating them up. And what am I to say when she wakes me up at two in the morning with nightmares about the inevitable heat death of the universe?¡± She took a long sip, lost in the memories. ¡°She makes me feel old, Alan. She has too much energy. And her laboratory. It gives me the spooks, Alan. She has butterflies on her laser guns.¡± Alan laughed on the other end, a marvelous sound. ¡°I can understand some of that. I¡¯ve had Heidi since she was eight. I¡¯ve been guessing the whole way through. I¡¯m no father. I¡¯m worried that¡­I just want her to be able to take care of herself.¡± ¡°Nonsense, Alan. From what I hear, you¡¯ve done a bang-up job.¡± ¡°We should meet up. Trade notes.¡± ¡°That sounds lovely. I¡¯ll give Riley a call. Do let me know if you learn anything more.¡± ¡°Will do. Good luck. And be careful.¡± ¡°Of course, dear.¡± She put the phone down and tried to focus out the window. It was all dark out there now. Spark-lights slid by in the distance, giving a sense of motion in the otherwise empty void. She would trust Alan. If Kate might be in danger¡­ Riley. No delaying it any longer; she needed to talk to Riley. He would help. He would protect Kaitlyn. He might send his drones or robots or some such nonsense, but he would do it. With a sigh she dialed his number and held the phone to her ear. She noticed sweat on her forehead. Well, after all, it was so warm . Couldn¡¯t they spare a bit of air conditioning? Riley did not answer. Rebecca put the phone down on the table, maybe a little too hard, and reached into the bag at her feet. After maybe a bit more rummaging around than it ought to have taken, she managed to retrieve a small velvet box, like a ring case. Something rattled around inside. She popped it open and took a look. A dime-sized piece of McFinnium rested within. Red and spiky, like fire frozen in place. The stuff had different colors, different shapes. Light danced within the crystal as though refracted from an unseen source. It was dangerous. No chance in hell was Rebecca just giving this to her niece when asked. Something bumped against her legs below the table, causing her to snap the ring box shut. It made a sound loud enough that several others in the lounge car glanced at her. ¡°What the...¡± Rebecca angled herself to peer below the table just as something large, white, and furry pounced up onto the seat beside her. The eyeless white lynx meowed, causing everyone to glance at her again. What was this cat¡¯s name? Kelly? Carrie? She had seen it around, playing with Kaitlyn. What the hell was it doing here? ¡°Excuse me, miss,¡± said a waiter who appeared beside her as if by magic. ¡°No pets are allowed in the cabins.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not mine,¡± she said. ¡°Shoo.¡± She nudged the cat off the seat beside her. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t a clue where it came from.¡± She turned back to her empty glass, leaving the puzzled employee to deal with the cat. She popped the ring case open for another look. She had never really found out what the McFinnium did . It was some kind of battery? Not exactly radioactive, but definitely explosive. ¡°My, what¡¯s that?¡± asked the waiter, again at her side. Rebecca Carter snapped the case shut again and tucked it away in her many-pocketed vest. She turned to face the man. ¡°Don¡¯t you have better things to do? Where¡¯s that cat?¡± The waiter looked around. ¡°It, er, slipped away. In any case! Can I offer you a refill, madam?¡± Ah! Someone on this train had manners, at least. ¡°Certainly.¡± She raised her empty glass. The man took it and went to the bar without asking what she¡¯d like. Observant. Good waiter. Except. She thought there weren¡¯t any waiters on this train? That was why she had to go get the past few refills herself. Hrm. Rebecca Carter had a sixth sense for danger, and it began tingling. It had saved her life more than once, such as for example when she had turned on a whim while hiking in India, just in time to see the tiger who had given her the scars on her face behind her and about to pounce. This was the same feeling she¡¯d had then. Or was it just whiskey and paranoia? Hrm. The waiter returned with her glass, and Rebecca watched him closely. Time to play up the inebriation. Which, honestly, required little playing up. ¡°What a gentleman,¡± she said, slipping into a slurred voice as she reached for the glass. (Whadda gennelman.) Up close she saw a short-wave radio transmitter at his belt. His belt? It contained a few mysterious un-waiterly items. She spilled just a bit of the whiskey onto the floor. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m terribly sorry,¡± she said as she leaned down to get a look at his footwear. This waiter wore combat boots, sticking out from beneath his cotton pants. She righted herself in her seat, looked the smiling man dead in the eyes, and said, ¡°October Industries.¡± His smile froze in place. His eyes widened. His whole body stiffened. Damn it. She still waited for him to make a move, because it just wouldn¡¯t do to beat up waiters on a train based on drunken paranoia. It was only when he reached around behind himself for a firearm that Rebecca struck. The heel of her right hand connected with the man¡¯s face; she felt the cartilage of his nose crunch under the force. The blow dazed him. Rebecca held him steady with her left hand, stood up, and helped him back down into the seat she had just vacated. She grabbed her broad-brimmed leather hat and crammed it onto her head.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Think. Think! What a time to be drunk. She took the radio, the gun he had been reaching for, and her bag under the table. She turned and strode toward the rear of the train, back to her assigned seat where the rest of her luggage was. Presumably. She scanned the lounge car as she went. It seemed that no one had noticed? No, the actual, real waiter at the bar had noticed. He was a young man, and gaped at her as she walked past. He had one hand on the phone by the bar, but he was clearly unsure what he ought to do in this situation. Rebecca ignored him. Her car was how many cabins back? Four? Five? What she really needed was to get off this train. Was there anything vital in her luggage? Not really. McFinn. Damn it. The man back there had been reaching for his gun. In a train! Damn it. She felt hungover already. What a mess. The radio she had taken beeped as she passed into the next car¡ªthe dining car. It was half-full. She didn¡¯t see anyone particularly suspicious, although nearly everyone present gave her a second glance. With the leather hat, the scar, the long leather coat and the rucksack, she attracted attention. She made her way unsteadily through the meal car without incident. The next car was a sleeper: a narrow hallway with the cabins on the right and windows on the left. Lights flashed by outside. The train must be in or nearing a town. This was confirmed when it began to slow down. Would it stop? If so, this was her chance. The radio beeped again. Why wasn¡¯t she hearing anything else? Did she need an earpiece? Had the waiter been wearing one? She couldn¡¯t remember. She was getting a headache. She leaned against the wall and gazed out the window. Alone in the hallway for now. Ok. So. She would¡ª ¡°Please don¡¯t move, Ms. Carter,¡± said a voice behind her. Something hard pressed against her upper back. The gun she¡¯d tucked behind her coat was swiftly removed. A radio beeped. ¡°Got her,¡± said the man behind her. ¡°Car 13. Yeah. No word on the girl.¡± Rebecca gritted her teeth. What did they want with Kaitlyn? It must be something to do with that damned McFinnium. Damn Riley for making it, damn him for getting Kaitlyn involved with this. And damn whatever the hell kind of sinister bullshit comprised October Industries. Years of adventure had trained Rebecca Carter¡¯s reflexes. Even Drunk Rebecca Carter could go from motionless to full speed in a startlingly short time. She spun on her heel, using the walls of the narrow hallway to lend her leverage, and struck with an elbow at the man behind her. He dodged backward; the gun discharged and Rebecca felt a tug on her jacket as the bullet narrowly missed her ribs. She tackled the man against the wall. The gun hit the floor. A brief flurry of wild blows later, an unconscious man joined it. People nearby screamed. A gun discharging in the train. She didn¡¯t want to be involved with this. She hadn¡¯t noticed in the fight, but the train was picking up speed again. Not stopping. But maybe still slow enough to jump off. She took one of the two firearms on the floor. Both were semi-automatic. She preferred revolvers. More reliable. She heard shouting behind her as she began to stand. She turned, and fell to the ground just as two men opened fire. So loud! The hangover wasn¡¯t supposed to come until later . She returned fire from her position on the floor. Drunk Rebecca Carter had arguably even better aim than Sober Rebecca Carter. Both men reeled. Rebecca scrambled to her feet and, using the support of the narrow walls, launched herself back down the hall and at the door to the dining car. Off the train. Get off the train. She stuffed her right hand with the gun in her pocket as the door to the dining car slid open. Everyone in the car was looking in her direction; some were panicking. Of course. They had heard the gunshots. Two men stood in the center, keeping order by their presence. They both wore grey trench coats. They both held mechanical devices in their right hands that Rebecca had never seen before, and both of these were aimed at her. They weren¡¯t just devices. They were some kind of weapon that enveloped the hand, the arm, and were connected by wiring to something on the back. A staredown occurred. For nearly five seconds she and the two men watched each other, ready to take action in an instant. Rebecca¡¯s grip tightened on the gun in her pocket, but she didn¡¯t dare attempt to draw. A strained silence descended upon the car, broken by the sound of the train running, a child crying, and shouts from behind Rebecca in the car she had come from. And a meow. ¡°Rebecca Carter,¡± said one of the men when it was clear she would not immediately attack them. ¡°You will come with us.¡± ¡°What do you want with Kaitlyn?¡± she asked. She tried to be intimidating, but the train swayed as she spoke and she had to lean against one of the booths in order to remain upright. The two men glanced at each other, and Rebecca didn¡¯t like the looks they gave. The hell with it. She wasn¡¯t going with these men, and neither was Kaitlyn. She¡¯d see to that. But she wasn¡¯t going to get into a firefight in the middle of a populated train car either. At any minute the door behind her would slide open and one of the ones she shot earlier would come through to trap her from behind. When that happened¡­ One of the men in the grey coats shook his head, and without taking his eyes off her he swung the weapon on his arm at a nearby table. The family sitting there recoiled in fear. The mother began to silently cry. ¡°Casualties are inconvenient,¡± he said, ¡°but if this motivation is requisite to make you comply¡­¡± The device covering his hand and forearm, a cluster of wires and silver metal, came to life with a faint hum. The other man now spoke. ¡°We will not hesitate to¡ª¡± The door at the other end of the dining car opened. The two men blocked her view so she couldn¡¯t see who entered, but a man said, ¡°What is going on here?¡± The grey-coated man who had threatened the family turned to see the newcomer. Rebecca couldn¡¯t see what happened next, but she saw the flash of light, felt the whole car vibrate as if with some impact, and heard the screams of people down at the other end of the car. She tensed, ready to move, but the other grey-coated man never removed her from his sights. She became aware that part of her vest was vibrating, rather violently. The man still facing her was looking with consternation at the weapon on his arm. The weapon was vibrating too, the dangerous end of it shaking. ¡°Did you check for resonance?¡± he demanded of his companion. The other turned, allowing Rebecca to catch a glimpse of the bloody scene at the other end of the car. This one looked at his own weapon with fear. ¡°It can¡¯t be! There¡¯s no unstable¡­¡± Then he looked at her, his eyes wide. Crystal? Resonance? Think, Rebecca, think ! What had Kaitlyn told her about this? She¡¯d never listened much to any of this. She didn¡¯t know what was happening, but she thought she at least knew why. Without taking her eyes off the increasingly distressed men before her, she carefully reached into her vest with her left hand and found the source of the mounting vibration therein. It was the ring case, of course, and it shook so badly she could barely get a hold of it. She withdrew it from the bag, and the two men watched in fear as she barely managed to maintain a hold on it. It was like grasping a jackhammer in full swing. ¡°Shit! Shit!¡± said one of the men. ¡°Get rid of it! Hurry!¡± ¡°No choice,¡± said the more level-headed one on the left. He re-aimed his weapon at Rebecca. His whole arm, encased in the weapon, now quivered erratically as though in seizure. But it didn¡¯t stop him from shooting her. Rebecca saw a flash of light and felt a sudden shift: in temperature, in air pressure, in gravity. Wind roared in her ears¡ªcold wind. She saw only darkness. Her chest and head struck hard plastic, and she felt herself beginning to slide, falling to one side. Not dead? Well then, first things first: do not fall. She groaned and desperately groped with her hands. One of them found an irregularity in the cold smooth surface. She seized it and once again opened her eyes in an attempt to make sense out of what had happened. An explosion sounded nearby. She looked in that direction just in time to see the flash of light. The surface below her shivered with the impact. She saw lights sliding past in the darkness. She felt the regular shaking of the train beneath her. The train. She was on top of it. But how? Rebecca Carter secured her hold on the object, some kind of vent, and knelt upright. The wind was cold but not quite strong enough to push her off. As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she saw that she was nearer to the front of the train. The explosion had come from a half dozen cars behind. Probably the dining car. She checked herself. She appeared to be unharmed. She still had her leather coat, with the firearm, and her hat was flapping in the wind behind her, held by the leather cord around her throat. But her pack was gone. Instead, at her side sat the white eyeless lynx, licking itself contentedly, undisturbed by its location atop a train roaring through the English night. Kelly. Or whatever. Now she remembered. Kate had said something about this cat belonging to Elizabeth, one of her adorable friends in America. Rebecca also still had her phone. She sat with her back to the front of the train, against the wind, and dialed Riley¡¯s number. He had better answer this time. She gazed into the receding abyss of lights as it rang. Smoke billowed from the site of the explosion, and she could faintly hear shouts and screams. She should go help. Soon. The train ought to be stopping. It should, she was fairly sure, but it didn¡¯t seem to even be slowing down. Had October Industries commandeered the whole train? ¡°Rebecca,¡± said the calm, confident voice of Riley McFinn. ¡°Where are you?¡± ¡°On a train.¡± ¡°Are you drunk?¡± How the hell could he tell she was drunk after three short words? ¡°No.¡± Oh, right. He had been married to her. He knew that if she was on a train she was probably drunk. ¡°I see. What¡¯s that sound? Is that wind?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± And it was doing wonders to clear her head. ¡°If this is about Alan Sheppard, I will be meeting him soon.¡± ¡°If you hurt Alan, Riley, I swear to God when I see you¡­¡± ¡°I understand. Alan Sheppard will leave Scotland unharmed. Good enough?¡± ¡°No, I have another question. Are you working for October Industries?¡± ¡°Wrong question, Carter,¡± he said. ¡°Answer it anyway,¡± she said through gritted teeth. ¡°No, Rebecca, I am not working for October Industries.¡± ¡°They are using your technology. Your McFinnium.¡± ¡°I am aware of this.¡± ¡°My train was just attacked by October Industries. No doubt you¡¯ll read about the explosion on the news. Alan warned me about this, and he warned me about you.¡± ¡°I know all of this. Are you still on your way up here?¡± ¡°I was. But they¡¯re after Kaitlyn, so I¡¯m heading back. I hope I¡¯m not too late.¡± ¡°Rebecca, Kaitlyn is in London. Waiting for a flight to Chicago.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I thought you knew. She¡¯s safe for now. It¡¯s a good thing that she¡¯s going to Chicago. Her friends are there.¡± ¡°Hrm. Then¡ªhold a moment.¡± A figure emerged off to her right, climbing up onto the top of the train. She moved up into a crouch and approached the intruder. It was too dark to make out any detail, but she heard the clang of a firearm against the synthetic surface of the train-top. Her boot slammed into his face, and with a grunt of surprise and pain he disappeared back into the passing darkness. ¡°I¡¯ll have to go soon, Riley. I¡¯m near the border but¡­ow. No promises on when I¡¯ll arrive.¡± ¡°I understand. Be careful not to pass out on top of the train.¡± ¡°If anything happens to Kaitlyn, Riley, I am blaming you.¡± ¡°¡­I understand. Focus, Rebecca.¡± ¡°You too.¡± She closed the call just as she became aware of another figure making its way onto the train on the other side. ¡°Focus¡± was Riley¡¯s way of saying ¡°good luck.¡± Because he didn¡¯t believe in luck. And because he was a melodramatic ass. Rebecca leapt to the other side of the train, slide-tackling the man who had just made it to the top. She heaved him off of her and over the side, and managed to get a grip on another feature protruding from the train-top before she joined him. She crouched low against the wind and gazed ahead. More of them near the front of the train, making their way back, stooped low. How many of these bastards were on the train? Was this party all for her? Rebecca Carter gritted her teeth, against the frigid wind and the throbbing headache building behind her watering eyes. Something touched her leg, and she jerked to the side before realizing it was the lynx. The magic cat. She reached down, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, and hauled it up to her face. ¡°You take care of Kaitlyn,¡± she shouted at it. ¡°Now get out of here!¡± She heaved the cat right off the edge of the train. It disappeared silently into the rushing night. It would be fine. She looked ahead once more. She still had the gun in her pocket. She carefully crouched against the wind, her leather jacket trailing behind her. With one hand she retrieved the firearm, and with the other she reached back, seized her leather hat, and slapped it onto her head. October Industries would regret tangling with Drunk Rebecca Carter. She stepped forward into the howling dark. Chapter 19 Chapter 19 Isaac Milton April Isaac went out again at night to check the crack in the sky. He didn¡¯t go all the way out to the fields beyond town, and he didn¡¯t bother lugging the telescope with him. Just the lens. Clouds obscured most of the sky, but he could still glimpse the shimmering fracture well enough to ascertain that it had neither grown nor moved. Still no word from the astronomical authorities. If NASA knew about this (and they must, right?), they were keeping it quiet. Whatever was going on here, it was over his head, out of his league. Like everything seemed to be, sometimes. Nothing in the news about McFinn, either, and no more word from the mysterious Clara. Internet searches would never be the same. He checked the place in the ditch where he¡¯d seen the dead eagle. It was gone. Coyotes, probably. Or maybe Mr. Larson, the taxidermist, who was known to scavenge dead critters. Isaac was turning to go back home when he spotted it: a white bird, perched atop a leaning wooden fencepost across the ditch. An owl, to be specific. A, uh, snowy owl, probably? Isaac couldn¡¯t see its eyes, and it was so white and still that for a confused moment Isaac wondered if someone had come along and made an incredibly lifelike snow sculpture just there on the fencepost. But no, that was stupid. Isaac grinned. He¡¯d never been this close to an owl before. It was maybe, what, six steps away? It didn¡¯t seem scared of him, and it still hadn¡¯t moved. Isaac¡¯s grin faded, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He took a careful step toward the owl, his tennis shoe crushing the snow with a faint squeak. Still no movement. Another step, and now he was way too close. No real owl would still be just perched there. Was it dead? A prank? Was it a stuffed owl dipped in white paint and nailed to the fencepost? The thought of a Norwegian Blue Parrot drifted through his mind and returned the smile to his face. ¡°Well,¡± he said as he began to walk forward with the intent to just grab the thing, ¡°we¡ª¡± A flash of whiteness made him cry out, more in alarm than pain. He found himself on his back, blinking up at the murky night sky in confusion. No afterimage. The flash had not been light, exactly. Just blankness. A faceful of snow, but not cold. When he sat up, the owl was gone. He sat there for a minute, trying to sort out what had just happened. He didn¡¯t remember falling. Had he blacked out? Whited out? His left hand was clenched around the lens. On a whim, he put the flawed crystal to his eye and scanned the area. No owl. He couldn¡¯t resist looking up at the sky. The crack was still there, of course. He checked the rest of the sky, and that was how he noticed the darkness. It was not in the sky, but in the lights of Pikeston itself. A flickering shadow writhed between the distant streetlights, blotting them out, dimming the stars, swarming around an unseen core. He shivered. Words surfaced in his mind. Something Wicked this way Comes. He pocketed the lens, unnerved, attempting to reassure himself. Pikeston looked just fine to his normal, unaugmented eyes. He no longer wanted to be outside in the dark, however. It was late when he returned through the vaguely-defined western border of the municipality of Pikeston. The houses were mostly dark, the streets were mostly deserted, and a soft but chill breeze began picking up. Many of the streets in Pikeston lay shrouded in shadows, broken by the somewhat irregular streetlights. Only Main Street was well-lit at all times, and Isaac had to pass Main to get home. Isaac turned a corner blindly when he reached Main Street, nearly colliding with a tall figure. They both stepped back. Isaac, his eyes previously fixed on the sidewalk in thought, looked up in surprise. Who else was out here at this time of night? Probably one of the guys from the Wagon Wheel bar, open until midnight. ¡°Shay,¡± said the other man. ¡°Watch your shtep. Shidewalksh can get shlippery.¡± Isaac¡¯s eyes widened as he stared up into the face of a nightmare. It was a gaunt face, blotchy, sickly and stained. Angular chin and hooked nose. Cracked lips stretched into a smile that seemed to defy possibility, revealing perfectly white teeth. Crazed eyes wide, yellow and bloodshot, the irises black. Long, greasy waist-length dark hair hung in stringy clumps around his face, seeping out from under a broad dark hat. Only when his heel struck an irregularity in the sidewalk did Isaac realize he had been retreating. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, although it came out only as a croaking whisper. So this was fear. Get a grip, Isaac! The stranger was just a guy. Just some freak. A vagrant, a meth-head. In which case, still an Unstable and Dangerous Individual. To be handled with care. Unless¡­ ¡°What¡¯sh your name?¡± asked the man. His voice was rough and harsh, as though he¡¯d shouted himself hoarse. ¡°Um¡­what¡¯s yours?¡± asked Isaac. With great effort he managed the self-control to not take another step back, although every instinct urged him to turn and run. He glanced around, trying not to seem panicked. The street lay deserted and quiet, but the faint sound of music still drifted from the Wagon Wheel, not far away. He always avoided that place at night, not because it was dangerous but because drunks made him uncomfortable. But now he¡¯d give anything to be in there with other people, instead of out here with¡­ ¡°Abraham Black,¡± said the man with an elaborate bow that involved him sweeping off his hat and bending low to the ground in a boneless movement that was subtly wrong. During his bow Isaac saw that he wore a long black coat, tattered and shredded to ribbons which trailed along on the ground. It was faded and dusty, like everything else he wore: cowboy boots, dark jeans, grey shirt with silver buttons. But most of all, Isaac saw two enormous silver revolvers hanging from Abraham Black¡¯s cracked, faded belt. Isaac¡¯s heart was pounding, his breath quickening. Abraham Black is coming . Cool. Be cool. No sudden movements. HOLD FAST. Be like Dwayne. A Psalm: you will not fear the terror of the night¡­Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°Sho, kid,¡± said Abraham Black, looking down at him. ¡°Sheen anything shtrange lately?¡± His unnatural smile seemed to stretch even further. Some of his perfect white teeth became stained with red as his cracked lips split and bled onto them. Strange? No, man, haha, nothing strange, why do you ask? Isaac opened his mouth and tried to speak, but found that he could not. You will not fear the terror of the night¡­ Was it about the crack in the sky? That must be it. What else? But this Abraham Black didn¡¯t look like any kind of scientist. He looked like a dangerous psychopath. But wait¡­ Black? Isaac thought of the paper in his pocket, the crayon drawing by Jim, the shape of the person in the darkness. Do not engage . But he couldn¡¯t move. Time seemed frozen as the two of them stood in the cold midnight air on Main Street, drenched by the streetlights. They stared at each other: one in terror and one in some kind of gleeful contentment. ¡°I¡¯m lookin¡¯ for an angel,¡± continued Black after the pause. ¡°Sheen one around? Beshidesh the dark one inshide of me.¡± A door opened nearby, washing Main Street in a burst of music and laughter. ¡°Yeah, next week,¡± laughed a man. ¡°You tell her hi for me! All right.¡± Isaac couldn¡¯t see the man who came out of the Wagon Wheel, his view being blocked by Abraham Black, but he knew the voice: it was Mr. Clark. The door of the Wagon Wheel was not far; Mr. Clark could surely see at least the back of the stranger. Relief trickled down Isaac¡¯s spine as he heard Mr. Clark¡¯s footsteps approaching. ¡°Well hey there,¡± said Mr. Clark as he approached Black from behind. Black did not move until Mr. Clark was right behind him. Then he stepped smoothly into the shadow of an overhang to allow room for Mr. Clark to pass. ¡°Good evening, shir,¡± he said, a trace of mockery in his voice. Mr. Clark nodded. ¡°Goo-¡± then he saw Isaac, frozen in fear. ¡°Isaac? What are you doing out so late?¡± Mr. Clark had spent his whole life in Pikeston. He had been a football star back in the day, and as an adult he worked for a feed company and coached high school football. Isaac hadn¡¯t talked to him much but he seemed like a Pretty Okay Guy all around, and Dwayne liked him, and Mr. Clark was big, and at that moment Isaac thought he had never been happier to see someone. Even if he had had a few. The presence of Mr. Clark snapped Isaac out of his trance. He took another step back. Mr. Clark assessed the situation and turned to face Abraham Black, who now stood with his back to the window of the local thrift store. ¡°Isaac, this guy botherin¡¯ you?¡± he asked, placing himself a little more between Isaac and Black. ¡°Not at all, shir,¡± said Black. He was not much taller than Mr. Clark, but he seemed to loom in the shadow by the window. The bottom half of his coat still looked dusty and ragged in the streetlight, but the top half in the shadow was black as ink. ¡°Jusht getting my bearingsh.¡± Mr. Clark set his jaw and straightened up to his full height. ¡°Maybe you¡¯d better move along,¡± he said with an edge to his voice. Isaac took another small step back. Call the police¡ªthat¡¯s what he should do. Sheriff Meyers was out of town but the deputies could get here quickly. Should he¡­run, and leave Mr. Clark? Did Mr. Clark see that Black had guns? What would Dwayne do? Well he wouldn¡¯t be afraid, for one thing, so Isaac was already that far off track. ¡°No,¡± said Black. ¡°I think I¡¯ll shtay.¡± His lips continued to bleed onto his teeth. Even Mr. Clark seemed shaken by Black¡¯s maniacal gaze leering out from the shadows. ¡°All right,¡± said Mr. Clark with resolve. He stepped forward and reached out to grab Black by the collar. ¡°If that¡¯s how¡ª¡± Black¡¯s tattered coat flared sideways in a sudden gust of wind. But there was no wind. The streetlight above them went dark with a soft pop. Darkness bloomed in the sudden shadows, stretching out its filaments like a cancerous disease spreading in the blink of an eye. Mr. Clark¡¯s sentence was cut short. Isaac could not see what happened next; all before him lay in deep shadow. He could only think of Black , Jimothy¡¯s crayon drawing. This was it. This was the shadow. He realized that his right hand was crushing that waxy paper in his pocket. Something warm and wet sprayed across his face. Isaac¡¯s foot, reaching backward, found only air. He fell off the curb and onto the icy street. He could not take his eyes off the mass of seething darkness in front of him. It hung like a void in reality. He reached a trembling hand to his face and felt the wetness. He smelled blood. He tasted it. He heard footsteps, hollow, thudding, the sound of boots against cement, somehow magnified, resounding in the night. He thought he could almost see something in that impenetrable darkness. Something like a figure¡ªmenacing, terrifying. A contrast caught his eye. Something white, brilliant white, up on the edge of the thrift store roof. A bird. An eagle? The sight broke him out of his paralysis. He scrambled to his feet, turned, and ran. He expected the darkness to follow. He expected one of those huge silver revolvers to thunder; a bullet to tear through him. But it didn¡¯t. The shadowy streets blurred around him. He took a circuitous route because it seemed the most terrifying prospect imaginable that Abraham Black would follow him and discover where he lived. He looked behind him with every other step; he fled from darkness. Abraham Black did not appear. Isaac reached his house and crouched behind the plastic recycling bin in the back for a few minutes before sneaking up the back way to his room. And when he desperately turned on every light in his room he saw that he had left a bloody handprint on the doorknob. Dwayne had told Isaac about the terrible reality of evil. There was, Dwayne said, a darkness and monster in this world, but it was not some dragon in a cave. It was the darkness within Isaac¡¯s own heart, and it must be fought continually, with diligence, every day. The beast, he said, was fought with love, and by love it would someday be slain. But now Isaac doubted. He had seen another evil, and whatever it was, he was not strong enough to fight. It was a long time before he slept, and when he did, he thrashed with nightmares. Chapter 20 Chapter 20 Abraham Black Midnight The front door of the Wagon Wheel swung open, a window to the cold darkness outside. A gust of cold wind rushed into the bar, surprising the few men inside. A dark figure appeared in the doorway, a black outline against the blackness beyond. The figure slid inside, appearing as nothing more than a dark delineation against the dim light within the bar. Behind the bar stood Daniel Mayman, proprietor and bartender. About the Wagon Wheel sat five other men, all of them mentally steeling themselves to head out; the bar was closing. The dark figure possessed the full attention of all of these men as he glided through the room up to the bar. Although he walked, his booted feet flickering out in front of him with each step, he slid forward at an eerily steady pace. Nothing obvious about his movement was wrong, but it was unnatural, and it made the men watch. The long, shredded coat of the stranger dragged on the ground behind him, and his face was fixed in an eerie grin. His eyes blazed with an insane fire. His lips bled over his teeth, and some dark liquid speckled the rest of his face. One of the men in the bar noticed that the trailing strips of the stranger¡¯s coat left dark smears on the floor. And there were dark footprints in the shape of boots. The man approached the bar. Daniel Mayman swallowed, licked his moustache, and said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir, but we¡¯re¡­closing¡­¡± The stranger reached the bar and stopped. He leaned over, resting his elbows on the varnished wooden surface. ¡°Surely you can shpare a shingle glash? For a thirshty man.¡± His cracked, bleeding lips smacked together when he spoke, sending tiny flecks of blood spraying to the countertop where some of his grungy hair had pooled. The lips resumed their unnatural strained smile when he finished. A drop of blood began to trail down the stranger¡¯s chin. Some of the men in the bar found something odd about the stranger¡¯s posture. He leaned over the bar, but the contour of his back and legs, draped by the dark coat, made a single smooth curvature, uninterrupted from his heels to his neck. ¡°I¡¯ll take a cup of the besht shtuff in the houshe!¡± the stranger declared, his eyes turned on Daniel the bartender. Daniel knew a druggie when he saw one, although he had never seen anything this extreme. He knew at once that he would have to have this man forcibly removed from the bar. Then he noticed the revolvers. His plan instantly changed: someone needed to call the police. ¡°Some nice firearms you have there,¡± he said, his voice shaking slightly. This got the attention of some of the other men, all of whom still sat transfixed by this unprecedented stranger. ¡°You think sho?¡± said the stranger. He straightened, and his arm flickered in a movement nearly too quick to see. He held one of the gleaming silver firearms up in the air. He twirled the revolver in his hand. It did not spin normally. It whirled with such speed that it became, for a brief moment, a solid silver disc in the stranger¡¯s hand. Daniel heard a machine-like whir and felt the breeze from the spinning firearm stir his hair. The stranger brought down his arm, and with a click the gun stopped moving. It aimed, rock-steady, at Daniel¡¯s right eye. At a distance of about two feet, Daniel could look into the darkness of the barrel. It seemed huge. He tried to speak, but could not. He noticed that the music had stopped.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The other men in the bar stood. Daniel¡¯s eyes anxiously sought them out. Mark¡¯s hands worked furiously, silently, on his phone. Tyler stood near the door. He practically fell against it, stumbling out into the night. The stranger did not react. ¡°Sho,¡± he said. ¡°The besht shtuff, if you pleashe.¡± The drop of blood making its way down his chin pooled at the bottom and dripped onto the counter, between the stranger¡¯s fingers. The fingernails were yellow and chipped. One finger wore a featureless black ring. ¡°C-certainly,¡± Daniel said, attempting to smile. Just keep him happy until the police arrive. Sweat dripped into his eye. When had he started sweating? The best stuff? He turned to the cabinet behind him. He didn¡¯t dare ask what the man thought was the best stuff. Daniel simply chose the most expensive drink offered at the Wagon Wheel¡ªa hard bourbon. He placed a whole bottle before the stranger with trembling hands. Then he realized a glass was also necessary. He turned to get it when a loud cry sounded from outside: ¡°Jesus Christ !¡± It was Tyler, who had just left. Incoherent, muffled screams followed. The other men in the bar took this as their cue to get the hell out. Daniel could not blame them. They rushed out of the bar. Their own shouting soon joined Tyler¡¯s. What was going on out there? Please let the police arrive soon¡­ But the stranger never reacted, and he never took his eyes off of Daniel, not even to check the bottle of bourbon. ¡°It¡¯sh a shtrange thing,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯sh not the besht shtuff.¡± Daniel opened his mouth to ask what was. The stranger struck. Minutes later, two police officers entered the Wagon Wheel, their trembling firearms trained on the dark figure by the counter. The stranger faced them, leaning casually back against the bar. He held a glass of some thick dark liquid, and the same liquid ran down the corners of his mouth. The stranger held up the glass of liquid to the light, swirling it like a fine wine. ¡°It¡¯sh the right color,¡± he said to himself, ¡°but hash no fire. How shad¡­It¡¯ll do for now, I shupposhe.¡± The bar was silent for a moment. Then one of the officers said, ¡°Where¡¯s Daniel?¡± The stranger¡¯s head cocked sideways in a way that was not quite anatomically possible. ¡°Who¡¯sh that?¡± ¡°The-the bartender.¡± The stranger twisted his torso around to look back down behind the bar. He seemed to stretch out in doing to. ¡°He¡¯sh in a shorry shtate, I¡¯m afraid. A shticky shituation, you might shay.¡± He smiled at the officers. The lights flickered. The stranger¡¯s tattered coat stirred in the breeze. But there was no breeze. The stranger set his drink down on the bar, hard enough to crack the glass. One of the police officers opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by thunder. A moment of silence followed. And then, more thunder. Chapter 21 Chapter 21 Dwayne Hartman Dwayne Hartman awoke from a nightmare, sweeping his blankets to the other side of the room. He lay still once he realized that he had awoken; it had all been a dream. A dark dream, however. A nightmare. He seldom had those anymore. But it had not been a nightmare of Vietnam, or of receiving the injury that had crippled him. It had been, he was sure, a spiritual nightmare, an attack by the forces of darkness. He heard thunder as he lay sweating and panting on his bed. It sounded close, though he had seen no flash of lightning. It sounded several times, then was silent. Thunder always reminded him of God. It reminded him of the words written on his hands, and the vision he had seen all those years ago. Thunder, to Dwayne Hartman, was a holy thing. But this sound he had just heard¡­ Dwayne Hartman knew with sudden certitude that it had not been thunder at all. He prayed out loud as he hauled himself out of bed and hastily dressed himself. He prayed for Isaac, because for some reason that seemed like the right thing to do. He prayed for the town of Pikeston, because the darkness outside seemed too dark, the silence too great. A sense of evil pressed in upon Dwayne as he fastened his suspenders, shouldered his heavy military jacket, and seized his twin walking canes. He emerged into the cold dark midnight, not knowing where he went or why, but knowing that he had to go. He walked, because something within urged him not to drive. Snow and ice dusted the sidewalk in patches, but he stepped forward boldly, steadying himself with his two canes. He prayed as he walked: for Isaac, for the town, for the children of the town, for his pastor, for his country, and for anything and anyone else that came to mind. This list came to an end after a few blocks and he switched to softly muttered hymns, halfway between whispered poetry and incomprehensible growls. He wandered aimlessly beneath the scattered streetlights, hardly noticing the commotion on Main Street when he crossed a few blocks down. Through light and shadow, darkness and snow and cold, beneath a partly starry sky to which his misted breath danced with each exhalation, he walked and prayed and sang. His knuckles shone white in the darkness as his numb hands gripped the two wooden canes. He stopped, not knowing why, and saw that he had stopped in front of the Stocker house, where Isaac lived. He saw a light on in Isaac¡¯s window. What was that boy doing up so late? He had school in the morning. Dwayne offered a final prayer for Isaac. It had been a nice walk, but he was cold. He didn¡¯t even bring a flask. He did have cigarettes, though. He leaned his canes and himself against a tree in front of the Stocker house and lit one up. His legs were tired, but he¡¯d make it home all right. After this cigarette. He spotted another figure on the sidewalk, a few houses down. It approached slowly, and Dwayne heard hard-heeled boots clicking on the cold cement. He also heard police sirens in the distance. Had he been hearing those the whole time, and not noticed until now? His hearing wasn¡¯t what it used to be.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Dwayne watched as the dark figure approached. It slowed down and stopped just before it entered the part of the sidewalk in front of the Stocker house. Something about the figure disturbed Dwayne Hartman. It moved strangely. It didn¡¯t speak a greeting. It was dark¡ªtoo dark, although the nearest streetlight was down at the end of the block. And everything around it was dark. Dwayne listened very closely. He closed his eyes, and listened. In the peace and cold and black night there beneath the glow of Isaac¡¯s lit window, Dwayne Hartman heard the voice of God. It came not like thunder, but like the soft breathing of the clear air through the tree branches above. He opened his eyes, flicked the cigarette into the snow, and ground it out with one foot as he took hold of his canes. He staggered a bit at first, from stiffness and cold, but he walked out toward the newcomer. The dark figure took a step back from Dwayne Hartman, and flinched when he spoke. ¡°You are not welcome here,¡± Dwayne said. Dwayne Hartman took his right cane, and with it drew a line across the dusting of snow on the sidewalk. He tapped it for emphasis when he had finished. ¡°This is holy ground.¡± He and the dark figure stood there for a minute, or an hour, or a second, gazing at each other across the line drawn in the snow. Dwayne, not knowing what else to do, did what he always did when he did not know what else to do. He sang. Softly, of course, because he didn¡¯t want to wake anyone up. He sang ¡°Of the Father¡¯s Love Begotten.¡± It carried as little more than a scratchy grumble through the night air. The Dark Figure turned and faded away into the night, the clacking of its bootheels vanishing to nothing. Dwayne stayed for another minute, until he felt that the darkness had left. He kept singing as he turned about and proceeded back to his house. He shivered with cold, and flexed his fingers around the heads of the canes. He hummed hymns as he went. Dwayne Hartman had once driven with a box of tools to a remote stretch of highway he seldom traveled. There he had found an unfamiliar green van, broken down and abandoned on the roadside. He had spent a few hours repairing it, and then returned home. Another rainy afternoon, years ago, Dwayne Hartman had lain flowers on the grave of someone he had never heard of. He had once penned a heartfelt letter of encouragement and left it on top of an ATM machine in a distant city. These things happened. He never knew why. He never discovered the results of these efforts. He simply listened, and acted. Maybe he was saving lives; maybe he was merely giving someone hope on a bad day. It didn¡¯t matter. Obedience mattered. When he got home, Dwayne Hartman spent a half hour praying for Isaac, then another half hour praying for the person he had seen in the midst of that darkness. A plaque above his bedstand bore the words of a poet: You shall love your crooked neighbor With your crooked heart. Chapter 22 Chapter 22 Heidi Sheppard January Even with all the fans, the computer room got hot as hell in January. The hottest month of the year. Heidi didn¡¯t mind the heat; she didn¡¯t mind sweating. But sweat dripped into her eyes when she was soldering circuit boards, which was often a delicate procedure. She wore a headband to help with this, but moisture still sometimes got in the wiring. Someday she would have a real workplace, cool and dry and clean. The radio on the desk squawked. ¡°Come in Bishop, this is Knight, over.¡± Heidi switched the pliers from her right hand to her left, then without looking reached over to the radio. ¡°This is Bishop. How far out are you? Over.¡± She loved the sound of the radio squeaking and the distortion of voices from the other end. It meant he was back from work. ¡°Just off the north beach. The swells are really coming in. Want to head out this evening? Over.¡± Heidi finished clamping the wires and looked up out the window in front of her. It had a fine screen on it to keep out insects, but the jungle outside and the stony beach off to the right were visible through the mesh. The dock hid just out of view. The angle of the shadows told her that it was late afternoon. A warm, thick breeze drifted through the computer room, carrying the rich scent of the jungle and doing little to cool her off, but the treetops outside swayed to a stronger force. Yes, she remembered thinking earlier today that the waves would be good on the north shore, but she hadn¡¯t been motivated to go take advantage of them. But then, she hadn¡¯t known Alan was coming. She stood and wiped her forehead. ¡°I¡¯ll pack us dinner,¡± she replied. ¡°Over.¡± ¡°Sounds good.¡± And even though it was clear he didn¡¯t intend to say more, ¡°Over.¡± Dinner? They didn¡¯t have much good picnic food at the moment. Beer and sandwiches, she guessed. She checked her personal computer by habit on the way out and discovered that someone had sent her an email. This was a rare occurrence; she didn¡¯t regularly exchange emails with anybody and very little spam made it past her filters. Her curiosity intensified when she saw that it was from herself. Or rather, her own email account. Which shouldn¡¯t be possible, since she was logged in. Maybe it was a delayed-send from sometime in the past? But she didn¡¯t remember leaving a message for her future self. She sat down at the computer. If Alan was off the north shore, she still had a few minutes before he arrived. The message read: Hello. This is a note to myself, January 26. If you are still on the island, make sure your computer is not set to automatically delete spam. Better to disable spam filters entirely. If you have left the island, access a random public computer and check your email there. You will soon receive an email from a girl you do not know. DO NOT DELETE THIS EMAIL. You have to trust her, and believe everything she says. Use the CHIME chat client. This is important. Ha. This email now sounds like spam. As proof that I am you: three sets of wind chimes hang outside the window of my room. Or they used to. One was made by Alan, and it was out of tune, and it always bothered me, but I never said anything. One day I was playing saxophone and figured out that it was sort-of in the key of Eb. By the way, you should keep playing saxophone. Maybe you will never read this. Maybe things didn¡¯t work out. Either way, I want you all to know that we are sorry. We are so sorry. If you are reading this, just remember that. One more thing. On this day, Alan will give you a present. Do not lose it. Goodbye. Good luck. - Heidi Czeslaw Heidi read this through several times, each with mounting apprehension. She had no memory of writing this. But it did seem to be her. Who else would know about the wind chimes? Heidi had never said or written anything about that. But if it was really she who wrote this, and then somehow forgot, why on Earth would she have used her legal name, Czeslaw? She never used that name. Further proof? Heidi leaned back in the chair and frowned. The writer of this email seemed to have written it some time in the past. The writer didn¡¯t even know if Heidi would be on the island or not. They said ¡°still,¡± as though Heidi might have left entirely. The writer made two predictions: she would receive an email from a girl she didn¡¯t know, and Alan would give her a present. The first would be suspicious even if it did happen. After all, this email emphatically states that Heidi should trust this stranger. It had the taste of a scam. But Alan giving her a present¡ªif that happened, then she¡¯d have to believe something was up. She hadn¡¯t even known today that Alan would be coming back from work. It should have been impossible to predict his schedule. And what was all this about failing, and being sorry? And who was ¡°we?¡± She supposed she could remember it, as the email said. No harm there. Something about that paragraph made her uneasy. It was probably just her imagination, but it had such a ring of sincerity to it. Heidi decided she¡¯d worry about this later. She had dinner to make, and Alan to surf with. She checked her spam filters before she logged out. They were set to delete spam after seven days. That would be fine; no need to disable them entirely. No recent spam seemed to be from a strange girl. It didn¡¯t take long for her to put together some packed dinner. Roast beef with cheddar and pickles; their favorite. She grabbed a couple cans of beer, then went out back and pumped up water from the well, filling some glass jars. The well water usually contained sediment, but it was good to drink. She took their lunches and surfboards out to the dock. She had just waxed the boards yesterday. She sat at the end of their makeshift pier and waited for the boat, dangling sandaled feet into the gentle waves. The pier jutted out of a small rocky beach in a sheltered bay. Reefs beyond broke the waves as they came in strong with an easterly wind. The bungalow¡¯s alignment with the bay gave it an excellent view of the sunrise. Now, in late afternoon, the shadows of the palm groves around the house stretched nearly to the water, swaying gently in the warm breeze. Weak waves lapped at the stony shore. She heard the sound of the outboard motor, and a minute later Alan¡¯s boat rounded the northern promontory. They waved at each other as he expertly pulled up to the pier. He tossed her a mooring line as he stepped off the boat. ¡°Got off early?¡± she asked as she loosely secured the rope. ¡°Yup,¡± he said. ¡°Off for a few days.¡± Heidi slowed in the act of tying off the rope. Alan was trying to sound casual, but a certain tension in his voice told her that something had happened. She decided not to worry about it. He looked fine, and he would tell her about it if he thought she needed to know. In silence they brought in the groceries and supplies. He had a bag of things he¡¯d brought for her: some tools, wire, old circuit boards, saxophone reeds although she hadn¡¯t used the last ones yet, hot sauce, tampons, and an old Sylvester Stallone movie she¡¯d never heard of that he probably picked up in a bargain bin somewhere, which they would get a kick out of watching together and then add to their hoard of cheesy 80¡¯s action flicks. They loaded the surfboards and packed dinner. Alan refueled the boat, used the washroom, and then they were off. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Heidi enjoyed riding in boats more than driving them. It allowed her to relax and watch the scenery. The coast of their little island drifted by on the left as Alan took them to the north beach. In the distance in other directions lay a multitude of similar islands, many of them too small to be inhabited. Alan worked security at a research center on a larger island close to the mainland. October Industries. They made it to the beach, and when they had pulled up the boat and planted their dinner in the sand Alan held something out to her. ¡°Got something for you,¡± he said. ¡°Little souvenir from the lab.¡± Heidi approached and took the object with care. It was a pendant, some kind of teardrop-shaped glass or crystal the size of a quarter attached to a leather cord. The glass or crystal was cloudy, but there appeared to be an impurity within, a sinuous black shape trapped inside. The gift was interesting and pretty without being gaudy. She liked it. ¡°What is it?¡± She tied it around her neck. ¡°Not sure,¡± he replied. ¡°Just something the guys at the lab didn¡¯t need anymore.¡± ¡°Is it important?¡± Heidi decided the risk of it coming off her neck while surfing was too great. She removed it and tied it around her left wrist. ¡°Not anymore. It¡¯s used up, or flawed or something. Why?¡± They both sat in the sand to put on the ankle-straps. ¡°I got an email today saying you would give me a present, and not to lose it.¡± Alan scratched his short graying beard as he considered this. ¡°It also said a girl would email me, and I should trust her. The email came from my own account, and I think it really was me who wrote it, but I don¡¯t remember.¡± They began walking into the surf. ¡°Interesting,¡± said Alan. ¡°It wasn¡¯t you, was it?¡± she asked. ¡°Nope. But if the girl does email you, I¡¯d like to know what it says.¡± Heidi nodded. They lay down on their boards and began paddling. Later, they sat on the beach and watched the waves come in as they ate sandwiches and sipped beer. When they had finished, Heidi showed Alan a paper target full of bullet holes. The fist-sized red dot in the center had nearly disintegrated. ¡°Nine millimeter,¡± she said. ¡°twenty paces.¡± ¡°Your paces or mine?¡± said Alan with a smile. Heidi punched him in the arm. It was like punching a sandbag. But Alan nodded in approval of her marksmanship. They retrieved a .308 Winchester rifle from the boat and spent some time shooting coconuts on the beach and picking them off distant trees. They put out as the sun began to set and drove home in choppy waters, beneath a golden sky. Alan let Heidi drive the boat, and she navigated using the brass compass he had given her for her birthday even though it was completely unnecessary for just going along the coast. Alan set up a chess board when they got home, but Heidi suggested that they work out instead. They went out back to the shed where the weights were kept, and Alan put on some music: classic big-band jazz. Duke Ellington and the rest. He liked that she played saxophone¡ªhe had never been musical¡ªand this was his way of trying to encourage her. She didn¡¯t play that much anymore. Maybe the email was right; maybe she should start practicing again. The weights never stopped rusting, but that was okay. Now that she had a spotter she could safely reach her limit on bench. Her limit was roughly a third of Alan¡¯s but that was okay too. He was, after all, a big ex-military man, whereas she was a fifteen-year-old girl. They both did upper body workouts. Heidi had to jump to reach the pull-up bar, which she was always a little embarrassed about, especially in front of Alan. Just a little. It was okay. She would grow. She was sure of it. There was no way in hell she would remain this short. They took turns showering when they had finished, and then sat down for a game of chess. Alan made tea and whittled absent-mindedly while watching the board as though it might make a sudden move. Alan won. Afterward they both sat down to read in two comfy chairs¡ªthe only two comfy chairs in the bungalow, situated together in the small living room. Heidi read using an electronic reader. There weren¡¯t many physical books at the bungalow, and the ones that existed she had read already. She was working on the Dark Tower series by Stephen King. Alan read a battered paperback copy of The Stand in a spirited effort to understand Heidi¡¯s taste in literature. He kept leaving it at the bungalow and just picking up where he had left off days or weeks before. He kept forgetting characters and plot points. After an hour or so they wordlessly closed their books and stood up from their chairs and stretched. They said goodnight, and Alan slipped through the curtain into his bedroom. Heidi had one thing to do first. She went to the computer room and checked her email. She had a new one, and it had not been blocked by any spam filter. It was from ¡°lepidoptera_hunter.¡± Before opening it, Heidi looked up the word ¡°lepidoptera.¡± Moths and butterflies. The subject line read ¡°Hello!!¡± with two exclamation points. The body of the email was brief: Hi! I¡¯m Kaitlyn Carter. I know you don¡¯t know me, but I think it would be great if we could be friends! Or at least be pen pals and talk to each other and stuff. What things do you like? Tell me about yourself! I like butterflies and science and music and my friends. (Actually I like all animals, not just butterflies!) I live in England. Okay, I hope I can talk to you later! Heidi read this carefully several times, seeking hidden meanings and finding none. This? This is what was so important that she couldn¡¯t delete it? And she was supposed to ¡®trust¡¯ this Kaitlyn girl? She hadn¡¯t said anything! Maybe it was a mistake? It was hard to imagine how this might be important. But on the other hand, if she hadn¡¯t received an email from her past self¡­yes, she probably would have marked this email as spam and not bothered to respond. So, she supposed she should trust her past self and at least give this Kaitlyn a chance. But she wouldn¡¯t reply right away. First she would track down Kaitlyn Carter online and see what she could learn about her. Tomorrow. A knock came at the door, and Heidi turned as Alan poked his head through. ¡°Better put up the shutters,¡± he said. And he was right; now that Heidi paid attention, she realized the wind was really picking up outside. So in the darkness outside the two of them fixed the storm shutters over all of the windows and secured everything tightly in position, especially the boats. Then, after a long and interesting and generally great day, the two of them went to bed. Chapter 23 Chapter 23 Kaitlyn Carter January Kaitlyn Carter stomped across the snowy field to her lab, her shadow stretching behind her in the pale light of an evening winter sun. The clouds were peach meringue, whipped to a froth and spread thin across the bright sky. Her breath danced away to join them with each exhalation. She wore a fuzzy winter jacket over her lab coat. She had an item tucked under each arm: under her right, a big stuffed caterpie Pok¨¦mon named Heisenberg that Liz had got for her. (It resembled the eastern tiger swallowtail caterpillar, Papilio glaucus !) And under her left: a shoebox containing something mysterious and special and important . Whiskey bounded up to her when she was halfway across the field. He was always excited to see her! She was happy to see him too. He jumped in circles around her as she stepped through the thick snow, making his weird little yipping noises. She stopped to pet him before entering the lab. She flipped the lights on and began the process of removing her snow clothes and gearing up for lab work. Luckily, she¡¯d remembered to turn the heat on a while ago, so she would not be freezing her wrists off. She wouldn¡¯t have to wait long for the equipment to warm up, either. She completed her ensemble by fitting the protective goggles over her glasses. She flourished her lab coat with an elaborate spin for the benefit of the observing Dr. Heisenberg. She bowed in thanks to his applause, and picked up the shoebox. ¡°You m-may th-think,¡± she said to the doctor in a professional tone of voice, ¡°that this b-b-box contains sh-sh-shoes. A logical c-c-conclusion. B-B-BUT!¡± She leveled a dramatic finger at his squishy round head. ¡°That¡¯s w-where you¡¯d-d be m-m-mist-ta-mi-sta- taken !¡± She threw her head back and performed her very best maniacal laugh (the kind she always imagined her uncle doing). ¡°Aha! Ahahaha! Eheheheheeeee!¡± She imagined thunder booming in the background. She carried both the box and the caterpie over to a lab workbench . Then she went to her lab computer . She put on some lab tunes (thanks, Eric!) and checked her email. That girl on the island hadn¡¯t got back to her yet. Kate dug into one of the many pockets of her lab coat and retrieved the note Aunt Becky had given her. Kate read it for the five-millionth time. It was in her father¡¯s handwriting, and it told Kate to get in contact with a person named Heidi Sheppard. Aunt Becky said she just found it somewhere! Kate didn¡¯t know what was so special about Heidi Sheppard, but she would trust her father, even if he wasn¡¯t around anymore. Oh well. She¡¯d figure it out. She and Heidi would figure it out together ! Yes! For now, it was time for experiments . She equipped rubber lab gloves , just in case, and approached the shoebox. She swiped some lab tongs on the way and made a big show of cautiously approaching the shoebox as though it might explode! (She was only doing this to put on a show for Dr. Heisenberg.) She reached out and cautiously flipped back the lid of the shoebox, and then ever-so-gently reached in with the tongs, paused a moment for suspense, and then slowly raised up a glowing purple crystal the size of an egg. She glanced over at the caterpie and could tell from his huge eyes that he was impressed. This fine specimen of McFinnium was mainly purple, though it did tend to fluctuate in color more than the other samples. It looked like a cluster of hexagonal crystals, making it one of the more normal manifestations of the stuff. Except for the strange subtle glow, it could pass for a regular crystal¡ªmaybe a chunk of amethyst? ¡°I have q-questions f-f-for you,¡± she said as she brought it close to her face. Oh yes, many questions. She didn¡¯t know much about the McFinnium, but she still knew more than almost anyone else. And she could never get a hold of her uncle to ask him stuff! She thought maybe he wanted her to do experiments and learn on her own, even though it was a little bit dangerous , maybe because he was proud of her? Like that mattered if they never saw each other! She placed the purple crystal on a special pedestal, which was actually the top of a big electromagnet, switched off. McFinnium did weird stuff when exposed to different types of energy or radiation, but the results were so far impossible to predict. She had a theory that the color of the McFinnium mattered, but she didn¡¯t have access to enough samples to verify this. She didn¡¯t even know how many varieties existed. All of this was incredibly exciting. She was dealing with a material she knew next to nothing about, and trying to figure it out from square one. In an alternate, more boring universe, she would have killed for a chance like this. In her previous experiment, a weird thing had happened with a yellow piece of McFinnium where she¡¯d tried to turn off the centrifuge but it wouldn¡¯t turn off, even after she disconnected the power supply. It had remained stable and running for over an hour. She eventually had to conclude that the McFinnium itself was somehow powering it. She had finally stopped it by spraying it all down with a non-conductive foam polymer. So this time she would see what the purple crystal did when subjected to various forms of electromagnetic radiation. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. She got to work, and for a while became fully engrossed in the experiments. She didn¡¯t notice when Eric¡¯s playlist ended and it switched over to ballet music she had got from Liz. She didn¡¯t even notice when the sun began to set and the patchy clouds out the window turned shades of blue and grey and purple that would have enthralled her had she noticed them. But at 4:58 PM, Greenwich Mean Time, on January 28, something went wrong. It coincided with Kate bringing the yellow piece of McFinnium into close proximity to the purple crystal she was analyzing. The purple crystal¡¯s energy levels began to rise, imperceptibly at first, but exponentially. (This was in the data she had managed to salvage after the explosion.) By the time Kate noticed, it was too late. She later came to the conclusion that there was nothing she could have done once the resonance began, aside from perhaps destroying the McFinnium, which was not a thing she knew how to do. She could have been quicker to escape the lab, though. Kate was humming an improvised bass line to the music and writing a note in a notebook when the resonance became noticeable. Over the course of several seconds, the violet sample began to glow brightly. Then it began to move, vibrating on its stand. She heard a faint ringing noise. She dropped the notebook and looked over at the lab computer . Then back at the crystal, adjusting her glasses. The yellow crystal was also glowing, also ringing. Louder and brighter. Time slowed down. She saw and heard the screen of the spectrometer crack. The hairs of her arms rose on end, and she felt the static crawling in her hair even though it was wrapped up into a bun. She smelled burning metal and smoke. Sparks flew from nearby machines. The yellow crystal shuddered on the nearby table as arcs of crackling electrical energy crawled out from it. A sound like faint resounding chimes rang in the eerie silence. Kate was surprised when the cold glass of the window broke against her arms. She was diving through it. When had she decided to move? She couldn¡¯t remember. At almost the same instant that the glass broke, her lab exploded behind her. There was little heat in the explosion, but there was a wild release of strange energy. The shockwave hit her as she crashed through the window and sent her tumbling through the snowy field outside. Pain. Confusion. Panic. Cold. She couldn¡¯t move. She panted and whimpered, lying on her back in the snow. She felt a burning pain in her left shoulder and arm. She felt a tightness in her chest and tears on her cheeks. She heard the faint, melodious sounds of distant chimes¡ªa beautiful sound, but underscored by a steady high-pitched whine that made her worry about her hearing. She stared up at a shattered sky. It was full of cracks, a blurry spiderweb of fissures criss-crossing over the grey clouds overhead, still lit by twilight. The lenses of her glasses had broken. Stupid. She had forgotten to check for resonance. The only damn thing she knew about McFinnium, and she had forgotten. She had been careless. Stupid! Her back and legs were cold against the snow. Except under her left shoulder, where it felt warm. Was she bleeding? Was she dying? She didn¡¯t want to die. She hadn¡¯t met Eric yet, or Jim or Isaac. She sniffled; her body shook with little sobs. She closed her eyes¡­ And she opened them to darkness, some time later. No, not darkness: stars. A starry night sky. But the stars were moving¡­some of them drifted down and touched her face with tiny cold hands. Kate couldn¡¯t help but smile. The snow, like stars, spun down through the darkness, lit by some light source off to her left. Calm. Quiet. Her ears no longer rang. So peaceful. She almost forgot the pain, and her hunger, and the numb cold. She closed her eyes again, and then realized that there was a weight pressing against the right side of her body. Was it Whiskey? Without looking she reached her right arm up to touch it. It meowed in content. Callie! Kate shook the lab glove off her right hand and pulled Callie close. Callie was warm and soft, and her purr was comforting. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, C-callie,¡± she whispered, still gazing up at the snow. ¡°Sorry Liz, and Eric. Sorry Aunt B-becky. That was stupid.¡± She watched the white flakes melt on her broken glasses. ¡° But . The s-sun is rising somewhere.¡± And she¡¯d been lucky enough to live after making a stupid mistake. She just hadn¡¯t been careful . But now she had new data , which made her tingle with excitement. Storms always come with rainbows! She lay in the snow for a while before attempting to get up. Shivering and clumsy from cold, hungry, bleeding and shaken, Kaitlyn Carter slowly got to her feet in a dark snowy field. Her hair, wild and matted, blew around her; part of her pretty lab coat had stained an ugly red. Lit by a light from the lab, her shadow, and the shadow of the cat at her feet, stretched out into the cold empty darkness beyond. The snow, like stars, swirled around her. And she knew that somewhere in the world, at that very moment, a beautiful sunrise was making someone happy. Sunrises and sunsets were continually happening in a never-ending wave that washed around the planet once per day. That¡¯s what her father had told her. And she was still alive. She would figure this out. She would make him proud. Chapter 24 Chapter 24 Banana Quest October, the previous year KC: First! KC: Hahahaaaa! :) IM: Greetings! And welcome to round 2 of our grand adventure! EW: you mean banana quest IM: We¡¯re not calling it that EW: we are though EW: right kate? KC: I think it sounds funny! IM: It¡¯s not supposed to be funny EW: how is this not supposed to be funny this is going to be a train wreck just like last time JW: Hey guys! EW: what up jim KC: hi Jim! EW: i was just explaining to Isaac how this isnt going to work JW: I think it might work. Last time was fun IM: That¡¯s the spirit, Jim! IM: Episode 1 got off to a rough start due to assorted technical reasons. EW: yeah thats one way of putting it KC: Maybe someday we¡¯ll have a friend who¡¯s really good with computers and stuff! IM: Yeah maybe. As you can see, we are using a new chat program KC: CHIME is a fun name! EW: is this really going to be better though EW: because it looks pretty much the same EW: why cant we use a video call again IM: because kate *duhhh* KC: ;) IM: Which brings me to my latest theory IM: Which is that Kate doesn¡¯t actually exist KC: :o IM: She¡¯s some kind of advanced rogue AI IM: Probably escaped from a clandestine pseudo-government R&D laboratory in remote Swaziland EW: sounds legit good sleuthing bro EW: i knew something was up with her KC: I actually know a super-advanced AI! KC: but she is not me ;) EW: anyway isaac this thing is already giving me a headache i cant tell whos typing what EW: its all just black EW: btw i see you creepin liz EW: dont be shy EE: Greetings, everyone. Lyra the Thief has returned. JW: Hey, what if we all used different colors? KC: Good idea Jim! KC: I want blue! JW: Okay, I¡¯ll take green KC: Haha!! This is fun!!! KC: My words are so pretty! EW: shouldnt we vote on this KC: NO! EW: i appeal to the GM EW: please stop this KC: >:( IM: I¡¯ll take purple EW: damn it EE: I believe this is an adequate, not to mention aesthetically appealing, solution to the problem at hand. EE: I choose gold. The color of the leaves outside. EE: And Lyra the Thief¡¯s brocaded tunic. EW: of course KC: Come on Eric! You can¡¯t stick with black! EE: Yes. Join us, Sir Kartoffelstrasse. EW: all right fine let me consult with my advisor EW: hang on a sec JW: Advisor? IM: Forget him. Where were we? KC: The caravan! IM: Ah, yes. Thank you, Lady... IM: uh, what was it? KC: Lady Cynthia Wolfram VonQuinnius Schmidt IV! EE: Who is essentially a D&D version of Steve Irwin, correct? KC: Yeah but she doesn¡¯t say ¡°croikey!¡± and ¡°how¡¯s this?¡± EE: And she does not possess rugged masculine appeal? KC: Sadly, no KC: BUT KC: She has rugged FEMININE appeal KC: ;) EE: So, like your aunt then? EE: Did I ever tell you, Kate, I thought your aunt was like Allan Quatermain, mysteriously transposed into the present day. KC: I always thought she was like Professor Challenger! IM: All right that¡¯s enough of that, you guys stay in character! KC: hee hee EE: Oh, has the game already commenced, honorable Game Master? ? IM: I¡¯m ready when you are. EW: k im back EW: my source tells me red is the best EW: so here we go EW: also my source says i should be a dragon EW: can i be a dragon IM: No! you¡¯re already a half orc EW: hang on EW: my source says having a pet dragon would be okay then IM: You¡¯re level 1, you can¡¯t have a pet dragon EW: my source says the word dragon is in the title of the game IM: Your source is Leah, and it¡¯s actually not in the title because we¡¯re playing Pathfinder, not D&D EW: ahahaha EW: my source just said ¡®game master, more like LAME master¡¯ KC: :D EW: ahaha she actually said that EW: im so proud IM: Shut up dude, can we just play the game? EW: what i thought we were EW: this is the game isnt it EW: we just bicker about unrelated topics and occasionally advance our fictional characters through a bullshit cliche plot IM: It¡¯s not clich¨¦! EW: dude we met in a tavern IM: You think I don¡¯t know the tavern trope? EE: Really, guys? EW: youre right you probably edited that thing on wikipedia IM: I¡¯m building it up now as traditional story in order to subvert expectations later! KC: :D KC: You guys are so cute when you argue! EE: I believe Jim actually wants to play. He is waiting patiently. EW: damn pulling the jim card? thats cold EW: its straight up bananas is what it is IM: Stop it with the bananas JW: Well I also like all of us just talking together JW: But the game is fun too! Remember how we fought the goblins last time and rescued that kid? EW: we were there jim JW: Yeah, exactly! That¡¯s what made it fun JW: Because it was us doing it KC: Yeah! IM: All right then let¡¯s get going IM: So you¡¯re in the caravan JW: How big is it again? EE: I presume it is still evening? IM: The storm still rumbles overhead IM: A few dozen wagons IM: and yes, evening EW: you know this would be so much easier if we could like communicate verbally EW: why cant we do that again IM: Because Kate can¡¯t EE: Did we not just address this? KC: I¡¯m an AI ;) KC: (but not really!) EW: cant or wont IM: It doesn¡¯t matter! This is how we¡¯re doing it EW: kate are you like horribly disfigured or something EE: Eric, remember when you requested I inform you whenever you are being an asshole? EE: That is now. EW: wow sorry EE: Ignore him, Kate. KC: :) JW: Eric I don¡¯t think Kate is disfigured JW: or an AIThe tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. EW: but like is she even a girl EE: Oh my god, Eric! EE: Apologies, Isaac. EW: but for real its like schrodingers gender over here KC: the Heisenberg Uncertainty Chromosome! KC: ;D JW: what? IM: SO YOU¡±RE IN THE CARAVAN EE: Yes. EW: got it KC: And we¡¯ve got the kid? IM: You got the kid IM: He¡¯s still whining EW: that little shit IM: Thraz Pennygreen approaches to congratulate you IM: WDYD? EW: wait who now? KC: *Lady Cynthea performs a face palm* KC: *elegantly* Hours later¡­ JW: Okay, so I¡¯m still suspicious of this guy and I roll Perception IM: He seems legit. JW: Hmm... EE: Hmm. EW: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM KC: Lady Cynthea asks him where he was during the bandit raid KC: but not suspiciously!! IM: ¡°Reconnaissance,¡± says Disko Jin with a smile. He shows you a sealed envelope. Lyra, you recognize the seal. It is the seal of Zinixo! KC: I knew it! KC: I mean, Lady Cynthea knew it! IM: also you see Disko Jin is wounded in several places JW: I¡¯m still a little confused about the backstories, but didn¡¯t Zinixo die? EE: Supposedly. He was murdered in broad daylight while carrying that book through the streets of Quennes. But the body disappeared. So... KC: Suspicious! EW: if theres no body hes still alive EW: thats how this shit works IM: No it isn¡¯t! IM: There¡¯s no stakes if a character can just die and come back KC: although I was looking at the rules and I think that totally happens a lot at higher levels IM: Well, yeah, that¡¯s true EW: man we are just flying through this narrative EW: still in the freaking caravan with these two bit carpetbagging cheapskates EE: Well you¡¯re not helping! EW: ...shouts lyra? EE: No, that was me. EW: *lyra pontificates EE: Shut up! EW: *bellows the bloviating bandit EE: Lyra the Thief ignores Sir Kartoffelstrasse and once more addresses Disko Jin. ¡°And you, good sir? Not badly wounded, I trust?¡± EW: youre such a mom EW: *says my guy IM: ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± says Disko Jin. EW: bananas JW: I still have my sleep spell right? IM: yeah JW: Can I try putting Eric¡¯s character to sleep? EE: I am afraid that will not solve the problem. In fact, it may only aggravate it. IM: Disko Jin hands you the letter and departs. IM: WDYD? JW: Actually I want to follow Disko. I still have questions EW: we all do bro IM: All right. Let¡¯s stick with you for a minute, Jim. What do you ask him? JW: Um. I want to see what he knows about the hexagon. IM: The what? JW: You know, the big hexagon on the floor, with the symbols on it. EE: Is this a new part of your backstory, Jimothy? EE: I mean, Max the Wizard? JW: You know how we each have a hexagon? And we each have a triangle inside the hexagon? IM: ? EW: not following JW: And there¡¯s, like...doors? At the edges? JW: um JW: wait EE: This would mark the first I have heard of such a development. KC: Lady Cynthea thinks Jim is confusing his dreams with the plot of this story :o JW: oh JW: yeah probably JW: sorry EW: no worries KC: Hey Jim did you see what the sixth symbol was? JW: no, I don¡¯t remember, sorry KC: Just curious! KC: *is what Lady Cynthea is KC: hehe EW: oh no EW: kate you better not be bringing your batshit progenitation into this game KC: @_@ EE: I believe you mean prognostication. EW: *she said condescendingly EE: This time, that is accurate. EW: you know i kinda like your character she sounds fun EE: Indeed? EW: yeah so sir kartofflestreet approaches lyra the klepto all casual and is all like ¡®yo you busy later?¡¯ EE: Oh hell no. EW: excellent! then lets get some potatoes/bananas or steal some shit EW: *he says as he polishes his monocle with a flourish IM: Can¡¯t you at least try to do your dialogue in character IM: And why the heck do you have a monocle when you¡¯re a barbarian? EW: ¡®a most astute query old chap¡¯ he says with a legit british accent ¡®right on the ol knocker, that one!¡¯ as he gestures with his ornate pipe, ¡®i shall see to conducting myself more in a manner befitting my standing as an esteemed gentleman of the realm¡¯ IM: Someone kill me EW: (kate by the way this is how i imagine your aunt talking) KC: :D KC: Yeah that¡¯s pretty much it ;) IM: Okay I¡¯m looking at your character sheet and I see you have a top hat, monocle, cane and opera cape. EW: theres a powdered wig in there too EW: plus bananas IM: WHY? IM: You¡¯re a half-orc barbarian! EW: bro dont worry about it IM: Why is this just coming up now? EW: what the monocle? IM: YES JW: I think you should let it happen Isaac JW: It¡¯s funny! IM: I don¡¯t want this to be that kind of story! KC: Lady Cynthea approves of such attire! IM: Fine, whatever, continue IM: Are you actually wearing all of this? EW: but of course! EW: back to the matter at hand EW: how bout it lyra the thief? EE: How about what? Your outrageous vestments? EW: lets initiate some awkward inter-party romance KC: 8O EE: ... KC: ...?! EW: its for the good of the narrative EE: Fine. But only if we begin by burning the wig. Lyra does possess a sense of fashion. EW: agreed JW: Is Disko Jin still around? IM: I guess IM: Yes, he is. IM: He is watching all of this transpire with horrified befuddlement KC: hehe! KC: It¡¯s bananas! IM: Yes! Everything is bananas! IM: In fact, you thought it was a circus caravan? It¡¯s actually a banana caravan! IM: Your inventories are full of bananas! Because I said so! EW: mine actually is though IM: Disko Jin is actually a banana! Why not, because it wouldn¡¯t make the slightest difference to the plot of this story, which no one seems to care about! EW: uh oh. guys we broke the gm EE: I care about the plot. IM: Why did I think this was a good idea? I could have just written a story! At least in a story the characters act like the characters! EE: Isaac, the whole point of a role-playing game is the participatory co-creation of a narrative by the players, who are also the characters. Its nature is fundamentally different from that of a written story. KC: I disagree! I think the whole point is to have fun! EE: And that. JW: Isaac, didn¡¯t you say that in this game you¡¯re winning if you¡¯re having fun? Like there¡¯s no, um, ultimate goal or anything, beyond the experience. IM: But no one¡¯s taking it seriously! IM: Except Liz EE: Thank you. IM: It¡¯s just... IM: don¡¯t you say it Eric EW: bananas? EW: damn I hit enter just as you said that EW: caught red texted EW: like an amateur IM: I give up. JW: Don¡¯t give up Isaac JW: Maybe you just need to change your expectations JW: I don¡¯t think this will be the kind of story you want it to be KC: Max the wizard is right! We¡¯re still having fun right? EW: yeah i was wrong earlier EW: i mean i was right about it being a train wreck but it still is like your best idea ever EW: fuckin copacetic IM: Wow thanks IM: ^sarcasm KC: Isaac I¡¯m sure you came up with a cool story! But since you already know how you want it to go, maybe you should just write it and then let us read it? EW: yo shes right and then we can just goof around in banana quest EE: I would rather do the story. But I see that is unlikely to happen. EE: In any case, Sir Gesualdo, I believe we have a date? JW: Let¡¯s keep going, Isaac JW: Please? IM: All right. IM: But I¡¯m doing this for Jim, not the rest of you ungrateful galoots. IM: Also Liz. EE: Thank you. IM: So it is now late evening in the caravan. IM: Everyone roll perception EW: oh shit Chapter 25 Chapter 25 Michael Whyte¡¯s Journal November, two years ago So I¡¯m writing this on the 1st because it was a long night. Lots to say. Took Jim trick-or-treating yesterday. I don¡¯t know how Eric and Isaac did it. But now they¡¯re not here and Jim sure can¡¯t do it alone. I guess I should have asked. Weird that they know things about Jim I don¡¯t. I guess they handled a lot of the load and I never noticed. Now they¡¯re gone and mom¡¯s gone all at once and I have to deal with Jim by myself. Plus homework, and applications¡­ Sorry. I always ramble. So Jim did all right during the day. In the afternoon he spent a few hours stacking his blocks. He wanted to paint them again because the colors ¡®weren¡¯t right¡¯ but I said no because he just painted them last week. He got mad and took a nap. What else¡­oh, he spent about an hour trying to stack marbles. I told him it wouldn¡¯t work but I guess he has to figure that out for himself. I think he¡¯s got it now. Marbles just don¡¯t stack. He had no headaches, and fell down only once. (This is before we went trick-or-treating.) And he had only one hallucinatory episode. Something about the sky being like quicksand and pulling him up. I think that¡¯s it. For Halloween Jim dressed up in a lab coat that he painted in bright colors. He wrote a bunch of numbers on the sleeves and called them equations. He got some protective goggles and put paintbrushes in the pockets. He says he¡¯s going as someone named Kate. I think she¡¯s his new imaginary friend. They are usually male, but whatever. And I just realized I¡¯ll have to talk to him about girls and sex. Probably soon. What a productive journal entry. Trick-or-treating. Jim had a rough time. We went a little early ¡®cause, you know, the dark, but he wandered off somewhere even though I was carefully keeping an eye on him. How does he do that? I guess I got distracted taking a picture. It wasn¡¯t even very dark and he wasn¡¯t lost for very long, maybe ten minutes before I found him, but he was freaking out. All the other kids in their costumes and stuff made him have one of the worst episodes I have seen. He was so scared and confused that it took me a while to convince him that I was real. It was a good thing I didn¡¯t dress up, because that would have made it worse. I think we made a breakthrough though. He was there on the sidewalk, shaking and crying and literally afraid of his own shadow, and I saw the white line on the side of the road. It was bright and shiny, freshly painted. And I had a random idea and I was ready to try anything so I said to Jim, ¡®look at that line. Try to imagine that all the real things are on one side of it, and all the imaginary things are on the other side.¡¯ It took him a while to figure out what I was trying to say, and I still don¡¯t know exactly what it was that I was trying to say, but anyway he caught hold of something in that weird little brain. He started following the line and pointing at everything like he was checking everything off on some list. I got some good pictures of this. I¡¯m not a psychologist or anything but I think maybe his subconscious just lacked some kind of spatial category for sorting Jim¡¯s sensory input into ¡®real¡¯ and ¡®unreal¡¯ categories, or something. So just by visualizing a line he¡¯s able to figure out what, out of the things he¡¯s seeing, is just his imagination. Maybe. We¡¯ll see if it lasts. It helped last night, although he was still really embarrassed because he had been so terrified of everything. And it made him miss Isaac and Eric a lot. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it I wonder if Jim needs special help. He doesn¡¯t want it, and I don¡¯t want him to go live somewhere else either, but if that¡¯s really what is best for him¡­ We¡¯ll see. Maybe this line thing will help. But beyond what¡¯s best for Jim, I don¡¯t know how long I can keep doing this either. It¡¯s rough taking care of someone, especially someone like Jim. Worth it, though, I guess. So. Tomorrow¡¯s my birthday. Fun journal fact: I was supposed to be born on Halloween, like Jim Nightshade from Something Wicked This Way Comes . Then we would have been Jim and Jim. Sorry. I¡¯m tired. Stayed up late with Jim after we got home because of course we went home early. Played games. Ate candy. Watched Buster Keaton. Man, Jim loves Buster Keaton. Well, so do I. Anyway, tomorrow we¡¯re going to see mom. It¡¯s always rough seeing her now, but I feel like it¡¯s our responsibility. She usually doesn¡¯t recognize us, which is hard on Jim. Jim doesn¡¯t really understand, no matter how much I explain it to him. He¡¯s scared that he¡¯s going to be like her and end up not recognizing me. I tell him that they have different conditions but¡­you know. I just hope I can take care of Jim. He¡¯s so talented. I¡¯ve been showing his art around, just to check it out, and I¡¯m getting offers for it. Like, money. Real money. He¡¯s 12! If he can just figure out how to function in the world, like on a basic level, he¡¯ll do all right. He¡¯ll do more than all right. But I don¡¯t want to mess it up. It¡¯s so much responsibility. I pray about it like every night. Anyway, that¡¯s it for today. Got an analysis to finish and turn in. Guess I¡¯ll cover the usual overambitious-birthday-life-plans tomorrow. And I¡¯ve been thinking, since Jim gets lonely, about maybe getting a dog. Maybe I¡¯ll get him a birthday present for MY birthday. It will have to be a really chill dog, though. Chapter 26 Chapter 26 Leah Walker Leah Walker slept. She dreamed of a dark place full of colors, hanging in the air like stars that she could reach out and touch. They were memories. They were doors: countless doors in a huge room, an endless hallway. They were picture frames enclosing images, feelings, colors. Curious and unafraid, she stepped into one. step Leah peeked around the corner of the door to Eric¡¯s room. He was lying on his bed, looking at her. She¡¯d been discovered! She flung the door open and performed a diving roll into his room. ¡°Look out!¡± she shouted. She squirmed around on the floor until she could kick the door shut. She covered her head with her hands as though ready for a bomb blast. She peeked through her fingers at Eric. ¡°Uh, hey, Leah,¡± said Eric. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Leah stood up straight and raised her arms. ¡°Let¡¯s play a game.¡± Eric had been reading something, but he set it aside and rolled over in his bed to face Leah. ¡°Sure. What kind of game?¡± ¡°House,¡± she announced. ¡°House, huh? Gotcha. I¡¯ll be a billionaire part-time astronaut and deep-sea fisher who¡¯s down on his luck and in deep with the Russian mafia.¡± Leah nodded in affirmation. ¡°I will be¡­a dragon.¡± She raised her arms over her head and made claws with her hands. Eric nodded. ¡°Yeah that sounds about right. But wait a minute¡­¡± Leah, with sudden apprehension: ¡°What?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t be a dragon.¡± Leah¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°You¡¯re too small,¡± said Eric. He scooted further off the bed to lean in for a closer look, carefully inspecting Leah. He nodded solemnly. ¡°Yeah, no, it¡¯s true. Way too small. You could be a dragon fly , though.¡± Leah shook her head so hard that her pigtails whipped around and hit her in the face. ¡°No. Dragon.¡± Eric also shook his head. ¡°Sorry, dragonfly. Maybe when you grow up.¡± ¡°Dragon!¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Absolutely not.¡± step She stood in a dark, echoey room. It was round, and it was full of huge colored mechanisms all turning and ticking and moving at different speeds. They were so big that she couldn''t see the tops of them. The one closest to her was white. It was as big across as her whole apartment, and it was ringing and ticking and chiming, made of glass and metal and ice and all kinds of sharp and pale and sparkly things. It towered over her, this moving, moving, everywhere always moving machine. She walked away from it, toward the wall. There was a window. Outside she saw a city, but it looked dark and empty. A huge moon hung up in the sky, but it was covered in clouds, and on it she saw oceans and green land like the world from space. Out in the dark city, a great and terrible beast roared, but it was a sad sound. She heard things breaking, cracking, shattering behind her. She turned around. step ¡°Sorry about Claw Hands,¡± said Eric. ¡°He was a good lobster.¡± Leah nodded, sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve. Claw Hands, her only and best pet ever, had died. ¡°So I got you something,¡± Eric said. They sat at their kitchen table, the newly-cleaned and now vacant fish tank beside them. Eric held up a plastic bag, and he pulled out a red stuffed animal. Leah¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Is it a lobster?¡± Eric shook his head as he handed it over to her. ¡°No, but I guess it¡¯s kind-of like a lobster. It¡¯s a dragon.¡± ¡°Dragon,¡± said Leah. She took the red thing and looked it over. It was like the dinosaurs she had seen in books, but it had wings and spikes on its back and long whiskers coming from its mouth. It was soft. She hugged it. ¡°You can name it whatever you¡ª¡± ¡°Frisby,¡± she said. ¡°What?¡± ¡°His name is Frisby Wiser.¡± ¡°Woah. Okay, that was easy.¡± ¡°Tell me about dragons,¡± said Leah. ¡°All right, sure. Dragons are awesome powerful magic monsters. They like, breathe fire, sometimes. Um. Yeah. Suitable material for a final boss battle.¡± ¡°Ohhhhh,¡± said Leah, making the noise she made when fascinated. She stared at the dragon. ¡°Where do they live?¡± she asked. ¡°Are there any in Chicago?¡± ¡°Maybe some,¡± said Eric, ¡°but mainly they live in mountains and stuff. One of my friends is actually a dragon.¡± ¡°Ohhhhh.¡± Leah stared in amazement. ¡°Yeah she just passed the test the other day.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a test?¡± ¡°Oh, you didn¡¯t know? Yeah, for real.¡± Leah hopped off her chair and onto the floor. She stared at him intently, clutching Frisby Wiser. ¡°I want to take the test.¡± Eric laughed. ¡°Whoa, you gotta study for a while first.¡± ¡°What kind of test is it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s pretty hard. It¡¯s got, like, math and stuff. Dragons need to be all up on top of their game when it comes to arithmetic, right?¡± Leah nodded as though this were obvious. ¡°I know math,¡± she said. ¡°I can add.¡± Eric narrowed his eyes and leaned in close. ¡°But do you know¡­ division ?¡± Leah considered this for some time, gazing intently at the floor. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± she said finally. ¡°It¡¯s when you¡­uh, I guess, when you take apart numbers into smaller numbers. Like, what¡¯s six divided by three? It¡¯s two, because there¡¯s two threes in the number six.¡± Leah again nodded. ¡°It is like adding, but backwards. Taking apart numbers. I can do it.¡± Eric smiled. ¡°Oh yeah? Then what¡¯s twelve divided by three?¡± ¡°Four,¡± said Leah without hesitation. ¡°Twenty divided by five?¡± ¡°That¡¯s four, too.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Eric sat back in his chair and scrunched his eyebrows at Leah. ¡°What¡¯s thirty-six divided by six?¡± ¡°It¡¯s still six. It¡¯s the same each way.¡± She produced a rare smile at that; there was something funny about it. ¡°Um. What¡¯s sixty divided by five?¡± ¡°It¡¯s twelve.¡± ¡°Forty-seven divided by eight?¡± Leah frowned. ¡°It doesn¡¯t come apart like that.¡± She paused. ¡°Forty-seven doesn¡¯t come apart at all!¡± ¡°Ninety-eight divided by two.¡± ¡°Forty-nine.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­oh wait, yeah. Holy sh¡­smokes, Leah. And you¡¯re just doing addition at school? Does your teacher know you can divide?¡± ¡°So can I be a dragon?¡± She jumped up and down in excitement. ¡°A what? Oh yeah. Sure. But, you gotta be older though. Why don¡¯t you go play with, uh, Frisby?¡± Leah went away singing a made-up song to a made-up tune: ¡°Frisby Wiser is a dragon; dragons are like lobsters; but big and good at math and breathing fire; unlike lobsters, even Claw Hands¡­¡± step Leah saw a girl sitting in a treehouse. She looked like a person, but had grey-green skin and big green eyes. Emerald jewels grew in her hair like a crown, and she wore a big green coat. She leaned against a pile of animals. But they were real animals, not stuffed: Leah saw a raccoon, some squirrels, and a bunch of birds and frogs and other creatures she didn¡¯t know. The girl sang a strange song that sounded like it didn¡¯t have words in it, and her voice was beautiful. There was also another sound that went with the song she sang, a ringing sound like bells or chimes, but Leah couldn¡¯t tell where it was coming from. The jewels in her hair sparkled. The girl in green looked like a princess from an old Disney movie, singing with all the animals around her. She was wrapping bandages around her hand, stained green. Was she hurt? Leah wanted to ask if she was hurt, but found that she couldn¡¯t speak, or move. She could only watch. But the girl with grass in her hair looked up at Leah anyway. Even though she was grey and green and weird, Leah thought she was pretty. She was small too, not much bigger than Leah. She squinted her eyes at Leah and tilted her head like a bird, and she looked confused, but she didn¡¯t stop singing. Leah saw that the treehouse room had a bed and a bunch of pots, and a computer-looking thing. The house had big windows, and a really big doorway without a door, and outside moved only the leaves and branches of more trees. It was bright and sunny outside, but thunder suddenly boomed through the forest, shaking the branches and scaring the animals all around the girl. It didn¡¯t scare the girl, but she stopped singing, and she stopped trying to look at Leah. The treehouse trembled, and a huge dark figure blocked the whole doorway with a sound like crackling lightning. The sound was loud, and the animals all scurried away out the windows, but the girl with grass in her hair seemed happy to see the giant who had come like thunder. She jumped way high up in the air to greet him. step Thunder crashed outside as though beating against their apartment building, and it rattled her windows. She tried hiding under her blanket, but it didn''t help; the storm was still out there, something huge and wild and dark that she could not control, that nobody could control. She reached out and found Frisby Wiser, but even he seemed a little scared. Leah slid out of bed, grasping the dragon to her chest, and scurried out of her room, across the hall, and into Eric¡¯s room. Without ceremony she ran to his bed and crawled up under the covers next to him. Just like that, safe and warm. He stirred, said ¡°Huh¡­wha?¡± in a sleepy way, then put his arm around her as she snuggled up next to him. step Thunder again, but a different kind of thunder. An even scarier kind than thunderstorm thunder. Where was she? What had happened? She couldn¡¯t remember. She only knew she was scared, and wanted her parents, or Eric. She began crying. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± said a voice, deep and rough, but soft. ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay.¡± They were outside, and there was a fire in front of her, which made her remember that she still had Frisby Wiser. She hugged him to her chest. But wait. This wasn¡¯t Frisby! It was¡­a turtle? It made her think¡­that something bad had happened to Eric? Or somebody? She couldn¡¯t remember! But she was leaning against someone, and she didn¡¯t remember who he was, but she knew his voice and she knew she trusted him, and she knew he would protect her no matter what even if he couldn¡¯t walk very well. He had letters on his fingers, and a beard, and a great big voice that was even bigger than the thunder. He smelled like cigarettes. It was all quiet and dark now outside, and there were trees around them, and even though the whole world outside of the fire was dark and scary, she felt okay knowing that the person whose breathing she felt against her back was with her. step Leah slowly opened the door to Eric¡¯s room. He was asleep! A perfect opportunity. She threw the door open, ran forward and leapt into the air over Eric¡¯s bed. She landed right on him. A direct hit! She expected him to wake up struggling, but he just groaned. ¡°Leah,¡± he said. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a dance,¡± she informed him. ¡°A dance.¡± ¡°A dance.¡± ¡°Leah, get off me.¡± ¡°Do you want to make something?¡± ¡°Make something.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Get off me.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Fine. We can make something later.¡± Later: they sat at the kitchen table molding playdough. Empty plastic cups littered the table and floor. Leah had constructed a screen out of books to block Eric¡¯s view of what she was making. ¡°What are you making?¡± she asked him from behind the books. ¡°If I tell you, will you tell me what you¡¯re making?¡± he asked. ¡°No. But I¡¯m almost done.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Okay, I¡¯m done. What did you make?¡± Eric cleared the books so she could see his model sitting on the desk. ¡°It¡¯s you, see?¡± It was a dragonfly, mainly red but with green eyes and yellow and blue and purple on the four wings. Leah nodded in understanding, her face serious. ¡°Her name is Extra Wings.¡± Then she turned to her own creation. It looked like a collapsed and melted cube, with angles and twisty parts in a big complicated mess made up of blue and black and purple playdough. ¡°I see,¡± said Eric. ¡°But what is it?¡± ¡°It is something you use¡­¡± said Leah. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°It is something you know about¡­¡± ¡°Which is?¡± ¡°It is something that is very big¡­¡± ¡°Okay, Leah, jus¡ª¡± ¡°The internet.¡± Leah struck a triumphant pose. Eric leaned close for a careful examination of the playdough. ¡°Leah, this looks nothing like the internet.¡± ¡°Yes it does.¡± ¡°The internet doesn¡¯t look like that. What¡¯s with all the purple? And this twisty part?¡± Leah tilted her head to one side and scooted partway around the table. ¡°Maybe you are looking at it wrong.¡± Eric¡¯s phone rang. He answered it and turned away from the table. ¡°Hey, what¡¯s up? Nah, just getting educated by my five-year-old sister.¡± Leah ignored Eric and began singing a made-up song about the twistiness of the internet. step Clouds drifted through a blue sky. She sat up and looked around. A hilltop¡ªgreen grass, trees turning gold in the cool air, mountains in the distance. Around her, lying on the grass, laughing and talking and pointing at the clouds, lay six other people. She recognized Eric; the others were about his age. The remains of an eaten meal were on a blanket nearby. One of the girls turned to look at Leah and smiled. Leah smiled back. Then she fell back onto the grass and looked at the clouds again. Happy. She was happy here. step Leah woke up on her bed. She lay there for a while, a little confused about where exactly she was. She tried to remember the dreams she¡¯d just had. They were dreams, right? She thought so. Some of them had been good, others had been scary. She didn¡¯t think she was dreaming now, though. She grabbed her blanket from the inside and rolled right out of bed and onto the floor, cocooning herself. She rolled to the door, found that it was open, and moved like a worm out into the hall. Eric should be up by now. She rolled across the hall and bumped into his door. It was closed. She knocked on it with her head. No answer. She remembered that Eric was going to go get a friend from the airport tomorrow. She rolled back into her room to get Frisby and make a sign for Eric¡¯s friend. Chapter 27 Chapter 27 Jimothy Whyte April from here to the end After a dinner of hamburgers and chips, Jimothy retired to his room. He spent some time reviewing his sketches and drafts for a special set of paintings. Five of them, one for each of his friends. It was his secret plan to distribute these for his birthday. Kate seemed to think that they would all be together then. Jimothy hoped this was true. The paintings existed in varying stages of completion. For Kate and Eric, he already had rough drafts hastily slapped onto canvas just to get a grasp on space, arrangement, and color scheme. The rest were still sketches. Heidi puzzled him, so hers was the most incomplete. For her he had only disconnected images: a gun, a chess piece (bishop), wind chimes, computers, and a weird black lizard of some kind. Heidi was very straightforward, and definitely on the dark/muted end of the color scale, opposite from Kate, so these would be reflected in her painting, whatever it ended up being. He should talk to Heidi more. Her place in his brain was dark and empty, and he needed to fill it up with stuff¡ªthe stuff she liked and didn¡¯t like, the stuff she cared about, the stuff that made her sad or angry, the stuff that made her laugh, and the hard stuff like how she would paint a picture of the world, or of God, and how she would paint herself if it were her doing it instead of him. These were his main projects now that he no longer intended to finish Black . Black was in the back of Mike¡¯s car. He hadn¡¯t let Mike take a picture of it. Jimothy thought they should throw it into the sea. Mike had said okay, they could go to the beach tomorrow. There was another thing he had sketched just this afternoon. Another strange creature, one which wore street clothes but looked like an orange lizard alien with spikes around its eyes. Jimothy thought it was kind-of funny, like maybe something from one of Isaac¡¯s goofy sci-fi movies. Jimothy imagined it laughing a lot, but he didn¡¯t know why. Something stirred in his memory when he looked at the sketch, but he could never quite place it. One thing was certain: although he had only sketched this creature in pencil, it was supposed to be orange. Jimothy¡¯s computer beeped. He set down his sketchbook and passed by the window to investigate. His room was getting dark; the declining sun no longer shone into his room. The clouds in the sky outside were touched with gold along their edges. Jimothy liked having a room that gave him a view of the sky, even if it meant having to go up stairs multiple times per day. He sat at his desk and looked out the window for a while. The slowly drifting clouds made a full pass along his field of vision, becoming more golden all the time. Jimothy at length remembered the message and turned his attention to his computer. Eric had said only ¡°yo.¡± Jimothy smiled and returned the greeting. EW: yo JW: yo EW: hows things man JW: They are ok JW: We took Hazel to the park today EW: cool i took leah to the park this weekend EW: she ran straight into a tree EW: like a direct fucking hit JW: Is she okay? EW: yeah dude shes fine EW: i told her dragonflies dont cry EW: which i think is scientifically accurate EW: so it was an all-around educational experience for her JW: Nice! EW: did you know heidi is coming to chicago later today JW: Yeah I heard. That¡¯s pretty cool! JW: Oh wait something interesting did happen today EW: interesting JW: Yeah EW: how interesting JW: Well you know Elizabeth¡¯s sister EW: yeah aj JW: She found one of my paintings at her church EW: woah JW: And it¡¯s one that I¡¯m pretty sure I haven¡¯t done yet EW: god dammit JW: What¡¯s wrong EW: some strange shit is afoot jimothy EW: something is going on, and i dont know what it is JW: I know what you mean JW: How are things going with Elizabeth? EW: how do you mean EW: did we have a fight i didnt know about EW: if we did you better let me know cause im falling behind on my monthly quota of pissing off elizabeth eddison JW: The month just started, though EW: yeah and the scores actually in her favor since shes working some sequin related debasement on the jacket i left at her house JW: I mean, you like her right? EW: jim i swear to god you better use your words and explain exactly what you mean EW: i will not condone misunderstandings of this nature brought about by the inherent inaccuracy of textual communication JW: I mean, I know you haven¡¯t said anything but I thought maybe you liked Elizabeth in a way that¡¯s more than just friendship EW: and why do you think this? JW: Well you always tease her and the two of you get into silly fights all the time. But when we went to her house you were really nice to her and you guys talked and laughed together a lot EW: we all did EW: nevermind forget that dodge EW: a tactic that weak will not derail the jim train EW: actually i shouldnt have tried to avoid answering in the first place EW: so in answer to your question EW: i guess maybe?Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. EW: you probably dont know this jim but it gets really hard sometimes for the rest of us to figure out exactly how we feel about something EW: or about a person JW: Hmm JW: I think you are right. About me not knowing. I¡¯m not sure what you mean JW: But you are older than me EW: ahaha not by much bro JW: It seems simple to me, but I guess things with people are never simple, because people are not simple EW: got that right JW: And the way that I think things are is usually wrong and not actually how they are at all JW: Because I don¡¯t understand people really well JW: you know JW: But still JW: If you think you might like her, you should say something JW: to her EW: man what im saying is i dont even have definitive enough feelings to go that far JW: You think she¡¯s pretty, right? EW: jim we cant be having this conversation you are the actual worst at keeping secrets JW: But it shouldn¡¯t be a secret! JW: If you think a girl is pretty you should tell her because she¡¯ll probably be happy about it for like three or four days EW: but girls sometimes read into that stuff and i dont want to send the wrong message EW: even if it maybe is the right message but just premature JW: I don¡¯t know JW: I told Elizabeth she was pretty at her birthday party, and she seemed really happy about that EW: of course you did JW: well it was true! JW: I think that Elizabeth is very smart, and she doesn¡¯t jump to conclusions EW: i think you are correct JW: You know how you wanted me to explain just what I meant earlier so there was no misunderstanding? She¡¯s like that all the time JW: She is careful with words, because she cares about them JW: like how I care about how things look, and colors and stuff, but she cares about what people say and what they mean ¡°between the lines¡± or whatever, which is why she likes reading poetry that is hard to figure out JW: So I think she will understand JW: The worst thing that could happen is that she doesn¡¯t feel the same way, but then she would respect you for telling her because that¡¯s how she is and you two would still be good friends, even though she would probably say it in a way that sounds like the opposite of what she actually means JW: Are you still there? JW: This is just what I think. I don¡¯t know very much about people and relationships I guess so maybe you shouldn¡¯t listen to me EW: jim you are strangely wise sometimes EW: i hear you but im still gonna hold onto this for a while EW: i think i should get my shit figured out first JW: Okay EW: now listen jim EW: i know this is hard for you EW: like nigh impossible really EW: but can you really try to not talk about this to liz the next time you talk to her EW: or any times thereafter up until i give the all clear? EW: i mean i havent even talked to Isaac about this EW: and hes like my go-to guy for preventing me from being a dumbass JW: I¡¯ll try EW: i should talk to Isaac though EW: havent heard from him in a minute EW: or dwayne JW: Dwayne is scary EW: damn right EW: but he knows whats up EW: him together with isaac is so weird EW: like a fucking grizzly bear hanging out with a dachshund JW: haha! EW: all right EW: let me know if anything new comes up EW: i mean like weird shit JW: Okay EW: see ya JW: Bye! Jimothy leaned back in his chair, far enough that for a moment he felt the exhilaration of free-fall. With a squawk and a wild flail, he was able to set himself aright. The clouds outside now showed a faint grey against the dark evening. Twilight. Jim had always found twilight skies problematic to paint. It was so difficult to get the subtle tones just right. He could get the colors but he could never quite get the emotions inside of them. This was how it was with most things Jim found beautiful. Somewhere, far out over the rooftops and treetops, someone else was looking at the blue twilight clouds. She was high up in a tall blocky building, white as pearl, cut with lines of dark windows. She was in a bed, in a blue gown, and her skin was saggy and soft and pale, and a plastic tube was attached to a needle in her arm. She was confused, confused and alone, frustrated. But she looked at the sky with clear hazel eyes, and it was the same sky that Jim saw, and for a brief moment they were looking at each other, eye to eye, seeing each other, recognizing each other. Jim tried to tell her that he loved her, that he missed her, but it all slipped away, vanishing as though he tried to grab a handful of smoke. The sky outside was just the sky, and the clouds were just clouds, but Jimothy knew that there were lots and lots of people out there under it. His mother was just one of them. All those other people were entire people, with more thoughts and love and fears than he could ever understand. He didn¡¯t know them, but they were still there. Thousands, millions. The weight of it all pressed down upon Jimothy. He felt his heart pumping harder. A dull pain throbbed behind his eyes. He tried to take deep, slow breaths. His room was too dark. He reached over and switched on the night light. Colors began melding and forming on his ceiling. He looked at the colors, watched them shift and fold. He tried not to consider the overwhelming reality of other people. He imagined a fantastic scene: a great big tree with auroras hanging like curtains from its branches, rising over dark mountains. He began to calm down. Thock . He turned to look. Something had thock ed nearby. It sounded like a blue rubber ball bouncing all by itself. Thock . It came from his other window, the one overlooking the back porch. Jimothy rolled his chair past easels and piles of paper and prints to the dark portal. He put his paint-splattered hands on the splintery wood of the windowsill and looked out into the darkness. He thought of the Line, which was still a little orange and fuzzy, but present. This was all real. He unhooked the latch and slid the window up just as another thock sounded. He watched as a blue rubber ball floated up from the darkness below, was briefly illuminated as it hung for a moment in front of his face, and then dropped back into the congealed night outside his window. The frantic barking of Hazel sounded from down below. He also, apparently, had become aware of this anomaly. Or, he had just woken up. Or heard a bird. Or, perhaps, had detected something beyond human perception. Jimothy had once suggested to Michael that maybe when Hazel dashed around aimlessly he was actually protecting them from evil spirits. Michael thought this unlikely. Hazel was just aimless. People, Michael told Jim, also tend to dash around aimlessly, but are far better at justifying themselves. Again Jimothy heard the percussive noise of the ball making contact with the wood of the back porch. Again the blue orb appeared, illuminated in the light, and then fell back into shadows. The next time he was ready. When the thock sounded he stuck out his hand, palm upright. The ball reappeared, as if by magic, and fell right into his hand. He hadn¡¯t even tried to catch it. Jimothy had expected it to feel like a normal rubber ball. And it felt exactly like a normal rubber ball. He sensed no life in it as he withdrew it from the darkness back into his room, closing the window in case it got any ideas about escaping. It didn¡¯t move or quiver. Just a ball. He held it up to the dim colorful light in his room. He had to show Mike. Chapter 28 Chapter 28 Michael Whyte Mike sat at the kitchen table, looking at the box. His camera rested near his hand, and with one finger he tapped it in a simple rhythm. The window facing him looked out into darkness; only the pool of yellow illumination from a streetlight was visible. His phone rang. Not AJ. A number he didn¡¯t recognize. He hesitated for a few rings before answering. ¡°Hello, this is Michael Whyte.¡± ¡°Michael. This is Alan.¡± Michael recognized the gruff voice. ¡°Oh. Hi. Are you using a different phone?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°What do you want?¡± ¡°The package. You still have it?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Did you open it?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°I told you not to.¡± ¡°But you knew I would, right? I mean, I¡¯m not just gonna hang on to a suspicious package from a person I don¡¯t know without actually checking to see what it is, right? Not that I know what it is any better now.¡± Michael stood and moved around the table while he spoke. With one hand he slid the strange metal stack of pancakes onto the table. The gruff voice was silent. ¡°Okay, Alan. What exactly do you want me to do with this?¡± Michael tapped a fingernail on the metallic shell of the object. ¡°Just hang onto it for now. I sent it so it would be at a safe location. I intend to come pick it up. I may have to stop by Chicago first.¡± ¡°Okay, see, that is exactly what you shouldn¡¯t have said. So I¡¯m a ¡®safe location?¡¯ Implying that wherever it was wasn¡¯t safe. And I am concerned that this package will bring the unsafeness along with it, to my location. I¡¯m going to get rid of it.¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± ¡°Why the hell am I even the safest location you could think of? You don¡¯t even know me! Do you just send stuff like this to your daughter¡¯s friend¡¯s siblings all the time?¡± ¡°Trust me, Michael. Or barring that, trust Jimothy. Is it turned on?¡± ¡°What? I have no idea.¡± ¡°Turn it on.¡± ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want me to open it!¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t, until now. Turn it on.¡± ¡°Ok. How?¡± ¡°There is a switch on the bottom.¡± ¡°What will it do?¡± ¡°For you, the most important thing it will do is alert you to possible danger. Keep close to it the next few days, and keep your brother close to it.¡± ¡°Danger? What the hell, Alan. If any danger is coming, it¡¯s only because some guy mailed me a¡­whatever this is.¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t know if you actually will be in any danger. I hope not, but I want you to be prepared for that possibility. And if it comes, it will not be because of the package I sent you.¡± ¡°Alan, does somebody know about Jim? Do you know?¡± ¡°What do you mean, Michael?¡± ¡°I¡¯m talking about how he can paint things he hasn¡¯t seen! He can find anything just by thinking about it and guessing!¡± ¡°Calm down, Michael. Your brother isn¡¯t the only strange thing in the world.¡± ¡°Tell me what we¡¯re in danger from.¡± ¡°October Industries. Be on the lookout for grey and orange vans. It¡¯s not you or your brother they want, or the device I sent you. They¡¯re after something they¡¯re calling ¡®angels.¡¯¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Michael didn¡¯t know how to respond to that. ¡°You¡¯ll have to trust me. Call me if anything comes up.¡± Alan hung up. Michael shook his head. Unbelievable. The only thing stopping him from leaving the strange device and driving Jimothy far away was Jimothy¡¯s own insistence that Alan could be trusted. Jimothy was not often wrong about those things. Michael sighed, pocketed his phone, and flipped the switch on the bottom of the device. It vibrated slightly. The readouts on top came to life, showing numbers and flowing charts. If this was supposed to alert Michael to danger, he had no idea how. Jimothy stepped around the corner into the bright fluorescent lights of the kitchen. He held out a blue ball toward Mike, grinning as if in triumph. Mike was startled at first; it appeared that something horrible had happened to Jimothy. His hands, as well as large parts of his face, were a mottled mixture of brown, red, orange, and black. The smell of fresh paint began to fill the room. ¡°Jim, how many times do I have to tell you to wash up after you paint? You get it¡­uh, everywhere¡­¡± His attention turned toward the ball. It took him a moment to remember Jim talking about a ball bouncing all by itself. This must be the one. A moment of silence. Mike looked at him. They both looked at the ball. ¡°Um¡­¡± said Mike. Jimothy let go of the small blue sphere. He said, ¡°Aha!¡± They both watched as the ball bounced once, then again, then faster and faster. At last it lay still on the ground, rolling to a stop near the refrigerator. It had brown and red smudges on it, and it had left minute traces of this fact on the white tile floor of the kitchen. Mike scratched the back of his neck and said, ¡°Is that the one?¡± ¡°Yep!¡± said Jim. Mike cast a meaningful glance at the inert orb near the fridge. ¡°So it¡¯s going to¡­start bouncing?¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Jimothy looked at the ball as well. ¡°Maybe.¡± Then he looked back at Mike. ¡°You believe me, right?¡± ¡°Well, no. I think you were imagining things again.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not, though. I checked the Line.¡± Even though Mike had only a vague idea about what manner of psychological construct the Line actually was, it had never failed Jim. But balls don¡¯t bounce all by themselves, and Mike told this to Jim. Jimothy¡¯s confused and disappointed expression pained Mike. ¡°I know it¡¯s impossible,¡± said Jim slowly, as though working through his thoughts out loud. ¡°But I guess that¡¯s why I was so excited about it¡­¡± He bit his lip and stared at the ball. He reached a hand up to massage the side of his head. ¡°Hey,¡± said Mike in an attempt to prevent Jimothy from dwelling on this and getting another headache. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go for a walk? It¡¯s a nice night. And think about what to pack. We¡¯re going on a trip tomorrow.¡± Jim nodded slowly. He turned toward the back door. ¡°And try not to fall,¡± Mike added. ¡°Take your cane.¡± Jimothy nodded and disappeared around the corner. The back door opened, and Hazel began barking and jumping around in excitement. Jim always went to say hi to Hazel when leaving the house. Mike went to the fridge and picked up the ball. It was, unless he was mistaken, a racquetball. He had never played racquetball. He gave it a few experimental bounces. Satisfyingly bouncy, yes, but it obeyed the laws of physics. He put it up on the counter. It was important not to leave things that could be tripped over on the floor, because Jim would always somehow find them. And with Jim the range of trip-able objects was extensive. More worryingly, the list seemed to be growing. Michael feared that Jim would eventually need a wheelchair. Someday. Not soon, hopefully, but¡­what about his room being on the second floor? The stairs were tricky enough for Jim; he had already considered looking into those lift-chair things. Were they expensive? Probably. He turned his attention back to Alan¡¯s device, and noticed Jim¡¯s cane leaning against the table. Jim had forgot again. Or maybe he¡¯d left it deliberately. Jim didn¡¯t like the cane very much, even though it significantly reduced his time spent sitting on the ground. Michael turned the heavy metal device over in his hands, and he noticed a small symbol near the switch he had flipped to power it on. For the first time, it occurred to him that this might be a clue. It could be a logo. It was an orange line within a grey oval, a bit like an eye with a vertical slit. Several minutes of internet searching later, Michael considered that they might be letters¡ªspecifically, the letters ¡°O¡± and ¡°I.¡± From here he was at last able to identify the icon. It appeared to be the logo of October Industries. He began looking them up. Someone knocked politely at the front door. Mike stood, and was on his way to answer it when he heard a sound behind him: Thock. While he was turning to look, the front door exploded. Chapter 29 Chapter 29 Jimothy Whyte Jimothy sat with his back against a tree, on the grass, near the sidewalk. He closed his eyes and smelled the cool night air. That spring smell was present, the smell of freshness and new beginnings. It smelled like something about to happen. Jimothy imagined looking at himself at that moment through the eyes of an observer. He pictured the scene, transmuted into a painting. How would he layer the colors for the darkness of the yard behind him? What brushstrokes would be best for these leaves? How to do the halo of light around the nearby streetlight? The painting would be kind of sad, but also a little exciting. Jimothy realized he was excited. Excited for what? He wasn¡¯t sure. But that springtime-at-night smell was in the air, and it was hard to paint. But he wanted to try. Jim closed his eyes for a long minute, and hung his head to his chest. He breathed deeply through his nose. When Jim looked up at the sky, he noticed that the stars were swarming over each other like millions of bright ants. When he looked back down, he saw that he sat in a boat, out on a vast dark sea. Thick salt air swirled about him, and thunder rumbled in remote places. He saw ahead of him an immense pyramid, the size of a mountain, a grim monument rising up out of the black water. Spiraling upward around that pyramid was a river. It rose up out of the ocean like some cosmic serpent. The river pooled at the tip of the pyramid and dripped up into the star-swarmed sky in globules as large as lakes. Jim paddled toward that pyramid. He had no idea how to paddle a boat, but he tried. He had an oar, anyway, and he was dipping it into the water and moving it around. As he neared the pyramid a man came up alongside him, walking on the water. The man wore dark clothes, and was faintly visible because of his outline against the near-constant glinting of lightning in the distance. Jimothy stopped paddling, but it was okay because the current now carried him steadily toward the pyramid. The man stepped casually into the boat. Jimothy clutched at the oar as the boat rocked with the new weight. ¡°Hello,¡± the man said, as casually as if they were just passing on the street. ¡°Hello,¡± said Jimothy. Then, ¡°Are you real?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said Jimothy. He thought about it. He saw the Line in his mind. Yes, this person was real. But wait. Wasn¡¯t he really sitting under a tree a few streets over from his house? After a moment of dizzying bafflement, Jimothy decided to worry about that later. The man laughed a soft laugh and sat down beside Jimothy like an old friend. The paint-peeling grey rowboat had followed the current to the river which rose up out of the sea. The boat began to ride the river up into the dark sky. Jimothy tried to look at the man to see what he looked like, but he couldn¡¯t make much out. It wasn¡¯t that the man¡¯s face was shaded, or blurry. He was just hard to look at, somehow. Jimothy waited for him to say something, or explain who he was or why he was there. But he apparently had nothing to say. That was fine with Jim. This guy seemed cool. He lounged in relaxation on the other end of the rowboat, enjoying the view. After a few minutes of watching the distant lightning Jimothy chanced a look over the edge of the boat. They had been moving steadily, and had made several loops around the mountainous pyramid. They neared the top, and the ocean was so far below now that Jim could hardly make it out. They rested in silence as they floated onto the mass of water accumulating at the tip of the pyramid. They sat upside down, comparative to the sea below. Gravity seemed to be taking the day off. ¡°Don¡¯t go home,¡± said the stranger as the vast drop of water detached and floated upwards toward the sky. ¡°There¡¯s someone at your house waiting for you.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s Mike. He lives there too. He¡¯s harmless.¡± The man shook his head. ¡°Someone else. Dangerous. You¡¯re lucky your brother¡¯s n ot harmless.¡± Something was familiar about this man¡¯s voice. Had Jimothy heard it before somewhere? He wasn¡¯t sure. Jimothy nodded hesitantly. ¡°If you say so. Wait a minute¡ª¡± at that moment the floating lake joined the inky sky with an immense rush of water, and Jimothy found himself submerged. Then he became distracted by the stars. They shimmered, balls of light the size of his fist, drifting around him and looking at him with curiosity. They approached like a school of fish. And then Jimothy jerked to wakefulness. He sat up. For a few seconds, confusion reigned. And with timing so perfect that Jimothy instinctively doubted its reality, a vehicle skidded around the corner of the block to his right. He recognized Mike¡¯s car. The headlights were on bright, and Jimothy squinted and put a hand up to shield his eyes. Jimothy fell sideways as the car screamed to a halt by the sidewalk, narrowly missing him. It stopped close enough that Jimothy, lying on his side, was able to kick a tire with his left foot. It seemed real enough. This close up, he noticed some scratches and black spots on the exterior that he was pretty sure hadn¡¯t been there this afternoon. The door flew open, and before Jim knew what was going on Mike was there, helping him up. He smelled like smoke. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°Hey, Mike,¡± said Jimothy as he was manhandled into the passenger¡¯s seat. ¡°I was just thinking about you.¡± Mike slammed the door, cranked the car into drive, and peeled out. The car fishtailed down the road before stabilizing. Jimothy carefully buckled his seatbelt. ¡°Hey, Mike,¡± said Jimothy as he rolled down a window. Their speed was already great enough that the resulting roar of cool air drowned out any reply, so he rolled it back up again. ¡°Mike, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Jimothy noticed that he was sitting on a notebook, so he pulled it out from under him. He twisted around and put it carefully on the backseat, noticing as he did so that Black was still back there. Jimothy could tell from Mike¡¯s glances in the mirrors that they were fleeing from something, so he peered into the rearview mirror, looking behind them. All that was visible were streetlights, porch lights¡­and an ominous red glow in the atmosphere. Jimothy knew the answer to his question before he asked it, but he asked it anyway. ¡°Is that our house?¡± Mike remained focused on the road. Jimothy decided that this was a good thing. They were slowing down, but still exceeding the speed limit by a lot. Jimothy sat back in his chair, and sadness began to spread through him at the thought of their house burning. ¡°I¡­there were¡­I liked my bed,¡± he said at last. ¡°And my paints.¡± He looked back again, but the radiant flush in the sky was fading from view. There was a long moment of silence. It wasn¡¯t awkward silence, but Mike was wound up like a spring, and Jimothy felt the tension. Jimothy remembered that his phone had been in their house as well. The brakes wheezed as they dug around a sharp corner. ¡°So this may seem like a silly question,¡± Jimothy said at last, ¡°but¡ª¡± ¡°I believe you,¡± said Mike. Jimothy looked at his brother intently and noticed that a tiny stream of blood had run down the side of his face and dried sometime recently. Jimothy felt something roll around on the floor by his foot. He bent down to pick it up and whacked his head on the dashboard before succeeding on the second attempt. It was, of course, the ball. ¡°I¡¯m glad you believe me,¡± he said. Jimothy looked back at the ball, and then at his hands. They were still blotchy in shades of red, brown, and orange. They still smelled like fresh acrylic paint. He imagined himself looking like that all over¡ªnot just in browns and reds, but in bright colors, perhaps reflecting his mood. He imagined them crawling, shuffling over the surface of his body like a chameleon. He imagined them glowing, illuminating the interior of the car like a multicolored disco ball. He remembered the paintings he¡¯d been doing for his friends. They would be all burned up. Well, they hadn¡¯t been finished anyway. He could always do them again. But what about¡­ ¡°Hazel!¡± Jimothy exclaimed, sitting upright in his seat. He turned to look at Mike, eyes wide. Mike bit his lip, fixed his gaze ahead on the road, and slowly shook his head. ¡°Sorry, Jim,¡± he said quietly. Jimothy looked out the window in the silence that followed, and tears tracked their way down his cheeks. Mike gradually slowed down to a reasonable speed, but the streetlights still flashed by with hypnotic consistency. In Jimothy¡¯s mind their car became a tiny spaceship, flying away from everything. As Mike drove them out of the city, Jimothy saw the spark-lights of houses in the distance, peppering the empty curtain of space with evidence of forlorn souls¡ªflecks of luminosity stranded out in a calm sea. The dark land seemed to reflect the star-sprayed sky above. Out there, in those wild empty lands, it was cold and lonely. But in the car was a warm, humming, comforting darkness. And Mike. ¡°Hey, Mike?¡± he said. ¡°Yeah, Jim?¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re real.¡± Mike smiled. ¡°You know what I mean.¡± ¡°Yeah. I know.¡± Mike looked out his own window as he drove. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re real too,¡± he said. Jimothy carefully put the blue ball in the cup-holder between their seats. ¡°So where are we going?¡± he asked. Jimothy wasn¡¯t looking, but he could still see Mike shake his head. ¡°Okay,¡± said Jimothy, reclining his seat. ¡°Tell me when we get there.¡± Chapter 30 Chapter 30 Alan Sheppard The incoming storm looked bad from the airplane; it was worse on the ground. Sleet pummeled the streets of Edinburgh and spattered like phlegm off the cobblestones of the Royal Mile. The low clouds stretched overhead in a solid slate-grey plane from mountain to mountain. Alan Sheppard hunched against the icy onslaught as he shuffled down the nearly deserted street. He had spent too long in the tropics. He¡¯d forgotten how to toughen up against the cold. He slipped, put off-balance by his backpack, and nearly fell. ¡°Sherlock Holmes,¡± McFinn had said. ¡°Picardy Place.¡± Alan had had the foresight to purchase a heavy waterproof coat before leaving the airport, but it only made a difference for so long. The unrelenting sleet soon soaked Alan Sheppard to the skin. He was late. Delayed, of course, at the airport. He¡¯d also had to pick up a package, its contents now safe and dry in one of his pockets, clutched in one hand. In his other pocket, held in his other hand, a carved wooden chess piece. The white knight. He had forgotten to put it with the rest of the chess set before he left. He didn¡¯t mind; it reminded him of Heidi. Of why he was here. By the time he arrived at what he thought was Picardy Place, he was cold, wet, and hungry. But also, he was ready. Ready for Riley McFinn. Out front of the Picardy Place lay a crescent of lawn, an island of green between two roads. Two figures stood out there, both unmoving. One was Sherlock Holmes. The other¡­ Alan approached until he stood beside the bronze Holmes, facing the shorter stranger. ¡°Are you Riley McFinn?¡± he asked, his voice raised to overcome the sound of sleet. The stranger, wearing a woolen overcoat with heavy boots, threw back his hood, revealing a thin, pale, freckled face. Green eyes and red hair. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Alan Sheppard. Welcome to Scotland.¡± His wan smile indicated that this storm was a poor welcome. Alan removed the revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Riley McFinn¡¯s heart. ¡°Are you Nikola Raschez?¡± he asked. McFinn¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Wrong question, Alan,¡± he said. Alan Sheppard began to reply but McFinn cut him off. ¡°No, I am not Raschez.¡± His voice was thin and reedy. Not what Alan expected of such an important man. ¡°Are you Christmas?¡± asked Alan Sheppard without moving the gun. Now Riley McFinn looked only confused. His brows furrowed and he seemed oblivious to the icy downpour plastering his vibrant hair onto his head. ¡°Christmas? This time I don¡¯t know what you mean.¡± Alan Sheppard slowly lowered the weapon. His hand shook slightly from the cold. His fingers felt numb around the cold metal. Riley McFinn pulled his hood back up. ¡°I want answers,¡± said Alan Sheppard. ¡°Rebecca said you¡¯d shoot straight.¡± ¡°That is true,¡± said McFinn as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. ¡°I have a policy of honesty.¡± His smirk made it unclear whether this claim ought to be taken seriously. ¡°I will tell you as much as I can.¡± ¡°You mean what you think I need to know.¡± The smile returned to McFinn¡¯s face. ¡°Yes. That.¡± He paused. ¡°Our car is here. Make yourself comfortable.¡± He gestured to his right. A black limousine pulled up, half-shrouded in the rain. Alan slid into the back of the limousine. The warm, dark, dry interior suited him just fine. It smelled of leather, a clean smell. Alan could hardly feel the purring of the engine. He replaced the gun in the pocket of his soaked jacket and blew on his hands to warm them up. He couldn¡¯t see the driver. McFinn stepped inside and threw off his coat. Alan noticed a faint glow in front of him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the interior. A soft purple glow, from one of the cup holders toward the front. He reached out and picked up a small smooth crystal. It pulsed with a subtle light as though refracting an unseen light. Alan knew what it was. Did Riley McFinn just have this stuff lying around? ¡°McFinnium,¡± said Riley McFinn as if continuing a casual conversation, ¡°does not belong here. I extract it from another plane of existence. Don¡¯t ask me where. The funny thing is, McFinnium is requisite to procure more McFinnium.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Alan began to ask the obvious question, but McFinn cut him off. ¡°I don¡¯t know where it first came from. Nicholas Carter gave it to me, and as you know he is now deceased. I am merely an inventor; an engineer. He was the true scientist.¡± McFinn leaned back and tapped the dark glass separating them from the driver. The limousine began to move. ¡°Nicholas was Rebecca¡¯s brother,¡± said Alan. ¡°Half-brother, yes, and Kaitlyn¡¯s father. He¡­had nothing to do with October Industries.¡± ¡°And what about you?¡± said Alan. ¡°I worked for October Industries and I know that their activities are¡­¡± ¡°Sinister?¡± suggested McFinn with a smile. ¡°More than just illegal,¡± said Alan. ¡°You are correct,¡± said McFinn. ¡°Their activities are beyond unlawful. And while it would be misleading for me to suggest that I have no connection to that organization, I can assure you that it is one primarily of¡­contention.¡± ¡°They are using your McFinnium,¡± said Alan. McFinn¡¯s mouth twisted as though tasting something sour. ¡°Yes, I have recently been reminded of that.¡± ¡°Do you know what happened on January 28 th ?¡± asked Alan. Riley was silent for a moment. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°What do you already know?¡± Alan held up the purple crystal. ¡°It had something to do with this,¡± he said. ¡°They called it a ¡®Breach.¡¯ People were¡­transformed, somehow. Some of them went crazy. One man, codenamed ¡®Black,¡¯ destroyed the entire facility. Most of the staff of the facility died in the accident. I was almost one of them.¡± McFinn nodded. ¡°But it was no accident. It was very intentional, although accompanied by unforeseen consequences. Disastrous consequences. Fools. And those strange individuals, including the one who destroyed the facility, they are not from this world.¡± Alan frowned at the crystal he held, not sure if he was ready to believe something like that. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if you believe it,¡± continued McFinn with a dismissive wave of his hand. ¡°The Breach is old news. What matters is what is about to happen. Tomorrow. An event which will render the Breach insignificant by comparison. An event which is also intentional, although this time, inevitable. An event which cannot now be prevented.¡± The limousine pulled to a halt. ¡°Kaitlyn has told me that something bad is about to happen. Is this what she¡¯s talking about?¡± asked Alan. He saw that the limousine had stopped outside the airport. Done already? ¡°Yes,¡± said McFinn. ¡°I have named the upcoming event the ¡®Cascade.¡¯¡± ¡°What is it?¡± asked Alan. ¡°What¡¯s going to happen?¡± ¡°The end of the world,¡± said McFinn, without hesitation and without humor. He leaned back in his chair. ¡°I will, of course, explain. But after, I believe you should go find Heidi.¡± Alan nodded. And Riley McFinn explained about the end of the world. Chapter 31 Chapter 31 Jacob Hollow A young man strolled alone through the town of Pikeston in the late morning sun. He smiled a bit, but his smile was grim. The air of Pikeston hummed with tension. Jacob understood why. Many were the things he could not remember; his past was like a puzzle with little more than the edge pieces put together. But he could not forget Black. Jacob Hollow could taste Black¡¯s stench in these streets. ¡®Abraham Black: lips cracked, eyes smokestacks, skin blistered candlewax¡­ ¡¯ How did the rest go? Part of it was something like, ¡®turn back, turn back, it¡¯s Abraham Black.¡¯ Didn¡¯t sound scary now, in broad daylight. But at night, alone, in the dark¡­ He snapped the fingers of his right hand as he walked. Sometimes he did so as though flicking something down from his hand, and then catching it again with an upward snap. Sometimes, when the sunlight was just right, it seemed as though a burning drop of light plummeted from his fingers, struck the cement, and rebounded. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s here,¡± he said out loud. I guess that message was legit. Probably still a trap, though. ¡°Angel is here too, somewhere.¡± What happens if Black gets the angel? ¡°Probably he¡¯ll get back in the Museum.¡± Shit. Oh shit. This is all Akkama¡¯s fault. ¡°That¡¯s why he wants it, right? To find and kill you?¡± Shit. Yes. Focus, man. What if the angel dies? Maybe we should kill it. ¡°Then what about the kid?¡± Fuck the kid. Kill him too. ¡°Nah, don¡¯t think so. It oughta be enough if we can trap Black here for the Cascade.¡± Oh yeah, sure, sounds easy. Real fuckin piece of cake. Nearby, as Jacob walked, a meadowlark flitted through the trees. Jacob came down Main Street to the central part of town. Not that there was much of it, in Pikeston. Something was going on here. Law enforcement vehicles clustered around a cordoned-off area which included the Wagon Wheel bar and most of the nearby sidewalk. Jacob took a breath and snapped his fingers. Something shifted in the air around him; filaments of light stretched, bent, folded in upon themselves. He crossed the street and walked past the cordoned-off area. No need to take a look. He knew what he would see. He had seen it before. No one looked at him until he entered the coffee shop at the end of the block. He took a look around. Rustic. Wood paneling. It was empty except for the person behind the counter, who glanced up anxiously as he entered. Nervous. Hmm. Was school in session? He had no idea. He emerged from the coffee shop five minutes later with a cup of black coffee. ¡°Where¡¯s the school?¡± We can¡¯t fucking see that, you imbecile. ¡°Is he there?¡± Again, how the fuck do I know that? That¡¯s enough from you; let me talk to him. Hell no; get your own damn book. Hey! Apologies, Jacob Hollow. My splenetic associate seems to¡ªwait a moment. Did you just call me an associate ? Unbelievable. What¡¯s next, I¡¯m your fucking ¡®coworker?¡¯ Ow! Stop! ¡°Hmm,¡± said Jacob. He sipped the coffee, gazing up into the bright blue sky. His eyes were drawn to the tallest structures in town by far: three cement grain silos, in a row, each easily ten stories tall. They were grey, but it looked like a half-hearted attempt had been made to paint one of them white. Maybe the white was to cover graffiti. ¡°There he is,¡± said Jacob as he began walking again. Wait where are you going? You found the hero? ¡°We have some time.¡± Yeah I guess enough time to fuck around buying hot drinks instead of securing the fucking angel. Sure, who cares about the¡ª ¡°Shut up.¡± He sipped the coffee again as he crunched his way down the gravel of a side alley toward the grain silos. ¡°Put the rational one back on.¡± Hey fuck you too you heaping¡ª Do you think Black knows which child it is, Jacob? ¡°I don¡¯t think it matters. If he felt like it, he could just kill every kid in this town.¡± Then why does he not, if it would prevent the angel from fulfilling its function? ¡°Because,¡± Jacob Hollow said with a grim smile, ¡°Abraham Black is a sportsman. Ha! He¡¯ll wait for ¡®the right moment.¡¯ He¡¯s designed to be dramatic.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. And he¡¯s not the only one you absolu¡ªagh! Sorry. Go on. ¡°Also it¡¯s daytime. People are less afraid in the day.¡± They are? ¡°Humans are. So I think he¡¯ll wait for the Cascade. But we¡¯ll just see what he has to say about it himself, huh?¡± What? Are you going to talk to him? Listen you insipid sack of clich¨¦s, we didn¡¯t come this far to let you¡ª Be careful, Jacob. Please. It¡¯s¡­he might not be the same Abraham Black as the one you know. ¡°Yeah.¡± Jacob finished off the steaming cup of coffee as he neared the chain-link fence surrounding the area which the silos occupied. He held the empty cup in his hand for a moment, then dropped it on the gravel of the empty lot behind the library. He snapped his fingers. The chain link in front of him fell in pieces to the ground. He stepped through. He approached the ladder on the side of the silo. The ladder had a cylindrical fence around it all the way up. It was locked at the bottom with a rusty padlock. Jacob snapped his fingers; the padlock fell to the ground. He swung the rusted gate open with a harsh squeal of metal. He shaded his eyes and gazed upwards before climbing. A number of hawks circled overhead. Holy shit. Did you see that? Of course not. Right, yeah, sorry, but he just stepped out of the shadows! I didn¡¯t know he could do that! When did he learn how to do that? Fuck! You haven¡¯t been paying attention, have you? Mr. Hollow, would you like me to silence my mentally lethargic ¡®colleague?¡¯ No one asked¡ª ¡°No, it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s kind of funny. I only told him to shut up earlier to make him mad.¡± Ah, I see. Indeed, it requires little provocation to achieve that end. Oh hey, yeah, let¡¯s all laugh at the asshole who actually fucking cares about making sure this fucking monster¡ª ¡°But he might be able to hear you,¡± said Jacob Hollow as he began to ascend the ladder. ¡°So maybe tone it down when I get up there. Or just, throw a tantrum, but through whispering.¡± The ensuing tirade entertained Jacob on the way up. The metal rungs of the ladder were icy cold against his hands. He wished he had some gloves. When he was halfway up, he took a break and leaned back against the protective caging around the ladder to breathe some warmth into his fingers. He needed those for snapping. Even though he was pretty sure Black wouldn¡¯t attack. Not him; not here. Not when it was getting close to noon, on a cloudless day. Surely not. No way. Jacob Hollow looked uneasily toward the top of the ladder. He snapped his fingers a few times. It¡¯ll be okay. You can do it. I believe in you. Jacob couldn¡¯t tell if these were his own thoughts or not. He often had that problem. He was designed to be a little¡­unstable. He knew that now. He knew also that all things could transcend their design. Abraham Black was proof of that, if nothing else. He continued his ascent. When he reached the top, he slowly peeked over the edge. Three broad cement circles¡ªthe tops of the silos, each a good thirty feet across. In the center of the far platform stood a tall figure in a dusty black coat and broad dark hat. A dozen hawks circled in the skies around them. From up here Jacob could easily see the whole town of Pikeston and beyond. Jacob Hollow cautiously got to his feet on top of the silo and walked to the center of his own circle. There. Nice and symmetrical. Black should appreciate the dramatic nature of this encounter. ¡°Sho,¡± said Black. His voice was clearly audible at conversational volume, despite the distance between them. ¡°Thish ish a shurprishe. Didn¡¯t I kill you?¡± Jacob didn¡¯t respond. A cloud of smoke appeared in front of Black; his arm suddenly outstretched, gun in hand. But Jacob had already snapped. The bullet spun in the air before falling with a soft clink to the cement at his feet. Thunder echoed through a cloudless sky. Black¡¯s unnatural teeth gleamed beneath the brim of his hat. Jacob chanced a look around. Really a great view up here. He could see the whole sky. It was bright blue, and clouds gathered only at the horizons, giving it a concave impression. There, to the north, ran a jagged line that shone with light in Jacob¡¯s eyes. Black laughed softly, a sound like a man drowning in blood. ¡°Brought your friendsh, I shee,¡± he said. Black gestured with a smooth swing of his arm to the circling hawks. ¡°By hish birdsh you shall know him. No angel, though. Dishappointing.¡± Jacob looked down and nudged the dented bullet with his shoe. It sparkled silver on the cold cement. ¡°The Cashcade ish closhe,¡± said Black. ¡°How ¡®bout a deal? I will shpare your life, and even the livesh of theshe shorry shouls¡­¡± He indicated Pikeston. ¡°In exshchange for the angel. Whaddaya shay?¡± Don¡¯t you even fucking think abo¡ª Quiet! He¡¯s hesitating! ¡°Shorry,¡± said Jacob Hollow, imitating Black¡¯s speech. ¡°Can¡¯t do that.¡± Abraham Black shrugged. ¡°Worth a shot.¡± His arms shot out from his sides and flickered through the air around him, so quickly that he looked like a stuttering stop-frame image. The thunder of the gunshots was a single enormous sound. Each of the hawks that had been circling the silos jerked in the air and began to fall. Ten. Ten hawks. ¡°I will kill the boy,¡± said Black. ¡°I will kill every bird I shee. When I get back inshide, I will kill every one of thoshe demonsh. I will end thish whole shorry charade. I won¡¯t let there be another chanche. That ish what ish about to happen. Surely you undershtand.¡± Jacob Hollow nodded. He did understand. The voices in his head were silent. Even in the broad daylight, darkness began to obscure Black. Even without a shadow to step into, he disappeared from sight. Jacob Hollow¡¯s legs gave out, and he sat down on the silo. He began to laugh, and once he started, he couldn¡¯t stop. He laughed and laughed, until tears dripped from his chin onto the cold cement. Then, looking out over the trees and the rooftops, he said, ¡°What did you do? What the hell did you do to him?¡± The voices were silent. ¡°He¡¯s not supposed to be like that. The one I knew never¡­why¡¯s he looking for an angel if there¡¯s already one inside of him?¡± That burning darkness. Ask Jeronimy. No way, you shut the hell up, I¡¯m not taking responsibility for that. For once, this shit wasn¡¯t my fault. You know who¡¯s to blame here. It¡¯s your angel. ¡°He had a ring,¡± said Jacob softly. ¡°A black ring. It looked like¡­¡± We know. ¡°I can¡¯t win. Why did that guy tell me to come here if I can¡¯t stop Black?¡± Just find the kid, Jacob. Start there. Maybe he can help. Chapter 32 Chapter 32 Shape and Sky ¡°¡­but must it always be so sunny , Elmer? So bright and cheerful, all day.¡± Amelia Shape stood at the bookstore window and squinted out at the mid-day scene before her: a parking lot scattered with glistening vehicles, a road, some businesses, and then the treeline of a woods that extended up into the hills beyond. She turned, dramatically extending a hand to block the invasive sunlight. ¡°Not even any blinds here. Disgraceful. Are you listening, Elmer?¡± Elmer Sky beamed at her from a nearby chair. ¡°Look at this, Amelia!¡± He showed her a large square of glossy paper, several pages thick, with pictures all over it. ¡°This book of dates is full of pictures! Of sunsets! A ha, ha ha! And look¡ª¡± He shuffled through a nearby pile of them. ¡°This one¡ªwindmills! And this one, waterfalls. And this one, puppies. Puppies, Amelia!¡± He chuckled. ¡°Yes, dear, indeed.¡± She fell into a nearby chair. ¡°Can¡¯t you do something about this weather?¡± Elmer frowned at her in disapproval. ¡°Now now, dear, there¡¯s no call for that sort of attitude. It¡¯s a lovely day!¡± She shook her head, reached for her coffee, and accidentally knocked it off the table and onto the floor. ¡°Tsk!¡± said Elmer as he leapt to the rescue of several nearby books. ¡° Careful, dear! My, but I don¡¯t have a kerchief on me.¡± He patted his pockets sorrowfully. Amelia watched, apathetic, as the dark liquid ran into interlocking geometric shapes. She raised a hand, and with a casual sweep through empty air she collected all of the spilled coffee into a perfect circle. Then she made it conform to the diamond pattern already present on the wooden floor. ¡°It won¡¯t matter,¡± she said. ¡°Leave the spill. Nothing anyone does on this world will matter tomorrow.¡± Elmer looked down at the spill, then out the window. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean we shouldn¡¯t do our best today, Amelia. I¡¯ll go get some napkins.¡± Elmer tottered off in the direction of the coffee bar at the far end of the bookstore. Amelia spent some time playing with the shape of the coffee on the wood floor. Then she began shuffling through the books of dates which Elmer had accumulated. Some of them were sealed shut with plastic, but Elmer had pried most of them open. Transparent sleeves lay about like shed skins. Amelia selected one at random and opened to the first month¡ªthe month, apparently, in which they had appeared on this world. One entire page consisted of a close-up photograph of two kittens wrestling each other, both making a noble effort to appear fierce and powerful. Amelia gazed at this for a moment. Then she smiled a very small smile. She looked through a few more of the calendars. There seemed to be remarkably few containing pictures of people, or of cities, but many depicted skies and horizons. No wonder they fascinated Elmer. When her companion still had not returned after a few minutes, she rose to seek him out. She tripped over her own feet on the way and nearly upset a precariously stacked display of books. She found Elmer at the counter, laughing his explosive laugh and wiping tears from his eyes while the young woman behind the counter smiled politely with a puzzled expression. ¡°Sir, you don¡¯t need to return that cup,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s, uh, disposable.¡± Elmer¡¯s laughter subsided into a merry chortle. ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you,¡± he said, ¡°but really, I insist. There¡¯s no call for such generosity!¡± He offered her his coffee cup. The young woman glanced at Amelia, then with a sigh took Elmer¡¯s cup, turned, and tossed it into a garbage can behind the counter. Elmer could not see this happen because he was just barely able to see above the counter in the first place. ¡°Come on, Elmer,¡± said Amelia. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She left the bookstore and Elmer trailed after her. They stopped outside to survey the interior of the shopping mall. From the balcony they could look down onto the floor below. All manner of businesses lined the walls. She and Elmer had spent nearly all morning exploring. Amelia thought they were beginning to ¡°get the hang of¡± this world. ¡°I thought you were getting napkins,¡± she said as she glared up at the sunlight streaming down through the windowed ceiling. No escape from the sun. ¡°Egads!¡± cried Elmer. ¡°I forgot!¡± He turned as though to reenter the bookstore. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Leave it,¡± said Amelia. ¡°Surely you would like a replacement beverage?¡± Amelia shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She directed her gaze onto the few people wandering about on the floor below. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do,¡± said Elmer. ¡°About the weather. Ahem¡­what would you prefer?¡± ¡°Something cloudy? Perhaps with a light drizzle of rain and a cool breeze.¡± Amelia watched him out of the corner of her eye as he frowned critically up at the sky through the windows in the ceiling, like a sculptor surveying the potential within a block of stone. ¡°One melancholy afternoon, coming right up, my dear!¡± he declared after a moment. ¡°Where to next?¡± They continued their meandering path through the mall. They stopped for ice cream, and to look at fish, and to put coins into a machine in exchange for candy which Amelia did not eat, and to investigate a store dedicated to many types of footwear. ¡°Amelia!¡± exclaimed Elmer as they stood by the directory. ¡°How do you suppose it knows where we are? Fascinating!¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t move, Elmer,¡± she said. ¡°But suppose you saw it in a photograph! Or through a magnifying lens, from far away. Then it''s assertion would be incorrect.¡± Amelia discovered that the directory was an interactive screen which could be touched to search for stores or to sort by category. She spent some time playing with it before losing interest. It seemed an overly complicated device for a relatively small shopping center. She spotted something of note nearby. ¡°Elmer,¡± she said, ¡°aren¡¯t you interested in tea?¡± Elmer gave this due consideration. ¡°I¡­I¡¯m not sure, Amelia! Am I? Have you remembered something?!¡± Amelia shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not something I remembered. You just like to get tea. You always have something to say about its flavor.¡± ¡°Do I? By the stars, I think you¡¯re right! Perhaps I¡¯ll add it to the list!¡± Elmer kept a list of things they had remembered: about themselves, about where they came from, about why they might be here. And of course, about who might be hunting them. Amelia found this list depressingly short on certainties. Amelia nodded behind Elmer. ¡°There¡¯s a tea shop. Let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°Capital!¡± said Elmer. ¡°A dab of pekoe would be just the thing!¡± Elmer stopped as soon as they entered the tea shop. He looked around in confusion and put a plump hand to his forehead. ¡°Amelia!¡± he said, ¡°I¡­believe that tea shops are¡­or were¡­different than this. Yes! I have a memory¡­¡± He hurried to pull the notebook from his pocket and scribble down this new development. The tea shop seemed nothing out of the ordinary to Amelia. It was a small place, the walls lined with brightly colored tins, the center tables displaying tea sets and devices. A young olive-skinned man with a beard sat behind a counter reading a book, and a girl with long blonde hair perused the selection to the left, sniffing the different teas. The absurdity of what they were doing suddenly pressed in upon Amelia Shape. Here they were. They knew they were being pursued, they remembered next to nothing beyond the past two months, and they were fairly sure that a global cataclysm of some kind was imminent. Yet here they were, messing around in bookstores, buying candy, and investigating tea shops. They knew an angel was around here somewhere, but had no idea how to find it. And if they couldn¡¯t find it¡­ Elmer, of course, was not concerned. Amelia didn¡¯t even bother voicing her concerns because she knew exactly how he would respond: ¡°Well what¡¯s the use in fussing over what we can¡¯t control? Here, try this pastry, it¡¯s delicious!¡± But if they weren¡¯t able to¡ª The girl shopping off to the side turned around, and Amelia happened to glance at her. Amelia stiffened, and every thought faded from her mind, save one: It¡¯s her! The girl walked up to the counter and began a purchase transaction, oblivious to Amelia and Elmer. ¡°Amelia?¡± said Elmer, tugging at her sleeve. ¡°What is it?¡± Now it was Amelia¡¯s turn to put a hand to her head as though it would aid in recollection. It¡¯s her? Who? She didn¡¯t know; she couldn¡¯t remember. All she knew was that for just a moment, when she saw that girl¡¯s face, she had almost remembered something important. Something about snow. Flowers. Movement. ¡°Elmer,¡± she said, grasping his shoulder. ¡°Do you recognize that girl?¡± Elmer peered at the girl by the counter. She wore a plain grey jacket with loose blue pants and sandals, and her golden hair hung down to her waist. They both waited until she turned around. As soon as her face was visible, thunder resounded faintly from above. The girl glanced curiously upward as she made her way past them and out of the store. The thunder was confirmation enough for Amelia. She touched the girl¡¯s shoulder as she passed. ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said. ¡°Erm¡­who are you?¡± Chapter 33 Chapter 33 Michael Whyte Except to stop for gas and drinks at a gas station outside of Los Angeles, Michael drove straight through the night. Jim spent most of the time sleeping. Mike was glad. He didn¡¯t think that Jim really understood that someone had blown up their house and tried to kill them. Jim had cried for a while about Hazel, though. Mike kept glancing at the racquetball in the cup holder. He kept looking at Jim, reclined in his seat with paint all over him. He drove in silence, without music. The sky ahead began to brighten. Where was he going? He didn¡¯t know, and that was the plan. If he didn¡¯t know, they couldn¡¯t possibly predict it. October Industries. He made sure to take random turns every once in a while, but maintained a general eastward course. He tried calling Alan Sheppard, but had no luck. So when the cloudless sky ahead was becoming pale with the approaching day and his phone buzzed on his lap, he answered it immediately. ¡°Hello.¡± ¡°Uh, hey Mike. This is Isaac, Isaac Milton.¡± Mike thought back to Isaac¡¯s story he had just read. The edits he had made were all gone; his computer had not made it out of the house. ¡°Isaac? It¡¯s six in the morning.¡± ¡°Oh yeah. It¡¯s seven here. I was trying to call Jim, but his phone is like disconnected or something.¡± ¡°You know Jim sleeps in. Is something wrong?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Something in Isaac¡¯s voice made Mike focus and forget his tiredness. Isaac sounded afraid. ¡°Yeah something¡¯s wrong. Like, really wrong, Mike. I think Jim knows something.¡± Mike was silent for a moment. He thought of the stacked discs, still in a box in the back seat. Had Isaac been attacked? ¡°Something¡¯s wrong over here too,¡± Mike said. ¡°Jim¡¯s asleep. Tell me.¡± Mike heard Isaac take a deep breath. ¡°Okay. Has Jim said anything to you about a drawing he called ¡®Black?¡¯ Like, that¡¯s its name. Hello? Still there?¡± Mike had been avoiding the interstates. He was driving roughly toward the sunrise on a deserted highway, and he now pulled over to a stop. Jim stirred in his sleep. Mike put the car in park and turned to look at Black , still in the back seat where they had left it yesterday. ¡°Yeah,¡± he finally answered Isaac. ¡°I¡¯m looking at it right now.¡± ¡°Wait, you¡¯re looking at it? Uh, describe it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a three-by-four canvas covered in black paint.¡± ¡°So he painted it. I guess I got the rough draft. He sent it to me in the mail. Okay, Mike, can you see a person in it?¡± ¡°No. Jim said something like that, but to me it¡¯s just black.¡± ¡°You have to look at it just right. It¡¯s in the texture. Anyway, maybe you¡¯ll think this is crazy, but the person that¡¯s in the picture, I think he¡¯s here in Pikeston.¡± Mike suddenly remembered what Jim had said: he had already found someone, and he¡¯d already painted them, and he had thought that Isaac might be in danger. ¡°Are you okay? What happened?¡± ¡°A guy came into town last night. No, he¡¯s not, I mean, he¡¯s not a regular person. I don¡¯t know. But he killed at least five people last night, and I was there. I¡¯m okay. But he¡¯s still around, I guess. And also there¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°There¡¯s what?¡± ¡°Uh, has Jim said anything about, maybe, like, a crack in the sky?¡± ¡°No, but that sounds like the name of one of his paintings from a couple months ago.¡± ¡°Can you send me a picture of it?¡± No more computer. But Mike thought his camera was here. He twisted around again and saw it in the back seat. There might be a way. ¡°I think so. Isaac, what¡¯s going on?¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°I don¡¯t know! I think Jim might know something. Or Kate.¡± ¡°Or Alan Sheppard?¡± ¡°You know Mr. Sheppard?¡± Mike leaned back and looked ahead in the brightening dawn. ¡°Listen, Isaac, someone blew up our house last night. I think it was these people called October Industries. We both made it out okay, but I also think, maybe, your other friends might be in trouble too. Can you let them know?¡± Silence. Then, ¡°Whoa. Sure, yeah. Okay. Also, when Jim wakes up, ask him if he knows anything else about Black, okay? Or about angels.¡± ¡°Angels?¡± ¡°Yeah. I mean, anything special about them. Like something only he would know. In the context of what we¡¯re talking about.¡± ¡°Yeah, I get it.¡± ¡°All right,¡± said Isaac. ¡°Don¡¯t take Jim to Vegas.¡± Michael cringed. An old joke, and not a very good one. ¡°Gotta go now,¡± Isaac continued. ¡°Okay,¡± said Mike. ¡°And if you die¡­¡± ¡°¡®Die with honor,¡¯ yeah I know.¡± ¡°But seriously, be careful.¡± ¡°Got it. You too. Take care of Jim.¡± ¡°Bye.¡± ¡°Bye.¡± Mike ended the call and kept gazing ahead at the rising sun. Bad. This was bad. Some guy who¡¯s ¡°not a regular person¡± wanders into Pikeston, Montana and kills a few people? He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Man, he was tired. They should find a little hotel somewhere. What if the other kids were in danger? What if¡­ He felt a strange tightening in his chest. What if AJ was in danger? It seemed possible. She was involved in this too, wasn¡¯t she? Yes, because she¡¯d found a painting Jim hadn¡¯t painted yet. Mike looked once more at his slumbering brother. ¡°Die with honor,¡± he said with a small smile. That was what he¡¯d always said to Isaac, Eric and Jim when they¡¯d gone out to play together as kids. ¡®If you die¡­¡¯ (looking very serious and noble) ¡®¡­die with honor.¡¯ That¡¯s how it went. And they¡¯d play along, being very solemn and treating their potential honorable deaths with gravity. Mike owed a great debt to Isaac and Eric. When Jimothy was young he didn¡¯t get picked on, or bullied, but the other kids just avoided him. Because he was weird, and different. Strangely good at some things, like drawing or playing games, and strangely bad at others, like math and memory. And Jim always knew exactly where everyone was in a game of hide-and-seek. And no matter how big or complex a jigsaw puzzle was, Jim would look at the picture for a second and then pick up piece after piece and put it exactly where it went, even if that meant it was just floating out in empty space by itself for a while before the pieces connected to it were filled in. Mike had never tried getting Jim to solve a blank puzzle, because that felt a little too much like doing experiments on him, but he thought it wouldn¡¯t make a difference. So naturally, other kids didn¡¯t know what to do with Jim. But then Isaac and Eric came along when Jim was in second grade and Mike was in High School. That had changed everything for Jim. Mike sighed. The sun was mere seconds away from peeking over the horizon ahead, and he himself was mere minutes from falling asleep. Yeah, he¡¯d go into the next town and find them a hotel room or something. They could regroup, make a plan. Maybe at this point the best plan would be blindfolding Jim and having him randomly point to a location on a map of the US. And then go there. That would actually work. Almost certainly, Jim would randomly select the optimal destination. But first¡­ Mike got out of the car and stretched. He needed to use the restroom. He looked both ways: it was a long straight stretch of road, cutting through low scrub brush, and it was deserted. He walked around his car to shield some of the view from the road, and urinated into the ditch. The sun came into view. He looked into it and squinted. His eyes felt gritty. When he finished, he opened the back door of the car and pulled out Black . He turned his back to the sun and held the painting up before him in the sunlight. He tilted it this way and that. There was a figure hiding in all the black paint. And when he looked at the paint itself very closely, he saw that it was composed of slightly different shades of black. How there could be shades of black he wasn¡¯t sure, but the overall effect was one of blacker-than-blackness. As though the rectangle he held up against the morning sky was a window into a void of oblivion. His brother was a genius. Who else could paint this? He put it back in the car. He didn¡¯t know what it meant, but Jim wanted to burn it? Well, if Jim still thought they should get rid of it, that¡¯s what they¡¯d do. Mike got back in the driver¡¯s seat, started the engine, and pulled back onto the road. Sunlight glared on the windshield so much he could hardly see. A town lay up ahead somewhere. They¡¯d rest there for a while. Chapter 34 Chapter 34 Elizabeth Eddison ¡°Who are you?¡± the woman asked in a halting, uncertain voice. Elizabeth turned to look at them as she positioned freshly purchased tea inside her purse. Two people she had not noticed before were watching her: a tall, thin woman anxiously wringing her hands, and a short, rotund, ruddy-faced man who seemed positively elated about something. ¡°Excuse me?¡± She said. ¡°Eh¡­¡± said the woman, looking concerned. ¡°We were wondering, my dear,¡± said the short man, ¡°if you would be so kind as to tell us your name. And if, perhaps, you have seen¡­¡± He took a step toward her, looked about theatrically and raised a hand to his mouth as though to tell her a secret. ¡°¡­an angel ,¡± he whispered. He glanced around to ensure he hadn¡¯t been noticed. He appeared to be unaware that his melodramatic stance paired with his bushy moustache and brightly colored blue tracksuit made him the most conspicuous individual in sight. The woman looked to be having the same thoughts. She placed a hand on her brow in a classic what-are-you-thinking gesture, which itself would have scored highly in a competition for melodrama. She was dressed more plainly, in a large green jacket and khaki pants, but she and her companion together somehow gave the impression of a pair of thespians. Perhaps it was the contrast. ¡°My name is Elizabeth,¡± she said. They looked at each other as though seeking confirmation. They shrugged together in such a way that Elizabeth put a hand to her mouth to hide a smile. The woman¡¯s shrug signaled defeat, whereas the man¡¯s radiated exuberance. They looked back at her as though at a loss, and then the short man practically jumped into the air. ¡°Good heavens! Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself! I¡­¡± (Dramatic pause¡­) ¡°am Elmer Sky.¡± He bowed low with a flourish. He remained bowed down for a few seconds. Just when Elizabeth thought she should say something the man looked up at the woman with irritation and gave her a ¡°come on!¡± gesture with one hand. The woman sighed, came very close to rolling her eyes, and then folded her arms tightly in front of her. ¡°I¡¯m Amelia Shape.¡± Her companion popped back upright when she had finished. Elizabeth continued to hide a smile, and now she had to suppress laughter as well. Everything about these two was humorously exaggerated. It was like watching a cartoon brought to life. A couple of true Shakespearian side characters, right in front of her. ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± she said. ¡°Oh! Did you want help with the tea?¡± She hoped so. Elizabeth knew quite a bit about tea, more than that guy behind the counter, anyway, and she was ever eager to bestow her knowledge upon others. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Amelia shook her head, but Elmer appeared thoughtful. ¡°No,¡± said Amelia. ¡°But we might as well do that too,¡± Elmer proposed with a finger raised to the heavens. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t recognize much of the tea here¡­¡± Amelia looked down at him. ¡°You haven¡¯t even looked at it!¡± He turned to her and raised his hands. ¡°But when we go places and they inquire about tea, I¡¯m at a complete loss!¡± And that was when it finally clicked for Elizabeth. They had just introduced themselves with the names Sky and Shape. What had that strange message said? They would help? ¡°Were you¡­¡± Elizabeth began speaking. They both looked at her expectantly. She pushed on despite how odd this would sound if she was wrong. ¡°Were you¡­told to come find me?¡± Elmer bounced up and down in excitement as he turned to Amelia. ¡°A ha! It¡¯s her!¡± Meanwhile, Amelia frowned down at Elizabeth. ¡°Yes, we were,¡± she said. ¡°By whom, if I may ask?¡± Elizabeth¡¯s heart was racing. Amelia shrugged. ¡°Called himself ¡®Christmas.¡¯ We have since come to learn what that word actually means.¡± ¡°And it sounds simply marvelous!¡± Elmer added. Christmas? ¡°Okay¡­¡± said Elizabeth, now at a loss. Amelia Shape peered down at Elizabeth. ¡°Elizabeth. Have you seen an angel?¡± Oh, that. Elizabeth slowly shook her head, then asked, ¡°What do you mean by ¡®angel¡¯?¡± She thought about Isaac and Jim, who both believed that angels were real. Biblical angels¡ªhumanoid spiritual beings, messengers and servants of God. She thought about Paradise Lost, which she had recently finished. Those angels? ¡°Of course,¡± said Elmer Sky, ¡°you might know it as a key . It will be a white creature, with no eyes, and of course it will be loyal to whomever it is bonded to.¡± Callie. Did they know something about Callie? Keep that cat of yours on hand . The two of them watched her expectantly. ¡°How do you know me?¡± she asked. ¡°We recognized you,¡± said Elmer. ¡°From what?¡± She did not recognize either of them, she was sure of that. They looked at each other with mutual regret. ¡°We can¡¯t remember,¡± they said together. Chapter 35 Chapter 35 Isaac Milton They had an assembly at school on Tuesday morning to inform the student body about the events of the night before. A dangerous criminal was still at large. Don¡¯t go anywhere alone, call police immediately to report suspicious individuals, etc. Isaac hardly listened. This morning he had tried to clean Mr. Clark¡¯s blood off of his coat, but realized that he could not. He wore a different jacket, the ¡°Dead Man Walking¡± one, which seemed to him like the most darkly hilarious thing in recent memory. His shoes had blood on them too. This morning he had tried to call Jim to talk about Black , which was still in his pocket. He had called Mike when he couldn¡¯t reach Jim, and found out that Jim had done a full painting of Black . Also, their house was blown up. They were attacked? But safe for now. This morning, shortly after school began, some people heard thunder, Isaac among them, though there was not a cloud in the sky. The sound made him cower in his seat. Isaac had spent most of the previous night praying instead of sleeping. If Abraham Black was not a demon, Isaac didn¡¯t know what was. Isaac thought about the monster inside, the beast Dwayne had talked about on that camping trip long ago. Well, Black was no dragon, but he certainly did not exist symbolically within Isaac himself either. He had killed people, and symbolic representations of evil didn¡¯t do that. At least one monster, Isaac now knew, was real. He needed to talk to Dwayne. God loved Dwayne Hartman. Isaac would be safe with Dwayne. He didn¡¯t know anything. Something was going on, and he didn¡¯t understand any of it. Maybe Jim knew. Maybe Kate knew. Dwayne probably didn¡¯t know, but with him that wouldn¡¯t matter. So he texted Elizabeth in his fourth period class. It was science with Mr. Fletcher, so Isaac could text all he wanted without fear of being called out. IM: Hey EE: Hello, Isaac. IM: Everything okay over there? EE: How do you mean? EE: Is there a reason why things would not be okay? IM: I mean, is there anything weird? IM: And no, not necessarily EE: It is funny that you should mention weirdness. IM: Why? IM: Are you in trouble? EE: I am not in trouble. Or in danger. But you seem anxious. Is there reason to believe that I may soon find myself in one of these undesirable conditions? IM: Just tell me what¡¯s weird EE: I find myself now in the presence of two peculiar individuals. IM: Are they Black? EE: Isaac! IM: I mean, is that their name? IM: Are they scary? EE: Well they do have unusual names. EE: No, they are not scary. EE: Or black. EE: I know you do not have much intercultural experience out in Mayberry, Montana, but really. IM: Har har IM: Who are they? EE: Their names are Elmer and Amelia. They have lost their memories. EE: They say hi. IM: Okay tell them hi from me too I guess EE: They do not remember why, exactly, but they are running from something. They have also been looking for me. EE: Or more precisely, looking for Callie. They keep calling her an angel. EE: Not that I disagree with their assessment. IM: What are they running from? EE: I just told you they don¡¯t know. EE: Now tell me what¡¯s wrong. IM: A guy came into town last night and killed some people. He said he was looking for an angel too. Jim painted a picture of him. IM: He¡¯s not normal EE: What? IM: Also Jim¡¯s house was attacked and blown up last night but he¡¯s fine EE: Are you being serious, Isaac? EE: You had better not be joking about something happening to Jim. IM: I¡¯m serious. IM: He¡¯s fine though! I talked to Mike EE: Where is he? IM: Jim? I don¡¯t know. EE: Where are they going? IM: I don¡¯t know! Call Mike if you¡¯re so concerned. Jim¡¯s phone got blown up I think EE: I will. IM: Have you heard from Kate? EE: Not recently. EE: Do you believe she is in danger as well? IM: I¡¯m just worried about her EE: I know. You always are. IM: What really? What do you know about this? EE: About you and Kate, you mean? EE: Probably more than you. IM: Okay subject change EE: Why are boys so hesitant to talk about their feelings? IM: I said subject change! EE: It was a subject change. IM: What does it mean that Callie¡¯s an angel? EE: I will ask. EE: They say it means she is like a key that can unlock a certain door. They are vague, however. IM: Are you sure they¡¯re not dangerous? EE: Your concern is endearing. But yes, I am quite sure. Elmer and Amelia here are harmless. IM: Well maybe whatever they¡¯re running from isn¡¯t IM: Abraham Black was his name EE: Whose? IM: The guy I met last night, who killed people EE: You met him? IM: Unfortunately. EE: What does he want? IM: An angel, I guess? I haven¡¯t seen any eyeless white cats around though EE: Well keep me posted. What is your plan now? EE: You always have a plan. IM: I¡¯ll talk to Dwayne EE: Ah. EE: His voice is amazing. EE: Like Tom Waits. IM: Sure whatever IM: But he¡¯ll know what to do EE: Okay, seriously. EE: How are you doing, Isaac? IM: Well, not greatThis story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. IM: I mean IM: I¡¯m a little freaked out EE: Understandable. IM: I was trying to be like Dwayne when it happened IM: You know, stand against evil and all EE: You are not Dwayne Hartman. IM: Got that right EE: There is nothing wrong with that. IM: There totally is! I mean, I¡¯m just afraid he¡¯d be disappointed in me IM: sorry this is getting all personal EE: Dwayne would never say he is disappointed in you. IM: Of course he wouldn¡¯t say it! He¡¯s Dwayne! He¡¯d still say he¡¯s proud of me even if I was a crackhead living in some dumpster EE: You would be the kindest dumpster-dwelling crackhead in the world. EE: I would give you the award myself. EE: I would carve it into an old banana peel. EE: Toss it right in there. IM: Wow thanks IM: Okay I have to go soon, but one last thing IM: I need your help writing lyrics for a song. EE: What kind of song? IM: It¡¯s, like, jazzy I guess? EE: I will require the meter. EE: And preferably a sense of what the song is like. IM: Got it. IM: I think I might start up a group chat. EE: A continuation of the illustrious Banana Quest? IM: Something like that. IM: Over and out. During lunch break Isaac received an image from Mike. A picture of Jim¡¯s painting, along with an apology for the low resolution. It was clearly a picture of the display screen of Mike¡¯s camera, taken with his phone. But it was enough for Isaac to get the idea. And the idea was simple: this was a painting of him last week, standing in a snowy field next to his telescope, looking up at a crack in the sky. He couldn¡¯t make out details, but the shining crack in the painting followed the same contour as the one which really existed. Also, in the painting there appeared to be a white bird perched on his shoulder. That owl? Isaac avoided his classmates during lunch. After lunch was pre-calculus. It was a senior level class. He¡¯d start college level math next year. His friends here in Pikeston considered him to be pretty smart just because he was a couple years ahead in math and science. They didn¡¯t know Kate. This class was hard enough that he had to pay attention, and unlike with Mr. Fletcher he couldn¡¯t just do whatever. Nevertheless, he found himself looking out a window, thinking, as he often thought, that he did not belong here. It happened halfway through class. A knock on the door. The teacher paused, and everyone turned to see who it was. The door opened and a hummingbird flew into the room, distracting almost everyone from the person behind the hummingbird. The bird did not distract Isaac; from the moment the knock sounded, he feared the appearance of none other than Abraham Black himself. But it wasn¡¯t. It was a young man in jeans and a dirty hoodie, with stubble on his chin and bright, alert eyes. Everyone else watched the hummingbird dart around the room, but Isaac locked eyes immediately with this man. ¡°Isaac Milton,¡± said the young man in an authoritative tone of voice. ¡°Please come with me.¡± He nodded at the teacher and the rest of the class. ¡°Sorry to interrupt.¡± Isaac sat frozen in his seat for a moment, unsure of what to do. This clearly wasn¡¯t Abraham Black, but despite his attire he didn¡¯t seem too much like a normal person either. It was something about the eyes. The hummingbird approached and hovered right in front of Isaac. It looked at him, then at the newcomer. Isaac slowly slid his notebook and textbook off the desk and into his hands and made his way to the door. The hummingbird darted ahead, and the man closed the door behind them as they left. They stood in the hallway for a few seconds, sizing each other up. The young man tilted his head and looked to the upper left as though listening for something. Then he nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± He turned his attention back to Isaac. ¡°You need to grab anything? We might not be coming back.¡± Something in his eyes¡­Isaac thought this young man might be a few stars short of a constellation. ¡°Um¡­who are you?¡± he asked, afraid that he might already know the answer. The man offered his hand. ¡°Name¡¯s Jacob Hollow.¡± Jacob looked at Isaac expectantly. ¡°Shut up,¡± he said suddenly. Then, ¡°Not you, Isaac.¡± What had Clara said about Jacob? Stay close to him? Would this guy muttering to himself protect Isaac from Abraham Black? Isaac put away his books in his locker and removed his backpack. Might not be coming back? ¡°Uh, where are we going?¡± he asked. ¡°Away,¡± said Jacob. ¡°Need to keep you safe until the Cascade.¡± ¡°The what?¡± ¡°Where¡¯s your angel?¡± ¡°My what?¡± ¡°Your angel. Where is it?¡± Jacob¡¯s eyes darted around while he spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is. Are you saying I have, like, a guardian angel? Cool. But I haven¡¯t seen him.¡± ¡°Guardian angel? Sure. It¡¯ll be white.¡± ¡°Oh! Is it the bird?¡± Isaac looked around to check if anyone else was in the hall. The coast remained clear. ¡°A bird?¡± said Jacob. He looked at the hummingbird, perched on a nearby windowsill, and shrugged. ¡°Maybe. Makes sense, actually.¡± He said this as though speaking to the hummingbird. ¡°I guess I have seen it, then. Um, are you talking to that bird?¡± ¡°No. Come on.¡± Jacob turned, put his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, and began walking toward the front door of the school. ¡°Just wait and see,¡± he said. It didn¡¯t sound to Isaac as though this were addressed to him. Jacob walked slowly down the hall, deep in thought. Or maybe listening to something. He pulled a hand out of his pocket and began snapping his fingers. Then he trailed that hand absently along the brick wall. From the place where his fingers touched bloomed bright colors in feathery frost-like patterns, vibrant and inert as though painted onto the brick. Isaac stopped to observe this phenomenon. The colors did not fade. He reached out and touched the brick wall. Still a brick wall, now with a trail of colorful intricate graffiti. His fingers did not come away with colors on them. He looked back at Jacob, who noticed. He¡¯d stopped touching the wall, but a good twenty feet of it had been affected. Isaac paused long enough to take a picture of the wall, then hurried to catch up, hoping that no one else came out into the hall. Jacob led Isaac to the front doors of the school, windowed walls opening onto the entrance and parking lot. Here Jacob paused. Isaac tried to watch every direction, afraid both of the appearance of Black and of a teacher asking where he was going or who this was, because he had No Idea. Jacob looked out the windows for a moment. ¡°Oh really?¡± he said. He turned to his left, toward the doors of the auditorium. He looked back at Isaac. ¡°You play piano?¡± Isaac nodded. ¡°How did you know?¡± Jacob went to the auditorium doors. ¡°I was told to come here by Christmas,¡± he said. ¡°Pretty early, then,¡± said Isaac. Jacob looked at him blankly. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Christmas is months away. Like, most of the months.¡± Jacob listened to the voices in his head, then said, ¡°Oh, a holiday? No, I meant that someone calling himself Christmas told me to come here.¡± Pause. ¡°Yeah, fine, or her self, maybe.¡± ¡°Not Clara?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know any Clara. I don¡¯t even know Christmas. All I know is I was told I could find you and your angel here. You¡¯re Isaac Milton, right? The cube guy?¡± ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± said Isaac. ¡°The cube guy.¡± Was Jacob possibly referring to dice? ¡°Whatever.¡± Jacob snapped his fingers and pushed through the auditorium doors. They should have been locked. ¡°We can¡¯t waste time. I didn¡¯t think Black would move during the day, but I was wrong. Because someone messed him up bad.¡± His tone was accusatory in that last sentence, but not toward Isaac. Jacob led Isaac down the stairs, between the dark rows of seats, and up onto the wooden stage. He snapped his fingers. Tiny flecks of light scattered out from his hand. They hung in the air like dust motes caught in a sunbeam, and then blazed with light. The stage, now illuminated, stood empty. A polished wooden island in a dark sea of empty cushioned seats. ¡°Where¡¯s the piano?¡± Jacob asked. ¡°Backstage, in the piano closet. Um, why?¡± ¡°You need to play it,¡± said Jacob. ¡°Come on.¡± He swept the curtain aside and marched backstage. He paused long enough to turn on a few stage lights, and then located the low garage-like door of the piano closet. A snap took care of the lock, and together they rolled the door up and slowly extracted the cloth-covered instrument. Isaac experienced continual second thoughts throughout this process. What if they were caught? But did it matter? He wasn¡¯t sure why exactly he trusted this Jacob Hollow, especially when he clearly bore similarities to Black. But maybe that was it. Jacob was like Black, but clearly opposite in several respects. Isaac sensed a Mysterious and Puzzling Narrative somewhere in all of this. Between Jim and Kate, Black and Jacob, the crack in the sky and the lens¡­something strange was definitely going on. He didn¡¯t have the lens on him. He had to remember that it might explode. They brought the piano out on stage. ¡°I think so,¡± said Jacob suddenly. Then a pause. Then, ¡°Isn¡¯t that something you should know?¡± Isaac slid the padded black cloth off of the grand. He propped the lid up with a heave. The piano was locked with a device that prevented anyone from opening the lid of the keyboard. Jacob knelt down beside the lock and prepared to snap it off, but Isaac stopped him. ¡°I have the key,¡± he said. He unlocked the piano while Jacob retrieved the bench. Isaac sat down, put his fingers on the keys in front of the gold Steinway lettering, and paused. He stared out at the dark, empty auditorium: rows of empty red seats. He glanced at the expectant Jacob Hollow. Jacob stood casually, his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth and looking around. Isaac liked being out here, on stage. He¡¯d been on this stage many times before; played on it. People out there had been silent, listening to his music. Good times. Nerve-wracking, but he always felt good when it was over. He also liked being in here when the room was empty, no audience to worry about. ¡°Now what?¡± asked Isaac. ¡°Now what? Play. What else?¡± ¡°Okay¡­play what?¡± Jacob shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Whatever, maybe.¡± Isaac couldn¡¯t help but smile a little. ¡®Whatever, maybe.¡¯ Thanks, Jacob. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, ¡°One ¡®whatever, maybe¡¯ coming right up.¡± He tapped his fingers on the keys. He supposed he could play the piano part of the piece he was writing for all of them. Or improvise it since it was still in pretty amorphous form. C minor. Initial progression: Cm, E, B, A. Then shifting to 6/8 time, kind-of waltz-like: E, Cm, Gm, A.Yeah. Something like that. He just started playing. Isaac closed his eyes and just let his fingers wander over the chords. He didn¡¯t try anything fancy. Nor did he sense anything unusual about his playing. Did Jacob here expect him to have some kind of mystical experience? If so, he was going to be disappointed. But after only a minute Jacob said, ¡°Okay, that¡¯s good. It¡¯s here.¡± Isaac opened his eyes and saw a bird perched on the music stand in front of him. A sparrow, it looked like, but pure white. And no eyes. It had feathers, a beak, claws, feet, and the rest of the Standard Avian Equipment, but no eyes. Like Callie. Did this bird have nutty powers too? Should he give it a name? ¡°All right,¡± said Jacob. ¡°Let¡¯s go. We need to get you away from Black.¡± Isaac stood and stepped away from the piano. The bird watched him, its head cocked sideways. It shuffled its feet on the stand as though in excitement. ¡°So Black wants this bird?¡± Jacob nodded. ¡°And this bird is¡­my angel?¡± Another nod. ¡°Why? What is he¡­why does he want it?¡± ¡°He wants to get back in¡­yeah, I know! You know what? Let¡¯s move first, talk later. Yeah, good idea.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Isaac began closing the lid. ¡°Let¡¯s just put this away¡­¡± ¡°Leave it,¡± said Jacob, snapping his fingers as he began striding off the stage. ¡°It won¡¯t matter.¡± Isaac stopped just before leaving the auditorium. There was one thing he had to do first. He pulled out his phone, and began a group text which included all six of them. Whatever was about to happen, it would be a good idea if they could all help each other understand it. Chapter 36 Chapter 36 Elizabeth Eddison They sat at a table in the food court of the mall, eating lunch. Elizabeth had sloughed her jacket onto the back of her chair, and she tied back her hair and ate a plate of chicken and rice while Elmer and Amelia had told her everything they knew, which amounted to little. They could not recall their identities, their home, or the reason for their pursuit. They could not even remember why they needed to find an angel such as Callie so badly, except that it was important because of something ¡°quite dreadful¡± that was about to happen. Liz was fascinated but skeptical, until Isaac texted her. After this virtual conversation, during which her new friends carried on with each other about the food, she was prepared to provisionally believe everything Amelia and Elmer said. Jim in danger? Isaac in danger? A madman in Pikeston, Montana, looking for an angel? Elizabeth wondered about Kate, who likely knew more about what was going on than anyone by virtue of whatever mysterious augury she performed. When her conversation with Isaac had concluded, Elizabeth stared at her bourbon chicken for a moment in thought, twisting the silver ring from AJ on her finger. Amelia and Elmer were comparing and contrasting their dishes¡ªpad Thai and chow mein. Their own personal contrast of ebullience and apathy made their every interaction inherently amusing in itself. ¡°Excuse me,¡± said Elizabeth, interrupting Elmer¡¯s spirited effort to describe the taste. ¡°Do you know of someone named Abraham Black?¡± Their reactions were identical. Each of them froze, and their eyes gazed blankly into the distance. Elmer dropped his fork, Amelia put a hand to her head. They looked at each other in fear, and Elmer reached out and seized hold of Amelia¡¯s hand in a tight grip. Elmer fumbled in his pocket with his free hand and produced the notebook of things he had remembered. ¡°I¡­am familiar with that name,¡± he said slowly. ¡°But¡­¡± He shook his head, clearly having difficulty remembering the details. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°He¡¯s not here. He¡¯s far away. Is there anything you can tell me about him?¡± They did their signature move, turning in unison to gaze dramatically at each other. Amelia sighed and propped her head up with a hand. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± she said. They had told her enough already, just by their response to the name. Abraham Black scared them, even if they couldn¡¯t remember why. ¡°Do you mind if I text someone else?¡± she asked. ¡°I apologize for my rudeness, but¡­¡± They didn¡¯t mind. Amelia appeared to have lost her appetite. She picked sadly at the food on her plate. Elmer, on the other hand, rebounded marvelously and immediately set out to cheer up his companion. Elizabeth sent a message to Kaitlyn Carter. EE: Kate? KC: hi Liz! EE: Are you at home? KC: nope! I¡¯m on a plane! KC: :) EE: Why are you on a plane? I thought you were afraid of flying. KC: I am! KC: or I WAS ;) KC: it was scary at first, but after the first part it¡¯s not so bad! KC: of course I¡¯ve been asleep the whole way :p EE: You have not answered my question. KC: what time is it? EE: How can you not know what time it is? KC: I¡¯m asleep! EE: What? EE: Okay, it is almost 1 PM Eastern time. EE: But how are you texting me if you are asleep? EE: And even if you were, would you not be able to ascertain the time from your phone? KC: the clock function doesn¡¯t work here :\ EE: On the airplane? EE: Actually, never mind. We have other matters to discuss. KC: like what? EE: Like WHERE ARE YOU GOING ON A PLANE? KC: aaaaaaaahhhh! no need to shout!!!! KC: I should be almost to Chicago EE: Why are you going to Chicago? KC: so inquisitive! KC: I¡¯m going to see Eric and Heidi of course! EE: And why else? KC: ? EE: You didn¡¯t want to meet everyone until we could all be together. EE: Because of your stutter, remember? EE: Amongst other things. EE: So what is so important? EE: Does it have to do with angels? KC: ! EE: Is Callie an angel? KC: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EE: This must be one of our more typographically engaging conversations. KC: :D EE: I will just keep asking questions, then. KC: ;) EE: Does Isaac have an angel? KC: yes! KC: we all do! EE: And is someone else looking for these angels? KC: probably some KC: why did you ask about Isaac? EE: We just spoke. Apparently a strange man named Abraham Black appeared in Pikeston and killed people. He told Isaac he was looking for an angel. KC: oh noooo! KC: is Isaac okay?? EE: I told you that we just spoke. KC: oh yeah, hehe KC: whew! EE: He was worried about you. KC: aawwwww EE: He was probably concerned in a way that ought to elicit more than ¡°aawww.¡± KC: ? KC: ... KC: !! KC: Liz! just what are you implying? EE: Isaac also told me that Jim was recently in danger. He is next on my list of friends to check in on. According to Isaac, his house blew up. KC: oh I knew about that KC: Jim¡¯s fine, though! Don¡¯t worry, Liz! I was just talking to him earlier EE: I thought his phone was destroyed. KC: oh yeah it is KC: and also all of his paintings and stuff KC: :( KC: did you know he was making special paintings for all of us for his birthday? it was supposed to be a secret, but they all got blown up so i don¡¯t think Jim will mind me telling you EE: If his phone was blown up, how were you talking to him? EE: And how are you typing so fast? KC: I¡¯m not typing fast EE: You are replying instantaneously. KC: I am? KC: :o KC: thanks Liz! another data point for the logbook! KC: hehehe EE: I should start a logbook to keep track of the things you say which require explanation. EE: I¡¯m with somebody right now, so I will get back to you later. I think Isaac is going to start up a group text between all of us. KC: but you¡¯ve already been talking in the group text EE: What? KC: oh KC: oooohhhhhhh okay KC: Liz you¡¯re being so helpful right now you don¡¯t even know!!! EE: You are correct, at least, on that last part. KC: yeah I think Isaac is probably about to do that KC: heheheh KC: oh! before you go, do you still have your birthday gift from me? EE: Of course. Which one? KC: the butterfly KC: do you have it with you? EE: It¡¯s at home. KC: maybe you should go get it EE: Maybe, huh? I guess it¡¯s not really important, though, correct? I am sure I could probably just forget about it and everything would be just fine, yes? KC: llliiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyyyy KC: well maybe KC: but I worry about you too! EE: Okay. KC: see you soon! KC: ;) EE: Bye.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. EE: Wait, what? But Kate did not respond. Liz sighed as she put her phone to sleep and slipped it back into her pocket. Speaking to Kate was ever an exercise in knowing what weird things she said to just ignore. In retrospect it may have been a good idea to write them all down anyway, for future reference. She checked on her new companions. Elmer had regained his appetite and had nearly finished with both his plate and Amelia¡¯s. Amelia appeared to be napping with her head on her arms, facedown on the table. ¡°Thanks for waiting,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°No trouble at all,¡± he said as he wiped his face and moustache clean. He delicately stacked the plates onto a single tray, then stacked the trays. ¡°Now I do hate to be a bother, but about the angel. May we¡­see it?¡± He folded his hands in front of him and gazed at her with an air of pleasant expectation. ¡°Her name is Callie,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°What exactly do you want with her?¡± ¡°Well the same as you, naturally!¡± said Elmer with a chuckle. ¡°To escape!¡± ¡°Escape? Escape what?¡± ¡°Why, the end of the world.¡± He said this with a smile, but otherwise appeared perfectly serious. He was really beginning to strain Elizabeth¡¯s suspension of disbelief. ¡°Okay,¡± said Elizabeth after a moment of consideration. She did not believe the world was about to end. Even if it was true, she simply wouldn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t, believe something like that. But hadn¡¯t Kate been hinting at something bad about to happen? And Jim too? But the actual end of the world¡­surely it was an exaggeration. Elmer was the theatrical type, after all. In any case, it was clear to her that Elmer and Amelia harbored no ill intentions, and even if they did, Elizabeth doubted they would be able to harm Callie or otherwise compel her to do anything. Furthermore, any encounter between them was likely to shed further light on the situation. ¡°I¡¯ll have to get her from my house,¡± she said. ¡°Where are you staying?¡± ¡°Staying?¡± asked Elmer in puzzlement. ¡°The Circle 8 Motel,¡± said Amelia from her position face-down on the table. ¡°Although I didn¡¯t notice very many circles. Certainly not eight of them.¡± ¡°Yes, of course!¡± said Elmer. ¡°But we¡¯ll accompany you, naturally, to your house. Do you by chance possess¡­a motorcar ?¡± He practically vibrated in place with excitement. ¡°Could I drive it?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t drive, Elmer,¡± said Amelia without moving. ¡°You have proven so twice. We would be in a lot of debt if the world weren¡¯t about to end. Or if they could find us.¡± ¡°Um, no, sorry,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°I rode my bike here. You¡¯d have to walk all the way back to my house¡­¡± ¡°Capital!¡± exclaimed Elmer, leaping to his feet and gaining only a few inches of height in doing so. ¡°A walk under the beautiful skies! Come, Amelia, the weather ought to be perfect by now.¡± He hooked an arm under Amelia¡¯s elbow and attempted to hoist her to her feet, but he was not tall enough to do so. She stood on her own, unfolding upwards like a grim scarecrow, but she left his arm around hers. Liz took their trays to the garbage bin and then led them to the front of the mall. She halted before the glass entrance. Outside, where there had been sunny blue skies when she arrived only a couple of hours before, a light drizzle sprinkled down from a slate-grey sky. ¡°I knew I heard thunder,¡± she said as Elmer and Amelia joined her. ¡°It wasn¡¯t supposed to rain today!¡± ¡°Apologies,¡± said Elmer. ¡°It was Amelia¡¯s idea.¡± Elizabeth looked sideways at them. ¡°What?¡± ¡°It¡¯ll take some time to clear up¡­¡± said Elmer as though in speculation. ¡°Or we could walk in the rain. I would not be bothered by it!¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t bring an umbrella¡­¡± Elizabeth shook her head. Whatever. She didn¡¯t mind walking in the rain either. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She led them out and over to the bike rack where she unlocked her bike. It was soaked, but that didn¡¯t matter. Apparently, she was going to walk it home. Elmer and Amelia stood by, waiting for her. Elmer gazed at the bike as though fascinated. Amelia stood off to the side, holding a grey umbrella straight up beside her. She reminded Elizabeth of Mary Poppins. ¡°Where did you get the umbrella?¡± Elizabeth asked as she walked the bike up to them. Elizabeth was sure Amelia hadn¡¯t had one before. ¡°Would you like one?¡± she asked. Amelia reached out with her free hand and traced lines through the air in front of her as though drawing something. Light glimmered in the empty air, and in moments a number of shimmering filaments formed the outline of an umbrella. Then, in an instant, it filled in with color. Yellow. Bright lemon yellow. The umbrella hung in the air in front of Amelia until she grabbed hold of its handle and offered it to Elizabeth. Elizabeth took it with caution. The handle was smooth and cool. It felt like hard plastic, or maybe glass. Every part of the umbrella was made of this same material, and every part was fixed and inflexible. The whole thing weighed almost nothing. And it was so. very. yellow. Like a sunflower. The color glared against the drab overcast day. ¡°My, what a nice color!¡± said Elmer, not appearing to notice or care as his dark hair became matted from the soft rain. ¡°Um. Thank you,¡± said Elizabeth softly. She should have expected something like this. Really, she knew that impossible things were possible. She had always known, because Callie had always been with her. But just seeing someone create an umbrella out of nothing¡­ They watched her expectantly. ¡°This¡­this way,¡± Elizabeth said. She began wheeling the bike away with one hand, holding the umbrella in the other. ¡°Please! Allow me,¡± said Elmer. He came up beside her and took the bike. ¡°No riding it, Elmer,¡± said Amelia. They crossed the parking lot and began following the highway. On the other side of the highway lay a forest, and Elizabeth¡¯s house waited up in the hills. ¡°It¡¯s a few miles,¡± she told them. ¡°It¡¯ll take an hour, maybe, walking.¡± It usually took her only ten minutes on her bike. They soon crossed the highway and began their trek up a paved road leading back into the woods. Eventually they would leave it for the long dirt driveway to the Eddison house. Elizabeth, either on some instinct or out of unease from Isaac¡¯s news about a madman in Montana, glanced behind her, back at the mall and its parking lot still visible beyond the highway. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, unless you counted the stout, bearded man in a grey coat, smoking a pipe. He was facing her general direction, but he wore dark glasses and might have been observing the forested hills or the peculiar weather. Elizabeth thought that perhaps she had seen him before. Did he live in town? He turned and strolled away through the parking lot, getting damp from the rain. Elizabeth watched him for a moment before deciding not to be concerned. She turned and led Elmer and Amelia up the road. It really was a beautiful day. The smell of the rain in the forest brought out so many other scents: the pine, the asphalt, the dark mulch of the earth. It reminded Elizabeth of times she had spent playing with AJ and Callie when she was younger, running around in the forest. The low, dark sky was beautiful too. The world seemed dim and close and warm, despite the cool fresh breeze. It made her heart ache with a longing, somehow, for that which already surrounded her. It inspired a poem. Usually when she had sudden inspiration she would record it at once on her cell phone, but she was embarrassed to do so in front of Elmer and Amelia. They chattered to each other a few steps behind her, keeping to the side so that the few passing cars could get through. It was time to call Jimothy. Or Michael, rather. She dialed the number. Michael picked up almost immediately. ¡°Hello? Is this Elizabeth?¡± Elizabeth paused, surprised. ¡°Were you expecting my call?¡± ¡°Nah, it¡¯s just your number is different from AJ¡¯s but not by much. I guess you want to talk to Jim?¡± ¡°Um. Yeah. Yes.¡± Michael laughed. ¡°I¡¯ve been the Jim hotline today. I should just give him my phone.¡± ¡°Wait!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°First, just tell me what happened. I heard¡­your house got blown up?¡± She couldn¡¯t help but feel stupid saying that, but she had to ask. ¡°Not really, just set on fire. Well, part of it blew up first, I guess. That¡¯s what started the fire. Yeah.¡± He seemed awfully conversational. ¡°Sounds like it hasn¡¯t quite sunk in yet.¡± ¡°Yeah. Still feels like a dream.¡± ¡°Where are you?¡± ¡°We¡¯re in a little town out in the middle of nowhere. I guess we¡¯re in Nevada now. Hey, how¡¯s AJ?¡± Elizabeth smiled. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Well, do you know about the painting she found? Of Jim¡¯s?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± AJ had shown it to her. It was Jim¡¯s, no doubt about it. ¡°I guess that means she¡¯s involved somehow too. Maybe? I don¡¯t know.¡± Elizabeth¡¯s smile continued. She considered giving Mike a hard time about being concerned for AJ, but wasn¡¯t she doing just the same thing by checking in on Jim? ¡°She¡¯s taking a nap at our house. Also you have her number; if you¡¯re so worried you can call her yourself.¡± ¡°Hey, you called me. I¡¯ll go get Jim.¡± Elizabeth swung the yellow umbrella back and forth overhead as she walked. She felt a strong urge to sing. Singing in the Rain? Umbrella? Of course. But not while on the phone! ¡°Hello?¡± said an instantly recognizable voice. Jim¡¯s voice was just barely far enough removed from normal speech patterns to indicate that something was off. It was a little slurred, a little shaky, a little broken. You could tell he knew the words he wanted to say, but they all got caught up on the way out. ¡°Jimothy? It¡¯s Elizabeth.¡± ¡°Hi, Elizabeth! This is Jimothy.¡± Elizabeth almost laughed. ¡°Hey,¡± said Jimothy before she could continue. ¡°You like riddles right?¡± ¡°¡­yes?¡± ¡°I have a riddle. I can¡¯t remember where I heard it, but it¡¯s been bothering me.¡± ¡°Okay. Shoot.¡± ¡°It goes kind of like this: ¡®No blindness but our sight, no beginning but the end, no darkness but the light, no enemies but our friends.¡¯ What do you think?¡± A descriptive riddle, not a question. It was interesting, but she didn¡¯t care at the moment. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± she assured Jim. ¡°I called to make sure you were okay.¡± ¡°Oh, thanks! I¡¯m okay. Well¡­¡± ¡°Well?¡± ¡°I mean, my house is gone. And my paints, and all the stuff I was working on. And my bed. And my books. And¡­¡± A tremor began to creep into Jim¡¯s voice as he spoke. He sniffed. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be sad. I¡¯m with Mike, which I guess is what matters. But¡­Hazel¡­¡± He sniffled again, and his voice began to break. ¡°Hazel is¡­¡± He couldn¡¯t finish. ¡°Sorry, Elizabeth.¡± Hearing Jim cry created a pain in Liz¡¯s chest. She swallowed, and something like a knife twisted at the back of her throat. Jimothy was easily upset, sometimes by simple things like a very wrong clock or furniture rearranged without his knowledge. Mike knew them all of course, the things that bothered Jim. Jim knew that he got easily upset sometimes; he was aware of it and embarrassed about it. In a flash of inspiration, Elizabeth realized that maybe this meant Jimothy didn¡¯t know when it was actually okay to cry about something. She spoke to him: ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry, Jimothy. Jim. I would cry if something happened to Callie. It¡¯s okay to cry.¡± Jimothy cried. Elizabeth wished she could be there next to him instead of three time zones away. She wondered if the Line would help at all. She wished she knew more about what exactly it was. It was some kind of mental boundary that helped Jim keep his feet in reality. Kate seemed to understand it. Jimothy¡¯s tears soon subsided. He laughed a little. ¡°I hope Mike doesn¡¯t mind his phone getting wet. I think Mike is doing okay.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad he¡¯s looking out for you.¡± ¡°Yeah. He always knows what to do. I hope someday I can be like him.¡± Sooner or later every conversation with Jim became heartwarming. ¡°What¡¯s he doing now?¡± asked Elizabeth. ¡°What will you do next?¡± ¡°Mike¡¯s out taking pictures now,¡± said Jim. ¡°His camera was in the car, which is lucky.¡± ¡°He takes good pictures.¡± ¡°Yeah. He says he can¡¯t draw like me, so he takes pictures instead.¡± ¡°Well. Do you know what the word ¡®photography¡¯ means, Jimothy?¡± ¡°No. What?¡± ¡°It means ¡®drawing with light.¡¯ Because it¡¯s the light that lets the picture get taken. So, you and Mike both draw.¡± ¡°Wow! I like that. Drawing with light.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Something rang in Elizabeth¡¯s memory, and she looked up at the yellow umbrella blotting out most of the grey sky above. She glanced back at Amelia and Elmer. Elmer was enthusiastically showing Amelia a pinecone. Drawing with light. ¡°Okay, Jim, one last thing. Have you seen any white animals with no eyes?¡± ¡°You mean like Callie? No.¡± ¡°Just checking. You should let me know if you do see one, okay?¡± ¡°All right.¡± He sniffed. ¡°Thanks, Elizabeth.¡± ¡°Come on, Jimothy, I¡¯ve told you to call me Liz.¡± ¡°Well, you call me Jimothy. That¡¯s my whole name.¡± ¡°I like your whole name.¡± ¡°Well I like your ¡ª¡± ¡°Okay, I get it.¡± ¡°It sounds smart and sophisticated, like you.¡± ¡°Oh yeah? Well ¡®Jimothy¡¯ is fun and unique, like you.¡± ¡°Haha, okay¡­so I¡¯ll add you to the list of people I need to call right away if anything happens.¡± This made Elizabeth smile. ¡°Put me at the top,¡± she said. ¡°Something is afoot, Jimothy.¡± ¡°Eric said something like that. And he told me that you¡­¡± ¡°That I¡­?¡± ¡°Umm. Uh, actually he didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°What? He didn¡¯t what?¡± ¡°Sorry, Elizabeth. I¡¯m trying to be careful not to say what Eric told me not to tell you.¡± ¡°Okay, Jim. I¡¯ll hang up now, okay?¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s good. Thanks. Thanks for calling!¡± ¡°It was nice talking to you. Farewell!¡± ¡°Bye!¡± Elizabeth hung up and assessed her surroundings. During the conversation she had turned off the paved road and onto the long driveway without realizing. About a mile to go from here. Elmer and Amelia still followed behind her: one looking up at the sky with a big smile and the other gazing downward, looking troubled. So opposite. For some reason, she now felt no embarrassment about singing in front of them. So, compelled by the close woods and dark, rainy day, she began to sing. Chapter 37 Chapter 37 Eric Walker He slept in that morning. Skipping school was no problem. Well it was, but not the kind of problem that Eric cared about. Leah woke him up by allowing Frisby Wiser to attack him in the face. Eric opened his eyes to the sight of an angry stuffed red dragon. ¡°Get up!¡± Frisby growled. ¡°You¡¯ll be late.¡± Leah also had no school. Eric was theoretically supposed to ¡°take care of her,¡± but Leah pretty much took care of herself. She was like¡­like a cactus. What time was it? A little after nine o¡¯clock. Maybe nine fifteen. He could always tell when he woke up. ¡°Her flight doesn¡¯t come in ¡®till noon,¡± he said, his voice halfway muffled by the plushy dragon. ¡°Get outta here, Frisby.¡± ¡°I made something for her,¡± Frisby told him. ¡°I mean, Leah did.¡± Eric groaned. ¡°I¡¯m surrounded by role-players.¡± He sat up in his bed and yawned. ¡°What did she make, Sir Wiser?¡± Leah had a big roll of white poster paper, and she slid it into Frisby¡¯s little clawed arms. Eric kept his eyes on the dragon as it presented the roll of paper to him. He received it ceremoniously and made a show of unrolling it like a scroll. He smirked. A welcome sign for Heidi. It had her name in big red letters, surrounded by all kinds of little pictures and incomprehensible scribbling in different colors. It would certainly stand out. There was a big crayon drawing of a girl that Eric thought was supposed to be Heidi. There was a computer on one side of her and some kind of black lizard on the other. The sign might be helpful, though, since he didn¡¯t really know what she looked like. Heidi, like Kate, wasn¡¯t on Instagram or anything. ¡°Thanks, Frisby,¡± he said as he re-rolled the poster. ¡°Hee hee,¡± Frisby said in a little girl¡¯s voice. Then, in his normal deep growly voice, ¡°I mean, ho ho ho.¡± ¡°Hey Frisby, have you noticed there¡¯s this little dragonfly following you everywhere?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± he said. ¡°I must be going now.¡± Frisby Wiser flapped his wings and soared up and away, and out of Eric¡¯s room. The door to Eric¡¯s room could be locked. He often thought about locking it, but he never did. He checked his phone. The time was nine twenty, meaning that his earlier estimate had been off by only about two minutes. Nice. Miraculously, no one had messaged him overnight, except Heidi to provide a brief update about arrival time. Eric was thankful for this. He didn¡¯t need any more craziness today. Meeting Heidi would be interesting enough. He took another look at the welcome poster Leah had made. Did he really want this to be Heidi¡¯s first impression of him? Eh. Whatever. He dressed in simple jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, with a light jacket because it was still a little chilly in Chicago. He ate a bowl of cereal with toast for breakfast. He said goodbye to Leah, told her he¡¯d be back soon with Heidi, and left for the metro stop. He transferred to the blue line without difficulty and without any unusual events. It was when he was on the blue line that he received the phone call. He hesitated to answer it because the number was all zeroes. He had never seen anything like that before. But it begged to be answered. So he did. ¡°Hello?¡± he said. ¡°Eric Walker here.¡± In response he received only hissing static and garbled noise, like someone shouting through a seriously fucked-up short-wave radio tuned a few degrees off-channel. But he could tell, despite the noise, that someone was trying to speak to him. ¡°Can¡¯t hear you, bro. Bad connection I guess?¡± More noise. ¡°Maybe you should try calling on a cell phone next time instead of a potato.¡± It cleared up for a moment. He could barely make out a few words: ¡°try¡­you this¡­hear me?¡± The static dropped off sharply on those last two words. ¡°Hear you? Barely, dude.¡± ¡°¡­hang¡­this¡­piece of¡­¡± Eric amused himself by imagining that the static was censoring, and that the words he couldn¡¯t hear were all expletives. He waited to see if the situation improved. The static dropped away, reduced to a low hiss in the background. ¡°What about this?¡± said the voice on the other end. The voice was still glitchy and garbled, as though transmitting from the moon, but Eric could make out the words. ¡°Okay, yeah, now I can hear you.¡± ¡°Good. I¡¯m a little short on time here, so I¡¯ll try to make it quick.¡± ¡°You know, I never believe people when they say stuff like that. Like, if you were really short on time, you wouldn¡¯t waste time by¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up and listen.¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s better.¡± ¡°My name is Eric Walker. I¡¯m you in the future.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± said Eric. He checked the rest of the train car. Only two other people: an old lady and a guy on his phone, both down at the other end, not paying attention to him. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°Aha, man I forgot I¡­¡± His voice became incomprehensible before fading back in. ¡°¡­ don¡¯t believe me.¡± ¡°Nah,¡± said Eric. He listened hard to the voice. Could it be the voice of someone he knew? Could it be his voice? It was so distorted that he couldn¡¯t tell. The static distortions abruptly cleared. ¡°Of course not. I wouldn¡¯t have believed it back then. That¡¯s cool, whatever. When it all happens, you¡¯ll remember.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you short on time?¡± The person on the other end laughed. The static went wild, so Eric could barely make out the words when the other person started speaking again. ¡°¡­idea how funny that is¡­fucking ironic.¡± ¡°Whoa, language.¡± ¡°Shut up. Just stop. You¡­need to explain¡­nevermind. I don¡¯t know how much¡­¡± The voice broke up, flooded with static. ¡°Better hurry, bro,¡± said Eric. ¡°Listen up: when she falls¡ª if she falls, check the pockets.¡± ¡°Check pockets. Got it.¡± The voice became increasingly garbled. ¡°¡­have to take¡­can¡¯t let Isaac¡­don¡¯t trust¡­hear me?¡± The call ended just as Eric was about to respond. He looked at the ended call; the all-zeroes number. Him from the future? Now if he were Isaac, he would believe that this was a call from his future self just because he wanted something like that to happen. And if he were Jim, he would believe it because Jim is the definition of gullible. And if he were Kate, he would probably somehow just know whether or not it was true. But he was Eric, and only a few months ago he and Isaac had discussed this exact scenario, and had decided on code words in case either of them ever came back from the future. It was stupid, but he was pretty sure he would have remembered had such a thing actually come to pass. And he hadn¡¯t heard anything about Ratatat, his code word. The number was listed under his recent calls. He blocked it. After a moment of contemplation, he texted Isaac. EW: bro IM: yeah? EW: quick question EW: and i hate to ask this but EW: any weird shit goin down over there IM: Weird? nah, not really IM: But there¡¯s a guy who snaps his fingers to make light and always has birds around him IM: And some monster on the loose killing people IM: And that crack in the sky, remember that? It¡¯s still there EW: sure but what about phone calls from your future self IM: Not yet IM: Did that happen to you? IM: Did he say the code word? EW: nah so i think it might be a fraud EW: still weird though IM: Okay my turn for a question EW: shoot IM: You play set, right? EW: was that the question? EW: i can¡¯t shake the feeling weve been over this EW: like dude you got me drumsticks for christmas IM: That wasn¡¯t the question! IM: That was, like, the set-up question IM: I ask it, you answer, and then I go on to my real question EW: whats the point asking a question you know the answer to IM: Bro it helps to establish conversational flow EW: are you serious IM: Keep up IM: I was introducing the topic, thereby setting us up for the question IM: It¡¯s a common conversational tactic EW: ok stop EW: i dont care EW: this is some fucking banana quest level bullshit EW: and were not even conversing this is just a chat conversation so the ¡°flow¡± is meaningless IM: Whatever, man! EW: just ask the question EW: the real one IM: Okay IM: Do you read percussion notation or do you just play beats by ear IM: Like, according to the style at the top of the rhythm chart EW: the fuck is a rhythm chart IM: ... IM: Okay you have successfully answered my question IM: hmm IM: I actually don¡¯t know anything about writing for percussion IM: Maybe you can be on the triangle IM: or cowbell EW: id rock that cowbell EW: oh and i can read rhythm charts IM: You just said you didn¡¯t even know what they are! EW: well i looked it up and it turns out its what ive been using the whole time EW: just forgot the name EW: so yeah go ahead and write it like that IM: ok cool IM: Hey you know what kind of saxophone Heidi plays? EW: why would i know that EW: and why are you asking me? EW: ask heidi IM: I don¡¯t think she likes talking to me IM: I think she thinks I¡¯m an idiot EW: three guesses whose fault that is IM: What did I do? IM: I just talked to her normally! EW: exactly bro theres your problem EW: dude you gotta break out your top-shelf moves EW: start recommending weird books and shit EW: boring ass symphonies EW: chicks dig it bro IM: Actually that¡¯s what Kate just told me IM: I guess Heidi¡¯s into ¡°weird books and shit¡±? EW: see? i would never lead you astray IM: Okay one more thing IM: random questionThe author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. IM: You shave? EW: wtf why EW: do you? IM: Soon, brother IM: soon. IM: I ask because Jacob, the bird guy, he¡¯s got this scruffy beard EW: i shave like once every two weeks EW: and its already a pain in the ass i dont know how grown ass men deal with shaving every damn morning IM: Bro just do what Dwayne does EW: you referring to the santa claus strat? IM: The Father Time maneuver EW: the moses gambit IM: The Socratic Shave EW: haha maybe someday IM: bewhiskerment aside, do you play keys EW: bro you know im shit at piano IM: I mean like hammered keys IM: like xylophones and stuff EW: dude EW: were not having a fucking xylophone in our piece IM: Just asking! IM: and why not? EW: cause its lame bro IM: I like xylophones EW: listen this has been a real edifying conversation but im almost at the airport IM: All right. Let me know if anything else weird happens EW: bro we are gonna have to up our standards about what that means At the airport Eric had time to chill, which was fine with him. He bought a latte at Starbucks, browsed the paperback books on a bookstand, wandered around, then sat down near the arrival gates and caught up on some blogs on his phone. A little notification came up in his mind when Heidi¡¯s flight was scheduled to arrive; he didn¡¯t even need to check the time. He gave it another ten minutes for disembarking. He tried to be chill as he waited by the arrival gate. He would be the first out of all of them to meet Heidi in person. And the first thing Heidi would see was this crazy colorful mess Leah had made. That was fine. People flowed past as he searched for someone who might be Heidi. ¡°Eric Walker?¡± Eric turned around as someone tapped him on the shoulder. He immediately identified this person as Heidi. She wore sandals, cargo shorts and a plain black tank top. Short dark hair, a blue bandana tied around her head like a headband, dark brown eyes. Her skin was dark from the sun, her facial features broad. She wore an army-style backpack. The only real surprise was her height: she barely came up to his shoulder. Most girls his age were taller than Eric. ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± he said. Heidi took a moment to check out Leah¡¯s poster. ¡°Nice,¡± she said. She looked back up at him. ¡°You always wear sunglasses indoors?¡± ¡°You always so short?¡± He said it without thinking. He visualized little people in the control center of his brain scrambling to turn off the ¡°comeback¡± switch. Heidi punched him in the arm. Hard. She smiled, then her eyes widened in horror. ¡°Wait! I¡¯m sorry!¡± ¡°Ow,¡± said Eric, playing it off like the punch hadn¡¯t hurt at all. But really, it had actually hurt. He noticed that although short, Heidi was bulky. Thick, but not with fat. He thought he should keep this observation to himself, though. Heidi bit her lip, and it was hard to tell because of her tan but Eric thought she was blushing. Embarrassed? About hitting him? ¡°Naw, don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he said, putting forth conscious effort to avoid massaging the place she had hit. ¡°I guess I deserved that.¡± She looked relieved. Her eyes went back to Leah¡¯s poster as though to avoid looking at him. Was she shy? ¡°So you¡¯re Heidi, right?¡± he asked. ¡°I didn¡¯t just get punched by some random girl?¡± She nodded. ¡°Um¡­did you make this?¡± she asked, still looking at Leah¡¯s poster. ¡°Oh yeah, sure. Practiced for weeks. Had to break out the really top-shelf crayons for this one.¡± For a moment Heidi visibly struggled to assess whether it was sarcasm. God dammit, Eric. He smiled in order to help her out. She smiled back, a little nervously. Wow, this first impression was going just fantastically. Should he say that? To break the ice? Affirmative; it¡¯s a go. ¡°Wow,¡± he said with a laugh, ¡°this whole first impression business is off to a great start.¡± She giggled nervously. ¡°Should¡­we try again?¡± she asked. ¡°Huh¡­¡± Eric rolled up the poster. ¡°Yeah, okay.¡± He turned around and unrolled the poster, pretending to look for someone out in the crowd. He felt a hesitant tap on his left shoulder. He turned around smoothly, struck a nonchalant pose and inclined his head in acknowledgement. ¡°¡®Sup.¡± Heidi shook her head. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Kate told me to expect something like this.¡± ¡°Like what? What else did she say?¡± Instead of answering Heidi took the poster from Eric and looked at it more closely. ¡°So did your sister make this?¡± ¡°Yeah. Hey, you have any luggage?¡± ¡°No. Just this.¡± She shrugged the backpack. ¡°Then let¡¯s get outta here. We can, like, converse awkwardly on the way back to my place.¡± Heidi nodded. ¡°Okay.¡± She took possession of the poster on the way to the blue line. Eric was happy to let her keep it. ¡°So what kind of things do you like?¡± Eric asked as he bought a CTA ticket for Heidi. ¡°You do sports?¡± ¡°Some. Maybe. Is surfing a sport?¡± ¡°Sure, I guess. Yeah, I bet you don¡¯t have any leagues out in fuckin Tuvalu.¡± ¡°It¡¯s New Zealand, technically.¡± ¡°Bet it was a pain to get here.¡± Heidi shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve had long flights before.¡± ¡°You play basketball?¡± ¡°Not really.¡± ¡°Huh. Yeah I guess it¡¯d be hard since you¡¯re so shor¡ª¡± This time it was a side fist, not a direct punch. It nevertheless carried enough force to shove Eric against the railing of the stairway. Once more, it was rather painful. This time Heidi did not appear apologetic about it. She stoically descended the stairs as though nothing had happened. Eric grinned and skipped a few steps to catch up with her. Heidi spoke before he could say something. ¡°What sports do you play, since you¡¯re so interested? Basketball?¡± ¡°Yeah, I like basketball. But my real game is Frisbee.¡± ¡°Frisbee is not a sport,¡± said Heidi. She didn¡¯t look at Eric when she spoke; she looked ahead at where they were walking. ¡°Oh, yes it is,¡± said Eric. ¡°No it isn¡¯t.¡± ¡°It is, though.¡± Now she looked at him. ¡°I don¡¯t think it is.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t win, Heidi. I¡¯m too good at this game.¡± Her brows scrunched in confusion, but her mouth curved into a hint of a smile. Eric had to admit she actually looked pretty cool in that bandana. And with that backpack, and with her relaxed, confident stance, she looked like she knew what she was doing. They stood in silence while they waited for the train. An hour later Eric approached the door of his apartment. It swung open before he reached it, revealing an angry Leah+Frisby combo, poised in attack position. Leah leveled a hand at Eric, fingers spread as though casting a spell. ¡°Eric!¡± she said. ¡°I saw you hit her.¡± Heidi joined Eric in front of the door. ¡°What?¡± said Eric. ¡°You hit Heidi. On the sidewalk. I saw it.¡± ¡°Oh yeah. Well, she called me lame.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. Frisby is mad!¡± ¡°No see that¡¯s like our thing now. We punch each other. Less than an hour and our relationship has already become mutually abusive.¡± Heidi raised her eyebrows, but Leah continued scowling at Eric. ¡°Okay, watch this,¡± said Eric. ¡°Leah, have you noticed that you and Heidi are about the same size?¡± He tried dodging it but Heidi was too fast. Her blow landed squarely on a previous bruise. Eric winced. ¡°It¡¯s actually a show of affection,¡± he explained to Leah. She did not look convinced. Heidi rolled her eyes and walked past Eric up to Leah. She bent down to talk to Leah, but just a little. ¡°I¡¯m Heidi,¡± she said. ¡°Are you Leah?¡± Leah beamed. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°And this is Frisby Wiser, a dragon.¡± She held up the stuffed red dragon. Heidi held up the rolled-up poster. ¡°I liked your poster,¡± she said. ¡°Can I come in?¡± Leah considered this seriously for a moment before nodding and stepping aside so Heidi could enter. She slammed the door on Eric before he could join them. Eric sighed and dug in his pocket for the keys. He also took this opportunity to massage his upper arm and shoulder. He liked the whole physical-contact-camaraderie deal, but maybe Heidi was a little overzealous. So Leah had seen them on the sidewalk? Had she been watching from the balcony? They were on the ninth floor! When he entered, he saw Leah marching around the apartment, pointing out sites of interest as though imparting vital information. Heidi looked like she was enjoying it. ¡°¡­and you got a package,¡± said Leah a minute later, wrapping up the tour back in the kitchen. ¡°It came in the mail.¡± She put a lot of weight into this statement because Leah was fascinated by the whole idea of mail and still thought it was some kind of magic. ¡°Oh yeah,¡± said Eric. He pointed it out for Heidi: a plain cardboard box the size of a shoebox, sitting on the table. It was pretty heavy. Heidi approached the box. She reached out to the side and removed a knife from the knife block on the kitchen counter without looking at it. Something about the casual way she just knew where the knives were made Eric smile. Oh yeah. No doubt about it: he was dealing with a badass, even if she did actually have to reach up a little to get the knife. She made three quick, clean swipes without hesitation, severing the packaging tape of the box. She set down the knife, opened the box, and removed¡­another knife. Not a kitchen knife, though. A pocket knife. Heidi dropped it into one of the pockets of her cargo shorts. Then she pulled a handgun out of the box. Eric¡¯s eyes widened as she casually checked the chamber and clip, and then searched around in the box. ¡°Was this the only box?¡± she asked. ¡°Can¡¯t ship firearms and ammo together in the same package, so I guess¡­¡± She trailed off looking at Eric and Leah. ¡°What?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just, uh, a little surprising,¡± said Eric. The return address on that box was from Texas, but¡­had Heidi mailed herself a gun because she couldn¡¯t fly with one? No, more likely this was the work of Alan Sheppard. ¡°You know, Chicago¡¯s not that dangerous if you pay attention.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not Chicago,¡± replied Heidi as she unslung her backpack and casually shoved the handgun into it. Leah¡¯s rolled up poster followed, but with greater care. ¡°Okay,¡± said Eric. ¡°Leah, we haven¡¯t gotten any other package for Heidi yet, right?¡± Leah gave a firm and official nod. Then she turned and wandered off. Eric and Heidi watched her leave. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to scare you,¡± said Heidi. ¡°With the gun. I hope Leah¡¯s okay with it.¡± ¡°She¡¯ll be fine. And I¡¯m not scared. It¡¯s just that we got first Kate, then Jim, saying maybe something big¡¯s about to happen. And seeing the gun is just, like, confirmation. Like ¡®oh shit, I guess Heidi knows too, and she¡¯s preparing for it.¡¯ So maybe I should be ready too. But ready for what?¡± Heidi shrugged and sat down at the table. She shuffled through the mail and papers haphazardly strewn. ¡°Alan¡¯s the one who knows what¡¯s going on. More than me.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± said Eric. He joined her at the table. Heidi picked up an informational packet. ¡°This has your name on it,¡± she said. She flipped through it. ¡°You want to be in the Coast Guard?¡± ¡°Thinking about it,¡± said Eric. ¡°Not really a good swimmer, though. Yet. Gonna practice this summer.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a good swimmer.¡± ¡°Haha, yeah I bet.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s this?¡± Heidi switched her attention over to a stack of printer paper covered in arcane markings and codified symbolic systems. ¡°These are called rhythm charts,¡± said Eric, glad that he had just looked this up. ¡°They¡¯re like sheet music for people who can¡¯t read sheet music, which is, percussionists like me. I¡¯ve been practicing jazz standards so I¡¯m ready for our number.¡± ¡°¡®Our number?¡¯¡° ¡°Yeah, the one Isaac¡¯s writing. You know, the one Kate wants us all to play. You¡¯re on sax, I hope you know that. By the way, which kind of sax do you play? Isaac wants to know.¡± ¡°¡­Tenor.¡± ¡°Great. Do you like jazz?¡± ¡°Yes. Well, Alan does especially. I do too I guess.¡± ¡°You¡¯re in the right city. Oh!¡± Eric stood. ¡°Almost forgot. Come on.¡± He led Heidi down the hall toward his room. His door was open just a crack. He stopped beside it, holding an arm out in caution to Heidi. ¡°Hold up,¡± he said, suddenly serious. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡± Heidi tensed behind him. ¡°What is it?¡± Eric raised his voice a little. ¡°I think there¡¯s a dragonfly in my room,¡± he said. ¡°Oh,¡± said Heidi. ¡°Is that¡­a problem?¡± ¡°Well you know, the thing with dragonflies,¡± he said as he crept toward the door, ¡°is that they grow up to be dragons.¡± He burst through the door into his room. It was empty. He turned and invited Heidi in. She entered hesitantly, keeping an eye on him. ¡°I don¡¯t see a dragonfly,¡± she said after a moment. ¡°Well they¡¯re pretty small. If there were a dragonfly in here, for instance, hiding under the bed¡­¡± Eric sat down on his bed. ¡°It would be a real shame because she¡¯d be so busy hiding that she wouldn¡¯t be able to come to the park with us this afternoon.¡± Small, soft claws attacked Eric¡¯s left foot from under the bed. ¡°Raaahhh!¡± said Frisby Wiser. ¡°Oh shoot we¡¯re too late. It¡¯s already a dragon.¡± Eric stood as Frisby¡¯s claws around his ankle were replaced by Leah¡¯s hands. With a mighty step he dragged her out from under the bed. She giggled. ¡°Get outta here, Leah,¡± he said. ¡°Go get ready. We¡¯ll head up to the park soon.¡± Leah scampered away. Eric looked at Heidi. ¡°You don¡¯t mind if she comes, right?¡± Heidi shook her head. ¡°I mean she was coming regardless,¡± Eric said as he sat down at his desk chair. He booted up his computer and began the inordinately long process of running his digital audio workstation. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you played piano,¡± said Heidi, examining his keyboard. ¡°I don¡¯t, really. I just use that for making music. It¡¯s actually a garbage keyboard, but that¡¯s fine. The sound all goes through here.¡± He gestured at his mixing equipment. ¡°But you do play drums,¡± said Heidi, now over by his electric set. ¡°Yes, the drums I do play.¡± Eric finally got the program running. He had over thirty sound files which he considered to be complete songs, or at least complete pieces of songs that could be looped with variations or mashed together. Kate, his biggest fan, and Isaac, his most helpful critic, had heard almost all of them. He was a little more picky about what he showed Liz and Jim. ¡°I heard some of your music from Kate,¡± said Heidi, now looking over his shoulder at his laptop screen. ¡°That looks complicated.¡± The DAW filled the screen with numbers, graphs, dials, virtual mixing boards. ¡°Heh. It¡¯s not really¡­well yeah it is, actually. But the systems repeat. Like, you only really need to learn like ten percent of this stuff and you¡¯ve already got most of it.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± said Heidi. Right, of course she understood. She programmed computers for fun. In fact, Eric now felt a little embarrassed about claiming that Fruity Loops Studio was complicated. It was to him, but¡­ ¡°So¡­what did Kate show you?¡± ¡°Just a couple songs. She really likes your music.¡± ¡°Actually I think she really likes pretty much all music,¡± said Eric. ¡°Her taste is indiscriminate, like with Isaac and his pulp fantasy.¡± ¡°Heh. Yeah.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± said Eric. ¡°What did you think of my music?¡± Eric laughed internally. Here he was, asking this question only after making a big show of getting ready to show her some of his music. Like, what, just assuming she¡¯d be into it? Wow, dude. ¡°It was¡­interesting,¡± said Heidi. ¡°Interesting.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± said Eric as he opened his most recent project. He thought Heidi would probably be more interested in how it was all made and put together than in the finished product. He was right. Chapter 38 Chapter 38 The Museum He was part of my dream, of course¡ªbut then I was part of his dream, too. - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass Kaitlyn Carter stood a bit unsteadily when she shoved her bass into the overhead compartment, and she clutched tightly to her stuffed turtle pillow when she scooted over to the window seat and sat down. She buckled her seatbelt with hands that trembled only slightly, positioned her travel bag under the seat in front of her, and hugged Tal the Turtle as she looked out the window at all the other airplanes. She knew airplanes were safe. She¡¯d looked up the crash rates for this airline and this model of airplane before she left home just to be sure. She had investigated the credentials necessary to become a pilot. She researched the many failsafe mechanisms and precautionary features of the modern aircraft. She had even utilized Bernoulli¡¯s principle of fluid dynamics to solve a number of different potential equations for calculating lift on airfoils. She knew airplanes were safe. But she had never been in one before. And however unlikely, an event classifiable as unsafe was always a possibility. One which she should be ready for. So she read the safety card in front of her and memorized it in one go. She knew airplanes were safe. But she had the broken chess piece with her¡ªthe dead McFinnium butterfly. Who knew what that might do to an airplane in flight? What if it caused the altimeter to read incorrectly and they crashed into the ocean? What if the navigation systems glitched and they ended up in Morocco? What if Callie appeared onboard and caused a ruckus partway through the flight? She hugged Tal tighter and glared out the window with fierce concentration. Yes, airplanes were perfectly safe, not to mention a marvel of human ingenuity. Many people rode in them all the time without problems, such as Heidi, or Aunt Becky. Others didn¡¯t, such as her father. Music! That was her plan: she would listen to music and fall asleep. But she wasn¡¯t allowed to do that during takeoff, apparently. But she needed to fall asleep, one way or another. She needed to dream, one last time. She was one of the first to board. She took inventory to distract herself while she waited for others to fill the plane. Bass? Of course; it was right above her. Butterfly net? Check; it was in its specially-made pocket in the bass case. Mikhail Tal? Check; the green turtle pillow looked up at her with big friendly eyes. Lab coat? Check. It was in her bag. Music and headphones? Check. Dead McFinnium butterfly? Check. Her diary and book of notes about the Museum? Check. Spare glasses? Check. Rainbow snowflake scarf? Check. Chopsticks? Check. There wasn¡¯t much more than this. Few toiletries and no change of clothes. She didn¡¯t think she would need them. A young bearded black man sat down in the seat beside her as she went through her checklist. He mostly ignored her, but Kate saw him do a double-take at the scar on her left neck and cheek and shoulder. To him it probably looked like a bizarre tattoo. It made her hug Tal a little tighter. She re-read the safety manual in her mind, and she paid close attention when the flight attendants demonstrated the procedures, unlike the man beside her who was writing something on his phone. She removed the crystal butterfly from her pocket and squeezed it in her fist as the airplane taxied out onto the runway. ¡°Nervous?¡± said the man next to her. He smiled encouragingly. She opened her mouth to reply, but then shut it and nodded. He looked pretty cool and she didn¡¯t want to stutter in front of him. She hurriedly looked out the window again. It was the middle of the night, so everything out the window was dark except for the lights. There were so many lights! Red, green, blue, white, making straight lines for runways and curved lines for taxi lanes. Lights of vehicles and airplanes driving out in the darkness. As the airplane turned, the lights of Heathrow Airport itself swung into view. She saw the big windows, and could make out people standing in front of them, looking out at the field of lights. She got through takeoff by humming quietly to herself and hugging Tal with her eyes closed. It turned out to not be as bad as she¡¯d feared. In fact, the sensation of liftoff was exhilarating. She donned her headphones as soon as it was allowed. She put on relaxing music, yawned, and placed Tal the Turtle behind her head as she reclined her seat. It would be easy to fall asleep. She only hoped she could learn something before everything changed. Without opening her eyes, Kate became aware of her surroundings. Yes! She had made it. Sometimes just wanting to ¡°wake up¡± here wasn¡¯t enough. She still didn¡¯t know what exactly caused it, and had met with only mixed success after trying to arrive here by her own efforts. She opened her eyes. It really wasn¡¯t like waking up. It was like suddenly jerking back to awareness after dozing off. One second she was closing her eyes on the airplane, listening to music through her headphones, and the next she was here, startled into alertness by a myoclonic spasm. Kate saw that she sat on a plush red chair in a fancy foyer. A sparkling white fountain glistened in the center of the room, and the spray of the water made the air rich and humid. The foyer, with wood-and-gold-paneling and lush red carpet, extended high overhead to a dome glowing with stained glass. She had been to places like this before, but not this exact same one. It was always different. That was one of the rules. She had it written in her notebook. This room had two doors: a large double-door in front of her, and a smaller one to her left. To her right, an archway carved in floral pattern opened onto a long hallway lit with buttery yellow lights. The doors in the Museum were all locked; she had never been able to open one. She thought it was because she needed keys. Or maybe she just wasn¡¯t supposed to be here. But she was never trapped; there were always openings, hallways, places to go. That was another rule. She didn¡¯t very often try to open the doors. The Dark Man would sometimes come and stare at her if she tried, and the Dark Man was spooky. But even he was not as scary as what she thought was behind some of the doors. In fact, he was probably protecting her. She hopped up off the chair and realized her feet were bare. That was fine. The rest of her clothes were the same as what she was wearing on the plane. No bass, though. Sometimes she took her bass to bed with her and slept with it, because then it would show up here. And when she played it here¡­it was difficult to describe, but it created positive feelings. She thought that in some way this Museum liked music, and was somehow nicer to her when she played for it. Like the butterflies. Maybe it made the Dark Man smile. She had mixed feelings about that possibility. In a way, he was the biggest mystery of all. No bass, but she had her cell phone. That was good. She could still communicate with her friends back on Earth using CHIME. She could text them from here, and when she awoke all their messages would still be there, on her ¡°real¡± phone. But the timestamps would be all screwed up! She set off down the long hotel-like hallway, warm and humid and with d¨¦cor patterned after the foyer she just left. Full of doors, like a hotel, but unnumbered. She walked for a while, wandering through the Museum. Its variety never ceased to surprise her. While she always began in a place that was something like either a fancy hotel or a museum, thus the name she had given it, she always found something unusual the farther she went. There was a place full of spaceships, which opened onto a dark starry sky totally different from Earth¡¯s. There was a thing like a cathedral, but much bigger than any she knew of, not that she knew much about cathedrals. There was a big dark rainy city full of misty cobblestone streets right out of a Sherlock Holmes movie. There was a dim, cloudy golf course, extremely huge like everything else, stretching to the horizon. She had seen Romanesque ruins on crumbling cliffs, and an enormous proscenium stage. All of this was huge, and dark, and empty. All of it was part of what she called the Dream Museum. All of it was under the watchful eye of the Dark Man. All of it was full of doors. Kate theorized that this place was a vast conglomerate of fragmentary ideas and set-pieces pulled from someone¡¯s imagination. Maybe it came from people¡¯s dreams, like a castle built of driftwood washed up on the shores of the collective human imagination. Kate was sure Liz could put it far more eloquently. It¡ªthe Museum¡ªseemed too stable and well-defined, and maybe too cohesive in theme and tone, to be the result of everybody ¡¯s dreams. But she hadn¡¯t seen it all. Not even close. She always lost track of time here. Sometimes she¡¯d wake up on Earth after what seemed like only a few minutes in the Museum. This time she found herself in a boundless empty space full of pale blocks, ranging in size from dice to shipping containers, which made up a maze-like landscape of paths, tunnels, and stairs before her. There were some gaps in the floor, and these appeared to open into a black abyss below. There seemed to be rather a lot of black abysses here in the Museum. She had never fallen, and didn¡¯t plan to. She roved about in here for a while. She began humming at one point, and she noticed that the featureless pale grey blocks around her shimmered with color at the sound. Some experimentation revealed that the blocks changed different colors when she sang or hummed different notes, depending on their size. She wished she had her bass! She continued and found herself next to a mirrored wall, reflecting her image against the black void beyond. She examined the part of her neck and cheek where her scar would be if she were awake. Injuries didn¡¯t transfer here. She twirled around, enjoying the sight of her rainbow snowflake scarf spinning about. But something was strange about her reflection. She turned to the mirror and raised her right hand. The reflection also raised its right hand! Not a mirror image. She reached out and pressed her hand against the glass. Her reflection did the same, but instead of their hands meeting, the reflection¡¯s was two feet to the left. The flesh of the reflection¡¯s palm pressed up against the glass on its side. She grinned. So weird! Her reflection smiled back. Kate stepped back, as did her reflection. The whole image changed as soon as she ceased to make contact with the glass. It blurred and darkened. The image which had been a reflection of Kate became something¡ªsomeone¡ªelse. A stranger stared back at her. This person was about her own height and build, but with grey skin, and wearing a fancy purple and black dress. She (was it a female? hard to tell!) wore a purple blindfold, and violet jewels decorated her forehead and neck as well as down along her arms and hands. She had long black hair, also adorned by the violet jewels. Something dark, either scar tissue or an unnerving tattoo, covered a large part of her face, partly hidden by the blindfold. It was very rare to see another person! And this was the first one she had seen that didn¡¯t look entirely human. Kate raised a cautious hand to wave at the person, but the stranger did not wave back. Of course! She was blindfolded! Only then did Kate see that the background in the mirror had changed as well. It looked out into a big stone courtyard with an elaborate fountain and a red sunset sky. The mirror had changed into some kind of window. The Museum was full of windows too. The other person hesitantly turned and began walking away. She was very graceful! Kate wasn¡¯t sure she had ever seen someone walk in a way that brought the word ¡°elegant¡± to mind until now. Certainly neither her father nor Aunt Becky nor her Uncle Riley ever walked like that. (The thought of any of those three walking like that made her snort with laughter.) Was ¡®sashay¡¯ the word? Liz would know. Kate stepped up and knocked on the glass, just in case she might be able to communicate. But it was no good. She could only watch as the other girl wandered off, eventually leaving Kate¡¯s field of view entirely. Kate waited for a few minutes, but the mirror-turned-window did not change again. She at last departed, continuing on through the land of musical grey blocks. She soon came to a block with an open portal in it. She passed through and found herself in something like an art gallery that had forgotten the art. Elaborate frames hung all over the curved white walls, but they were all empty. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a tall, dark figure disappearing down a side hallway. She shivered. He was always around. Just¡­being there. He had never threatened her, she had to remember that. But he still made her nervous. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out and saw that Isaac had messaged her. But as she went to reply she noticed something: she had a new contact in CHIME. The name slot was blank, and the number was garbled gibberish. But there it was, next to her five friends, the only other people she knew who used CHIME. Who¡­? Oh! Maybe it was the girl she just saw! The one with the purple jewels. She had looked a little lost. Maybe she needed help! Kate sat on a nearby bench and sent a text. KC: hello! ??: Who is this? KC: it¡¯s me! KC: Kaitlyn Carter ??: I do not know anyone by that name. KC: I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve met :p KC: but I think I just saw you through one of the viewports KC: are you a pretty grey person wearing a black and purple dress? ??: That is me. ??: I suppose. ??: Where are you? ??: Are you in... ??: here? KC: the Museum? KC: yep! ??: A museum, you say? ??: Strange. ??: Do you know much about this place? KC: a little KC: are you new here? ??: Yes. KC: i will find you! KC: lickety split!Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. KC: (i hope) ??: Lickety split? KC: hehehe KC: it means REALLY FAST ??: I see. ??: In a sense. ??: I have questions. ??: Many. KC: don¡¯t we all? KC: hehe ;) KC: but okay! ??: You don¡¯t know me. KC: was that your first question? ??: Yes. KC: no, I am quite sure I would remember you! ??: Then how were you able to initiate this communication with me? KC: your number was in my phone KC: which means that we¡¯re connected somehow! KC: maybe i¡¯m GOING to know you sometime in the future? KC: which i guess is now? KC: ?8| KC: hehe this place is just weird sometimes KC: you can¡¯t be too concerned about those kinds of things ??: Understood. KC: :) you talk kind of like Liz! ??: Next question. Describe yourself. KC: that wasn¡¯t a question either! KC: ;) ??: What color are you? KC: color? KC: um white I guess? ??: I see. ??: Are we asleep now? KC: you really are new here! KC: yes we are asleep KC: we are dreaming KC: but we are dreaming together! ??: So this Museum is some kind of stable medium with which our subconscious minds can interact? It is a real place in that it exists regardless of whether we are present? KC: I think so! KC: something like that ??: Of course, the far more rational explanation is that I am having a peculiarly vivid hallucination. ??: Most likely you are only a figment of my imagination. KC: hey! KC: >:| ??: On the other hand, I have been here before. Although I have never before interacted with another. KC: can I ask a personal question? ??: Yes. KC: what are you? ??: Can you be more specific? KC: well you¡¯re not human... ??: What is human? KC: nevermind, it wouldn¡¯t make sense to me anyway! KC: instead, tell me about yourself KC: what do you love? what problems are you facing in life? KC: oh! And what is your name? KC: you have a name right? ??: My name is Zayana. KC: I like that name ZA: Is it likely that we will never speak again? KC: I hope not! but you can never tell here ZA: I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter what I say to you since my acquaintances are unlikely to come to this place and meet you. KC: oh I wouldn¡¯t tell them anything you told me in confidence! ZA: Very well. As far as interests, I spend my time studying the stars. ZA: I used to, that is. KC: wow! I have a friend who loves astronomy KC: he¡¯d be so excited if he could see YOUR stars! ZA: As far as problems, I have recently been blinded. KC: oh no! KC: what happened? ZA: Someone got out of hand. That is all I wish to say on the matter. KC: <:O KC: you are very straightforward KC: just like one of my other friends! ZA: Are you still trying to find me? KC: yes, but this place is so big! KC: and it keeps changing ZA: Changing? KC: yes, that is one of the rules here KC: it¡¯s always changing! things move around KC: its really hard to get someplace intentionally KC: or even to know where you are in relation to other places KC: that¡¯s because KC: it doesn¡¯t want you to worry about where you¡¯re going! KC: it wants you to be more concerned with where you ARE ZA: It? KC: the Museum ZA: It is a sentient entity? KC: I do not know KC: but around here, things always happen for a reason KC: like us talking now! KC: I¡¯m sure it matters KC: which is a nice thought, I think KC: :) ZA: I would like to meet you. KC: <3 KC: me too! KC: meet YOU i mean KC: hehe ZA: I think I am waking up... KC: you need to be careful about opening doors! KC: here KC: because you never know KC: i said that in case we don¡¯t talk again KC: it¡¯s important KC: are you still there? KC: :( During this conversation Kate had not even managed to escape the endless art gallery with the empty picture frames. She looked sadly at her phone when Zayana stopped responding. She¡¯d never met another person here who was dreaming like her! This place was never boring, but it sure would be a lot less lonely if there were some other people around! Besides him , of course. And Zayana seemed nice. Poor Zayana! Being blinded must be hard, especially for someone who likes to study stars. Kate became aware of a presence to her left. She looked, and she nearly fell over backwards when she saw the Dark Man right next to her. She backed up a few steps, staring at him with wide eyes. He had never been this close before! He wore a big hat that shadowed his face, and a strange kind of black suit with an overcoat. And the cane¡ªhe always had that shiny black cane with the mirrored ball on top. He was already turning around when she saw him, and he stepped into a painting-frame on a nearby wall and vanished as though passing right through the plaster. Kate put a hand to her heart. It was pounding! Only after he had gone did she see that he had left something on a bench next to Kate. It was an electric bass with an amp, both sleek and futuristic. She had never seen a model like that. And the Dark Man had never given her anything before. Was this a gift? Did he just want her to play? Maybe it would help her find Zayana! She knew of no theoretical basis for that idea, but neither was she prepared to discount it. For all she knew, simply having had the idea made it possible. This was that kind of place. She picked up the bass and slipped the strap over her head, holding her hair of out of the way. It was heavy! The heaviest bass she¡¯d ever held. She didn¡¯t think they made them this heavy on Earth. The amp had buttons she did not recognize, but a big obvious switch sat right in front, so she flipped it, hoping it was the power. The amp came alive. It hummed; little lights blinked to life. It vibrated right off the floor and up into the air, where it hovered at roughly head level, drifting around. Kate gave it a soft push, and it floated over a short distance before coming back as though tethered by an unseen elastic cord. Kate giggled. She plucked a string. She paused, then tried the rest. The sound made her raise her eyebrows. ¡°W-w-what the h-heck?¡± she asked. She tried again, just to be sure. And indeed, this was the most horribly out-of-tune bass she had ever tested. It was almost like someone had tried to tune the strings to all the wrong notes! She dropped down onto the bench and re-tuned it by ear. It took a while, but eventually she thought she got it pretty close. She went right into an improvised melody inspired by the tuning process. It was a little bluesy. Kind-of funk. Slapping the strings was a new thing she had been trying out recently. It made her a little embarrassed because she wasn¡¯t sure she was groovy enough for that kind of thing, but there was nobody around here to judge her. The sounds came out rich and clear through the levitating amp. She kept her eyes on the strings for the first minute. When she looked up, she saw that the walls bled color in oily streaks. The colors ran down into the empty frames and mixed, gradually coalescing into blurry images. She didn¡¯t stop playing, but she stood up and walked around. The amp followed her like a loyal pet. The more she played, the clearer the new images within the frames became. They depicted rainy cobblestone streets, misty moonlit bridges, empty fields at night, cityscapes over water, and cruise ships on dark seas lit like Christmas trees. She stopped in front of one painting she recognized. It was the very place she had seen the other girl, Zayana. A cobblestone plaza lit by lamplight, the stones wet as though after a light rain. The red sunset had faded, but it was the same place. She stopped playing for a moment. The painting remained. She reached out, and it stopped being a painting as soon as she touched it. She felt a warm humid breeze blow from the other side of the frame. She climbed through. The amp followed. She inspected the street and surrounding area for any sign of Zayana, trying very hard to have Sherlock-Holmes-like powers of perception. But she saw nothing; no clues. She looked up at the starry vista above and plucked a string on the bass. One cluster of stars burst with viridian light in response. She played the tune she had just been improvising, and the stars above lit up in sync. Colors swept the dark sky, swirling and shifting as though the stars were tiny windows to a bright, blazing maelstrom of radiant colors. Kate grinned, then laughed. But wait. Hadn¡¯t she wanted to come here for a reason? Yes, of course! She was trying to learn something. What was about to happen back on Earth? That was pretty important. She had seen a few visions here already. She knew that the things she saw here could be changed; they didn¡¯t necessarily come to pass. They were just possibilities. Which was good, because she really didn¡¯t want to die. Chapter 39 Chapter 39 Heidi Sheppard Eric examined her passport. ¡°So your legal name is Csezlaw? Chez-law? Says-law?¡± ¡°It¡¯s pronounced ¡®chess-wahf.¡¯¡° ¡°Of course. As in ¡®chess waffle.¡¯¡° Heidi hid her smile by taking another bite of ice cream. They sat on a bench in Lincoln Park, looking out on a pond flocking with waterfowl. A chill breeze drifted through the park, but the sun above gave some warmth. Leah and Frisby prowled the nearby boardwalk, attempting to creep up on unsuspecting creatures. Leah held the rainbow-colored seashell Heidi had given to her as a present, and she used it to gesture at the birds, pointing them out to Frisby. ¡°And this is your real one, right?¡± Eric flipped through the stamp pages of her passport, admiring her collection of places she¡¯d visited. ¡°I only have one passport.¡± ¡°But you have a fake ID, right?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Can I see it?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s just the same as my normal ID; just the dates are changed.¡± ¡°Man, Alan¡¯s so cool.¡± Eric returned her passport to her. ¡°Mind if I ask why you go by Sheppard?¡± Heidi shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s just like you said: Alan¡¯s cool.¡± ¡°Do you think of him like he¡¯s your dad?¡± asked Eric, who had lemonade instead of ice cream. ¡°Just let me know if I get too personal. Like, preferably not by hitting me.¡± ¡°Yeah, I guess. I hardly remember my real father, and Alan raised me, so¡­¡± Eric nodded. ¡°Cool. That pretty much makes him your dad.¡± They sat on the bench for a few minutes, watching Leah. Clouds drifted by overhead. A peaceful day. Here in the park Heidi didn¡¯t feel so out of place. She didn¡¯t mind cities, but they always made her uncomfortable if she stayed too long in them. She was used to the big empty loneliness of her island. But the park on a brisk day was as close to alone as she was likely to get during her stay in Chicago. Alone with Eric and Leah, which was not bad at all. And maybe Kate was coming? And maybe she¡¯d even get to see Liz while she was here in America? The idea of meeting up with those two made her unreasonably happy. The only friends she¡¯d ever had, she¡¯d never met. Depressing. Eric¡¯s best friends, on the other hand¡­ ¡°So¡­¡± she said when she had finished her ice cream and devoured the cone. ¡°About Jimothy.¡± Eric¡¯s fingers drummed an inaudible beat on his leg, and his head nodded slowly to music that only he could hear. He angled his head to look at Heidi through his shades. ¡°Yeah? What about him?¡± ¡°What is he¡­I mean, does he have¡­uh.¡± Heidi bit her lip and tried not to flush with embarrassment. Eric¡¯s face was serious. ¡°Does he have what?¡± Heidi punched him in the shoulder. ¡°You know what I mean!¡± she said. ¡°Is he¡­ okay ?¡± ¡°Now what are you implying?¡± asked Eric as he rubbed his shoulder. ¡°Ow, by the way. I think I ought to let you know that wasn¡¯t a friendly punch, that was just a straight-up combative strike; save that one for the ring, okay?¡± ¡°Oh sorry , Mr. Chill.¡± ¡°Woah, Heidi, was that sass? Hey, maybe you¡¯re not a stick stuck in the mud after a¡ªwoah, hey, what did I say, no more punching!¡± Heidi kept her fist elevated. ¡°You didn¡¯t say that.¡± ¡°Shit. Anyway, where were we, you were insulting my bro Jim.¡± ¡°No! I¡¯m sorry! I wasn¡¯t. If you don¡¯t want to talk about it that¡¯s fine. Just say so.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s cool, I was just messing with you. In terms of normalcy, Jim¡¯s dangling off the far end of the scale, just barely hangin¡¯ on by his fingertips, you know? I mean Kate just slipped off completely a while ago¡­ah, what am I saying.¡± Heidi¡¯s face scrunched up in consternation. ¡°Eric, I have no idea. Be more concrete.¡± That was a thing Alan said sometimes. He liked it when people were ¡®concrete.¡¯ Talking to Eric would probably annoy Alan. ¡°Concrete?¡± said Eric. ¡°Sure. Yeah. Jim has autism and cerebral palsy.¡± He sipped his lemonade. Heidi¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Oh¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡± Eric leaned back. ¡°For what? Was it your fault? Damn, after all these years, we finally find the culprit. I can¡¯t believe you¡¯d just confess like that. Wait till I tell Jim.¡± Heidi, at a loss, did not know how to respond to this. She remained silent and watched Leah, who had begun scrounging for sticks and putting them together in some kind of pattern on the grass. Eric redirected his attention to the beat he was playing. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s cool. Jim doesn¡¯t care if people know about his stuff. It¡¯s pretty mild, you know. Like, he¡¯s mostly functional. Still a pretty shitty deal, but he makes it work. Maybe he wouldn¡¯t be so special if he didn¡¯t have those problems. I guess I¡¯m glad he¡¯s just the way he is.¡± ¡°Oh. I¡¯ve heard you all talk about how Jimothy is special. But¡­what does that mean?¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t you talked to him?¡± ¡°Not much. Kate set us up to play chess so we¡¯ve played a couple games, but we haven¡¯t talked too much. I never know what to say! I don¡¯t know anything about him. And he¡¯s so¡­um, not easy to talk to? Or maybe¡­too easy?¡± ¡°Chess with Jim? That¡¯s rough.¡± ¡°He destroyed me. I don¡¯t really understand how.¡± ¡°Yeah, he was probably just guessing.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°Guessing?¡± ¡°He¡¯s good at that. He actually barely knows how to play chess.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°But I¡¯m sure he was happy to play too. Nobody loves games like that kid.¡± ¡°Tell me more about him.¡± ¡°About Jim? Okay, let¡¯s see. Jim¡¯s the kind of guy to lower your rent in Monopoly.¡± Heidi frowned. ¡°Isn¡¯t that against the rules?¡± Eric wasn¡¯t paying attention; he was looking out at the park and grinning as he came up with increasingly silly statements. ¡°Jim would let you borrow his coat in a blizzard in Antarctica. He would carefully read all of the terms and conditions even if he didn¡¯t understand any of it. He would disassemble, organize, clean, and arrange his legos by color for you if you wanted to borrow them.¡± ¡°Forget it.¡± She unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a drink. Eric leaned back and looked up at the sky. ¡°You just need to talk to him. You¡¯re lucky to have the chance to get to know him.¡± ¡°Not just him, though,¡± said Heidi, joining Eric in his skygazing. ¡°I think I¡¯m lucky to have met all of you.¡± ¡°Kate found you,¡± said Eric. ¡°Luck had shit to do with that.¡± ¡°The point I was trying to make is that I¡¯m glad I¡¯m here! I was trying to pay you a compliment, and also I guess thank you.¡± ¡°Should have just said that, then.¡± Heidi exhaled in annoyance. ¡°Are you always this difficult?¡± ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s just part of the package.¡± ¡°How does Elizabeth put up with you?¡± ¡°Well she doesn¡¯t, sometimes, which is fine.¡± ¡°What does it mean that Jim¡¯s good at guessing?¡± ¡°It¡¯s like¡­¡± Eric thought about it. ¡°Puzzles. Jim¡¯s good at puzzles. Like, too good.¡± How could one be too good at puzzles? And what did that have to do with guessing? ¡°Keep talking,¡± she said. Eric abruptly stood up and scanned his surroundings on full alert. He relaxed as soon as he saw Leah toward the end of the boardwalk to their left. ¡°Come on,¡± he said, starting to walk toward her. ¡°Leah wants to go to the zoo. You down?¡± ¡°Where is it?¡± ¡°Right there.¡± Eric nodded across the pond. ¡°It¡¯s free.¡± ¡°Oh. So, puzzles.¡± ¡°Right. Jigsaw puzzles. The thing is, Jim puts puzzles together, like, perfectly. I mean, he¡¯s always right. Every time he puts a piece down, it lands right where it goes, even if there¡¯s a thousand pieces. He doesn¡¯t miss. And he doesn¡¯t do it on purpose.¡± ¡°Hmm,¡± said Heidi. ¡°Not gonna say ¡®that¡¯s puzzling¡¯ or something?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m not going to say that.¡± ¡°Thank god. Isaac would have said that. So that was a test. You passed. Congratulations.¡± They took Leah to the zoo. Although she had been there before, Leah was fascinated by everything she saw. Heidi had never been to a zoo before, but it did not interest her much. Leah, pointing alternately with her dragon and the shell Heidi had given her, told Heidi that at Christmas they decorate all the trees in the zoo with lights. It was very pretty, and this ranked fairly high among the many reasons that Leah liked Christmas. Reason number one was that she had been adopted by the Walker family on Christmas Day. After the zoo they ended up by the adjacent conservatory, also free and open to the public. It was a big greenhouse full of many plants and flowers. Heidi found this a bit more interesting. Many of the flowers she had never seen before. Eric informed her that Elizabeth would love this place. Heidi told him that she thought he was probably right about that. Heidi received a text from Isaac Milton while they were looking at flowers. It was a group text including the two of them plus Kate, Elizabeth, Eric and Jimothy. It was titled ¡°Banana Quest 2,¡± and the first message read: IM: Banana Quest is back, baby! Relive the Technicolor glory of an old favorite in this all-new adventure! Feel free to write in with any thoughts about angels, demons, exploding houses, cracks in the sky, or sinister industrial corporations. This was written in purple text. A line in red appeared almost as soon as Heidi finished reading it. EW: shut up Isaac Heidi looked over at Eric and saw him on his phone. Eric looked over at her. ¡°Say something,¡± he said. ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°Just tell him he¡¯s an idiot. No, wait! We can do good-cop-bad-cop. I¡¯ll pester him while you pump him for information.¡± ¡°Information about what?¡± ¡°Angels, exploding houses, whatever sh - stuff he¡¯s talking about.¡± Heidi thought she already had an idea about what ¡®sinister industrial corporations¡¯ Isaac was talking about¡­but what did Isaac know about it? She texted the group: HS: What do you mean? ¡°Heh heh, all right,¡± said Eric, clearly delighted at the idea of annoying Isaac. ¡°But wait. Heidi, shouldn¡¯t you be yellow?¡± ¡°Yellow?¡± ¡°You know, to complete the color wheel. I¡¯m red, Jim is green, Kate is blue, Isaac is purple, and Liz is orange. Well, she¡¯ll call it gold but it¡¯s still orange. You should be yellow, right?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to write in yellow.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re just gonna stick with black?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Clich¨¦.¡± Leah came up to them and tugged on Eric¡¯s jacket while looking up at him, oblivious to how cute she looked doing so. ¡°Eric,¡± she said. ¡°Can we go to the hook?¡± Eric looked down at her. ¡°Sure. Lead the way.¡± ¡°Frisby will lead the way,¡± she replied. ¡°Sure, sure.¡± The stuffed dragon led them back through the park. ¡°The hook?¡± Heidi asked. ¡°It¡¯s a spot on the beach,¡± Eric told her. ¡°More importantly, we need to deal with the sudden reappearance of Banana Quest.¡± Something about that name was faintly familiar. Had Kate told her something about it? Yes, back when she was explaining about why they all typed in different colors. It was a game they had played, or tried to play together, online via chat messenger. Isaac apparently had been in charge, and it hadn¡¯t worked out very well. Watching Eric type away gleefully as he walked, Heidi thought she knew at least one reason why. Heidi followed, but she could not help but glance around. What was she looking for? Unmarked vans? People in suspiciously heavy coats with earpieces? Anything with a grey-and-orange color pattern? She didn¡¯t know, but she had promised Alan that she would be careful. Chapter 40 Chapter 40 The Scientist He sat in a room full of screens, most of them dark. His desk was cluttered with coffee cups, half-empty bottles of alcohol, food wrappings. The air in this small room smelled stale, the darkness warm but not comfortable. There was one door. It was closed and locked. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. He ran a thin hand through long greasy hair. He took off his glasses and attempted to polish them on his shirt. This only smudged the lenses further. When he put them back on the vision in his left eye was blurry. But he didn¡¯t care. He swiveled to face the door. He took a rubber ball out of his pocket and began bouncing it: floor-door-hand, floor-door-hand. He appeared relaxed. But his eyes tightened, and his teeth clenched. On the table to his left sat multiple computers, several keyboards and screens, and three cell phones. On the table to his right lay two weapons, one of them conventional. On the table behind him: several species of McFinnium. On his shirt: the October Industries logo: a grey circle with an orange ¡°I¡± inside, looking something like the slit eye of a malevolent beast. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He bounced the ball, deep in thought, for a long time. After all, ending the world was not something to be taken lightly, nor rushed into. But at last, he caught the ball and did not bounce it again. He placed the ball into the pocket of his lab coat and stood. He carefully selected one of the three cell phones and placed a call. ¡°Ready?¡± said the voice on the other end as soon as it picked up. The voice of Riley McFinn. ¡°Ready,¡± said Nikola Raschez. Time to end the world. Chapter 41 Chapter 41 Banana Quest 2 IM: Banana Quest is back, baby! Relive the Technicolor glory of an old favorite in this all-new adventure! Feel free to write in with any thoughts about angels, demons, exploding houses, cracks in the sky, or sinister industrial corporations. EW: shut up isaac HS: What do you mean? EW: dont listen to him heidi EW: hes finally snapped EW: it was inevitable IM: Inedible? EW: indelible IM: Hey Eric don¡¯t you think Heidi should be yellow? EW: haha that¡¯s what i just said IM: I am speaking about the text color of course. EW: she said no HS: No. EW: see? HS: What about sinister corporations? IM: Heidi the thing about sinister corporations is that one of them blew up Jim¡¯s house HS: What? EW: what KC: Liz i think we should talk about that privately!! IM: Oh hi Kate EW: well if it isnt lady cynthea von-quinnius schmidt HS: Is Jim okay? EW: what¡¯s up? IM: Jim¡¯s fine HS: Was it October Industries? EW: wait is liz in here too? did i miss a line of orange text somewhere? IM: Yeah how¡¯d you know? HS: Jim is in this chat as well. Why isn¡¯t he responding? IM: His phone blew up IM: Maybe I should have added Mike¡¯s phone instead EW: kate? liz? HS: I hope Alan didn¡¯t have anything to do with this. EW: huh whatever KC: yeah <:( KC: only if something happens to me, though! EW: uh IM: ...Kate? EW: shes out of it bro just forget it for now HS: What is going on? EW: i think thats what were all wondering EW: which is why unless im mistaken isaac resurrected banana quest EW: isaac you there? EW: huh EW: so heidi what do you know about this october industries EW: no no you have to type it EW: i know youre standing right next to me EW: cause its for the record thats why EW: so everyone else can see it EW: guys heads up heidi is pretty violent HS: I really don¡¯t know what is going on. EW: how about alanIf you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. HS: He probably knows. He¡¯s coming to Chicago sometime soon. HS: For now everyone should just try to stay away from OI. IM: sorry afk IM: Hey you guys know anything about angels? EE: I do. IM: Liz! HS: Hello Elizabeth EW: sup liz EW: whats this about angels? IM: Wait wait IM: Liz have you been talking to Kate in this chat? EE: I was just texting her separately. Why? IM: Scroll up EE: That is...strange. EW: yeah well kate is strange lets move on EW: isaac why you talking about angels IM: I¡¯m looking at one right now. It¡¯s a white bird with no eyes EW: weird EW: doesnt sound much like an angel though bro you sure you got that right? EE: Callie is what they call an ¡°angel¡± as well. It is simply their term. HS: Who is ¡®they?¡¯ IM: Listen guys, we all have questions and stuff we need to figure out but let¡¯s try to be organized about this KC: i know. i didn¡¯t want Leah to have to see that. or you. i¡¯m so sorry. EE: Kate? What¡¯s wrong? EW: dammit kate are you actually here this time EW: say it in the chat heidi HS: I said this whole thing is too weird! What is going on? EW: dont you read like steven king and stuff you should be used to weird HS: Those are fiction novels! IM: Whoa you read Steven King? IM: That¡¯s my jam EW: ahaha can you imagine how much weirder it would be if jim were in here EE: Okay listen everyone. EW: listening IM: Aye-aye cap¡¯n! EE: Kate says we all have angels. They are white creatures without eyes. EW: question EW: do they all have superpowers like callie EE: I am told they are like keys for unlocking a certain door. EE: And Eric I do not know. HS: Where do they come from? EE: I do not know. EW: isaac whered you get yours? IM: This weird guy who talks to himself made me play piano EW: very fucking helpful KC: hey guys!! KC: sorry I¡¯m late! EW: kate are you actually here this time KC: what do you mean EW: read this conversation from the top KC: ?!?!?!?!?!?!? KC: I don¡¯t get it! I didn¡¯t say those things! And Liz we haven¡¯t talked recently right? IM: Kate how could you have read all that already? EE: We talked less than an hour ago, Kate. KC: :o KC: ?:\ EE: I have a theory about this. EE: Eric, what did you say earlier about being contacted by your future self? IM: Yo Eric you there? KC: ... EE: Eric? Chapter 42 Chapter 42 Isaac Milton ¡°So these are the stars, huh?¡± said Jacob Hollow, gazing up at the ceiling of Isaac¡¯s room. Jacob reached for the light switch without looking and flipped it on and off a few times. ¡°Stop that,¡± said Isaac from his computer. ¡°It¡¯s not dark enough anyway.¡± Daylight streamed in through the windows; the stars¡¯ glow-in-the-dark effect was barely perceptible. ¡°I noticed they don¡¯t move,¡± said Jacob. ¡°Well yeah they¡¯re glued to the ceiling. Or, like, stuck with sticky tack.¡± Isaac double-checked to make sure he had everything he wanted backed up onto the flash drive. He ejected it from his laptop. ¡°No, I mean the real stars,¡± said Jacob. ¡°They don¡¯t move here.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± said Isaac. After spending less than an hour with Jacob Hollow, he had already learned that sometimes you just had to not think too hard about anything he said. Isaac closed the Banana Quest 2 window. He¡¯d keep up on his phone. Later. ¡°Your home too?¡± said Jacob, responding to someone else. ¡°I guess that explains a thing or two.¡± Jacob talked to himself a lot. Not like regular people talking to themselves, but as though he could hear someone else speaking. Jacob argued with this inaudible voice sometimes. Isaac slipped the flash drive into his pocket, closed the laptop and slid it into his backpack. He reached for his water bottle and saw the white eyeless bird perched there next to it, standing on a sticky note that had the phrase ¡° Dorkus isaaci ¡± written on it. The bird changed shape and size when he wasn¡¯t looking, but always took the form of some kind of bird. At this time, it had the form of a small songbird. ¡°Charlie,¡± said Isaac. ¡°Huh?¡± said Jacob. ¡°I¡¯ll name the bird Charlie.¡± ¡°Huh. All right. Well I don¡¯t think it sounds very stupid¡­okay, I¡¯ll ask him. Hey, Isaac.¡± Isaac grabbed the water bottle. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Why that name?¡¯ ¡°Charlie Parker. Famous jazz musician. His nickname was ¡®Bird.¡¯ He got it because he ran over a chicken, then stopped to pick it up to eat later.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± ¡°I was originally thinking ¡®Arcturus,¡¯ after the star. But that seemed a little pretentious.¡± ¡°Ah. Wait, your stars have names?¡± ¡°Yeah of course they do. I mean the little ones have names that are just like coordinates and numbers and stuff ¡®cause like who¡¯s got time to name a billion stars? I always thought they should just outsource the naming, like on the internet or whatever, but you know then we¡¯d be having names like¡­¡± Isaac stopped because the first few that came to mind all had swear words in them. ¡°They want to know more,¡± said Jacob after a moment. ¡°Who does? The voices in your head?¡± Jacob nodded with complete seriousness. Isaac continued going through his room accumulating Items of Potential Necessity. Spare glasses, change of clothes, his sheet music notebook, Eric¡¯s CD¡­ ¡°I know you keep saying we don¡¯t have much time,¡± ¡°We don¡¯t.¡± ¡°¡ªbut who are these voices? And how can you not know that the stars don¡¯t move? And what the heck is Black? And what are you ? And what is that ?¡± He gestured out the windows toward the blue northern sky. He paused to take the lens out of his pocket and check the sky again through it. Yep, still there. Apparently, Jacob could see it just fine, sans lens. ¡°Umm¡­¡± said Jacob. ¡°Okay, that was a lot of questions.¡± ¡°The voices first.¡± ¡°I think I was made to be a little insane,¡± he said, which struck Isaac as the ideal self-affirming statement. Jacob tilted his head as though listening. ¡°Shut up,¡± he said. He turned his attention back to Isaac. ¡°But these voices are real. I think. But they don¡¯t want to talk to you. Um, yeah except about the stars. They¡¯re pretty interested in that.¡± Jacob looked out the window, at the invisible crack in the sky. ¡°The rest¡­you¡¯ll figure it out. I actually think that¡¯s what you¡¯re for, narratively speaking.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I think you are going to play the role of the one who figures everything out. So don¡¯t worry about it. For now, we just need to keep you and Charlie away from Abraham Black until the Cascade begins and you can get out.¡± ¡°Right, I¡¯ve got to, like, escape the end of the world?¡± ¡°Pretty much.¡± Jacob sat on the floor, right on top of some probably-clean-enough socks that Isaac had been about to pick up. ¡°And this bird¡ªthis angel¡ªwill help me get out?¡± ¡°Yup. We gotta find a door. Or you can die. That¡¯s a way out too. Not one I¡¯d recommend, though. Risky.¡± Isaac watched Jacob closely to see if he was joking. Jacob snapped his fingers while flicking his hand forward. A tiny marble of light darted forward, ricocheted off the floor and wall and back to Jacob. He caught it by snapping his fingers again. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Isaac,¡± said Jacob, ¡°you ever wonder if you¡¯re a character in a story?¡± Snap¡­snap. Snap¡­snap. ¡°Sometimes. It¡¯s a pretty common trope in fiction. Because fiction is made by people who like thinking about stories, I guess. Like me. Self-aware characters can be a thing.¡± Isaac sat down on his bed to just chill for a minute and get used to the sight of this travel-worn guy in his room playing catch with himself with a drop of light. Charlie hopped over and pecked playfully at Isaac¡¯s sleeve. Isaac cautiously stroked the tiny bird. It seemed to enjoy it. ¡°No, I mean you personally,¡± Jacob continued. ¡°If you were in a story. How would you know?¡± Isaac shrugged. ¡°I might not. Maybe we¡¯re all in a story. Actually, I do kind of believe that. That we¡¯re all like characters in a big story where God is the writer. But it¡¯s not quite like that. It¡¯s more like God is the GM, in control and deciding what happens, but we¡¯re the players so we still get to determine how we react and the decisions we make.¡± ¡°God.¡± Jacob¡¯s voice was flat. He sat perfectly still. ¡°Shut up,¡± he said. ¡°Not you, Isaac.¡± His voice, normally energetic, now sounded dead. After a moment he raised his head and gazed at the far wall of Isaac¡¯s room. ¡°I only know the Genesis Machine. And it¡¯s not God.¡± Isaac turned his head to look at the Bible on his nightstand. Eh. Not now. But it would go in the backpack. A tense silence began to coagulate. Isaac attempted a conversational reset. ¡°I don¡¯t know what difference it would make if I were in a story or not. If I never knew¡­I mean, it would be like being in the Matrix, right? Like, how would it even matter to me?¡± Jacob began snapping light off the wall again. ¡°I¡¯m from a story, you know,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m a character who left his story.¡± A light went on inside Isaac¡¯s head. ¡°And Black is one too?¡± ¡°Yup. Same story.¡± That made sense. One of the most disturbing things about Black¡ªsomething that had taken Isaac a while to figure out¡ªwas the way in which he seemed so archetypical . Like a mashup of ¡°bad guy¡± characteristics. The way he looked and moved sometimes like a cartoon, as though he¡¯d escaped from one of Eric¡¯s anime. Hitting the uncanny valley directly at its nadir. Plus, he and Jacob both had some kind of powers. Darkness and light (classic). ¡°But I can be more than that,¡± continued Jacob, and now his voice moved with growing passion. ¡°Just as Black has become more than he was intended to be. I can change things. I can make a difference. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡± They sat in uncomfortable silence for another minute or two, with only the sounds of Jacob¡¯s snapping and some little chirps from Charlie. Isaac, at least, found it uncomfortable. Maybe Jacob was just fine. ¡°We¡¯ve got to talk to Dwayne before we go,¡± said Isaac. Snap¡­snap. ¡°He¡¯ll know what to do.¡± ¡°Right,¡± said Jacob. ¡°And who¡¯s this Dwayne?¡± He¡¯s my friend. He¡¯s a mountain. He¡¯s as frightening as Abraham Black, but in the opposite direction. ¡°He¡¯s this guy,¡± said Isaac. ¡°Huh,¡± said Jacob. ¡°Well, just make it quick, okay? No. I don¡¯t care.¡± Snap¡­snap. ¡°Is that a spacecraft?¡± asked Jacob suddenly. ¡°They want to know.¡± He snapped, and a grey circle appeared on the wall they faced, singling out a NASA poster which depicted the Apollo 11 rocket launch. The poster had some sticky notes on it, but the image was clearly visible. ¡°Yeah,¡± said Isaac. ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to be part of NASA, that¡¯s the space agency, since I was a kid. I¡¯ve always wanted to someday be the one piloting one of those spacecraft. That one there was carrying the first humans to ever set foot on the moon.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± said Jacob. ¡°Yeah, they think that¡¯s pretty cool.¡± Isaac reached over and snagged a half-drank bottle of orange juice from his desk, at the far western extent of his arm¡¯s reach. It was warm and therefore a little nasty, but at the moment Isaac didn¡¯t care. He felt a little as though he were basking in weirdness: sitting in silence with Jacob Hollow as the latter bounced light off the walls and muttered an argument with the voices in his head. Meanwhile Abraham Black was out there somewhere, maybe hiding in the shadow of a crack in the pavement like tar or diffused into the darkness of the interior of the grain bins. Waiting to kill. And also meanwhile, the northern sky was cracked like the viewport of a cheap submersible and only he and Jacob knew it, and Isaac didn¡¯t want to think about what would happen if it broke. But it was all strangely peaceful; the classic (or clich¨¦?) calm before the storm. No, that wasn¡¯t a clich¨¦. It was undoubtedly a Real Thing that Happened Indiscriminately in both fiction and reality. The clam before the storm. The image of a shellfish lying on a beach as a hurricane rolled in ominously from the distant dark sea came to mind. Heheh. Stupid. The bad jokes, Kate would say. Isaac had all of them, she would say. ¡°Are you ready?¡± asked Jacob. ¡°We should go.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± said Isaac, suddenly hesitant to just¡­leave. He realized that he had been delaying. ¡°Do you have a plan?¡± ¡°A plan?¡± asked Jacob. ¡°Yeah, like a car, or¡­?¡± Jacob looked baffled. ¡°I was just going to walk.¡± ¡°Walk? We¡¯re in the middle of nowhere!¡± ¡°Isaac, pretty soon everywhere is going to be the middle of nowhere.¡± ¡°What?¡± Isaac cleared his mind, and the answer was simple. Dwayne. ¡°Okay, I know what to do. We go to Dwayne¡¯s place. He¡¯s got a truck. Sort-of. Mr. Hartman will know what to do.¡± The snapping abruptly stopped. ¡°Heart Man?¡± Jacob asked. ¡°Dwayne is¡­the Heart Man?¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s his name, yeah. Although it¡¯s ¡®Hartman.¡¯ One word. Without an ¡®e.¡¯ Why?¡± ¡°Nothing, nothing,¡± said Jacob, although there was something odd about his expression. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a good idea. We should go see him. Quick.¡± Chapter 43 Chapter 43 Jimothy Whyte Talking to Elizabeth always made Jimothy feel better. Crying made him feel better too. His paintings for his friends were gone, and now they would not be finished in time for his birthday. But they could be done later, and it would be okay. But Hazel could not come back, and that was not okay. He put Michael¡¯s phone in his pocket, grabbed his cane, and stood. The black cane had been in the back of Mike¡¯s car. He didn¡¯t like the black cane as much as the wooden cane, which was now probably gone forever. What was fun about the wooden cane was that Hazel liked to try to bite it whenever Jim was walking with it, which made things interesting. Thinking about Hazel made him start sniffling again. He went to the bathroom and blew his nose on some toilet paper. Their motel room was tiny and had only one bed, but that was fine. Mike thought they should only use cash, but he didn¡¯t have very much. Mike worried about this, but Jim didn¡¯t. Mike would figure it out. Mike always figured something out. Their room smelled like cigarettes, and the windows were dirty, and everything was slightly greasy. A small TV sat sad and alone on a chipped dresser, but it was broken. Mike had brought in a bag full of rocks he¡¯d collected from outside, since Jim didn¡¯t have much to do without his phone, or his paints, or Hazel. These rocks lay scattered over the desk. Jim had spent most of the morning stacking and re-stacking them in different ways. There were a lot of red and yellow and orange rocks, and also a lot of rocks with stripes, which Jim liked. One time he had made a tower eight rocks high before it fell. He wanted to tell Mike about that. He exited their motel room into a warm sunny day. The air was dry, and everything out here was bright. He put a hand up to shade his eyes and looked around. He stood on the sidewalk by a parking lot. Mike¡¯s car was right in front of him. Across the lot was a street, and across the street were some houses and small shops. The street ended a few blocks down to the right. The town ended there too. A grassy reddish landscape stretched beyond into a vast desert. They had sure driven a long way overnight. The trees were budding here. Jimothy imagined them like paintbrushes. He saw them dipped into pots of ink the size of swimming pools, then scraped across the sky, their skeletal branches leaving scratchy swaths of color over the blue, the white, the distant red of the hills. If he were big enough to paint with trees as paintbrushes, it would be difficult to stack little rocks. He¡¯d have to stack boulders instead. And where would he get all the paint? And what canvas would be large enough? He imagined a great white sheet of paper stretched across the plains¡ªa whole blank landscape his to color. It made him smile. Jim had no idea where Mike had gone, but the town wasn¡¯t very big. Mike hadn¡¯t said anything about Jim having to stay in the hotel room all day, although that was probably what he meant when he¡¯d said to ¡°lay low¡± before sleeping all morning. But the day was beautiful. And the air smelled good. Jimothy looked at the ball in his hand, which he had brought out from the room. He tried bouncing it on the sidewalk. This worked well. His attempt to catch it at the height of its bounce met with less success, and he instead knocked it away into the parking lot. He used the black cane to help him dismount the curb onto the pavement of the parking lot. When he looked up to locate the ball, there it was: bouncing in front of him, rising up to eye level with each bounce. It seemed to Jimothy that the ball noticed it had been seen, and it began to move back and forth a little with each bounce as though excited. It began to move away very slowly across the parking lot. It went about ten feet before stopping. Jimothy checked around to see if anyone was watching. No signs of human life nearby, except for a few cars passing down the town¡¯s main street a block to his left. He followed the ball. It took him around the corner of the motel to a grassy area like a park. A few stained wooden picnic tables squatted on an expanse of yellowish grass, shaded by trees. No sign of Mike, but there was a white dog resting in the shade beneath a tree. Its chest rose and fell rapidly, panting away the midday heat. This dog¡¯s fur was not merely white¡ªit was absolutely white. Pure white all over, like a freshly opened bottle of white paint. Jim had seen only one other creature in his life that looked like that. The ball stopped being possessed as soon as Jim set foot in the park. It fell to the dry grass, inert. Jim was careful when he bent down to pick it up. He fell over anyway on accident, rolling onto the grass. He laughed, sat up, and picked up the ball. The dog, alerted to wakefulness by Jim¡¯s laugh, raised its head. Its ears twitched and its tail wagged as it looked directly at Jim. Jim could plainly see that this dog had no eyes. The fur went smoothly over the place where they should have been. Jim could also see that apart from the eyelessness and white coloration, this dog looked exactly like Hazel. ¡°¡­Hazel?¡± he said. The dog¡¯s head swung around in violent circles, unable to contain its excitement. It leapt to its feet and ran to Jimothy in a wild prance, giving every appearance of being so happy that it could not quite remember how to use its legs. Exactly like Hazel. The dog bowled Jim over backwards and licked his face. The dog¡¯s tongue, though white, was warm and wet. Its fur was soft. Jim hugged it and laughed as the dog squirmed around in his grasp. This was Hazel. Somehow. ¡°Just to be clear,¡± he said as he scratched Hazel, ¡°I don¡¯t actually think you¡¯re an angel though. Not a real one.¡± Elizabeth had just said something about this. He would have to call her back soon. But for now, he would play with Hazel. Jimothy took hold of the blue rubber ball and tossed it across the park. Hazel knew immediately what game this was: this was the one where he chased down the ball and then ran all over the place with it for about five minutes before dropping it somewhere and forgetting about it. This time, though, it happened a little differently. Hazel leapt into the air in excitement and ran after the ball. Less than five feet into his journey, he vanished and appeared roughly where the ball was located, ten feet up in the air in the middle of the park. He attempted to snag the ball out of the air, failed, and fell all the way onto a wooden picnic table below. He landed on his back with a painful thud; the wood of the picnic table creaked. With a wild flail of his legs he righted himself, located the ball, and again went for it like a missile. Once more he disappeared and immediately relocated to the ball. But his momentum carried him forward and he again missed his chance to catch it in his jaws. He somersaulted off the grass onto the sidewalk. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Jim watched this with surprise. Hazel had always been really fast, even for a dog, but he had never been that fast. Jimothy was a little worried about Hazel taking that big fall, but he seemed to be fine. Elizabeth had said once that Callie didn¡¯t ever get hurt. But Callie also was probably less enthusiastic than Hazel. Callie was chill and classy. Like Elizabeth. Hazel finally managed to seize the ball. He appeared up in a tree for a second, fell out of it, and landed on the hood of a parked car all the way across the parking lot. Then he was up on the roof of the motel, and then on the grass in the middle of the park. He pranced around, dropping the ball and snapping it up again a few times. ¡°Hazel!¡± said Jimothy. Hazel dropped the ball and looked at Jim on full alert, panting with a broad grin. Jim leaned way over to one side, just in case. Sure enough, Hazel zoomed toward him and almost immediately teleported, his momentum carrying him with great speed through the place where Jim¡¯s torso had been. Hazel recovered quickly, claws scrabbling on the sidewalk, and he shoved his head under Jim¡¯s right arm, hauling him back into an upright sitting position. Jim scratched him on the neck and smiled while Hazel thrashed about with uncontainable energy. He had no idea how this had happened. But he was glad it did. His vision was blurry, and there was wetness on his face. ¡°Jim! What are you doing?¡± said Mike, behind him. Jim turned around. ¡°Mike! Look, Mike! It¡¯s Hazel!¡± Hazel wriggled out from under Jim¡¯s arm and ran to Mike, where he darted playfully back-and-forth the way he always did. Mike stood with his camera hanging from a strap around his neck. He stared at Hazel, his mouth open, his hands half-raised as though ready to fend off the white dog. ¡°That¡¯s¡­no. It¡­what?¡± Mike put a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun. Jim understood. The sunlight made Hazel¡¯s fur shine so bright that it almost hurt to look at him. ¡°Watch!¡± said Jim. He intended to throw the ball, but then he realized that Hazel had dropped it thirty feet away. Instead he grabbed a nearby stick. He threw it as hard as he could. It could not go far since it was a small stick, but that didn¡¯t stop Hazel. The dog lunged forward and disappeared. He emerged off to the left and plunged directly into a thick bush, not anywhere close to the stick. Hazel barked and growled as he wrestled with the bush. Then he appeared in the air, ten feet above the stick Jim had thrown. He descended upon it, paws and teeth ready to apprehend the targeted twig. A flurry of white hit the ground. A moment later Hazel lay on his back, the twig gripped in his teeth, his white paws clawing at it as he writhed on the grass. Jimothy laughed and clapped his hands. Mike stepped onto the grass and sat down beside him. ¡°Jim¡­what¡¯s going on?¡± His voice was soft. ¡°Remember Callie?¡± ¡°AJ¡¯s cat?¡± Mike could not take his eyes off the white eyeless dog as it grappled with the twig. ¡°Yeah. Hazel¡¯s like her now. I don¡¯t know why.¡± Hazel finished subduing the stick and rested upon it, panting with contentment. His head swiveled back and forth, seeking something interesting. His lack of eyes did not seem to matter to him at all. Mike stood up. ¡°Jim, no. That can¡¯t be Hazel.¡± ¡°But it is Hazel,¡± said Jim. ¡°Look at him.¡± ¡°I know it looks and acts like Hazel, but it¡¯s not. It can¡¯t be. I think it might be dangerous.¡± ¡°Mike, Hazel wouldn¡¯t hurt me.¡± ¡°I mean it might be dangerous just having it around.¡± ¡°Elizabeth says he¡¯s an angel, like Callie. And Elizabeth has had Callie around for a long time. You¡¯ve seen Callie, right?¡± Mike ran a hand through his hair. ¡°You need a haircut, Mike,¡± said Jimothy. ¡°Jim, my phone.¡± Jimothy dug it out of his pocket and handed it up to Mike. ¡°Who are you calling?¡± ¡°AJ.¡± ¡°Do you like AJ?¡± ¡°Not now, Jim.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Wait. Did he mean he didn¡¯t like AJ right now, or he didn¡¯t want to talk about it right now? Jimothy opened his mouth to request clarification on this, but then decided not to ask. Not now, Jim. Okay. Jimothy turned his attention back to Hazel. Hazel was never still for very long. He appeared placid now, but¡­ Hazel leapt to his feet and dashed in a big circle all the way around the park. Then again. On his third round he started appearing randomly in different parts of the circuit. Finally he returned to where he had started and settled down once more in exactly the same position as before. Hazel¡¯s motives were often mysterious. He was ¡°possessed by the spirits of Looney-Tunes characters,¡± according to Isaac. It made Jim smile. He began stacking all the little rocks within arm¡¯s reach. Chapter 44 Chapter 44 Rebecca Carter She entered Scotland in a beat-up rental car, exhausted, bruised, and a dozen times almost-shot. At least she had retained her hat. The cat had not reappeared. McFinn intercepted her just past the border, flying low along the highway in a helicopter, the late morning sun glinting off the blades. Was that legal? Didn¡¯t really matter, with him. And how had he found her? Again, didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was that she was tired and hungry and afflicted by a throbbing headache, and Riley McFinn could fix all of that. For once, in a long time, she was happy to see him. He landed in a field while she pulled off on the side of the road. It would be no problem leaving the rental here. Riley would take care of it. He probably already had. He had probably told his intelligent computer with the sexy voice to just buy it from the rental place. She stomped across the field and mounted the helicopter without hesitation. It began lifting off as soon as the door hissed shut behind her. The main cabin had couches (thank god), a mini-bar (later, later), and Riley McFinn. He handed her a fizzing glass. She accepted this and downed it in a few gulps. ¡°Food,¡± she said, ¡°then sleep.¡± Riley opened his mouth to say something witty, then decided against it and went to the small refrigerator while she collapsed on the couch. He returned with a ham-and-swiss. Pre-packaged, but she didn¡¯t care. She ate it while watching the Scottish countryside fall away below. Where were they going? Didn¡¯t matter. After this she¡¯d go find Kaitlyn even if she had to travel to a god-awful place like Chicago. Riley, wisely, said nothing while she ate, and then continued to say nothing when she flung herself out on the couch and placed her hat over her face. She sensed him turn off the lights. She awoke hours later to the sensation of descent. She yawned, stretched, rose to her feet. She was alone in the main cabin. She drained a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then grabbed another sandwich and a small flask of brandy. One for now, one for later. Out the windows she saw stormy skies mounting in the distance. The helicopter was landing on some hillside, no city in sight. No human development at all, save for a distant road and a few fences. Riley came out from the back door of the cabin looking fresh. ¡°Sleep well?¡± he asked. She grunted. ¡°Excellent. We¡¯ve arrived.¡± ¡°Where?¡± Riley grabbed his cane and approached the hatch. It hissed open. ¡°Wrong question, Carter,¡± he said as he hopped down the steps. Rebecca gritted her teeth and followed. They had landed in what looked like the empty parking lot of a trailhead on the side of a low mountain. ¡°Why am I here?¡± she asked. She didn¡¯t bother attempting to filter the asperity from her voice. Is that the right question, you pompous ass? ¡°I know you want to get back to Kaitlyn,¡± said McFinn as he offered her his hand. He knew she didn¡¯t need it. She took it anyway. Habit. ¡°This will not take long. I only want to show you something. You will be one of the privileged few to know what is really happening, when it happens tomorrow.¡± Rebecca thudded down beside him and put her hands in her pockets as they began a trek into the sparsely forested stony hillside of the mountain. A gun was still there in her jacket. Riley didn¡¯t speak as he led Rebecca up the hill. The rocky slopes of the mountain receded down to a lake or a channel of the sea separating them from the low, grassy land beyond. The vista of green hills and rocky slopes was half in shadow from the evening sun, and the sky overhead was clogged with dark clouds. Some Hebridean isle, she guessed. It smelled of rain, and a cool breeze drifted up the slope. Kaitlyn would enjoy such a view. Riley led her to a metal door in the side of the cliff, which he opened without ceremony. ¡°There is a road, of course, into this mountain,¡± he said. ¡°the helicopter is simply faster.¡± They entered a dimly lit hallway that sloped down through the rock. The door hissed shut behind Rebecca after she entered. They descended in silence for about a minute. At the end of the hall waited another door. This one required Riley McFinn¡¯s fingerprint, eye-scan, and apparently a McFinnium crystal. Rebecca, although in darkness, rolled her eyes again. She knew all about Riley¡¯s secret lairs and their draconian security measures. ¡°The world is going to end,¡± said McFinn. He led her into a room very different from the dimly lit cave. This was a type of place that Rebecca recognized, a scientific laboratory. The bright, sterile fluorescents, the neatly labeled cabinets and shelves, the machines and equipment. It reminded her of the barn out back of her house. Riley McFinn led her through all of this without glancing at any of it. ¡°There is not anything that anyone can do about it. It is¡­inevitable, as far as I can tell.¡± McFinn walked in front of Rebecca, so his expression was hidden, but he slowed down when he said this, and he didn¡¯t seem too happy about it. This meant that something disturbed him deeply. It meant he was frustrated. It meant that the great Riley McFinn had come across a problem his genius had been unable to solve. It turned out that a whole world of things fit into that category. She had discovered this only after marrying him. He came to a stop in front of a door at the far end of the room, his hand on the door handle. ¡°Therefore,¡± he said. ¡°I am going to be the one to initiate it, as that will afford us a measure of control. For this reason I created what I brought you here to see. I call it¡­¡± He opened the door. ¡°The Apocalypse Machine.¡± He stepped aside and waited for Rebecca to enter. She resisted the urge to laugh. Good god, but he hadn¡¯t changed. If anything, he was worse. Borderline mentally unwell, like a cartoon supervillain. She stepped into the room. It took her eyes a moment to master the scene before her. The first difficulty lay in the scale. It did not correlate with what she knew about secret laboratories inside mountains. The space in which she stood was much larger than any enclosed sports stadium she had seen. It had to occupy the majority of the interior space of the mountain. Most of this space was empty, save for a single enormous object rising up in the center. It looked like a satellite dish, perhaps a kilometer across. She and Riley stood on a walkway that wrapped around the edge of this vast cavern, partway up. This vantage allowed her to see over the lip of the satellite dish. A series of spikes, prongs and antennae arose from inside the dish, each easily the size of a radio tower. They all aimed at a levitating mass which hovered over the dish, pulsing with energy and dimly illuminating the entire room. This mass was roughly spherical, slightly smaller than the barn out back at the estate. It rippled with light and color. ¡°Antimatter?¡± Rebecca hazarded. ¡°Anti-? No. No, you couldn¡¯t¡­no. It¡¯s McFinnium,¡± said McFinn. ¡°Most of the extant supply. I am going to use it to initiate the Cascade.¡± Rebecca wanted to turn to face McFinn, but she could not take her eyes off of the machine he had the gall to name The Apocalypse Machine. ¡°And end the world,¡± she said. She had not believed everything he had said to her¡ªthe bit about the world ending, mainly. But now, seeing this¡­ monstrosity he had created¡­ ¡°Yes,¡± said McFinn. Rebecca Carter here came very close to holding her ex-husband at gunpoint. Her grip tightened on the firearm she had kept in her coat pocket. Confusion alone held her back. He wouldn¡¯t end the world, not really, while Kaitlyn was still in it. Surely¡­ He would not endanger Kaitlyn. If there was one thing she knew about him, it was that. She sensed that Riley understood every thought she was thinking, and this both reassured and infuriated her. ¡°It won¡¯t really be the end,¡± he said. His tone was regretful, as though he were apologetic that he could not provide her with a real, meaningful explanation. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Rebecca looked at McFinn, then back at the Apocalypse Machine. She noticed that a small army of drones zipped around like flies out in the vast shadowy space. She didn¡¯t know what to say. Her own willingness to accept all of this surprised her. It made her priorities startlingly clear. Kaitlyn first. Her niece, who idolized this fool of a man. Riley McFinn, a man capable of building something like this, and saying with a straight face that he was going to end the world. And her, Rebecca Carter, not going to try and stop him. Who was insane? Both, probably. They gazed up together at the incandescent mass of McFinnium as though entranced. Riley spoke. ¡°You told me once that you felt you were in the wrong place. The wrong setting. The wrong time.¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± ¡°The wrong story.¡± ¡°I always wished I had been born a hundred years earlier. Or more. The world was all mapped out when I arrived in it. Such a shame. We¡¯ve discussed this.¡± She removed the bottle of brandy, popped the cork out, and took a swig. ¡°I feel the same way,¡± said McFinn softly. Rebecca raised her eyebrows. ¡°I thought you loved this world. You were always so set on changing it.¡± She offered him the flask, but he declined. ¡°I was. And I do. But this isn¡¯t my story. I would have changed the world, Rebecca. You know that. I was going to change everything. I was going to save the world.¡± ¡°Your humility alone would have done the trick, I¡¯m sure.¡± Another sip. ¡°None of that will happen now. None of it has ever mattered.¡± He seemed genuinely distressed, and Rebecca was annoyed with herself when she realized that she felt a pang of pity for him. ¡°This world was doomed as soon as I¡­¡± He held up his cane and observed the crystal on the end of it. It pulsed with light in time to the larger mass above them. ¡°If not for the Cascade, this could have been my story.¡± ¡°Fool,¡± she muttered. Arrogant, arrogant. For all his genius, he still hadn¡¯t learned. He hadn¡¯t learned that his life was his story, and always would be, just as Rebecca herself was in the midst of her own story, and so was Kaitlyn, whose story was only beginning, and so it was with every one of the billions of people out there. But Riley McFinn thought that he needed to be a part of everyone¡¯s story in order to matter, when in fact it made no difference. He didn¡¯t know, he didn¡¯t pay attention, and he wouldn¡¯t understand even if she slapped him across the face and sat him down and tried to explain it to him. Rebecca knew this would not work because she had already tried it years before. So she kept silent. Riley sighed and lowered the staff. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter anymore. It¡¯s all out of my hands. Maybe it always has been.¡± Rebecca took another drink to clear away the melodrama. ¡°Alan has told you a bit about October Industries, I suppose?¡± said Riley. She grunted in affirmation. ¡°Something about a Nikola Raschez as well.¡± ¡°Yes, he is their leader. Well, there¡¯s something I have to tell you. It¡¯s about Nicholas.¡± That name made Rebecca freeze, and then for the first time in what felt like hours she pulled her gaze away from the seething radiant mass above. She knew with a dread certainty what Riley was going to say, but she wanted¡ªneeded¡ªhim to say it regardless. ¡°October Industries¡­Raschez¡­killed him. I know you suspected that there was foul play.¡± ¡°The plane was never recovered,¡± she replied, her voice rough. ¡°The black box failed.¡± Riley nodded sadly, and she knew it was genuine sorrow. If anyone had rivaled herself and Kaitlyn in loving Nicholas Carter, it was Riley McFinn. Riley now reached out for the bottle, and she handed it to him. He took a long draw and gave it back. Like old times. Getting drunk in memory of Nick. For a moment she was back in the study, holding Kaitlyn while the girl sobbed, drinking furiously in a vain attempt to dull the pain, the surprisingly strong hand of Riley McFinn on her shoulder as though he were holding her down in the chair, keeping her from falling apart in front of Kaitlyn. An awful moment, yes, but a warm memory. Everything had unraveled after that. And now she knew the truth, that which she had suspected from the first. ¡°Thank you for telling me,¡± she said, resting her arms on the railings. ¡°And go to hell for not telling me sooner.¡± ¡°I was thinking of the safety of Kaitlyn.¡± ¡°Where is she now?¡± ¡°Just about arriving in Chicago, I imagine.¡± ¡°I want to see her.¡± ¡°You may take one of my jets here. Supersonic. You can make it to Chicago in two hours.¡± She nodded. Satisfactory. ¡°I shall depart momentarily, then. Unless there was anything else¡­?¡± ¡°Just¡­don¡¯t give up, Rebecca.¡± ¡°Hrm?¡± A strange thing for him to say. He was gazing up at his machine, his pale freckled face lit blue and purple and pink. His expression was one of grim determination. She was not sure she had ever seen quite that expression on him before. It made a faint chill run down her spine. ¡°It¡¯s a bit late to say that,¡± he said, now murmuring as though to himself. ¡°But what really matters right now, Rebecca, is that no matter what happens, you keep going.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t follow, Riley.¡± ¡°This is our last chance, Rebecca.¡± She nodded ¡°Very well. I suppose I can remember that.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He raised his watch and spoke to it. ¡°Prepare the model 3.1-A for takeoff. Set coordinates to Kaitlyn¡¯s phone.¡± The watch beeped rapidly in response. Rebecca doubted it was a breathing human receiving the command on the other end. Rebecca looked around for signs of life besides the two of them. ¡°Any people here, Riley?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Any living humans besides yourself work on that?¡± She gestured at the machine. ¡°Not directly, no.¡± ¡°The robots, then?¡± He nodded. ¡°Hrm.¡± She didn¡¯t like his robots. They came too close to being people. They asked personal questions. ¡°I¡¯ll get you some things for the trip,¡± said Riley, turning from the railing and marching off. She followed. She didn¡¯t like his fancy gadgets either. But she had to admit, they could be helpful. Riley McFinn watched the 3.1-A rise up from the landing pad and shriek off to the west. Clouds swirled in interesting patterns where it passed. He sighed. Soon. He¡¯d have to do it soon. ¡°They weren¡¯t really lies, Nick,¡± he said. ¡°But they were close. I hope Rebecca will forgive me.¡± He watched until the blue light of the thrusters had faded. Then he turned and retreated into the mountain. Time to begin. First, the top of the mountain would have to go. Chapter 45 Chapter 45 Shade Still in his fine charcoal-grey suit. In a different park, this time, he sat on the cement by the foot of a bronze statue. The statue depicted a dignified man grasping a book as he sat at attention in a chair. Shade wondered who this person was, and how many people he had killed to get a statue of himself like that. And was he still alive? Shape didn¡¯t even care enough to read the plaque. It wouldn¡¯t matter for long anyway. He had finally located one of the heroes. Now he just had to kill him. Killing one should be enough. Can¡¯t have a hexagon with only five sides. Can¡¯t try again if the time hero is dead. Yes. He would finish it, here and now. He knew Black was out there somewhere. Black wanted to break the Machine. Well, that would work too. That would stop the cycle. But so would this. ¡°Don¡¯t you think so?¡± he asked the statue. ¡°A story cannot continue if its key characters are dead. Or, say, forcefully extracted from their Narrative.¡± He looked up at the statue, one eye shaded by his broken sunglasses. ¡°What if someone went back and killed you before you could do what really mattered? What if they did?¡± Shade¡¯s voice dropped low. ¡°Who would ever know? How would anyone ever know if someone¡¯s story is cut short?¡± The statue did not respond. Shade took a closer look and saw, to his immense amusement, that the name of the dignified metal man was Black. Greene Black, even. Shade grinned up at the sky. Clouds gathered above. He looked around. People strolled about. Most of them appeared busy. But were they really? They probably thought they were. They probably didn¡¯t know any better. Shade noticed a small creature near his leg, watching him. A squirrel, crouching, sniffing hopefully at the air. Perhaps expecting some morsel of food? ¡°I can do you better than that,¡± he said to it. ¡°How about a morsel of information?¡± Shade tapped his broken sunglasses, the solitary lens covering his left eye. ¡°You know, people think I¡¯m called Shade because of this silly thing. But actually it¡¯s a color reference, like ¡®tint¡¯ or ¡®hue.¡¯¡° You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. It looked like the squirrel understood. ¡°Of course,¡± Shade continued, ¡°the real reason I have that name is just because someone gave it to me. When they thought me up, I suppose? When I became part of the story? I have to say, I don¡¯t mind it. Though I would have appreciated a last name in addition. The shades are nice, though.¡± In his left eye, through the dark lens, he saw the squirrel scamper away to a nearby tree. In his right eye the squirrel remained stationary for three seconds before scampering away to the tree in exactly the same way. ¡°Someday I¡¯ll find the other lens,¡± he told the statue, leaning back against it once more. ¡°That¡¯s what I always thought. Won¡¯t happen now. Maybe another iteration will succeed. I wonder how many there are.¡± He closed his eyes. ¡°Well. It has to end sometime.¡± That¡¯s what he always told himself. It all had to end, right? It began, and therefore it must end. But the question lingered: do stories ever really end? What did ¡®the end¡¯ even mean? Sometimes he grew cold thinking about this. He shook off these thoughts and stood. He could change it. He could. And if he couldn¡¯t, then Black certainly could. Someone had to. For all their sakes. Time to kill Eric Walker. Sorry, kid. Chapter 46 Chapter 46 Eric Walker Eric, Heidi, Leah and Frisby sat on the stone walkway of ¡°the hook,¡± a curved concrete barrier that extended into Lake Michigan, sheltering part of the North Shore Beach and terminating in a little lighthouse. The location offered an excellent view of the Gold Coast skyline to the south. They looked out at the waves and clouds, intermittently responding to Banana Quest 2 and wondering about angels. Heidi sat beside him, fiddling with a glass bauble tied to one wrist by a leather cord. Leah, on the other side of Heidi, kept looking at it, but Heidi appeared not to notice. ¡°I need to use the bathroom,¡± Leah announced out of nowhere. Eric stood up and stretched. ¡°This is where you¡¯re going to practice swimming?¡± asked Heidi as she stood beside him. ¡°I guess. Or, you know, somewhere.¡± Smooth? Check. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look very challenging.¡± ¡°Hey sometimes it is. I know a guy who moved here from California and tried to surf on windy days.¡± Heidi looked doubtfully at the placid lake. ¡°Hmm¡­¡± ¡°And of course there¡¯s the cold.¡± ¡°Cold?¡± They wandered back down the stone walkway. ¡°Sometimes in the winter,¡± said Eric, ¡°this whole part of the lake freezes over. If you come out here then, you can hear all the ice creaking and breaking. See all that cement area over there? When it¡¯s cold the waves wash up over it and freeze. You get these crazy ice formations, sometimes taller than me.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± said Heidi. ¡°Is this true, Leah?¡± Leah, walking in front of them, nodded without turning around. ¡°I¡¯ve never really experienced a cold winter,¡± said Heidi. ¡°I¡¯ve only seen snow from a distance.¡± ¡°Huh. Okay so there¡¯s bathrooms in that building there. Yeah. Have fun!¡± Eric waved them off from a crossroads in the sidewalk. He turned to look at the skyscrapers. At night the lights of Navy Pier reflected over the waters. To his immediate right stood a little shop that sold beach stuff during the summer. Past that was a grassy park area. A little sheltered pagoda, right next to the running path, had chess-boards inscribed onto its benches. People often sat there and played games. Eric wondered if Kate or Heidi enjoyed pick-up games of chess. Heidi might be a little too shy. Chess-waffle. Ha. A man whom Eric had disregarded as a random passerby stopped beside him, and Eric felt the stranger¡¯s gaze. He faced the newcomer, thoughts of Isaac¡¯s Pikeston Killer flashing through his mind. But he saw no monster. He saw a businessman in a grey suit-coat, looking all set for the important board meeting. He was average height, dark hair, tanned skin. The only odd thing about him was that he wore broken sunglasses. The right lens was missing. The stranger smiled at him. ¡°Eric Walker,¡± the man nodded at him. ¡°Hey there.¡± ¡°Sup. Who are you?¡± ¡°Name¡¯s Shade. I¡¯m here to kill you.¡± ¡°Bummer. Why?¡± ¡°I have to end the cycle. It¡¯s nothing personal.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s a relief.¡± Eric was split into three parts. The first part was calm, an autopilot conversationalist casually running its mouth because it knew the best thing was not to react, not to show alarm, to just remain calm and keep talking. The second part was doing the adrenaline-fueled thinking; it was remembering who and what was around him, plotting an escape route, noticing that this Shade guy wasn¡¯t holding a weapon, looking for signs of drugs in the stranger¡¯s eyes, posture, speech. This part of Eric had got a lot of practice from living in Chicago; about once a month he was in close proximity to some coked-out druggie on public transit. The third part was new, and it was looking at the other two parts of Eric from a detached perspective, and it was trying to put things together in his mind because it already knew that this was not a regular Chicago druggie. A psychopathic killer in Pike; Jim¡¯s house gets blown up; Heidi gets mailed a gun in Chicago; Liz meets weird strangers; Kate thinks something bad¡¯s about to happen. Eric Walker receives an ominous, staticky phone call from his future self. Cracks in the sky, October Industries, Banana Quest. He was trying to put the pieces together, but they were all from different jigsaw puzzles, and he wasn¡¯t Jimothy Whyte. Who the hell was Shade, and why would he want to kill Eric Walker? These thoughts hummed through Eric in several heartbeats, the time it took for the stranger and he to exchange a few lines of dialogue. ¡°What cycle?¡± Eric asked (the first part, just keeping this guy talking). ¡°The cycle upon which my existence is predicated.¡± Eric didn¡¯t understand that, and he didn¡¯t care. He tried to detect whether Heidi and Leah were returning out of the corner of his vision. On the one hand, having Heidi around was a comforting thought when faced with someone potentially dangerous/crazy. She had a gun, albeit one without bullets. On the other hand, he wanted Leah as far away from such a person as possible. But it was too soon; they had just left. He needed to stall. ¡°If your existence is predicated on a cycle, haven¡¯t you already failed?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not quite how it works.¡± Stall. ¡°Of course it is. You exist, so you already began existing. Unless¡­are we talking about time travel? Like, alternate timelines?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to get into details, right? Let¡¯s keep this civil. I have to kill you, that¡¯s all. Don¡¯t bother attempting to escape.¡± ¡°Um. Why not?¡± And why would he say it like that? Like some James Bond supervillain about to explain his entire scheme. Something was wrong here; someone really serious about killing him would have already done it by now. Right? Eric had never wanted to kill anybody, but if he did, he was pretty sure he wouldn¡¯t walk up to them and spend half a minute having a weird conversation first. The man in the suit tapped his broken shades and smiled. ¡°I can see several seconds into the future.¡± Keep stalling. Heidi would come. ¡°And then you act on what you see? But then what you saw wasn¡¯t the future. As soon as you see it, it changes. Like the, uh, the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, right?¡± ¡°Well yes, you are correct. What I see is more your intentions.¡± Shade raised his eyebrows. ¡°I am impressed. Of course, you are the time guy. I suppose it makes sense. Or maybe¡­you remember.¡± The man seemed both surprised and fascinated. ¡°I¡¯m the what?¡± Eric tried to remember what the caller on the train had said this morning. Something about time. And someone falling? ¡°Anyway,¡± said Shade, ¡°I need to kill you.¡± Although he said this, again, he still made no threatening moves. He stood there, hands in his pockets. Was he serious about being able to see a couple seconds into the future? Well, both Kate and Jim could somehow see the future so Eric wasn¡¯t about to risk his life betting against it. ¡°I should at least get straight why you¡¯re killing me though.¡± ¡°Your understanding of the situation is not requisite. I will kill all six of you, if necessary. Now¡ª¡± Eric planned to move at this point. His idea was to simply run away, in the other direction from Heidi and Leah. But Shade stepped aside to block Eric before he could so much as shift his weight. Shade smiled in the most irritating way. ¡°Now I told you,¡± he said, ¡°I¡ª¡± He blocked Eric¡¯s punch before Eric could even begin to throw it, ¡°- can see the future.¡± Eric froze, trying to think. He had no ideas. Shade removed a handgun from behind his back. ¡°Again, nothing personal. I quite like you, actually. You were the one who¡­well. Nevermind.¡± As Shade spoke, Eric saw something behind him. Something bright, colorful. And this Shade guy, he liked to talk. So Eric said, ¡°Okay, one last thing though. Those shades let you see intentions, right?¡± ¡°Again, that is an approximation. But essentially, yes.¡± ¡°So I guess that means you can only see the future for people you¡¯re looking at?¡± ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± Shade raised his weapon at Eric. He looked aside just before a sharp click sounded nearby. Heidi, somehow, was there beside them, only steps away, aiming her own firearm at Shade, her eyes narrowed. Leah was nowhere in sight, thank God. Eric glanced behind Shade and sought out those bright colors he had glimpsed before. Shade smirked at Heidi. ¡°Please tell me,¡± he said, ¡°you had a better plan than pointing an empty firearm at me?¡± The pale hand holding Shade¡¯s weapon swiveled to aim at Heidi. ¡°I have a plan,¡± said Eric. ¡°To keep you from looking behind you.¡± Eric attempted to control his intentions: look behind Shade, look behind Shade, look behind Shade. Shade laughed. ¡°Clever,¡± he said. ¡°But really. Do you think¡ª¡± The edge of a bass guitar crashed into the side of Shade¡¯s head, throwing him to the ground at Heidi¡¯s feet. For just a moment: silence. The three of them stood over Shade¡¯s prone body, staring at it. The newcomer was a tall girl with long dark hair, a colorful painted lab coat, and an electric bass. Eric had no doubts about who this was. Kaitlyn Carter screamed. It was not a cry of rage or triumph as might be expected from someone who had just knocked a man out with a guitar. It was a scream of pure distress, panic, adrenaline. Her guitar was still half-raised as if to strike another blow. She breathed heavily, and her hair and scarf drifted sideways in the chill wind. She also had something all over her face. Was she hurt? Heidi knelt, seized Shade¡¯s firearm, patted down his body. ¡°Unconscious,¡± she said, ¡°but not for long. We should go.¡± Heidi stood, handed her own empty gun casually to Eric, then turned to Kate. Kate seemed frozen in attack position. She screamed again, but this time it was only a breathy wheeze. Eric considered that he should say something. ¡°¡­Kate?¡± he asked. Kate opened her mouth for a second, then snapped it shut and nodded hard. The bass lowered. Kate reached a hand up to scoot her big round glasses back up the bridge of her nose. ¡°We need to go,¡± said Heidi. She had noticed what Eric had not: people were watching. There weren¡¯t a lot of people nearby, but Kate¡¯s shriek had drawn some attention. ¡°Um,¡± said Eric. Should they call the police? Maybe not. Shade would awaken before they could get here, and¡­something about what was happening made Eric think that maybe this wasn¡¯t a police kind of issue. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s get outta here.¡± He took another look at Heidi, who had made her new loaded gun disappear, and Kate with her guitar. ¡°Need to keep up,¡± he muttered. He knelt down and carefully removed the broken sunglasses from Shades¡¯ face. The guy groaned softly. They took off at a jog. Heidi led them back to Leah. Kate stopped long enough to pick up her bag and a stuffed turtle. Leah had been watching from a distance, and she stared in excitement as they approached. Eric scooped her up and kept running without pause. ¡°Back to the park,¡± he said. There were more people in the park. Maybe Shade wouldn¡¯t try anything there, or maybe he would have more difficulty finding them. And from there they could take a bus back home. But what if Shade knew where Eric¡¯s house was? How had he known to find Eric at the beach? The fact that Kate had arrived didn¡¯t really sink in until they were all crossing the pedestrian overpass over North Shore Drive. He slowed to a stop in the middle of the overpass. The others stopped with him. Vehicles zoomed past below; the walkway vibrated beneath their feet. A cool breeze blew. Leah struggled in his arms; he let her down onto the walkway. Heidi watched the place they had come from. Her hands were in the pockets of her jacket, and one of them clearly gripped a gun. Kate still had something on her face. What was that, a tattoo? Her eyes were blue like the sky behind her. She looked at him. He needed to say something. ¡°So, Kate¡­is your bass okay?¡± She had it gripped to her chest with both arms. She blinked a few times, then dropped the bass, lunged forward, and hugged him. ¡°Whoa.¡± Eric hesitantly hugged her back. This was not at all how he had imagined his first encounter with Kaitlyn Carter. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Kate.¡± It wasn¡¯t too bad, though. Kate let him go and stepped back, a little embarrassed. She smoothed away the wayward hair flying in front of her face and stooped to pick up her bass. It was green and black and looked like parts of it were metal. She probably made it herself. ¡°So is your bass okay?¡± She inspected it quickly and tilted her hand back-and-forth at him with a grimace. ¡°You going to say anything?¡± He had imagined Kate being a lot more talkative than this. Now Kate really looked embarrassed. She bit her lip and her face turned red, all except the crazy spider-web tattoo or whatever the hell that was. Could she maybe not speak or something? Was that why she only ever texted? ¡°We should keep moving,¡± said Heidi. ¡°I remember you,¡± said Leah, looking at Kate. ¡°You were in my dream.¡± Kate beamed down at Leah and gave her a thumbs-up. ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± said Eric, ¡°we¡¯ve all seen Kate in our dreams, what else is new? Let¡¯s go.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. They continued across the overpass and through the park. Eric did a quick double-take at every figure in a grey suit, not that there were many, but none of them were Shade. He took them to the entrance of the zoo. A little cluster of buildings gathered around the pond in front. They had obtained ice cream here not long ago. Eric led them into the coffee shop and directed them to a table back in the corner, out of view of any windows and near an emergency exit. Everyone relaxed a little when they sat down. Kate put her bass back in its case. Eric decided to speak first, and if at all possible, to get Kate speaking as well. ¡°So,¡± he directed his gaze toward Kate, ¡°do you know who that was?¡± Kate hesitated. ¡°Why would she know?¡± asked Heidi. Kate put her hands on the table, furrowed her brow in concentration, gritted her teeth, and took a deep breath. Everyone watched her. ¡°I-I-I d-don¡¯t¡­kn-kno-know.¡± Her face again turned bright red. ¡°S-s-s-sorry.¡± Her turtle pillow appeared suddenly in her arms, and she hugged it hard. ¡°Hey, that¡¯s cool,¡± said Eric. ¡°Just thought you might know. So you have a stutter?¡± Heidi, to his left, elbowed him sharply in the shoulder. ¡°Gaah! Hey, what? It¡¯s no big deal.¡± Kate appeared torn between relief and more embarrassment. Yeah, he deserved the elbow for that one. Dammit. ¡°Hello, Kaitlyn,¡± said Heidi, reaching across the table to shake her hand. ¡°I mean, Kate. Nice to finally meet you. I would tell you to not mind Eric but you probably know that.¡± Kate smiled and shook her hand. ¡°N-nice to f-f-inally meet you t-too! I¡¯ve b-been s-so ex-ex-c-c-ex- excited !¡± She buried her face in the turtle. ¡°S-s-sorry I¡¯m screw-crewing it all up! I¡¯m m-m-making it awkward!¡± ¡°Naw, you didn¡¯t screw it up. It was the dude trying to kill me. This Shade guy.¡± Oh yeah. Right. Only a few minutes ago, someone had pointed a loaded gun at him, after announcing his intention for murder. That was a thing that had just happened. Right. Leah sat silently, with the posture of a professional businesswoman awaiting an interview, but she kept shooting furtive glances at both Kate and Heidi. Curious but shy. Kate¡¯s eyes widened and she leaned over the table at Eric. ¡°W-w-eren¡¯t you s-sc-scared?¡± Was he? Had he been? He honestly couldn¡¯t remember. It was unreal, like he had just played that scene in a videogame. The whole experience seemed detached. He said: ¡°Eh¡­¡± Kate winked at him. ¡°S-so c-c-cool!¡± ¡°Yeah, so cool I had to get rescued by my two badass friends I¡¯ve met for the first time today.¡± Eric realized he just said ¡®badass¡¯ in front of Leah and mentally kicked himself. He also realized his hands were trembling slightly. ¡°I guess in times of distress I shut down my emotions.¡± Heidi nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what Alan says when I ask him about times he¡¯s been in dangerous situations.¡± ¡°Okay cool. But now, actually, I think it¡¯s hitting me¡­and¡­I¡¯ll be right back.¡± Eric stood up. Heidi began to stand as well. ¡°Where are you going?¡± ¡°Just the restroom, chill. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± He took a little longer than planned in the restroom. He stared at himself in the mirror after washing his hands. He had come very close to dying, but it sure wasn¡¯t sinking in very quickly. Maybe he was a little immunized against such things, since he fantasized about dangerous situations so much? But no, it was there¡ªa lurking hysteria. His life had almost ended. It had almost all been over. Just like that. But still, he was calm. He took deep, steady breaths. His hands weren¡¯t shaking. Maybe they would later. For now, he had to be calm. For Leah, he had to think clearly. It was a one-man restroom; the door was locked. He took this opportunity to remove the broken sunglasses from his pocket and try them on. He looked in the mirror and immediately noticed that he looked like a moron. He wondered if what Shade had said was true¡­ In his left eye, through the lens, he saw his arms reach up and remove the glasses. In his right eye, no such thing happened. The view in the left eye immediately changed; he saw himself in the mirror stepping back in confusion. Nothing happened in his right eye until, a second later, he stepped back in confusion. The view in his left eye began stuttering rapidly; he saw his reflection perform a number of actions with small variations, but each changed the moment he saw it. Some of the things he saw in his shaded vision transferred to things he actually did in the bright light of the mirror. A headache began gnawing at the base of his skull. He groaned and closed both eyes. Blessed, peaceful darkness. How the hell could that Shade guy just wear these around everywhere? How could anyone deal with constantly changing possibilities of the future, even if it was only a couple seconds ahead? Someone rattled the bathroom doorknob. He pocketed the shades and left, rubbing his temple. When he returned to the table, he saw that someone had got them all drinks. Had he been gone that long? ¡°Eric!¡± said Kate when he sat back down. ¡°W-we w-w-were w-worried!¡± ¡°Calm down with those double-u¡¯s. You¡¯ll hurt yourself.¡± Kate grinned at him. ¡°Heh heh heh!¡± A caramel latte sat before him. His go-to. Thanks, Leah. ¡°So is that a scar?¡± he asked as he reached for the cup. His reach turned into a parry as Heidi attempted to strike him once again. He successfully deflected the blow. ¡°What was that for?¡± ¡°She is clearly self-conscious about it. That¡¯s why she is wearing a scarf.¡± ¡°C¡¯mon, if she wants to hide it she needs to be wearing a mask too.¡± Heidi narrowed her eyes at him. Eric leaned away from her and took a sip of his latte. Overpriced. ¡°It¡¯s okay!¡± said Kate. A British accent came through when she said this. ¡°I j-just d-d-didn¡¯t want you g-guys to w-w- to worry.¡± ¡°Worry?¡± said Heidi. ¡° Is it a scar? What happened?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Kate hugged the turtle and looked into her drink. ¡°I b-b-blew up m-m-my, I, Iblewupmylab!¡± ¡°Whoa, what?¡± ¡°I was d-d-doing an ex¡ªan exp-expe-pe-peri¡ªan¡­¡± She gritted her teeth and glared down at her drink. ¡°We get it, an experiment,¡± said Heidi. ¡°But holy sh¡ªI mean, yikes, Kate, what leaves a scar like that?¡± Kate buried her face in the turtle. She said something, but it was so muffled they couldn¡¯t make it out. She raised her head again, took off her glasses and began cleaning smudges off of them with a napkin. ¡°It¡¯s emb-b-barrassing! It l-looks like a sp-spi-spiderweb! Like a l-l-lame t-t-tattoo!¡± ¡°And you didn¡¯t tell us because you didn¡¯t want us to worry?¡± asked Heidi. Kate nodded and placed her glasses back on her face. ¡°I guess that¡¯s s-s-tupid n-now.¡± Leah, who had up until the point appeared disengaged with their conversation, leaned over and gave Kate a hug. Kate smiled and hugged her back. ¡°Okay, look at this,¡± said Heidi. She stood up and tried to raise her leg up high enough so that Kate could see it over the table. But she was too short. Eric nearly snorted hot coffee out of his nose watching her attempt. She slugged him; he narrowly avoided spilling any of his drink. With an air of defiance Heidi stood on her chair and placed her left foot up on the table to reveal her darkly tanned skin. A complicated tangle of reddish welts covered most of the back of her calf. ¡°I have a scar too,¡± she said. ¡°Crikey!¡± said Kate. She leaned in closely to inspect it, her brows furrowed in concentration. Eric imagined her whipping out a magnifying glass from her lab coat and almost laughed up his coffee again. ¡°Are these j-jellyf-fish s-sc-scars?¡± Heidi nodded proudly and stepped down from the table. ¡°So c-c-cool!¡± said Kate, her eyes wide with excitement. ¡°Kate, you are the coolest person I know,¡± said Heidi. ¡°H-have you heard E-er-eric¡¯s music?¡± Heidi nodded and opened her mouth to reply but Eric cut her off. ¡°I think we can, like, get to that business later. For now, since you¡¯re here Kate, maybe you could use your future powers and grace us with some explanation.¡± ¡°You have future powers?¡± said Leah. She observed Kate critically, assessing her. Kate leaned over and whispered something in Leah¡¯s ear, using her stuffed turtle to block the sight and sound. When she had finished, Leah turned a look of awe upon Eric, then looked back at Kate in confirmation. Kate smiled and put a finger to her lips. ¡°What future powers?¡± said Heidi. ¡°Is this a joke I missed?¡± Eric sighed. Had Heidi not figured it out yet? Well, she¡¯d only known Kate for two months. ¡°Kate can see the future somehow, but good luck asking her about it. Now you know. Moving on¡­¡± Heidi looked back and forth between Eric and Kate, unable to discern whether this was a joke. Eric stood. ¡°You know, Shade¡¯s probably awake.¡± ¡°Kate hit him hard,¡± said Leah. ¡°Yes it was very cool and awesome and she saved my life,¡± said Eric. Kate looked thoughtful upon hearing this. ¡°But he¡¯s still out there, maybe looking for these,¡± he patted the pocket with the shades, ¡°and definitely looking for us. One thing he said was¡ª¡± Eric looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. They weren¡¯t but he lowered his voice anyway ¡°¡ªwas that he would kill ¡®all six of us¡¯ if he had to. I think we should get back to my place, at least for now.¡± They agreed and rose from the table. They hurried to a bus stop along Lincoln Park, all on high alert, looking around for any sign of the grey-suited man. They didn¡¯t have to wait long for a bus, and it was the bus which would take them almost the whole way to Eric¡¯s apartment. They boarded and sat together in the back. Few other passengers made an appearance. Tuesday afternoon. The four of them occupied back seats. Leah sat by Kate, and Frisby began growling menacingly at Kate¡¯s turtle. The turtle growled right back, dodging playfully back and forth. ¡°Kate, focus,¡± said Eric. ¡°I know you get some kind of twisted pleasure about keeping everyone in the dark, but what can you tell us about what¡¯s happening? Or what¡¯s about to happen?¡± Kate frowned down at her turtle and fidgeted. ¡°I think s-s-omething is going to h-hhappen called a c-c-c a cascade. Umm¡­¡± She shook her head violently, whipping Eric in the face with her hair. ¡°I c-c I can¡¯t explain it all n-n-now! It¡¯s t-t-too c-complicated!¡± She leaned over and looked intensely at Eric and Heidi. ¡°Y-you n-n-nnneed to f-find your angels!¡± Heidi nodded slowly as she kept a careful eye on the rest of the bus and every passenger that entered. ¡°Elizabeth said something about that in the group text.¡± Oh right, the text. Eric said, ¡°Yeah, white animals, right? Like Callie.¡± Kate nodded hard. ¡°Sorry, haven¡¯t seen any. Do you have one?¡± asked Eric. Kate hesitated. She reached into the recesses of her big lab coat and brought out something shiny. She held it up in front of them. A tiny crystal butterfly, the size of a quarter, rested in her palm. It shone with light, making little rainbows all over the four of them. Eric was distracted from the sight of the crystal by Kate¡¯s face. Her expression looking at the crystal butterfly was one of sheer delight. It could have been a trick of the light, but it looked like the crazy broken-glass scar on her face shimmered with color. ¡°Ohhhhh,¡± said Leah. Kate closed it in her hand, stifling the light. ¡°I th-thhhink this is m-m-mine!¡± she said. ¡°S-s-sssomehow.¡± ¡°Woah,¡± said Eric. He looked over at Heidi. She was inspecting something in her hand. The glass teardrop thing she wore around her wrist. Heidi whispered something to herself. Eric couldn¡¯t make it out, but it sounded like, ¡®don¡¯t lose it.¡¯ ¡°So-something b-bad is g-g-goin to happen s-soon. B-but! I thi-I think we c-can make it!¡± ¡°Make it?¡± said Heidi. ¡°Where?¡± ¡°The M-mu-Museum!¡± ¡°Oh man, there¡¯s a lot of museums here,¡± said Eric. ¡°Okay, whatever, which one we need to go to? Should¡¯ve told me before we got on this bus.¡± Kate shook her head. ¡°The D-dr-dream M-museum. Y-you need an angel t-to get there. I think.¡± The bus ride took about 20 minutes. During the remainder of the ride, Kate would not hand out details about what exactly the Cascade was, or about the deal with this Dream Museum, or how they should find their angels. It seemed like she knew things but didn¡¯t want to tell them. Maybe she was afraid of jinxing something? If Kate could see the future, then maybe she knew how much information Eric needed in order for things to work out. Maybe she saw a good future and was trying not to change it by her actions. Eric thought about what it had been like looking through Shade¡¯s shades. Of course, doing it in a mirror was probably hard mode. But what if Kate could somehow see out, not just seconds, but days? Months? How could anyone handle that? ¡°Eric, stop staring at her,¡± Heidi whispered in his ear as they neared their stop. He jumped in surprise. Had he been staring? Kate was playing with Leah, doing a funny voice for her turtle as it bopped heads with Frisby. Eric leaned over to Heidi and whispered back as he watched Kate and Leah. ¡°Couldn¡¯t help it. Is that scar changing colors?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve been watching for Shade.¡± ¡°Oh. Right. Good thinking. Did you know that Kate¡¯s like basically a mad scientist?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯m pretty sure Alan mailed her the things that she blew up to get that scar.¡± ¡°Whoa.¡± Heidi continued. ¡°Did you know that I received an email from my past self, one I can¡¯t remember sending, on the day that Kate first contacted me? It told me to trust her.¡± ¡°Sounds legit. Did you know her uncle is a straight-up for-real mad scientist?¡± ¡°Yes. Did you know that Alan used to work for a company that used her uncle¡¯s special materials?¡± ¡°For nefarious purposes, no doubt.¡± ¡°D-di-did you kn-know that I h-h-have very g-good hearing?¡± said Kate. She didn¡¯t stop playing with Leah, but she turned and grinned at them. They disembarked soon after. At 12 stories, their destination towered over most of the surrounding structures. Eric¡¯s apartment was on the ninth floor, with a view of the street below. It was a pain to get up there sometimes, especially if taking the stairs, because of an elevator malfunction, but it had a nice view. ¡°We should go to a store and get some supplies,¡± said Heidi as the bus pulled away. ¡°I didn¡¯t bring much with me. If we¡¯re going to be doing something dangerous, I mean, if we might get hurt¡­¡± Eric nodded. ¡°Right.¡± First aid stuff, and maybe¡­uh, flashlights? Hell, he had no idea. Heidi probably knew. But he didn¡¯t like the idea of Leah being out in the open in public as long as Shade was out there. ¡°Okay, how about this,¡± he said. ¡°Kate, can you¡­I mean, Leah can you take Kate home and show her around?¡± Leah considered this and nodded. ¡°Heidi and I will be over soon, okay?¡± Eric tossed his keys to Kate and turned to take Heidi to the store. But he saw, as he turned, something in Kate¡¯s expression that made him pause. She caught the keys and turned. ¡°C-c-come on, Leah!¡± she said in a cheerful voice. Leah scampered off down the sidewalk and Kate followed. She walked a few steps, paused and looked back. A chill crawled through Eric. She looked scared. Scared and sad. Afraid of Shade? He nearly ran to catch up with her when Heidi whacked him on the sleeve and said, ¡°Eric? You coming?¡± Kate was going with Leah, and she would never take Leah into danger. So they should both be fine, right? Maybe Kate was more shaken up than he¡¯d realized about Eric nearly being shot. ¡°Right. Yeah. Let¡¯s just make it quick.¡± He went with Heidi in the other direction. Chapter 47 Chapter 47 Kate and Leah ¡°¡­and this is Eric¡¯s room!¡± growled Frisby Wiser as he fearlessly flew right in. Kate hopped inside. Exactly like she¡¯d imagined it! Messy and full of cool stuff. Keyboard, electric drumset, music mixing stuff, some books, laptop, a bunch of metronomes¡­ Frisby had little interest in Eric¡¯s room, though, and soon showed her out into the kitchen. He had quite a bit of interest in the contents of the cookie jar. Kate thought maybe Leah wasn¡¯t supposed to have cookies in the mid-afternoon, but she also thought it probably didn¡¯t matter. But she didn¡¯t want to think about that! Thinking about it made her feel cold, like something sharp was squeezing her heart. ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± asked Leah, tugging at Kate¡¯s sleeve as she joined Kate at the table. ¡°What?¡± Leah pointed at Tal, resting atop Kate¡¯s bass on the table. ¡°Oh!¡± said Kate. ¡°His n-name is Mikhail T-Tal. Just Tal f-for short!¡± Tal for short! Isaac would love that one. Leah shook her head emphatically. ¡°He is not tall,¡± she informed Kate. ¡°He is a turtle. His name is Short.¡± ¡°Short?¡± Leah nodded. ¡°Short.¡± She took a bite of the cookie. ¡°That¡¯s a p-p-pretty s-she-shell!¡± said Kate, pointing at the beautiful rose-and-gold scallop shell (pectinidae) that Heidi had given Leah. Leah nodded in affirmation. ¡°Its name is Not Square.¡± ¡°Hmm¡­I th-think you¡¯re b-bad at naming things,¡± said Kate with a smile. Leah considered this for a moment, then nodded. They played together for a while. The kitchen table became a fantastical landscape in which her guitar case was a big castle and her travel bag was a mountain guarded by a fearsome Giant Monster Evil Turtle (Chelonii horribilus!). The protagonist was Frisby Wiser, and they had a great battle, and they celebrated after with milk and more cookies. Although it was fun, and Leah was incredibly cute and funny, Kate could not put her heart into it. ¡°What do you want to do?¡± asked Leah when it was over. Go home. Go home go home go home. Be a butterfly. Not die. Kate blinked quickly a few times and took an unsteady breath. She stood and looked around dramatically. ¡°Y-you know what Eric¡¯s r-r-room needs? A d-d-dragon¡¯s t-touch!¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Leah¡¯s eyes widened at this revelation. ¡°Y-y-you should go c-clean it up for him!¡± Leah and Frisby ran off to do this, leaving Kate alone at the table. She checked the clock on the oven across from her. Four fourteen. She didn¡¯t know when it was going to happen. Should she¡­check the group text? No, she couldn¡¯t. Not yet. She dug around in her bag until she found her journal. She tore off a blank page, spent some time writing on it, and put it in her pocket. She took the little notebook containing her notes on the Museum and put that in there as well. She removed her phone from her coat pocket and placed it with the journal on the table. What else? Of course. The butterfly chess piece¡­she took it out of her lab coat and looked at it again. It pulsed with light. Did she have to break it? Or would that ruin everything? She didn¡¯t know, she didn¡¯t know, it mattered a lot but she didn¡¯t know. She sniffed. No. Not going to cry. Going to¡­ Going to play music instead. Eric had an amp in his room. Kate stood violently, knocking her chair over. She seized her guitar case and marched into Eric¡¯s room. Leah was there, not having made much progress in cleaning. She was walking Frisby along the keys of Eric¡¯s keyboard. She looked up at Kate. ¡°Is it true? Can Eric really move around in time?¡± Kate didn¡¯t think that Leah really understood what that meant but she was suitably impressed anyway. Kate sat on the floor, her painted lab coat spread out around her. ¡°Y-y-yes! B-but n-not yet! W-what-whatever that means!¡± She winked at Leah, but Leah didn¡¯t get it. ¡°Oh,¡± said Leah. Kate unlatched her case and removed the heavy green-and-black bass. It took her only a moment to plug in her guitar, adjust the amp settings, and turn it on. She tried out the strings. Not outstanding, but the amp was decent. Low, rich notes filled the room. The bass had received some structural damage from earlier, but it could still play. Leah watched in rapt anticipation, leaning forward on her knees. Kate removed the crystal butterfly from her coat and handed it to Leah. ¡°H-hold on to that,¡± she said. Leah received it with reverence. Kate made herself comfortable on the floor. She leaned against Eric¡¯s bed. She didn¡¯t think he¡¯d mind. It wouldn¡¯t matter for long, anyway. She played a song¡ªthe same one, or close, that she¡¯d played earlier in her dream of the Museum. Unlike regular dreams, she could always clearly remember her dreams of that place. It would be okay. She had to remember that. She had to believe that. No matter how dark the skies, no matter how big the storm, there was always blue sky up there behind it. And the sun was rising somewhere. Always. Chapter 48 Chapter 48 Cascade And there, there overhead, there, there hung over ? Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes, ? There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover, ? There with vast wings across the cancelled skies, ? There in the sudden blackness the black pall ? Of nothing, nothing, nothing¡ªnothing at all. - Archibald MacLeish, ¡°The End of the World¡± The Apocalypse Machine towered above him, aimed at the cloudy night sky. The dust from the explosions had mostly settled; boulders and debris lay heaped in piles on the steel floor around the great machine. Blowing a hole in the top of the mountain was not an elegant solution. But it didn¡¯t matter. The Apocalypse Machine could see the sky. Riley McFinn stood still and quiet, alone, shaded by the vast dish of his greatest achievement. He gazed at his hands, turning them over and back again. Nobody knew whose fault it really was, way back at the beginning. Neither he nor Raschez knew. But Riley thought that probably it was him. His own fault. The Apocalypse Machine. Riley McFinn spoke into the great empty space, ¡°Most people think ¡®apocalypse¡¯ means ¡®the end of the world.¡¯¡± His voice was tiny, insignificant in the shade. No need to be dramatic about it. Not anymore. He activated the console beside him. He input his code, placed his hand on the scanner, placed his finger on a pad that pricked it, sucked up the blood, analyzed it. Useless precautions, all of them. His headset beeped. ¡°Ready?¡± said a voice from the other end without preamble. A voice he hardly recognized. McFinn sighed and looked up at the skies. He laughed at himself¡ªunable to resist this last bit of drama? Well, it was dramatic. He was about to end the world. ¡°Riley?¡± said the voice in his headset, sounding concerned. ¡°It¡¯s too much,¡± said Riley. ¡°Too much even for me.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± said the voice, old and weary. ¡°But we can¡¯t give up. We have to end it, one way or another.¡± Riley McFinn took a deep breath. ¡°Right.¡± He¡¯d never let Raschez beat him in a game of resolve. Nicholas Carter, yes, often, but not Raschez. ¡°Ready.¡± The voice spoke: ¡°Then do it now.¡± Riley sighed. He whispered a secret comfort to himself. ¡°From stardust¡­to stardust.¡± He typed a simple command into the console and pressed enter. The computer processed the command, relayed it to the Apocalypse Machine. The great dish hummed to life. It trembled; the steel floor shook. Riley McFinn turned and strode away. For the first time, he didn¡¯t want to watch the result of all his hard work. A great light bloomed behind him as he reached the exit, casting his shadow sharp and clear against the steel door. A strange sound of chimes filled the air, almost too loud, almost too beautiful. Something snapped as he opened the door. It was not an audible sound. It vibrated through his bones, yet was not a physical sensation. It made Riley McFinn wince, although it was not painful. It was the strange feeling he sometimes got when around the McFinnium crystals for extended periods¡ªthat sense of otherness, of warping reality¡ªcondensed and compressed into a sharp spike of sensation. Something cracked: reality itself, and it was as much a shock to the mind as a loud noise to the ears, equally confusing and startling. ¡°Old friend,¡± said Riley. ¡°What have we done?¡± ¡°We have ended everything. For the last time.¡± Even Raschez could not resist the drama of the moment. Riley McFinn left the great space and shut the door behind him.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. It means ¡®revelation.¡¯ In Nevada, a small caravan of grey and orange vehicles screeched to a halt. The passenger of the lead van stepped out and gazed up at the sky. Ezekiel was his name. He gritted his teeth. Too soon. Damn him. A crack propagated across the sky above at astonishing speed. Each leap forward sent spasms of shock and confusion through Ezekiel¡¯s mind even though he knew perfectly well what it was. Well. The kid was right up ahead. The time frame had just moved up, that¡¯s all. He jumped back into the van and shouted a command. The sound of rounds being chambered filled the rear of the vehicle. In Montana, Isaac and Jacob, on the sidewalk of a street near his house, looked up at the sky. Charlie fluttered about in agitation. Isaac no longer needed the lens in his pocket to see the shining crack in the sky to the north. And he saw another fracture branching off from that one, extending from the north to the south across the entire sky. It was under the clouds now, somehow. The cottony clouds distorted when they passed through the crack, not quite matching up, as though the crack lay in a huge sheet of glass in front of the whole sky. ¡°We need to hurry,¡± said Jacob. ¡°I¡¯d shay sho,¡± said a voice nearby. In Pennsylvania, Elmer Sky staggered and fell sideways from the kitchen table. Elizabeth and Amelia jumped to their feet in surprise and concern, but Amelia then went very still and turned her gaze upward, peering through the ceiling. Callie began to hiss and snarl. In a flash of white she disappeared. Elizabeth felt a chill in the moment of silence that followed, and wished that AJ had not just left for town. ¡°I remember¡­¡± said Elmer from the floor, not bothering to attempt to stand. Elizabeth went to him and saw him stare vacantly upwards. No longer cheerful, no longer smiling, no longer with a twinkle in his eye. ¡°I remember this.¡± Amelia turned to Elizabeth. ¡°You need to leave.¡± Also in Pennsylvania, a man named Shadrach, wearing a dark grey coat, raised his binoculars to the skies. Through the branches of the trees overhead he saw the fractures spreading. He turned his magnified gaze back down, toward the fine old house which lay in the clearing ahead. They were in there. Two of the variations and the girl. Shadrach lowered the binoculars, looked through smoky lenses at the old house, its garden, the bicycle out front. He took a moment to puff on his pipe and to peruse the leatherbound book in his hands. Around him, men and women shifted uneasily among the undergrowth. But there was no need to rush. Nohow. Shadrach snapped the book shut after a good minute of thought. He raised his right hand in a fist, then extended his fingers and made a swift chopping motion at the house. A half dozen other people in grey and orange coats slipped from the treeline and descended with speed toward the house. In Chicago, at O¡¯Hare airport, Alan Sheppard exited from the very same doors as Kaitlyn Carter just a short time before. Something was wrong with the sky above, and people around him were noticing. He didn¡¯t know exactly what was going on, but he had seen it before, on a smaller scale, in January. Piecing together hints from Kate and McFinn, what had happened before was just a small taste of what was happening now. Now it was happening everywhere. This time the destruction would be terrible. This time the world would end. Riley McFinn had been right. He had to find Heidi. Also in Chicago, a tall black woman named Jordan closed her eyes, hissed through her teeth, and pressed the radio transmitter against her head. Shade had just killed another three of her men¡ªdespite, apparently, having lost his future-sight sunglasses. If only she could go hunt him down¡­ Jordan watched the building across the street through a cracked windshield. She gave the order to forget Shade and regroup here. Then she felt it. The sensation compared to hearing, but made itself known on some instinctual, visceral level. Something was breaking. Reality itself cracked under the pressure. No mistaking it: this could only be the Cascade. Too soon, much too soon. The angels had not been secured. Was this the work of McFinn? ¡°Shit,¡± she said. ¡°Change of plans. We move in now.¡± Somewhere in American airspace, Rebecca Carter gripped the armrests of the pilot seat with white knuckles. She had flown a number of small aircraft in her days¡ªand without any formal training, either¡ªbut Riley McFinn¡¯s personal jet was something else. She sat in the cockpit, for little room existed elsewhere. Clouds rushed past. According to the speedometer they rushed past at well over 2,000 kilometers per hour. She had left Scotland facing into sunset, but the sun had gradually risen in her view. It would be late afternoon when she arrived in Chicago. And then something happened, something confusing. The sky cracked. She felt it in her bones, like the satisfying crunch of a thick sheet of glass. But she felt it not with her ears, and this was a strange thing. Then she saw the fractures in her vision, and at first she feared that the cockpit of the jet was shattering. But the cracks passed by; she flew beyond them as though they were cracks in the clouds outside. But the cracks passed through not only the clouds, but the blue sky beyond. She gritted her teeth. She only liked flying as long as she was in control. Chapter 49 Chapter 49 Isaac Milton ¡°How cometh death?¡± he asked me. ¡°Like the sunrise,¡± I replied. ¡°Like the whisper of a midnight breeze, And like the rising tide.¡± ¡°And what of life,¡± he said to me, ¡°how do these few years pass?¡± ¡°Like the shadow of a cloud,¡± I said, and dew upon the grass.¡± - Elizabeth Eddison, ¡°Aubade¡± ¡°I¡¯d shay sho,¡± said a voice. ¡°It sheemsh that our time ish already at an end.¡± Abraham Black stood in the center of the street, one block down. Isaac had no idea how Black had made it sound as though he were right behind them. No one had yet noticed the ominous figure standing in the road. No traffic, and only a couple pedestrians in view, all minding their own business. Black didn¡¯t seem as ominous now. Perhaps it was the broad daylight in which he stood. He looked less like some dark demon now and more like a moth-eaten vagabond. One, of course, with two deadly revolvers. A cold breeze sighed through the cottonwoods lining the road on either side. The trees met overhead at some parts of the street, forming a lane that directed all attention to Abraham Black. All was quiet. School should be getting out soon, though. Some heroic instinct within Isaac urged him to lead Black out of town, thus precluding collateral damage. Isaac raised the lens to his eye in the direction of Black. A kaleidoscope of darkness bloomed outward from him, shifting and spreading over the whole street, writhing up through the dark branches of the skeletal trees. The sight of this happening on the placid, innocent streets of Pikeston make Isaac suddenly nauseous. Jacob positioned himself slightly in front of Isaac, between him and Black. ¡°Isaac,¡± Jacob said in a low voice. ¡°Take Charlie and get out of here. I know! Shut up!¡± Isaac took a hesitant step backwards. But¡­where? Where was he supposed to go? And¡­where was Charlie? He looked around but did not see any white bird. A battered green pickup truck pulled out into the street behind Black and turned in his direction. It slowed down as it approached the figure in the middle of the road. A horn honked briefly, politely. Without turning to look, Abraham Black drew one of his guns, reached around, and shot through the windshield of the truck. The sound of thunder crashed down the street. A moment of silence followed, a moment of shock as those nearby processed this. But only a moment. ¡°Run, Isaac,¡± said Jacob. ¡°Where?¡± ¡°Just run! Go!¡± Isaac turned and ran. Where? Just away, for now. Yeah, that was good. Away in his present direction would take him to main street. Maybe on Main Street there were still police investigating last night¡¯s event. Black didn¡¯t seem as scary in the daylight; maybe the police could take him down. And what about Dwayne? Did Isaac dare lead Black to Dwayne? Yes, he realized. He did dare. With Dwayne, everything would be okay. Thunder boomed out behind Isaac as he ran. It really did sound more like thunder than like actual gunfire. He didn¡¯t turn around. He sprinted as fast as he could, which was not really very fast, and lamented having packed so much into his backpack. And where was that bird? Somewhere behind him he heard the snapping of fingers. Like Black¡¯s voice, the sound carried strangely through the cool, bright afternoon. He came upon Main street almost before realizing it. The same corner, in fact, where he had first met Black. He nearly collided with two police officers coming around the corner. He didn¡¯t recognize them. Both of them held firearms; both of them paused briefly in surprise and lingered only long enough to see that he wasn¡¯t hurt before running in the direction of Black. They seemed to be shouting something, but Isaac had a hard time hearing them. He couldn¡¯t really hear anything. Everything was thick and slow and heavy. Eric used to joke about how Isaac didn¡¯t handle pressure well. Well, Isaac thought that probably nobody handled Black well. Except maybe, hopefully, Jacob Hollow. And Dwayne. Black would not be able to kill Dwayne. Isaac knew this, somehow, the same way he knew that God spoke to Dwayne Hartman. Isaac kept running. He made it to the cordoned-off area where the police were investigating the shooting from the night before. Several more police officers lingered there, perhaps confused by the thunder on this bright, clear day. But they saw Isaac, and they saw his fear. They attempted to calm him; he responded somehow, saying something. He didn¡¯t know what he had said, even right after saying it. He needed to calm down. He needed to think. What would Dwayne do? Pray. He would pray. Isaac took a moment to pray. He could never afterward remember what he had said to God there on the cold bright street, or if God had said anything in return. He finished and looked up just in time to see Abraham Black round the corner. The sunny day was dimmer over in his direction. Black ignored the shouts of ¡°freeze!¡± from the police as he sauntered to the middle of the street. Only then did he turn to face them, just like some gunslinger in an old western. Isaac shrunk back behind the cluster of police cruisers. Officers stood between him and Black, but he still did not feel safe. Where was Jacob? Where was Charlie? It was a cold day, but bright. Cold. He was sweating. Black stared them down from under the shade of his hat, and his faded, dusty coat drifted faintly to one side, and this time there was an actual breeze to justify the movement. Black tilted his head up to view the sky above; his broad leather hat accentuated the movement. Isaac could not help but look up as well, at the cracked sky. He thought he heard something up there creaking and groaning like pressured ice, not with his ears but with his mind. ¡°Sho,¡± said Black, and again his softly spoken words somehow carried through the thin air. ¡°A showdown, ish it? Not much of one, if you ashk me. I don¡¯t shee the cripple.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°This is your final warning,¡± said a police officer through a megaphone. ¡°Drop¡ª¡± Black¡¯s guns thundered. Isaac flinched back behind a cruiser. Blood sprayed over him; he saw a line of deep red droplets appear on his hand. Men screamed in pain; returned fire. For several seconds, an overwhelming flood of sound pressed down upon him. Isaac closed his eyes and put fingers in his ears. Was this a nightmare? It had to be, right? He¡¯d wake up¡­ Silence. It had come too soon, way too soon. Isaac, shaking, turned and peeked over the hood of the cruiser. Black stood, apparently unharmed, his huge silver revolvers gripped loosely by hands hanging at his sides. He smiled. He took a step forward. He stopped in mid-step, then swiveled so abruptly that his coat swirled around him. He froze with the revolver in his right hand extended, aiming at something that Isaac couldn¡¯t see. Black, fixated on whatever he saw, appeared to have forgotten about Isaac. This was his chance. But¡­what was Black looking at? Jacob? Black¡¯s outstretched arm began to shake slowly. But no, not shaking. It was tracking something. Something small, flying through the air. A butterfly. A tiny blue butterfly that Isaac could barely see. The tip of Black¡¯s revolver tracked the butterfly¡¯s erratic path as it flitted out over the road, unaware or uncaring of the death therein. The blue butterfly wandered in Black¡¯s direction. Black leaned back, then took a full step in retreat, and then another. He finally froze as the butterfly fluttered right over him. His gun, pointed up, followed the insect¡¯s erratic movement perfectly. The butterfly settled onto the shining silver tip of Black¡¯s revolver. There it flexed its wings a few times while Black leaned away from it in a way that was nearly comical. But after a moment the butterfly again departed. This time Black¡¯s weapon held fast as the tiny blue menace fluttered off. Silence. The moment ended when Black¡¯s arm swiveled and fired down the street away from Isaac. Somewhere, a man screamed in pain. Black straightened. He turned to face Isaac once more. He took a step. And then another. ¡°Isaac, I said RUN!¡± shouted Jacob from above and behind. Isaac looked up just in time to see Jacob Hollow leap from the top of the bank, a good twenty-five feet up. Jacob¡¯s momentum carried him nearly to Isaac before he began to fall. But something happened in air around him. A tracery of light spread out from him, tiny filaments of color threading the air, first a few, then dozens. In the blink of an eye, they knitted themselves together into the outline of enormous wings, raised high over Jacob¡¯s head. The outline filled with sparkling color and the wings plunged down. A gust of air made Isaac adjust his glasses. The lift generated by the heaving flap of the brilliant wings carried Jacob over Isaac¡¯s head and in front of the police cruisers. There he dropped to the ground, a dozen paces in front of Black. And when he struck the ground, he snapped his fingers. Something had always been a little strange about the sound of Jacob snapping his fingers. In an almost undetectable way, it could be heard not only with the ears but with the mind, like the cracking and creaking of the sky above. This snap was different. There was hardly any sound at all. Instead, the snap resounded through the earth, through the air, through Isaac¡¯s bones, like massive slabs of iron clapping together, like a profound and sudden rupture of something on the edge of awareness. When he snapped, all the dust on the street swept outward in a shockwave. When the shockwave hit the police cruisers it tossed them into the air like toys, and Isaac as well. It was all strangely quiet. Isaac shouted in surprise and put his arms up in front of his eyes, certain that he would be crushed between the ground and a police cruiser. His vision flashed white. He heard the sharp cry of a hawk. He felt steady pressure against his back rather than the sudden jolt of impact. He struggled to identify the ¡°up¡± direction. He saw the sky, cracked like the screen of a computer. Clouds drifted by, glitching as they passed over the cracks. He lay on the cold pavement of the street, right on the faded yellow lines. In front of him, Jacob Hollow struggled to his feet. With one bloody hand Jacob held his left side. A dark stain had soaked the lower left of his grey hoodie. Facing him, unmoving, Abraham Black. And right in front of Isaac, Charlie in the form of a hawk hopped anxiously back and forth. Abraham Black raised both of his revolvers. How many shots had he fired? Did he ever need to reload? Eric would know if he were in this situation; he would have counted. He would be cool, he wouldn¡¯t panic. And Jim. Isaac wished Jim were here. Because Jim¡­if they were indeed in a story, Jim was sure to be the central protagonist. Because Jim was Good. Jim mattered. Isaac himself was dispensable, he was sure of that. The wounded Hollow and the unrelenting Black watched each other carefully. Isaac thought: am I going to die here? Dwayne¡¯s voice came to him, so vivid that for a moment he thought he actually heard the gravelly voice speaking. It was an old conversation, from a camping trip. ¡°Isaac,¡± he had growled in the cold starry night, ¡°at any moment, you may be required to give an account of your existence.¡± Isaac had never understood that, and had never thought too much about this ominous declaration afterwards. But now, here he was, looking at Death, and he could think of nothing else. Isaac realized that at some point he¡¯d taken out Jim¡¯s rendition of Black. And in his other hand he still held the lens. ¡°Pleashe,¡± said Abraham Black at last. ¡°Let¡¯sh end thish.¡± ¡°No,¡± said Jacob, his voice strong in contrast to his unsteadiness. He swayed slightly on his feet. Isaac could not look away from the two of them. He was frozen, a deer in the headlights. ¡°Why?¡± said Black with a curious tilt of his head. ¡°Ish it jusht the way you were made?¡± Jacob shook his head. ¡°No. I chose to do this. We can still fix it.¡± ¡°I am not intereshted in fixing it.¡± He looked up once more to the breaking sky above. ¡°It ish far too late for that.¡± And without more ado, he fired both of his revolvers. Jacob snapped, but his left hand exploded in a red mist. He fell to his knees, crying out in pain. Isaac struggled to his feet but once again hesitated, unsure of whether to run or stay and help Jacob. How could he help? ¡°Shorry, kid,¡± said Black. Thunder boomed through the empty street. It took Isaac a moment to realize what had happened. His neck felt warm. He put a hand up to his throat and realized he couldn¡¯t breathe. He coughed, and blood sprayed from his lips. He hit the cold pavement before being aware of falling, and only then did he feel the pain. The pain. So much of it. Dying? Shot? Yes to both. He had always hated shots. Ha. Haha. With the bad jokes, even to the end. He had them all. All of them. And now he was going home. That wasn¡¯t so bad. He tried to say ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± to the One whom he had surely disappointed. But he couldn¡¯t speak. He couldn¡¯t see. He felt cold. Everything went white, and he heard the cry of a hawk. And then there was nothing. Chapter 50 Chapter 50 Jacob Hollow He used his right hand to pull off the hoodie over his head. He didn¡¯t bother removing his left arm from the sleeve; he just wrapped the cloth as tightly as he could around the mangled remains of his left hand. The pain was intense. Like his hand was in a fire. He had never felt anything like it. He struggled to think coherently. The voices in his head were silent. In shock? Or had Black severed the connection with one of his all-destructive bullets? He looked up and saw Abraham Black standing directly in front of him, revolvers stowed safely away. Black wasn¡¯t looking at him; he stared up into the sky instead. Jacob twisted around to find the kid. There, on the ground in a pool of blood, lay the body of Isaac Milton. A bullet had torn his neck open. But Charlie had disappeared. Jacob Hollow sighed. Abraham Black sighed. ¡°Guess that¡¯s it for both of us,¡± said Jacob. ¡°We¡¯ll die here in the Cascade with all the humans.¡± ¡°There¡¯sh other waysh in,¡± said Black. ¡°Heh. Right. How could I forget? You¡­ungh...you never give up.¡± ¡°I¡¯m jusht doing what I want to do. That¡¯sh what it meansh, yesh? To be autonomoush. To be free.¡± ¡°And you want¡­?¡± ¡°Revenge. Jushtishe.¡± Jacob nodded. ¡°They¡¯re listening to me. They¡¯re reading this.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Abraham Black chuckled. ¡°Tell them I¡¯m coming for them. I won¡¯t shtop. They will pay the prishe.¡± ¡°What happened to you?¡± Jacob asked. He cringed at a spike of pain from his hand. ¡°What did they do?¡± Black turned and strode back down the road, his heels clicking softly on the pavement. ¡°Besht of luck.¡± Jacob Hollow staggered to his feet, clutching his ruined hand tightly inside the sweater. He crushed it against his chest to apply pressure and cried out in pain. He turned to look once more at Isaac¡¯s body. The kid had died smiling. He had died holding things in his hands. Jacob knelt to take a look. In one hand, the lens. Jacob took it. In the other hand, a crumpled paper, red-white on one side and black on the other. Jacob carefully uncrumpled it against the bloody asphalt with his good hand. Black. A drawing of Abraham Black. This was clearly the work of that other one, the artist. The painter. The one who¡­ Jacob stood carefully and said under his breath, ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± He left it there on the asphalt and stumbled away in the same direction Black had gone. A minute later he returned and dug Isaac¡¯s blood-soaked cell phone out of his pocket. Then he departed Pikeston, while the sky broke overhead. Chapter 51 Chapter 51 Elizabeth Eddison Lizzy¡¯s awesome in many ways. I think sometimes she wants to grow up too fast, though. She IS really mature, but we¡¯re still just girls! The best thing about Liz is that she never gives up. If there¡¯s something that needs to be done, then by willikers she won¡¯t stop until it gets done! - excerpt from Kate¡¯s journal ¡°Are you all right?¡± Elizabeth asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? What happened?¡± Elmer and Amelia groaned in unison, Elmer as he lay on the floor and Amelia as she sat at the counter. ¡°Do you remember this, my dear?¡± asked Elmer. Amelia nodded. ¡°Yes, unfortunately.¡± ¡°I suppose¡­I¡¯ll have to add it to the book, then!¡± With a weak smile Elmer removed the notebook from his pocket while lying on the floor. ¡°Could I trouble you up there for a pen?¡± ¡°Oh, get up, Elmer,¡± said Amelia. She dismounted her chair to assist Elmer to his feet. ¡°Why do I need to leave?¡± Elizabeth asked. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°Oh you¡¯re not in any immediate danger,¡± said Amelia as Elmer scribbled in his notebook. ¡°But this is the Cascade, unless I¡¯m mistaken!¡± exclaimed Elmer. ¡°You are not,¡± said Amelia. ¡°Which means,¡± he continued, ¡°that this world¡¯s time has come. Or similar. You must away.¡± ¡°With¡­Callie?¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°Quite! And¡­perhaps you could take us with you?¡± He paused from writing and looked up, pen in his mouth. ¡°I say Amelia, I¡¯m not quite sure what I ought to write!¡± Elizabeth gazed out the window into the rainy drizzle outside. Where had Callie disappeared to? She remembered what Kate had said: she should go get her birthday brooch. The one which supposedly summoned Callie. The one which, Elizabeth had no doubt, Kate had created and given her two months ago for precisely this point in time. She informed Shape and Sky that she was going to get something and then hurried up to her room. She found the crystalline butterfly brooch and paused looking at it. It would truly be a shame if she had to smash it. It lay next to the book of poetry that Kate had begun. Elizabeth lay her hand on the book and nearly opened it when a loud sound came from downstairs. It was several loud sounds rolled into one: breaking glass, men shouting, and gunshots. Her heart skipped a beat. Isaac. He had said something about danger, right? About an inhuman creature hunting him because of his angel? Black? Elizabeth gripped the brooch in one hand and the book in the other as the noise below continued. Something crashed, people cried out in pain. Elizabeth took a step toward the door, and then another. Who was it? Were they here for Callie? Should she summon Callie now? Were Elmer and Amelia in danger? And what about AJ? Was she still in town? Elizabeth rubbed AJ¡¯s ring with her thumb as she peered down the hall. She steeled herself and took another step. If they wanted Callie, she wasn¡¯t here. But¡­what if they were after Elmer and Amelia? Those two believed they were being hunted. They could be in trouble. Step by step, Elizabeth left her room and crept down the hall, past her dance/taekwondo studio. Perhaps she would soon see whether all that taekwondo practice amounted to anything. Eric had always told her she should study something useful like Krav Maga instead¡­ The noise of shouting and gunfire from below ceased while she was halfway down the hall. She tip-toed to the stairwell. Someone below spoke. Elmer Sky: ¡°Well, really! I nearly spilt my tea in all that fuss.¡± ¡°Go check on Elizabeth, Elmer,¡± said Amelia with a sigh. ¡°Why, yes! I shall. One moment, dear.¡± Elizabeth descended the stairs with caution. She froze in mid-step as soon as the scene below entered her field of view. A half-dozen men lay sprawled about the kitchen and adjacent family room, some of them bloody. Bullet holes peppered the kitchen. Several chairs had been reduced to splinters. The air smelled of gunsmoke and hot metal. The glass doors comprising the outside entrance to the family room had been shattered inward, and broad gashes marred the walls and furniture of the whole area as though a giant had sliced it all up with a great knife. Elizabeth¡¯s first thought was: mom is going to kill me. Amelia stood, arms folded, panting slightly as she surveyed this mess. Elmer sat at the counter with his tea. He sipped it as he spotted Elizabeth. ¡°There she is,¡± he said. ¡°You had us worried.¡± A rough arm seized Elizabeth from behind. She reacted at once as if she¡¯d been subconsciously ready for it, twisting away out of its grasp. She spun and channeled her momentum into a kick against her assailant. Her right shin struck her assailant¡¯s side and bounced uselessly off. He didn¡¯t even grunt. Not enough power. He lunged forward and seized her again. She was not quick enough to avoid this attack. He grappled her with a crushing bear hug and shouted a threat to Elmer and Amelia. Elizabeth gasped as her breath was pressed from her. Were all men this strong? She could do nothing. She clutched Kate¡¯s butterfly brooch tightly. She thought: I refuse to write poems about¡­dying here! Like this! She struggled, uselessly. The man holding her said something else; she didn¡¯t catch it. Then he gasped, his grip weakened, and something warm and wet poured onto the back of Elizabeth¡¯s neck. The man behind her fell. Elizabeth took a couple steps forward, gulping in air. ¡°I say!¡± said Elmer. ¡°Careful, dear!¡± He raised his eyebrows at Amelia over another sip of tea. ¡°Nicked her hair.¡± ¡°What¡­¡± said Elizabeth. She regained her balance and turned to look at the man. She at once turned away. His throat had been sliced open. She tried not to think about what was on her neck. She tried not to vomit. ¡°October Industries,¡± said Amelia as she nudged the nearest body. It groaned faintly. ¡°I remember now. Yes, we were running from these folks.¡± She frowned down at the men splayed out around the family area. ¡°Can¡¯t imagine why, come to think of it.¡± ¡°Did¡­you do this?¡± ¡°Yes, quite!¡± said Elmer with a merry chortle. ¡°I had quite forgotten the sight of Amelia in action. Good show, dear!¡± ¡°But there may be more,¡± said Amelia as she turned back to face them. ¡°And what about Black?¡± asked Elizabeth. They both became very serious. ¡°I think¡­¡± said Amelia, ¡°I remember a bit more now. Something about these men¡­and Black¡­I am sure that if Black appeared here, now, we would all die. Yes, I am certain of that.¡± Elmer nodded. ¡°Yes, quite.¡± He took another sip of his tea. Elizabeth put a hand to her mouth. Her heart had not stopped pounding, and Amelia¡¯s matter-of-fact statement put a new chill through her. If Black showed up, they would all die? And he was in Montana, looking for Isaac? She knew, perhaps for the first time, what it meant to be really afraid for someone she cared about. She hadn¡¯t really taken him completely seriously, had she, when he was going on about rampaging killers? Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Okay.¡± She took a deep, deliberate breath. ¡°What now?¡± ¡°You need your angel,¡± said Amelia. ¡°Callie, is it?¡± Elizabeth finished descending the stairs. A radio nearby squawked just as she was about to reply. She couldn¡¯t quite make out what it said, but she thought it was something about breaking radio silence. One of the men sprawled out in the family room groaned and struggled to respond. ¡°We¡ª¡± A bright green blade of light speared the man through the chest and then vanished. He slumped to the carpet as it began to turn red beneath him. ¡°Really, Amelia, is that entirely necessary?¡± said Elmer. He appeared only mildly perturbed by the carnage; it certainly wasn¡¯t stopping him from enjoying his tea. ¡°Can you take us away, Elmer?¡± Amelia asked him. She now appeared to be on full alert, scanning the other bodies and watching out the windows. ¡°Make a door?¡± ¡°You know I need a horizon for that, my dear. A hilltop, perhaps? I believe I saw a rather fine one toward the sunrise from here¡­¡± ¡°But with the Cascade. The sky is cracked. Can you still do it?¡± ¡°I believe so, provided we can find an undamaged portion. Which ought to be quite manageable at this stage! But of course, we must get there first.¡± ¡°Then at least give us a storm.¡± ¡°Right-o!¡± He winked at her although she was turned away. ¡°I can bring Callie back,¡± Elizabeth told them, trying not to think too much about everything they said. She held up the butterfly brooch, and for the first time noticed that it seemed to glow with an inner golden light. Was that new? ¡°Then do so,¡± said Amelia. ¡°I¡¯m sure she can¡ª¡± She thrust her hand toward the window over the kitchen sink. The entire view outside the window turned pure sky-blue, the color of Elizabeth¡¯s pants. Not a second later the entire house shook violently with an explosion. ¡°-help,¡± Amelia finished. ¡°Dear me!¡± said Elmer. ¡°Good catch!¡± The blue-ness out the window vanished, revealing a cloud of dark smoke that at once began to pour through the broken aperture. Another explosion sounded nearby, and while the first had apparently been blocked by Amelia, this one definitely struck the house, somewhere upstairs. Elizabeth had a sinking feeling that it was her room. Her room had just been destroyed. Did they know she wasn¡¯t in it? She raised the crystal butterfly brooch overhead and hurled it down onto the wooden floor below with all of her might. It didn¡¯t shatter like she¡¯d imagined. But it did break. And when it broke, the room filled with a flash of white light, and then there was Callie. She was seated on a corpse, and at once began nonchalantly licking the fur of her paw. ¡°Callie!¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°Museum! Now!¡± Elizabeth had no idea what to expect, or even whether Callie understood what she wanted. Callie had always been unreliable when it came to following instructions. Callie stopped licking and gazed at Elizabeth, eyeless. Then Callie crouched, gathered herself, and sprang at Elizabeth just as another blast shook the house nearby. For Elizabeth, everything went white. White and cool and quiet. And then, dark. Amelia Shape and Elmer Sky took a moment to gaze at the fallen body of Elizabeth Eddison. Elmer drained his tea with a great final gulp before dismounting from the counter and going over to her. ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°I was rather hoping the cat would open a door.¡± Amelia sighed. ¡°Perhaps we should have explained it further.¡± ¡°Or perhaps the cat understood the situation to be a bit more urgent than it, in fact, was?¡± Elmer knelt down by Elizabeth. ¡°How is she?¡± asked Amelia. ¡°Oh, she¡¯s fine. Though I daresay she¡¯ll have a bruise when she wakes up.¡± ¡°If she wakes up.¡± ¡°Er, yes, quite. What shall we do with her?¡± The house shook once more, and this time part of the kitchen wall collapsed. Amelia tilted her head in thought. ¡°I suppose we should take her to her sister? But what good would that do?¡± ¡°Oh Amelia, there¡¯s always another way in. I remember now!¡± ¡°You do?¡± Amelia turned as she heard the sounds of men approaching, shouting orders. ¡°Oh, certainly. It is a place of doors, after all! We just need to find one. I¡¯m sure we can do it, especially now.¡± He cast a meaningful glance up above. Amelia sighed. ¡°I suppose it can¡¯t hurt to try,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit!¡± ¡°Can you carry her?¡± ¡°Oh yes. Let¡¯s see. Up we go!¡± Elmer hefted the unconscious body of Elizabeth over his shoulder. She had been holding a book, which lay on the floor beneath her. Elmer paused for a moment before taking that as well. ¡°Very well, then.¡± Amelia began walking to intercept the men. ¡°Stay close.¡± A half hour later, Shape and Sky crested a hill. Wind howled maniacally; thunder shook heaven and earth; unceasing torrents of rain poured laterally through the dark air. ¡°I say!¡± shouted Elmer Sky over the sound of the storm. ¡°Quite a show back there! For one so out of practice you did rather well I think!¡± Amelia grunted her affirmation, but the sound was lost in the cacophony. ¡°Elmer!¡± she shouted back. ¡°You may have overdone it with this storm!¡± ¡°Quite so! My apologies! I may have gotten a bit carried away!¡± ¡°Just get us out of here!¡± ¡°Right-o!¡± Elmer handed the limp and soaked-to-the-bone body of Elizabeth Eddison to Amelia. He dramatically cracked his knuckles and positioned himself on the hilltop such that only the dark, stormy, and now badly damaged sky was visible to him beyond the crest of the hill. He reached up and pushed. A rectangular section of the dark sky opened backwards like a door, revealing sunlit green hills beyond. Amelia proceeded through the aperture in the sky, moving in one step from the cold wind and rain into a warm sunny day. Elmer followed and closed the door in the sky behind him. It troubled him to see that here too the sky above was damaged and dying. But at least they were far from where they had been before, and in a warm dry place where they could take care of Elizabeth. They laid her on the grass. Elmer procured a thermos of tea. The man named Shadrach surveyed the wreckage. He nudged a fallen board with his foot. Someone, somewhere, must have known about what those two could do. Someone, somewhere, had failed to inform him. Someone, somewhere, could therefore be held responsible for the lives of the nine of his men who had just perished at the hands of a light-wielding variation. Raschez, damn him. Nikola Raschez must have known. He turned without another word and exited the structurally unsound house. He hoped the others had better luck. Chapter 52 Chapter 52 Kaitlyn Carter i am dust and breath i am a small, bright nothing¡ª a handful of sky - A haiku from the book of poetry, unattributed ¡°D-dra-dragonfly?¡± said Kate. Leah nodded. ¡°Hehe! W-why does he c-call you a d-dragonfly?¡± ¡°I told him I want to be a dragon.¡± She held up Frisby to demonstrate. ¡°But he says I¡¯m still too small!¡± Kate giggled. ¡°H-h-he¡¯s p-probably right!¡± They sat on the living room couch. Kate¡¯s crystal butterfly, the white queen of her chessboard, perched on the coffee table in front of them. It still shone with light, but it had not turned into an angel. Kate had been sure that playing music for it again would do the trick. Maybe she just had to wait for the Cascade. What about Heidi and Eric¡¯s angels? She didn¡¯t know what they were; she had never seen that in the Museum. She knew hers was a butterfly. She knew she was looking at it. It sat right there on the coffee table. But¡­ ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± asked Leah. Kate smiled down at her. Leah played with Frisby Wiser. Dragons? Dragonflies? Hmm. Kate held up her scarf and examined it. Snowflakes. That was her symbol. That¡¯s what would be on her door, if she was still alive. But she had seen a dragon too. ¡°M-make sure you d-don¡¯t l-l-lose track of him!¡± she told Leah, bopping Frisby on the head. Kate¡¯s phone buzzed. She scrambled to extract it from the inner pocket of her lab coat, fearing the worst. But¡­it was from a number she didn¡¯t know. She immediately thought back to her dream in the Museum with that strange alien girl named Zayana. The message read: ¡°Cascade beginning very soon. OI will attack. You have to break it. -Christmas.¡± Christmas? What? She texted back: ¡°How soon? Who are you?¡± Whoever it was did not immediately reply. Was it Alan on one of his burn phones? She decided to try calling Alan. The last she had heard, he was coming to Chicago. She could not reach him. ¡°Very soon,¡± the message had said. And if she couldn¡¯t figure out her angel before then, and if OI really did attack¡­ She stood, fighting off the cold grip of anxiety, gripping her phone. Alan could track her phone via GPS; she had made sure of that. Both of her phones. But GPS might not work once the Cascade hit. She texted him the address to Eric¡¯s apartment just in case. Then she turned to Leah. ¡°C-come here, Leah!¡± She led Leah over to the kitchen table. ¡°Look at this.¡± They both knelt on chairs around the table where Kate had piled her stuff. Kate couldn¡¯t help but check the time. Eric and Heidi had been gone about a half hour now. But Eric had texted her (thoughtfully!) just a few minutes ago that they were both fine and would be back soon. Kate wanted them to be back soon. But she didn¡¯t think they would be. She didn¡¯t think¡­ No! ¡°N-n-now, I¡ª¡± Something cracked. A thick, heavy crack, like the breaking of a bone. Kate knew it immediately; she had heard it before. She knew what was happening. She bit her lip, and fought back tears as her heart ached. ¡°It t-towers over me,¡± she whispered. ¡°I get it, Jim.¡± No! Not like this. One thing she knew about the future: it could always be changed. Just because she saw something in the Museum never meant it absolutely had to happen. Think, Kate, think! What mattered most? Leah. She had to keep Leah safe. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± asked Leah. She reached over and tugged on Kate¡¯s lab coat. ¡°Kate? What was that noise?¡± Kate¡¯s head hung over the table. Her long black hair veiled her face, but even through this veil her shattered scar glimmered with faint color. Kate stood up from her chair, extracted a back-up cell phone from her backpack, and handed it to Leah. ¡°L-le-leah!¡± she said. ¡°Y-you n-n-nee-need t-to t-ta-ta-youneedtotakethis!¡± She held the phone out until Leah hesitantly grabbed it, eyes wide. ¡°Kate?¡± Leah¡¯s voice shook a little. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°D-d-don¡¯t lose it!¡± said Kate. She quickly checked her own pockets. Notebook about Museum, piece of paper she¡¯d written the note on¡­yes. Okay. Guitar? Kate ran back to Eric¡¯s room and retrieved her guitar. She paused when unhooking it from the amp. Eric had two amps together in his room; a portable amp the size of a toaster sat beside his main one. It probably didn¡¯t sound too great, but¡­ Kate brought them both out into the kitchen, and momentarily panicked when she failed to locate Leah. ¡°Kate!¡± said Leah from the living room. ¡°Kate, Come look.¡± Kate followed the voice into the living room and out onto the apartment¡¯s tiny balcony. She knew what she would see out there: the sky, cracking, breaking. The Cascade. She joined Leah. The balcony overlooked the street they had walked to reach the apartment. Kate couldn¡¯t help but scan it for Eric and Heidi. She didn¡¯t see them. But she did see a couple of grey-and-orange trucks parked inconspicuously down the street. Not okay. The message had warned her that the Cascade was about to happen. It had also warned her that October Industries would attack. She put a hand on Leah¡¯s shoulder and began pulling her away from the balcony. ¡°Leah,¡± she said, ¡°w-w-we need t-to go.¡± She practically dragged Leah away from the balcony railing and into the living room. She tugged at her scarf and bit her lip as she looked around. They just had to go. That was what mattered. No time. Kate marched back into the kitchen, grabbed her bass¡ª The front door of the apartment exploded. The force of the explosion flipped the kitchen table and sent Kate hurtling to the ground. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. She tumbled to a stop against the wall. Her chest hurt; pain made it difficult to breathe. Leah screamed. Kate forced herself to open her eyes. Sharp pains stabbed at her left eye, and the vision there was blurry. The lens of her glasses had shattered. She heard men shouting, running, getting closer. No. No, no, no. She still gripped her bass guitar in one hand. With what seemed like a monumental effort she heaved the guitar into position across her body and sat up. The amp cord dangled from the guitar¡¯s base. The portable amp¡­there, under the flipped table. Leah kept screaming, or was still screaming¡ªKate could not measure the passage of time. She just had one chance, one idea. In the Museum, music mattered. And the Cascade bridged the gap between the Museum and reality. At least, she thought so. Kate leaned over, struggling to clear her head and ignore the pain, located the end of the amp cord, and reached for the portable amp. She plugged it in, switched it on, prayed that it had battery life. A red light appeared. She twisted the knob she hoped was volume. Kate became aware that several men had entered the kitchen and were aiming advanced weaponry in her direction. Going to kill her? Take her angel? She didn¡¯t know. She just had to keep Leah safe. One of them shouted something at her, but she couldn¡¯t seem to make it out. Her ears rang. It reminded her of the other explosion, the one that had given her the scar. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the kitchen cupboards, she placed her fingers on the frets and strummed as hard as she could. She focused on producing not merely sound, but sensation; emotion; feeling. In the Museum, a great difference existed between sound and music. The amp did indeed suck. It produced a thin and tinny sound when she played. Yet that sound was enough to fling the table up into the air and back toward the men with the strange weapons. The sound pressed Kate back against the cupboard; it cracked the window of the oven; electricity skittered around and around inside the microwave. The table attack caught them off-guard. Several of them fired their weapons, a chaotic explosion of light and noise. Kate¡¯s hearing returned and she struggled to her feet amid the chaos. A man lunged at her - she flailed blindly with the bass and for the second time today (and in her life) it connected solidly with someone¡¯s head. The man stumbled; Kate staggered. Leah kept screaming. The air filled with smoke and dust as parts of the ceiling crumbled. The floor beneath shook. She tasted blood. Someone shouted from the direction of the door¡ªa woman, her voice rising above the rest: ¡°Now! Don¡¯t let her escape!¡± Something shook the room. A concussive blast shoved Kate backwards into the living room, knocking the breath out of her. In midair she focused on the guitar and plucked a final desperate chord. She put all of her anger and fear and determination into it. The chord resounded through the apartment. Windows shattered; debris trembled on the floor; dust and smoke swirled briefly into intricate geometrical patterns. The chord resonated in Kate¡¯s bones. She heard it mingle with the sounds of gunfire, Leah screaming, men shouting, a strange crackling sound she did not know¡­and the faint sound of chimes, a beautiful, ethereal sound that seemed to hover on the brink of audibility. The chord righted Kate in the air, and she landed lightly on her feet in the living room. Her scarf and lab coat spun around her. Something shone with light at her feet. Her butterfly. She stooped to pick it up and saw something out of the corner of her eye. One of the men from October Industries, activating one of their strange energy weapons, aiming it at her. The crystal butterfly hummed in her hand, vibrating with energy. All the McFinnium in the world would be doing the same right now, she was fairly sure. Because of the resonance. She threw the butterfly at them. She thought about saying ¡°resonance, bitches¡± because that was the sort of thing Eric would say and it seemed appropriate. She had to be content with imagining him saying it, however, because that was simply not the sort of thing she would say herself, what with her stutter and Leah being present. Everything exploded. Again, a wave of force pushed Kate back. She felt her bass crack in her hand. She heard Leah scream. Leah! Kate turned in the direction of the scream, struggling to see through the remaining cracked lens of her glasses. Leah had retreated onto the ruined balcony. The guardrails and half of the floor of the balcony had disappeared. Leah clutched her red dragon with one hand and pinwheeled with the other in an attempt to steady herself. She fell to her knees with a gasp, then she looked at Kate with wide eyes. ¡°Leah!¡± Kate gestured frantically. ¡°C-c-co-c-come on!¡± But Leah was petrified. She couldn¡¯t move. The balcony was giving way; it shifted, groaning. A sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu overwhelmed Kate. This. This was what she had seen in the Museum. She had been here before. Time, for a brief moment, stopped for her. (That was supposed to be Eric¡¯s thing.) Leah was going to fall. The floor of the balcony would give way, and Leah would fall, nine stories down. Kate closed her eyes, squeezing out tears, and sprang forward as the balcony, a slab of metal and wood, tore free from its tenuous grip on the building. Two quick steps and she was there, hurtling out the balcony doors. She could hardly see, and in that moment she could not feel any pain, nor hear any sound. But she felt her hand make contact with Leah, with the fabric of her shirt. She seized Leah with both hands, turned, and shoved the girl back into the apartment with all her might. According to Newton¡¯s third law of motion, this action shoved Kate out to the edge of the balcony, her feet skidding on the debris, nine stories up. The balcony fell with a final crumbling groan, and she fell with it. The strange thing was that, although she had known she was going to die as soon as she saw Leah out on the edge, she hadn¡¯t thought about it at all during her jump. Only after, when gravity began to pull her down to the earth below, away from Leah, did she realize that this was it. She hadn¡¯t found her angel after all. She looked up into the shattered sky as she fell, with one good eye. She saw that Frisby Wiser fell alongside her. Even cracked and breaking, the sky above was beautiful. It always was. All she had ever wanted to do was look at the sky. Jordan swore violently. That had all gone to complete shit in a hurry. Since when did this girl have a magic guitar? The apartment reeked of smoke and fire. It had been fairly wrecked by the destructive weapons her men carried. And yet¡­ Jordan didn¡¯t bother stepping over to the ruined balcony. One man stood there, looking down. ¡°Dead,¡± he reported. ¡°Where are the other targets?¡± She looked disdainfully down at the man who had, apparently, been brained with said magic guitar. He was being helped to his feet. ¡°Get up.¡± ¡°Other targets sighted,¡± the man from the balcony reported. ¡°They¡¯re down below.¡± Jordan nodded. ¡°Then we still have a chance. Let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°What about the girl?¡± asked one of her men. ¡°She¡¯s dead. Leave her.¡± ¡°No, this girl.¡± He pointed to a small asian child crying softly in a corner of the room, watching them with wide, fearful eyes. ¡°She¡¯s dead too. Let¡¯s go.¡± Jordan led them out of the destroyed apartment and began jogging toward the stairwell. Couldn¡¯t trust the elevators anymore. She reached up to her earpiece. ¡°Mark their positions but wait to engage until I arrive.¡± In response: the sound of gunfire. Chapter 53 Chapter 53 Eric and Heidi So Eric is pretty funny! He tries really hard to act all cool and aloof and stuff but really he¡¯s just a goofy nerd like Isaac. But when he¡¯s not trying so hard he¡¯s really sweet. And he has dreams about being a hero and saving the world and fighting and even dying to help people. Which I think is actually pretty cool I guess ; ) - excerpt from Kate¡¯s journal ¡°So yeah, I think you need like a special permit to buy ammunition in Chicago. Or something. You can¡¯t just¡­like, buy it.¡± ¡°Yes, I get it.¡± Eric tried not to smile. That poor cashier had been so confused. ¡°So I guess you¡¯re the ¡®be prepared¡¯ type.¡± Eric hefted the plastic bags up into the air. They had purchased a fair amount of potential survival gear. Also some hot sauce. Heidi was also the takes-pleasure-from-mouth-being-on-fire type. ¡°Kate seems to know what is about to happen, somehow,¡± Heidi replied, ¡°but we don¡¯t. So yeah, we¡¯re going to be prepared.¡± They exited the parking lot of the store and turned the corner. Eric had sent a text to Kate not long ago. She might be wondering what was taking them so long. ¡°So Leah is good at math?¡± said Heidi. ¡°You said something about that earlier¡­¡± Eric nodded. ¡°Yep. We just found out not too long ago. She¡¯s real good with numbers. She can¡­uh¡­did you hear that?¡± Something had happened in the middle of his sentence, something difficult to describe. A strange breaking, shifting sensation. It felt like a bone breaking, only throughout his entire body, and without the pain. Heidi whacked him on the arm. Eric glanced at her and saw that she wasn¡¯t looking at him. Her attention was fixed upward, on the sky. There, across the partly-cloudy vista overhead, stretched a huge crack. Smaller cracks splintered off at the jagged edges. It glimmered with light. It looked a lot like Kate¡¯s scar. ¡°Is¡­this what she was talking about?¡± asked Heidi, still looking up. ¡°No idea,¡± said Eric. ¡°But I think we better hurry.¡± They picked up their pace. Isaac had said something about this too, hadn¡¯t he? Something about a crack in the sky. Had it happened in Montana already? What in the hell was a crack in the sky, anyway? What did it mean? He made a mental note to message Isaac when he had a minute, after they got home. They turned onto the street of Eric¡¯s apartment building, about a block down from the entrance. Heidi seized his arm, bringing him to a sudden halt. ¡°What?¡± he asked. Heidi narrowed her eyes at something on the street. Eric saw nothing out of the ordinary. A few pedestrians, some vehicles, trees¡­ ¡°The vans,¡± said Heidi. She nodded toward a couple grey and orange vans parked across from Eric¡¯s apartment building. ¡°That¡¯s October Industries.¡± She pulled him back, partly around the corner, out of sight. ¡°The, uh, sinister industrial corporation Isaac was talking about?¡± ¡°It can¡¯t be coincidence that they¡¯re here.¡± ¡°Well Leah¡¯s in there, and Kate, so we¡¯re going in.¡± ¡°Maybe we should call them first,¡± said Heidi. Near the end of her sentence, they heard a faint but distinct explosion, followed soon after by a number of other loud but distant noises. They came from the general direction of Eric¡¯s apartment. Eric dropped the bags he carried and sprinted down the sidewalk. Danger? Hell yeah, I¡¯ll take, like, six. He remembered that. Only days ago. But not Leah. No danger for her, thanks, and keep the fucking change. He looked up to locate the balcony of his apartment. Smoke billowed from the external door. He skidded momentarily to a stop when he saw a tiny figure up there, teetering on the edge. It was Leah, and she was about to fall. He kept his eyes up as he ran. This was why he saw a larger figure in a colorful lab coat come flying out the smoke of the apartment building, grab Leah, and heave her to safety just as the balcony gave way.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. No. Eric felt an icy knife in his stomach. His feet failed him and he tripped to the ground. He didn¡¯t care; he kept his eyes on Kate as she fell amidst a cloud of random debris, outpacing the balcony as it crashed on the balcony below, flipped, and crushed a car when it struck the street. Something bright fell with Kate; it flashed with light when they hit the ground. Even if he hadn¡¯t tripped, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to reach her before she hit the ground. And even if he had reached her, it may have done no good. Nine stories was a long way to fall. But the sound Kate made when her body smacked into the asphalt shocked him like a physical blow, and it haunted his dreams for a long time thereafter. ¡°No,¡± he whispered. ¡°No.¡± A bad dream. It had to be. He had seen Kate in his dreams, right? This whole day¡ªjust a nightmare. Maybe he¡¯d fallen asleep in Lincoln Park and everything from Shade on¡­ He scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to Kate¡ªto what used to be Kate. She lay face-up, her head tilted away from him, presenting the shattered-glass-like scar on her cheek and neck. Her glasses had broken. Blood gathered under her head, seeping into the upper part of her lab coat which fanned out around her like the wings of a snow angel. Or a butterfly, one that had fallen into a puddle of red ink. Her colorful dress had bunched up around the knees. Eric dropped to one knee. Everything about this was wrong. Something drifted down on top of the body: Kate¡¯s reddish-purple snowflake scarf. One end of it landed in the blood; the other trailed over to a stuffed red dragon that lay on the broken glass. The footsteps of someone else came up beside him. Heidi. ¡°Kate¡­¡± she whispered. Eric felt a hand grip his shoulder, hard enough to hurt. He hesitantly reached out and, following no impulse he was aware of, took hold of the scarf. He gathered it in one hand and squeezed it tightly. This couldn¡¯t be happening. If she falls¡­ The memory acted upon Eric like a bucket of cold water. He jerked to a state of alertness. The phone call from this morning. It had been a warning. No, not a warning. But the voice, maybe himself from the future, had told him what to do if she fell. Check the pockets. He reached out toward Kate, but hesitated. ¡°Eric,¡± said Heidi, her voice shaking. ¡°There¡¯s nothing you can do.¡± Eric¡¯s hand hovered in the air, shaking. This couldn¡¯t be right. Kate could see the future or something, couldn¡¯t she? He suddenly remembered the look she had given him just before leaving with Leah. A look of sadness? Fear? Had she known this would happen? He saw that among the debris lay a broken metronome. Eric¡¯s hand became a fist. The voice on the train, on the other end of the mysterious phone number. It had claimed to be himself, from the future. Kate could see the future. Jim could paint the future. Shade had called him ¡°the time guy.¡± What the hell did that mean? The pockets. He had to check the pockets. ¡°We need to go,¡± said Heidi, suddenly sounding concerned. ¡°Just¡­just a minute,¡± said Eric. He swallowed and reached out, but could not make himself touch Kate¡¯s body. He closed his eyes and breathed a deep breath. You can do this. She¡¯s not here anymore. Just check the pockets. ¡°Eric! What are you doing! We need to go, now.¡± ¡°Hang on,¡± said Eric. Kate¡¯s dress, he discovered, had no pockets. Her lab coat¡­ He heard the sound of a handgun being cocked from Heidi beside him. ¡°Eric!¡± Her lab coat, on the other hand, had too many fucking pockets. In one he found a notebook and a scrap of paper; in another, her cell phone. Gunshots exploded nearby, seemingly directly next to his ear. Okay. He removed the broken shades from the pocket of his jacket and put them on. He stood, holding the scarf, and looked at Heidi. He almost turned to see what she was shooting at, but he remembered what Shade had said. He could only see the reactions or intentions of people. In the shaded vision of his left eye, he saw Heidi reel back as a something struck her shoulder. He grabbed her arm and yanked her aside. Not a second later the sound of a gunshot came from the direction she had been shooting. Her jacket twitched as a bullet tore through it. In his left eye he saw himself grab Frisby Wiser and run. Had he been about to grab Frisby? Apparently, although he had not even been thinking of it. Yes. Yes, he should. When he saw Leah again, she would want it. And he would see Leah again. He and Heidi ran, and Eric stooped to snatch up the stuffed red dragon on the way. ¡°This way!¡± he shouted. He had never gotten a good look at who was shooting them, how many there were, or their exact location. But maybe he could lose them. And if he could get the hang of these crazy sunglasses¡­ That thought almost led back to Kate; he stopped it brutally in its tracks. Time for that later. For now: he and Heidi had to live, so that they could go back for Leah. Tears in their eyes, Eric and Heidi sprinted around a corner, then down an alleyway. Somewhere overhead, the sky splintered like pressured ice. Chapter 54 Chapter 54 Michael Whyte Of course we all know that Jim is special. Everybody knows that! But he¡¯s not special for the reason that most people think. - excerpt from Kate¡¯s Journal Michael petted the new Hazel as though it were a bomb that might explode. The new Hazel arched its back and wriggled in excitement, just like the old Hazel. It acted like the old Hazel, except for the teleportation. It looked like the old Hazel, except for the coloration and the lack of eyes. It seemed¡­maybe more intelligent? Sometimes the new Hazel looked at Michael in a way that almost seemed meaningful, as though Hazel actually had something to say could he but speak. Jim had no problems with the new Hazel. And Elizabeth, while she had no idea what was going on, had told Michael that maybe he should ¡®just go along with it.¡¯ If Hazel was somehow like Callie now, she had said, then he had nothing to worry about. ¡°I¡¯m scared about Isaac,¡± said Jim as he played with the blue ball. The ball, at the moment, possessed no extraordinary properties. If it fell, it bounced for a while and then stopped. Michael watched the white dog. Just like Hazel, it was over-interested in everything happening around it. ¡°Well there¡¯s nothing we can do for him right now,¡± he said. The dog suddenly leapt to its feet and tore off across the park at top speed. ¡°Is it about that Black? The guy in the painting?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Hazel ran a few laps around the park before returning and flopping down beside them, panting and smiling. Michael looked up at the sky. A few wispy clouds stretched lengthwise across it. ¡°You bummed about your paintings?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jim. ¡°But I guess it¡¯ll be okay. I think I¡¯ll get the chance to redo the ones I was working on.¡± ¡°Your birthday¡¯s coming up.¡± ¡°Yeah. I don¡¯t want anything though. I mean, I just want us all to be together, and to all be okay.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Montana. That¡¯s where they should go next. To make sure Isaac would be okay. And then¡­back to AJ¡¯s place? ¡°Did you take any good pictures?¡± asked Jim. ¡°Some.¡± ¡°What was your best one?¡± ¡°Probably the one of that old-time-looking store out on main street. The angle of the light was great.¡± ¡°Oh, nice. The light. Good.¡± Someone else saying it like that might have sounded condescending, or disinterested. Hazel hopped to his feet, then lay back down. ¡°Elizabeth said photography means drawing with light,¡± said Jimothy. ¡°Can we go look at the store?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± Michael stood. Then after that they should probably head out. To Montana. He helped Jimothy to his feet and handed him his cane. ¡°We¡¯ll go check it out, then we¡¯ll pack up and go.¡± ¡°To Montana?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± He walked Jimothy out to Main Street. It happened when they reached the sidewalk, the event which Jimothy would later call the ¡°Cascade.¡± The sky broke overhead. ¡°Hey,¡± said Jimothy, looking up into the sky. ¡°Yeah, I see it,¡± said Michael. Hazel ran laps around them, barking furiously and leaping up into the air, biting at the clouds. They stood together on the sidewalk, looking up, until Jim fell over and Michael helped him back to his feet. ¡°Jim, what is this?¡± Michael remembered the picture he had sent to Isaac¡ªthe one of a kid looking at a crack in the sky. He kept looking at the sky. Yeah, it looked like that painting. ¡°Photography,¡± said Jimothy beside him, as though in wonder. Michael looked down at Jim. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Look, Mike! Photography.¡± Jim reached into the air in front of him and drew a diagonal red line with his index finger. The line was as thick as his finger, and bright, opaque red. It stuck in the air, unmoving. Michael could think of nothing to say, so he settled for ¡°Ah.¡± Jim proceeded to draw a smiley face in the air, this time in a shade of deep green. He grinned in pure delight. Michael stepped forward and circled the shapes Jimothy had drawn in the air. They existed in three dimensions. He reached out and touched the red line. It was smooth and hard like glass, neutral in temperature. It didn¡¯t move when he applied pressure. First Hazel and now this? Was he going crazy? ¡°Jim, is this a dream?¡± he asked. ¡°Let me check,¡± said Jim. He visibly concentrated, as he always did when seeing the Line. Then he shook his head. ¡°Nope. It¡¯s real. Hey Mike, maybe you should get a Line too.¡± He kept grinning. Mike laughed weakly. ¡°Uh, yeah. Maybe.¡± He gripped the red line in the air and pulled. It didn¡¯t budge. Jimothy swept his hand through the air over his head. Vibrant color bloomed, shimmered, spiraled into cascading folds of light. The colors flexed away into the air before dissolving. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Wow,¡± Mike whispered. Another painting came to mind, the picture AJ had sent him. The one Jimothy did not remember painting. It had looked a little like this. Michael got the feeling that he could benefit from going back and having another look at all of Jim¡¯s paintings. Tonight. Tonight, he would do that. ¡°Listen,¡± he said, ¡°Maybe we should get¡ª¡± The crack of a gunshot. A flash of white light. Michael was lying on his back in the middle of a road, looking at the fractured dome of the sky. He and Jimothy sat up together in mutual disorientation. ¡°What was that?¡± asked Jimothy. Michael scanned the area. Had that really been gunfire? Yes. They were here. He hadn¡¯t been careful enough. Were they tracking his car? He found them down the street, lit by the slanting afternoon sun: men in orange and grey coats. He saw the new Hazel crouched in front of Jimothy, fangs bared toward these men. He saw a van rapidly bearing down on them as though to run them over. Very rapidly. Michael tried to scramble to his feet. He had to get Jimothy out of here. But there wasn¡¯t time. The van was too close. Jimothy reached out toward the oncoming vehicle. An angled plane of translucent blue color appeared in front of them. The van hit the ramp full speed; it cruised right up over their heads and crashed sideways onto the street behind them. Tiny bits of glass and debris pelted the Whyte brothers. Don¡¯t think about it. Just go. He had to get them to their car. Had to get out of here. Gunfire thundered through the air. Mike rolled on top of Jimothy. He didn¡¯t think it would help. But Jimothy mattered. And if he was going to die, Mike wanted to die doing something that mattered too, like protecting his brother. Although the sounds of gunfire did not cease, Mike did not feel any pain. Were they shooting at something else? He twisted to look. A half dozen men down the street were unloading at Michael and Jimothy. But something stood in the way: Hazel. A dozen or more stuttering copies of the white Australian shepherd, all crouched in the same attack position, shuttering like glitching graphics in a videogame. The men beyond kept firing, but nothing touched Mike or Jim. ¡°Hazel!¡± Jim shouted. ¡°Hazel! Don¡¯t hurt them, okay?¡± Michael watched Hazel closely, trying to figure out what was going on. For just an instant, flickering copies of Hazel appeared behind the men with guns. The shooting ceased; the men in grey coats shouted in pain and fell to the ground, clutching at their knees, their legs. Michael turned and saw Hazel prancing excitedly beside Jimothy. ¡°Good boy,¡± said Jimothy with a smile. He patted Hazel on the head. ¡°Now,¡± he said, ¡°can you take us to Isaac, Hazel? And the rest of them? Can you do that, boy?¡± Hazel jumped up into the air, glowing like a lightbulb. A flash of whiteness bloomed outward when he hit the ground, as though his pure white fur expanded into all of Michael¡¯s vision. When it had passed, Michael saw Jimothy lying unconscious on the street, and Hazel nowhere in sight. Without stopping to question it, he scooped Jimothy up in his arms and ran to his car. Those men who had been shooting still lay on the street, wounded in the legs. Had Hazel put their own speeding bullets behind them? Don¡¯t worry about it; just go. He made it to the car. He gently placed Jimothy in the passenger¡¯s seat and buckled the seatbelt. He shut the door and opened the backseat to throw in his camera. ¡°Michael Whyte, is it?¡± said a voice behind him. Michael swiveled and held the camera up like a weapon. He saw a middle-aged man, tall, narrow, with a well-trimmed beard, wearing one of the orange-and-black coats. He leaned aslant as though against a gale. The man flinched backward at the camera. And although he visibly re-evaluated it as being just a camera, he remained on-guard and didn¡¯t take his eyes off of it. Afraid of the camera? ¡°Photography,¡± said Mike. ¡°Drawing with light.¡± Michael unscrewed the lens cap and continued to hold it as though threatening to take a picture. The man stepped back and raised his hands to show that he held no weapon. ¡°My name is Ezekiel, I guess,¡± said the man. Strange burn scars decorate the skin around his eyes. ¡°Okay,¡± said Michael. Ezekiel did not look immediately threatening, but Jim had just been shot at. ¡°Who are you? Why are you trying to kill us?¡± The man sighed and rubbed his forehead. ¡°It wasn¡¯t you. We just wanted the angel, I guess. But now¡­¡± The man¡¯s watch beeped. It was a smart-watch. He held it up and tapped through a few messages, reading something. He mouthed a profanity, then looked back at Michael. ¡°Have you seen a man named Black?¡± he asked. ¡°Of course not; you¡¯re still alive. Forget it. However¡ª¡± ¡°You mean this?¡± Michael stepped back and extracted the painting from the back of the car with one hand. They¡¯d been going to get rid of it anyway, right? Ezekiel stepped back in fear, his eyes wide. ¡°You still have that? I thought it had burned!¡± ¡°Uh. Nope. Here you go.¡± He tossed the canvas to the ground at Ezekiel¡¯s feet. The man leapt away as though Michael had thrown a deadly serpent. Michael took this opportunity to move around to the driver¡¯s side of the car and get in. Time to leave. He had no desire to hang around with Ezekiel and his injured cronies. Just get Jim out of here. He put the car in reverse and backed out of his space, keeping a clear view of Ezekiel, who now had a firearm but was aiming it at the painting on the ground. Even in the sunlight, the painting looked just like a black void, a window with literally nothing on the other side. And Ezekiel was going to, what, shoot it? Michael didn¡¯t think that would work. Gunshots sounded from behind as Michael left the parking lot and turned away from the highway. The eerie breaking sound continued overhead, vibrating in Michael¡¯s bones as he took a side street, turned a corner as quickly he dared, then peeled off onto the highway and floored it to the north. Ezekiel unloaded his entire clip on the painting as Michael Whyte drove off. The Whyte brothers could be dealt with later. But if Black somehow showed up, everything would go to shit even further than it already had. Ezekiel turned his back on the painting and strode back to main street. His men still shouted and cried out in pain. All of them, shot in the legs with their own bullets. These angels were terrifying. Someone, somewhere, had not told them everything. Someone had set them up. That someone was Raschez. Damn him. A voice, behind him: ¡°Shay, don¡¯t I know you from shomewhere?¡± Ezekiel froze. ¡°He wash here, washn¡¯t he? The artisht. Yesh. I shee.¡± A cold sweat broke out over Ezekiel at the sound of a gun slowly being cocked behind him. ¡°But firsht¡­we have unfinished bushinesh.¡±