《139: In Evening》 Coming Evening ¡°The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don''t know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and it really happened." - Unknown Present-day 10:39 p.m. With each deep breath, he felt the sting of the wound in his left shoulder. He winced when he tore away his bloodied shirt sleeve and let out a seething gasp of pain. The bullet wound was a clean through and through, but the pain was only felt in the front as his back had gone numb. The hotel room was veiled mostly in darkness, with only a flickering incandescent red lamp on the nightstand illuminating the place. The furniture, all themed on mahogany and heartwood, had their shadows dancing across the walls in bursts. The curtains were drawn closed but the light of the fires outside blipped through the cloth. He thought the room looked like hell. With his free hand, he took a bottle of vodka off the dresser next to him and leaned back against the recliner he sat in. He could feel the spine of the chair drenched warm, probably with his blood more than sweat. There was a white towel on his armrest and embroidered in gold in its corner was Hotel Alexandria. ¡°Okay,¡± he said to himself, taking deep breathes once more. He looked to his left and sure enough, the cabinet he had pushed against the door stood firm behind the locks and latch. He turned back and saw his reflection in the dresser mirror. His face was pale, not with fear, but a fierce look of determination. Though his eyes had a black ring of fatigue around it, his skin was bleached white. His maroon hair was darkened more by blood. Oily and unkempt. His green eyes felt distant, and he looked nothing like he thought he''d look. Given the situation, he felt that the mirror was doing him a favour, making him out as clean as he was. The entire left half of his white shirt was stained with blood. ¡°Okay,¡± he said again, trying to squeeze out the remnants of hesitation in him. He hovered the bottle of vodka over his injured shoulder. ¡°Okay.¡± He overturned the bottle and its contents poured over his wound. Through gritted teeth, he let out a scream, foaming and drooling. The bottle fell out of his hand before it was even half emptied, spilling over the carpet floor. Quickly, he took the towel and wrapped it around his wound and knotted it using his teeth, letting out a pained scream in the process as the makeshift bandage tightened. Releasing the knot, he felt weak and disoriented. Tired, unable to think, all he remembered was a fog of darkness surrounding him.
His eyes flew open as he woke. The familiar itch and slight pain of his missing right arm tingled his senses. The pain from the gunshot wound in his left shoulder was gone, as expected. With his left arm, he reached for the stump where his right elbow was and felt the dried blood on the bandage. ¡°Damn it,¡± he sighed, getting to his feet. He wore a black shirt, torn, tattered and dirtied at places. The entire right sleeve and part of the right side was a darker shade than the rest, having been drenched in blood before. He wore a pair of black cargo pants that had been ripped through the left pocket, a scar from a cut down the calves could be seen through it. His once grey shoe had a shell of dried mud covering it. Scanning the area, he was surrounded by rows and columns of red metal pillars and beams, fences of crisscrossing support rebars, cardboard walls, and sparse wooden plank flooring. A couple of gas lamps hung under the beams, spread out in such a way that there would always be corners of shadows. ¡°Where the hell am I this time?¡± The gaps in the floor showed there were multiple levels of the same environment that stretched down to what seemed like forever. From what he could see beyond the walls, there were what looked to be stars in the distant night sky. Overall, the place looked like a building in construction. Yet it had no tools, materials, machines or anything else that even remotely tied it down as such a place.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Zut. Zoon. Zut. Zoon. A hair raising sound, one which he had heard too many times before. He spun in his place, looking for the source. Zut. Zoon. Zut. Zoon. The sound of the saw, back and forth, back and forth. Cutting...something. He backed up against the wall so he would have one less direction to cover. His eyes darted between the two corridors that connected his small piece of open space. Zut. Zoon. Zut. Zoon. The beating of his heart was almost as loud as the sound of the saw. The sound got louder, closer. He could now hear the Sawman''s footsteps. Soft knocks for a thing of such size. Zut. Zoon. Zut. Zoon. He was ready to run to the opposite of whichever corridor the Sawman came from. A cat and mouse chase for his life. He needed to wake up though. There were things he needed to finish doing. Zut. Zoon. Zut. Zoon. ¡°Come on, you son of a bitch.¡± He whispered, jaws clenched. Zut. Zoon. Zut. Zoon. ¡°Come on.¡± He thought back to the line of the song, Que Sera Sera. And he whispered, ¡°Whatever will be, will be.¡± A flash of white appeared in the corner of his eyes and he was lifted off his feet by the white cloth that had wrapped itself around his neck. He wanted to shout, to scream for help, as it was humans'' natural instinct, but the noose tightened around his airway, not letting a single puff of air in or out. He twisted, turned, kicked his leg, flailed his arms, but could not get released. Stars filled his vision and a distant part of him wondered if they were the same ones he saw earlier before his vision started to fade to white. It felt as if his eyes were about to come out of its sockets, his head dunked into water and pulled 1000 feet into the sea, about to burst from the pressure. Then it was over.
Present-day 11:12 p.m. He sprang awake and the pain in his shoulder shot through him. He gasped for air, panicking, staring wildly around the room until he slowly realized where he was. Then he started to calm down. Another nightmare. The same painful process in waking. Unable to differentiate between dream and reality. When he caught his breathe and ascertained he still had his right arm, he calmed down, remembered what he needed to do and got to work. With his legs, he pushed the recliner away from the dresser. From the larger side pocket of his cargo pants, he took out a small camera. He turned it on, set the mode to video and started recording. Setting it down to face him on the dresser, he adjusted his position in the LED screen against the mirror and aligned so his face and torso was in the shot. ¡°Hey,¡± he spoke to the imaginary audience of the video. ¡°My name''s Timothy Kleve. If you''re watching this, it means I''m dead. Maybe I failed at stopping this, maybe I didn''t. If I did fail, then what I''m about to tell you is going to help you do what I couldn''t.¡± He paused, closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. His whole shoulder was numb now. He smelled of sweat and blood and he could hear the distant screaming of the riot in the streets below. Opening his eyes, he began to speak. ¡°It all started six months ago. Vashmir Commons was found in his room. Dead. Heart attack. Died in his sleep. The number one-three-nine written all over the walls of his apartment in red paint. I think he''s the first victim. His journal recorded of him having nightmares up till the point of his death. He kept getting chased by what he calls, The Family. At first, people thought it was a joke, that was until more people started dying. In the weeks from Commons, there were over a hundred other reported deaths per week. Three months later, it numbered thousands a month, across the whole world. The only signs were the nightmares, all involving this ''Family''. The officials called it the Vashmir Pandemic. Social media called it Suicide in Nightmare. S-I-N. Sin. Doesn''t matter what it''s called. People were dying and stuff. From heart attacks, dehydration, starvation, suicide, murders, insanity, coma, whatever.¡± He couldn''t focus. His mind a blank but his thoughts racing. Fatigue was pushing him beyond his mental and physical limit, but he had to stay awake until he finished what he needed to say. He leaned his face against his uninjured hand, covering his eyes but not asleep. ¡°Somnidin, an experimental sleep aid drug that reduces dreams was released to hospitals to counter Sin. But the dose had to be regulated since it had...side effects. The regulation led people to desperation. The underground drug scene started playing on this and an entire illegal market for this Somnidin was created. People killed for the drug. It let them sleep, kept them alive and sane. Or, at least what amounted to sane. It couldn''t get any worse. The entire world, cornered in fear of Sin. Enslaved to a drug that could potentially kill them.¡± Leaning back, careful to not press on his arm, Timothy Kleve sank into the recliner. ¡°At least, it couldn''t get any worse until two weeks ago,¡± he sat up straight, staring into the camera with a glazed look in his eyes. ¡°Listen closely. Everything that happened to us during the last two weeks, it''s the key to stopping this.¡± Chapter One: Yesterday, Tomorrow, Today 14 days earlier, 11:45 a.m Lunch breaks and school cafeterias were the symbol of freedom. Or at least they were to students. They represented the precious joy that came from doing the things you loved in a world where you''re constantly forced to do things you hate, like calculus. For those who had not yet found a passion, they were free to explore and think of whatever they wish to. Love, life, sex, drugs, popularity, movies, the world was the minds'' oyster, however broken the shell may be. Seventeen years old Timothy Kleve, student of Ridge Valley High, sat alone at the corner-most lunch table, poking at his chunky bean paste. His maroon hair, a natural coloured gift given to him by his late mother, neat and swept to the side, dangled its bangs in front of his eyes. It irritated his eyelashes but he felt too down in the dumps to even raise his hands to swipe it away. Unlike most teens his age, Tim was not worried of his dressing and demeanour. He wore an odd combination of black jeans with sandals and a tattered hoodie t-shirt, along with other strange combinations on other days that made him the butt of fashion jokes in school. Most of the time, he just picked the first set of clothing he sees in his closet, owning only one set of formal-wear for those rare events and presentations. To him, there was no reason to alter his looks and comfort for others viewing pleasure. ¡°Why so gloomy kid?¡± a body moved into his peripherals and sat down opposite him, setting down a tray with a tuna sandwich and salad down on the table. He knew of only one person that called him ''kid'', even though said person was only a month older. ¡°Lost the spot for the team this year,¡± he replied. ¡°Too bad man,¡± Tim could make out the guy picking up his sandwich and the disgusting chewing that followed. His friend never could close his mouth when he ate. ¡°Naybe yo''ll cat a chansh nesh yearsh.¡± ¡°I don''t know dude,¡± Tim said, finally looking up. ¡°I mean the seniors ¨C Waoh! What the fuck happened to you?¡± Clay Barber had a black ring around his left eye and a partially bloodied tissue stuffed up his right nostril. The black eye was particularly disturbing, seeing how his skin was already black to begin with. Tim found it somewhat impressive that whoever hit him was able to grant a darker colour to ebony skin. Clay''s parent both had early whitening of their hair, something which he inherited at a young age and as such, was teased often about it. Coupled with his ''never back down'' attitude, Clay had gotten into his fair share of scuffles, though the recent one seemed to have left a mark more substantial than normal. He kept his hair short in a buzz cut, which made him look like he was simply wearing a white beanie when viewed from a distance. He wore a black ''peace'' shirt with khaki shorts and sandals, never really having liked long clothings as it made him felt hot. Unlike Tim, Clay didn''t care much for sports and as such, had a thin figure which made his clothes droop over his body like a shower curtain. Despite Clay''s injuries, Tim could not help but crack a grin. ¡°If I didn''t know better, I''d say your whole body''s bruised.¡± Clay swallowed the food in his mouth and pointed with his sandwich, bobbing it at Tim as if it was a pencil. ¡°That''s racist and you know it.¡± ¡°You don''t care and you know it.¡± Clay chuckled. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°You do look like shit,¡± Tim continued mockingly. ¡°More than usual I mean. Who''s it this time? Basketball? Soccer?¡± ¡°Wrestling club.¡± ¡°Ouch,¡± he winced at the imagined pain. ¡°Your pride will be the death of you man.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Clay half bit into his food again but paused to yawn. ¡°Looks like your black eye ain''t just caused by punches,¡± Tim said, unable to stop smiling. ¡°You know, aside from your skin that is.¡± ¡°Skin joke? Seriously?¡± Clay laughed again. ¡°I''m just tired that''s all. ¡°History''s up next. We all know how you love that,¡± he pushed his tray of mush beans away. ¡°Take a nap then.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Clay took a small bite, pulling out the lettuce from between the bread. Tim watched as his friend stared blankly at the sandwich, the crisp lettuce crunching as he reeled it in with his bites. Something about his action felt serene to Tim, but he could not put a finger on why he felt that way. Clay swallowed softly. ¡°I''ll sleep then.¡± XXX 14 days earlier, 02:58 p.m The ringing of the clock tower bell signalled the end of the day, and on that day, the end of the week as well, for Tim felt that the week ends on Friday, starts on Saturday, and ended Sunday again. Towards the end of the class, Clay had quietly stepped out of the classroom and had yet return. Even as the class slowly dwindled, he was nowhere to be seen. With his bag packed and only a handful of students left in the class, Tim packed his book into his sling bag, grabbed his belongings, picked up his club gear, and headed to a girl seated in the far back corner next to the window, directly across from his seat. ¡°Hey Stella, where''s your brother?¡± The girl looked up through her oval glasses from the horror novel she was reading, Vrykolaka. With a long, pony-tailed strawberry blonde hair and ceramic pale skin from her lack of exposure to sunlight, Stella Barber was Clay''s adopted sister. ¡°Aren''t you always with him? Why are you asking me?¡± she replied, putting down her book. She readjusted her glasses, straightened the collar on her white shirt and smoothed the crease out of her checker red and black plaid skirt. ¡°I haven''t seen him since lunch,¡± he retorted. ¡°And we''re not always together.¡± She replied with an exaggerated snicker. ¡°Right...¡± she raised her hands to stretch and gave a veiled yawn. Bending back, her small breasts raised out in front of her, her white bra outlined prominently by her white shirt. Tim felt the temperature rise and could feel his cheeks heating up, no doubt red as an apple. He turned away from the sight. ¡°Y-yeah. I can''t keep taps on him all the the time.¡± ¡°And I''m suppose to?¡± she stopped stretching and turned back to Tim. Noticing his blush, she could not help but grin. ¡°Oh? Little Timmy getting aroused?¡± ¡°Am not!¡± he snapped back, which only caused her to giggle daintily. ¡°You know, people say you''re all soft spoken and nice, but you''re actually a devil aren''t you?¡± She replied with only a smile, causing him to sigh in resignation. ¡°He said he wanted to wash up, so I''m guessing the bathroom''s where he is,¡± she finally answered. Opening her book, she went back to the bookmarked page. ¡°Maybe he fell asleep on the can.¡± ¡°Maybe he slipped and hit his head on the sink,¡± he added. ¡°Maybe he''s vomiting blood into the toilet bowl from food poisoning.¡± ¡°Or maybe he''s fine.¡± ¡°Maybe he got murdered.¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°You''re getting more disturbing by the day. You should stop reading those books.¡± He saw the corner of her mouth form into a smile. ¡°Bye Tim. Tell brother to hurry it up. We''re having pizza tonight.¡± He turned and headed for the door. ¡°Okay, okay. See you later Stell.¡± Closing the classroom door behind him and leaving the girl to her disturbing read, he stepped out into the near empty hallway. Having waited almost half an hour pass the last bell, most of the students had already emptied out of the school. The remaining stragglers had their shadows and reflection stretched across the waxed ceramic floor, silhouetted by the light from the glass front door at the far end of the hallway. Someone slammed a locker and the echo rang through the long chamber. The sounds of footsteps and squeaky shoes were sparse and inconsistent. Tim headed down the familiar hallway, where he had always found the bathrooms to be too few and too far between classrooms which had caused many runs of urgent release. Some rooms still had light shining out from the cracks of the doors with voices coming through that can only be heard as whispers. As he passed two girls having a conversation beside a water cooler they snickered softly and he knew instinctively they were joking about him, but walked on coldly. The lights overhead flickered on, rolling out brightness in his way like a red carpet. A dozen lockers after the gossiping pair of girls were the bathrooms. Males on the left, females on the right, because the girls are always right, Clay once said. ¡°Why don''t you suck my dick, ass-face!¡± Clay''s voice bellowed out from the bathroom out into the hallway. ¡°Fucking kid!¡± came another familiar gruff voice. Something large slammed into the bathroom door, causing such a commotion that people from down the hall turned to search for the source. It did not take a genius to know that there was trouble, which worked out perfectly since Tim had no delusion that he was a genius. Going against the rule of not heading into the screaming and banging location of possible pain, he burst through the door leading to the room that smelled of ammonia and cheap store-brand lemon soap. On the first step in, he saw his seniors, the lanky redhead Joseph, standing tall in front of him. And the shorter, and brutishly muscular Horace, crouched in the corner rummaging through Clay''s bag. Joseph was breathing heavily, his fist clenched and a flaming rage in his brown eyes. There was no doubt in Tim''s mind that this was Clay''s Mr. Ass-Face. Both wore the school''s black Air Rifle Team jacket and pants. ¡°Tim?¡± Clay''s voice croaked out from beside. Tim turned to find his friend slumped down against the wall beside the urinal, next to a dirtied mop, and its bucket. Both his nostrils were bleeding as compared to just one, as was his forehead. He grinned at Tim''s shocked expression, showing that he had also chipped a tooth and not lost his callousness. ¡°What the hell? You all right?¡± Tim stooped down in a awkward attempt to treat his friend''s wound, only to have his hand held back by the latter. ¡°I''m fine,¡± Clay insisted as he tried to get back on his feet, though he still leaned on Tim for support, slinging his arm over his friend. Tim turned to face his seniors. ¡°I don''t know what Clay said this time, but this is too much captain.¡± Joseph took a single step forward. ¡°Not your business Timmy-boy. ''Sides, this ghoul started it.¡± ¡°No smoking in the toilet,¡± Clay coughed out. That''s when Tim noticed the cigarette buds in some of the basins. ¡°Shut up Clay.¡± ¡°These kids jumped me after my shit.¡± ¡°You said it while on the can?¡± ¡°What can I say, I really hate the smell of smoke.¡± Tim turned to his captain. ¡°You guys beat him ''cause he asked you to stopped smoking. Are you bloody high?¡± ¡°Hey Joe,¡± Horace called out. ¡°Look what I''ve found,¡± From Clay''s bag, the bulky teen took out a bottle of pills. ¡°Hey!¡± Tim felt Clay''s grip tighten over his shoulder as his friend pushed himself towards the two seniors. ¡°Don''t touch that, man.¡± ¡°Aw... what''s the matter?¡± Horace teased, though his voice sounded more like a vicious growl. ¡°Tough guy can''t make it without getting high on his drugs?¡± ¡°Yeah exactly,¡± Clay sounded desperate, a tone Tim had never heard him make before. ¡°Now give it back.¡± The seniors laughed, and Joseph took the pills from Horace''s hands. ¡°You know what,¡± he said, tauntingly shaking the bottle. ¡°I''ll flush it. Much better idea. Teach ya to mess with us.¡± Action and reaction. All primal creatures follows that law when cornered. Some called it impulse, others instinct. But before anyone could decide what it was, Clay had broke free from Tim''s support and was rushing the seniors with the mop in hand, the bucket thrown against the wall from pulling out the mop. He swung the cleaning tool over his head and brought it crashing down against Joseph''s skull. The captain of the Air Rifle Club failed to see the strike and he dropped to his knees in a yell of pain. The head of the mob snapped in half. Blood splattered across the floor. He dropped the bottle of pill and it rolled under the sink, uncapping and spilling its contents across the tile floor. Clay dived for the bottle, dropping the mob handle in the process, clawing for the pills in panicked fervour. Horace, the lumbering goon, took the chance and grabbed the broken mob handle, and with the sharp end, swiped at Clay''s head. The younger teen griped in pain but managed to roll aside to dodge a second swing. Joseph got to his feet and stumbled to deliver a stomp to Clay''s stomach, forcing Clay to curl up into a fetal position to protect his face as Horace joined in the onslaught. Joseph yanked the handle from Horace and pointed the sharp end at Clay''s head. Joseph, his head bleeding from the hit priorly, shouted, ¡°Fucking freak! I hope the nightmare gets you,¡± he raised the handle with the intention to hit but was stopped by the touch of a cold steel barrel to the back of his head. ¡°Put down the stick Cap'',¡± Tim warned, pushing the barrel of his black pump air rifle a little harder against his seniors head. ¡°Diabolo pellets. You know what these thing can do at close range.¡± Horace, despite his thuggish appearance, backed up against the cubicle door, a rare look of genuine fear in his eyes. Jospeh said, ¡°You''re gonna shoot me for not putting you on the team?¡± ¡°No,¡± Tim replied calmly. ¡°I''m gonna shoot you for beating up my friend.¡± Slowly, the captain raised his hands. ¡°Okay. Okay,¡± he said, slowly turning to face the door. Tim circled him, making sure he always had the upper hand of being behind. ¡°Okay. But you can kiss your chance of making the team next year goodbye.¡± ¡°I''ll take that chance Cap'',¡± Tim gave a nudge with the barrel and Joseph stumbled a step forward before walking out. Tim gestured to Horace to follow and the thug gave a fierce glare before leaving with the captain. Lowering his rifle, he turned back to see Clay sombrely picking up his pills. Despite his oversized shirt, the teen looked really small. A large portion of the pills had been crushed in the fight and he was sure more had been kicked into corners of the bathroom better left unexplored by human hands. Tim bent over to pick up a pill by his feet. The action froze Clay in mid movement, who looked up to his friend with eyes of worry, like a child who got caught taking cookies out of the jar. Tim felt the bags under his friend''s eyes were darker than the bruises now and finally knew the cause of the strange serenity that had fallen upon his friend at lunch. He examined the pill and carved into it was the letter ''S''. ¡°Somnidin,¡± he looked to Clay on the floor and thought of tales, myths and legends of fallen gods and felled titans, the demise of those who were once mighty. ¡°You have Sin.¡± Chapter Two: Normal ¡°Sometimes, there is absolutely no difference at all between salvation and damnation.¡± - Stephen King, The Green Mile Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Chapter Three: Somnidin - Steven Wright 07:34 a.m. ¡°Morning,¡± she replied with a smile. ¡°Thanks for the paper.¡± ¡°Least I could do,¡± he crossed the threshold into the house and left the paper on the living room table as he always did. He had been picking up the weekend paper for the Barbers since the postal services had stopped their weekend deliveries earlier that month. ¡°Where''s Clay?¡± ¡°He went to the pharmacy to get more Somnidin.¡± Breakfast at the Barber''s became a weekly routine for Tim. When Howard and Gina Barber learnt of how he ate cup noodles every weekend when his dad went to work, they invited him over for the mornings. The Barbers lived in a small colonial style cape cod, one of many that lined the coastline. They had a small sheltered patio as their dining area from which they had a view of the sea which the two teenagers made their way to. The calm water stretched out over the horizon, cutting the edge of the round world like a floor of lapis. From where they stood, it would not have been hard to imagine that the world was indeed flat. He was alone with Stella as they stepped onto the deck of the patio, dressed in khaki shorts and the same white hoodie shirt from the day before. The girl wore a denim short and white singlet to counteract the warm morning. She had another of her horror novels in hand. ¡°Did you guys tell your parents about that thing?¡± he asked. ¡°What thing?¡± ¡°You know, Clay and his Sin.¡± ¡°It''s rare that we don''t get any wind in the morning,¡± she sat down on one of the chairs and opened her book. ¡°I don''t think it being a little less windy will surprise me after last night,¡± he replied, taking a seat himself. ¡°Really? We''re a city by the sea. Not even a little bit curious?¡± ¡°I''m not gonna die from there not being any breeze.¡± ¡°You could get a heat stroke.¡± ¡°I''m not even sweating!¡± he countered exasperatedly. ¡°Maybe you have hypohidrosis.¡± ¡°You''re a really negative person you know?¡± he paused and surveyed the surrounding. To his annoyance, he was a little intrigued by the lack of wind. ¡°Wait, you''re trying to change the subject.¡± He saw the corner of her lip lift into a small smile. ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°And what subject might that be?¡± Matilda Barber, Stella and Clay''s mother, stepped out from the living room with a tray of pancakes in hand. Tim spun around in his seat, slightly surprised by her appearance and thanking luck that she had not heard the whole conversation. ¡°History,¡± he said, covering up. Matilda was in her late thirties. Like her son, her hair was bleach white, though she kept it fluff and frilly instead. Stella often jokingly referred to it as the cotton candy hair. Her skin was lightly freckled which drew similarities to chocolate chip cookies. She wore a flower dress with a yellow apron. ¡°Well, it''s a good thing Clay''s at the library. He''d just fall asleep,¡± she jabbed at her son''s dislike of the class. Stella looked away from her book to smile at her mother. ¡°He''d fall asleep at the library.¡± The woman laughed and set the food down on the table. ¡°Right. Wait awhile and I''ll go wake your dad,¡± she turned to leave. ¡°Uh... Mrs. Barber?¡± Tim called out. She spun on her feet, as if dancing. ¡°Thanks for breakfast again.¡± ¡°What did I say? You don''t ever have to thank us. You''re family,¡± the woman replied with a smile before heading back into the house. Once he was sure Matilda was out of earshot, he turned to Stella. ¡°You lied to your mother?¡± ¡°About?¡± ¡°Clay. Pharmacy. Library,¡± he punctuated each word for effect. ¡°I didn''t lie. He''s going to the library after to borrow a book for me,¡± she replied, not once looking away from her novel. ¡°So what now? You''re just gonna lie for him while he''s sick?¡± Stella placed her book on the table faced down with the page she read. ¡°Now, I''m getting the paper,¡± she announced matter-of-factly and went in to the living room. Though it seemed no different from all the other peaceful weekend start, Tim could not help but feel distracted by the events from the day prior. He had tried to put the matter out of his mind, and failing miserably at it, he ignored it, putting it off as ''something to do later''. His best friend had Sin, the Vashmir Pandemic. Nobody affected by it had been known to survive. He wanted to think that. It would be nice if Clay was the hero in all the pandemic movies that had taken cinemas as of late. The immune protagonist who would go on to save the world with a vaccine. But life was never like the movies, and he of all knew that the best. He remembered his mother screaming when he was a child, his father shouting, and how he prayed for the Power Rangers or Superman to come and save him from the nightmare. A speedboat came into view, cutting across the calm ocean, its wave slicing the sea like a plough through snow. There was no wind. Something else nagged at Tim aside from the breeze-less day and lack of modern heroes. Something he missed, something he saw, something he didn''t want to know and ignored, as he did with all the horrible things in life. He ignored. ¡°Tim,¡± came Stella''s voiced from behind. He stood from his seat, suddenly aware of what he saw that was nagging him. The newspaper he picked up and brought in. The headline which he only glanced. ¡°Yeah?¡± he turned slowly, the bold title print sprang out at him like a jack-in-the-box. SOMNIDIN SHORTAGE, PHARMACY OUT Stella''s glare was both fierce and worried, as were her words. ¡°Where''s my brother?¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. At night, Smith Street was considered the red-light district of Ridge Valley. Though those who were more familiar with the area, such as the police and frequent bar-goers would know that the labyrinth of alleys behind the street was where the real action laid. With over two dozen bars and rented apartment hotels, the shady underground business goes on 24-7. The interconnected backstreet made illegal activities hard to trace and sting operations difficult to navigate. Overtime, the police had turned a blind eye to Smith Street and its dealings, for the rewards no longer justified the risk or trouble. Occasionally, patrols were sent around the area, but even then, it was mostly a show to calm the public. He headed for Highway Pup, its neon sign had turned off with the first crack of dawn. A sign on the tinted glass doors read, ''No patrons under 21 years''. Another said ''Closed''. He entered anyway. The inside of the bar reeked of alcohol and what he assumed to be the stench of vomit coming from the open doors of the bathrooms, floating in on the air-conditioned air. Dim incandescent lamps hung around the walls of the room, their lights barely penetrating the smoky interior. Two burly males in black leather jackets were knocked out cold in a corner booth and another man in a crumpled suit leaned asleep against one of the centre tables, the only patrons left. The bartender was the only one still awake, wiping the cleaning cloth over the marbled surface of the bar table under the only white lamp in the otherwise dark establishment. His white shirt and black vest crisp and stainless. His blonde hair neat and combed back. Tidy as if he had just showered and dressed. Clay walked up to the bar and the tender looked up. ¡°We''re closed kid. And aren''t you a little young to be here?¡± Clay took out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. ¡°How about I call the cops,¡± he showed the tender the ''911'' on the screen. Clay grinned sinisterly. ¡°I''m so glad you said that.¡± From his pocket he took out a brown paper bag and threw it at the wall to the side. An explosion of white powder burst upon impact, filling up that portion of the room in a white cloud. The tender was shocked, staring dumbfounded at the wall. ¡°What''s that.¡± Clay dialled the number, the ringback tone echoing through the bar. For some reason, the sleeping bodies suddenly reminded him of corpses in a crypt, mummies ready to jump him. ¡°Make a guess,¡± he said again, turning on his phone''s speaker so the tender could hear the ring. The tone stopped and a woman picked up the line. ¡°Nine-one-one, what''s your emergency?¡± Clay could feel his grin widening. ¡°Try it.¡± He and the tender exchanged glares, neither blinking. He knew the man did not keep guns at the bar, as it was illegal to do so in Ridge Valley. The bar was used as a front to direct ''customers'' to the real black market and was the first line of defence against police raid. Keeping anything against the law would have defeated the purpose of the patsy establisment. Clay brought the phone to his ear and turned of the speaker. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said to the operator. ¡°Wrong speed dial,¡± and hung up. When Clay put down the phone the tender continued. ¡°Hotel Uno.¡± The sun was above the horizon line by the time Clay left the bar. The streets were quiet and empty, with only a couple of cars parked at some of the other bars. His watch told the time was just past 07:45 a.m. A time backed up by his elongated shadow stretching down the pavement. Smith Streets'' layout consisted of an entire road lined with bars and small shops to the sides. Apartment hotels were constructed behind the front shops. Small parking lots were located at each of the street corners and Hotel Uno was located behind the Irish bar two blocks down. A desolate-looking, greying and moss grown building, Hotel Uno was slated for demolition later that year. At ten stories high and a hundred years in age, it was also the tallest building in the district as well as the oldest. Clay walked down the streets towards the hotel, a red sports car zooming past him, its engine roaring even as it turned at the junction with its wheels screeching, vanishing with distance. There was no wind. He headed down into the alleyway and entered the street to the building. The white paint was peeling and moss had spread to a large part of the structure''s base. He went through the entrance and an electronic bell rang his presence. Exiting on the third floor, he found himself in a single long corridor that extended both left and right. A copper plate screwed into the wall in front of the elevator directed him left to room 9. The corridor down had 2 rooms on each side, with a final room at the end. The second door on the left was room 9. The door was ajar so he pushed through into the corridor and into the smoky room. Beside the dealer, Adam had two bouncers with him, neither which Clay recognized. The two men stood to with their arms folded, their only acknowledgement of Clay''s presence was their intense stare. Adam stood from his seat at his desk. The man in his early forties was not what was expected of street dealers stereotypes. Common thugs who were high and wise cracking. Instead, he carried the air similar to those of fictional crime lords from books and shows. He had his onyx black hair styled back, shimmering with the result of probably dozens of hair products. He wore a crisp black suit and tie with a maroon inner shirt. Though his face was rough with the residues of early fights, he did not look thuggish, but rather, wise. Adam walked up to Clay, staring down on the teen, their eyes never leaving each other. ¡°You''re something else kid. You stare eye to eye with men twice your age, twice your size,¡± he pulled back his jacket to reveal a pistol at his belt. ¡°Men that are armed. But I think you knew that. Walking like you''ve got no equal in the world. I could use some runners like you. Open a shop at your school, cut you a profit, and all the Somnidin you need.¡± Chapter Four: The Last Good Day "We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict." - Jim Morrison Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Chapter Five: Long Walks "In extraordinary times, the ordinary takes on a glow and wonder all of its own." - Mike A. Lancaster, 0 .4 12:12 p.m 13 days earlier XXX 05:37 p.m. 13 days earlier This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. dad,¡± he punctuated the end of the sentence with sarcasm. ¡°You''re supposed to be working. But you''re here doing what? Wasting time on some hipster protest?¡± XXX 09:13 p.m 13 days earlier is pretty weird,¡± Stella replied. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her settling down into the swing set next to him. And got away with it as if we just went out for breakfast or something. I walked straight into a protest turned riot and I don''t feel like it was anything out of the ordinary for me. And you are well, you.¡± As if she could read his mind from the silence in the air, she stood up from her seat, dusted herself, and floated off before he could answer and he realised he did not know what he would have said either way. Tim looked up and watched as she walked away into the darkness of the park, never once looking back to him. He buried his face back into his arms. Chapter Six: The Barn "Alone. Yes, that''s the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn''t hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym." - Stephen King, Salem''s Lot Stepping through the threshold, the stench of horse faeces immediately attacked his nostrils and he had to cover it with his arms. The barn was dark with barely enough light from the outside to give a shadowy outline to the inside. From what he could see, it was a two story barn with two stables and a workbench on the ground floor with a staircase leading up. A soft blue glow emitted from the second floor from the stairwell, faintly illuminating the surrounding. The humming seemed to be coming from above. He headed for the stairs. see him so much as into him. Piercing his soul. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Somehow, the humming managed to find its way to his attention again and he turned back towards the stairs. The tone soothing, following the tune of Will the Circle be Unbroken?. His heartbeat slowed back down, calmed by the mesmerizing sound. He headed up the stairs into the soft blue light. As he closed, the figure became prominent. Revealing itself to not simply be a creature, but a girl with white hair and dress. Lying on the ground seductively, her legs bent and angled out of her dress, showing the curvatures of her thighs. Her dress was loose and smooth, showing more skin through peeks and gaps. Her petite body and small breasts outlined clearly by the clothing. Her skin, light and dreamy, almost melted together with her dress. Their eyes locked and her humming ceased, her iris a smoky grey. Shelter? No. Before shelter. His mind raced. Though still enticed by the girl, he was capable of clear thoughts now. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Descending the steps, another stroke of lightning lit up the interior for a split second. An elongated shadow stretched out from behind Tim. He could feel the presence and swore he could feel the colours of rage and hatred emitting from it, piercing his body in tiny needles. If there was a way to physically feel fear, that was it. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. All he could see was pain. All he could hear was fear. Chapter Seven: Quoting Strangers 09:22 a.m 12 days earlier XXX 10:34 a.m 12 days earlier Ridge Valley Daily in Tim''s face and asked, ¡°This is you isn''t it?¡± Tim had to back off a step before his could read the headline. ¡°Protest Turns Riot. I must say, big news, but not my style,¡± he lied. SMITH STREET DRUG RING ARRESTED Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Chapter Eight: Threshold "I demolish my bridges behind me...then there is no choice but to move forward." - Firdtjof Nansen 03:39 p.m 12 days earlier VASHMIR OUTBREAK KILLS THOUSAND I''m the dumbest asshole on Earth,¡± he whispered under his breath as he leaned back in his seat. SIN OUTBREAK: PRESIDENT REMAINS CALM SIN FIGURES COVER-UP This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Chapter Nine: Fight or Flight "You cannot be a hero without being a coward." - George Bernard Shaw Her voice echoed operatically as she spoke with a seductive tongue, ¡°Why? You don¡¯t trust me?¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. The girl in white had disappeared from the classroom. Rooted in his spot, Tim stared at the approaching ¡®man¡¯ in fear and awe. Towering almost two heads taller, the Sawman was perhaps the most intimidating being Tim had ever faced. Even though the man¡¯s eyes was hidden, Tim could not help but feel as if he was being summed up, scanned from head to toes. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zoon. And he fell. Through the floor. Whirling and spinning as his mind made feeble attempts to grasp the seemingly solid surrounding. His legs completely phased into the ground, followed shortly by his body and arm. Finally, as his face melts into the floor, he managed one last glance behind him to see the Sawman standing over him at the doorway of the classroom, ¡®I will not be late¡¯ being repeated in white on black behind him, before finally vanishing into the tiles. Chapter Ten: The Diner "Worthless people live only to eat and drink; people of worth eat and drink only to live." - Socrates D¨¦j¨¤ vu.¡± He felt as if he was starting back a rusty old car, the engine that is his mind whirring in creaks to work. The pain of his stump clouding his thinking. He turned back to the girl. ¡°So... this dream scape is based on my old memories?¡± really good,¡± she replied, genuinely surprised. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. are hungry,¡± the kind tone felt malicious, echoing in his ears as he noticed for the first time that her eyes were black, like her eyeballs had been replaced with onyx beads. ¡°Here, have some more.¡± Stop!¡± I gotta move or I¡¯m gonna die! It¡¯s moving? No time. Move! He screamed in his mind. There Was an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly. Panicking, he darted out onto the road, the ringing in his ears growing louder. XXX 06:45 a.m 11 days earlier Chapter Eleven: Bad Hound "Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do out minutes hasten to their end." - William Shakespeare, Sonnet LX 07:09 a.m 11 days earlier XXX 07:55 a.m 11 days earlier ACTIVITES CANCELLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Chapter Twelve: Call Connected "Sometimes you need to get hit in the head to know you''re in a fight." - Michael Jordan 10:58 a.m 11 days earlier Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. other one.¡± twacked with a mop.¡± I don''t know, it''s not my memories. mother said that. My mother said... ¨C I wasn''t in the diner!¡± Like a lock clicking into place, Tim snapped to his feet, his chair falling backwards as he did so. Chapter Twelve: Deep Dive "Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for." - Bob Marley 01:55 p.m 11 days earlier XXX The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The Sister? Really?¡± really, really,¡± she shrugged with the reply. ¡°None of us remember our names so it''s more of a title to call by.¡± Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. Chapter Fourteen: The Father "Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It''s the transition that is troublesome." - Isaac Asimov Blood? No. rusted metal, - hung in the air. weak aluminium crap. Clang! Clang! Duck! Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. fucking aluminium pipe.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Zoot. Zoon. Zoot. Zoon. ''I love you'' out from his lips, but only managed a feeble, ¡°We''re cool.¡± Chapter Fifteen: I, Police "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche 00:28 a.m 10 days earlier Blood. He made the connection and slowly waved hands to wipe away his vision. XXX 01:32 a.m 10 days earlier Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Chapter Sixteen: Interrogate "Feeling good about yourself is not the same thing as doing good." - Theodore Dalrymple 03:58 a.m 10 days earlier is dead. The people I care about are being targeted by an illness with no cure and I might be next. So no, this isn''t a joke.¡± That''s what you got out of that?¡± Tim replied, outraged. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. You''re just a kid. Joshua had once told him during one of their arguing sessions. No matter how smart you are, how talented you''ll be, you can''t beat experience. Now! You''re under arrest, you fucking kid!¡± she spat over his shoulder and the phlegm of blood that landed on the table concluded he had at least managed to injure her. XXX 04:45 a.m 10 days earlier no proof of its existence. Everything from the heart attacks to Somnidin can be explained by mass hallucination, nothing more.¡± Our gut hunch,¡± she corrected. Your gut hunch,¡± he insisted. ¡°I still don''t think he did it. And I don''t think throwing him in the holding cell will get us anywhere either.¡± going anywhere. No family to bail him out, not a dime to his name. He''ll stay here till we can find the time to settle him.¡± kid is a murderer, using the lamest of all excuses,¡± she attempted again to force her point, her flaming locks flailing as she discussed the issue passionately. ¡°The whole city is going wonky from this bloody pandemic thing. We''ve got enough on our hands without having to deal with another budding psychopath.¡± becoming a psychopath.¡± Chapter Seventeen: Endless Blue Sky "The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." - Carl Gustav Jung 04:38 a.m 10 days earlier XXX The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. me? Why are you helping me?¡± Her bloodlust. Chapter Eighteen: Deuteragonists "A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?" - Albert Einstein 09:30 a.m 10 days earlier XXX 11:40 a.m 10 days earlier Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. your masturbation habit if you''d like?¡± XXX 04:11 p.m 10 days earlier just like you said. He reached around his partner and with key in hand, unlocked Tim''s cell door. Chapter Nineteen: Days to the End of the World "This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper." - Thomas Stearns Eliot, The Hollow Men 05:31 p.m 10 days earlier Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Are we doomed?¡± Tim asked. XXX 06:21 p.m 10 days earlier you can drive, right?¡± she asked Tim. Chapter Twenty: The Road "I''d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints." - Billy Joel 12:01 a.m 9 days earlier XXX Cart turned on it heels, Filled with blood and horror. Up. Down. Through the filth,Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Shoot the man turned monster. us can die here. We''re gods of death for a reason.¡± Tick. Tock. Goes the clock, Jack is led to slaughter. Tick. Tock. Goes the clock, Five days till the rapture. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. direction. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. now?¡± Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Bang! The door tore apart from its hinges, exploding outwards as if TNT had been placed behind it, flying through the air, over the roofs'' edge and crashing to the ground floor below. Chapter Twenty One: Secrets "Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead." - Benjamin Franklin 08:11 a.m 9 days earlier You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. We?¡± XXX 012:22 p.m 9 days earlier Chapter Twenty Two: Borderline Dangerous "Dreams so often become nightmares. Family can so easily become foes. And people are always more stupid than you give them credit for." - Mike A. Lancaster, Human.4 01:20 p.m 9 days earlier A mile west off the main road and a football field away from the nearest building, the group left the black SUV behind a large rock formation, barely hidden from the line of sight of the town. Tim wished that they had stopped by an auto shop on the way and painted the exterior to a lighter colour for camouflage. He shared the idea with the group. Unloading their backpacks from the trunk, Clay sounded out, ¡°Don''t be stupid. The nearest auto shop is in the town.¡± They each had a set of torchlight, two water bottles, and matching hand-held radios. After assessing the situation in town, they also decided it''d be best if they each had a weapon with them. Clay returned Tim his air rifle while Stella equipped herself with the one they disarmed from Joshua two days before. Though the weapons were non-lethal at range, they served as a steadfast distraction and their wooden stocks could be used in close encounters. After some contemplation, Clay settled for a lug wrench they found in the car''s tool box. After having cold lunch from food they bought at the diner, they changed into clothes more fitting for the situation than a long drive. Clay put on a fresh grey shirt and a cargo shorts which pockets he stuffed with multi-tools from the garage, a lock-blade knife from his father, and a spare battery for his phone. When asked why he decided to turn himself into Doraemon, Clay replied, ¡°I like to be prepared,¡± while putting on a pair of waterproof hiking shoes. Tim kept his hoodie-shirt but switched to cargo pants instead, but did not stuff his pockets with what he considered useless trinkets. He got kicked out of the car by Stella after putting on a pair of canvas shoes, followed shortly by Clay. They were directed behind the rock formation while she changed into a set of green blouse, blue jeans and brown leather boots. When they returned from their exile, Tim asked, ¡°Do you really need to dress so stylishly?¡± ¡°Excuse me,¡± she faked the tone of a stereotyped teenage girl in jest, waving a finger at him as she said so, ¡°Be glad I didn''t do my make-up, okay?¡± Once ready, the group set out across the plains. Though it was relatively early in the afternoon, the smog from the small fires that had spread across the town had blocked out a good amount of sunlight, making the journey comparatively cooler than it otherwise would have. They walked diagonally westward towards the outer perimeter of Roagnark. Stella chimed in as their vehicle disappeared from their view, ¡°I hope we don''t run into any coyotes.¡± Tim explained, ¡°It''s still light out. The animals shouldn''t be that active yet,¡± and he never admitted that he had worried about the coyotes for the rest of his life. XXX 2:30 p.m 9 days earlier Greeneries began sprouting into view as they neared the suburbs of the town. The riots were apparently concentrated in the town square and main roads, with the residential districts relatively unscathed. Clay took the lead of their motley crew of three and whenever he sighted any looters or potential threats, signalled for Tim and Stella to stop and waited for whatever situation that happened to pass. ¡°We don''t get involve,¡± Clay kept reminding the two. ¡°We''re here for the diary.¡± The trio progressed through the town slowly, clearing two blocks of building in slightly over half an hour. Looters escaping the town centre stampeded through the streets with their stolen goods. Stella held out her phone which mapped out they had twelve more blocks to go through before reaching the Commons'' household. As Clay leaned out slightly from the corner wall they hid behind, Stella asked, ¡°Maybe we should just cut through the back alleys. Looks like most of the rioters are on the main road anyway.¡± ¡°Good idea,¡± her brother replied, watching a group of looters smashing through the display window of an electronics store. ¡°If we continue at this rate, we would get to Vashmir''s place by sundown.¡± They circled back and around the apartment buildings, dodging into an alleyway that led straight through for half a dozen blocks. Clay instructed Tim, ¡°Watch our backs kid.¡± The latter complied, carefully walking backwards as he kept an eye on the alley entrance. Shrieks of terror and sadistic screams bounced off the parallel buildings by their sides, echoing an eerie sound of nature. Compared to the barren alley, the town around them seemed to almost be at war with itself. Sirens continuously blared and whenever it seemed they had faded into the distance, a new set of sirens began its audio reign. Then, a woman''s gut wrenching scream sliced through the alley. It wasn''t like the ones from the town square. The source for this one was right down their paths from one of the buildings before them. Clay whispered out, ¡°Shit.¡± The back door of an apartment building to their left burst opened and a man in a denim jacket with a black hood, bloodstained white shirt and torn jeans bolted out of it. He turned toward the trio and started to run, but immediately noticed them and, nearly falling over as he did so, made a 180 turn for the other direction. From the door the man came from, a woman dressed in teal shorts and a green singlet jumped out after him, blood flowing down a wound in her short red hair. She ran barefooted across the tarmac, cutting off the man with her arms opened wide, attempting to block him despite their size difference. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Please!¡± she shouted in a begging tone, ¡°My son needs those meds!¡± Tim scanned the hooded man and noticed the pill bottle he held in his left hand. ¡°Somnidin,¡± Tim whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Clay and Stella to hear. The man tried to walk past the woman, but she desperately reached out and clung onto his arms with both hands. He punched her in the cheek with his free hand, sending the woman crumpling to the ground in a groan of pain. Tim took a step forward only to be stopped by Clay''s outstretched arm. ¡°Don''t get involved,¡± the white-haired teen repeated. Now freed, the man began walking away, only to be held back again as the woman reached out feebly, just barely managing to grab hold onto the hem edge of his jeans. Weak from the powerful strike, she only managed a groan, ¡°Please...my son...¡± From his belt, the man pulled out a pistol which Tim recognized immediately as a Glock 22 from countless movies and television shows. ¡°Clay...¡± he begged his friend to act. ¡°We don''t get involved,¡± Clay replied coldly. He passed Tim his bottle of Somnidin from his pocket and, contrary to what he said, the former started walking towards the conflict. The man raised the pistol towards the downed woman''s head and growled, ¡°Let go bitch. It''s every man for himself now.¡± From behind Tim, Stella shouted, ¡°Hey!¡± she raised her air rifle to the man. ¡°You want this?¡± holding the light gun in one hand, she took out her bottle of Somnidin from her back pocket and waved it at the man. Realizing what the sibling pair was trying to do, Tim aimed down the sights of his rifle at the man, shaking his pill bottle as he did so, attracting the guys attention. ¡°I''ve got some too!¡± he exclaimed. The hooded man turned to the three teenagers, gun still pointed at the woman. When he first saw the guns, a look of panic stretched across his face. But the moment he took noticed of the drugs, his eyes widened and a toothy smile glued itself to his lips. Breathing heavily, the man said in a low, croaked voice, ¡°Give them to me...now...NOW!¡± Tim started circling the man clockwise while Stella did the same in the other direction. He replied, ¡°Give the lady her pills back first.¡± The man redirected his gun to Tim. Unlike the air rifle, the pistol was real and Tim instinctively knew the man was not bluffing about its fire-power. ¡°Hey!¡± Stella called out, and the man turned his aim at her instead. She continued to circle him in a counter-clockwise direction. Giving him a playful smile, she shook her pill bottle again. ¡°You want this, drop you gun.¡± ¡°I''m not stupid!¡± the man replied. ¡°Why don''t you drop your toy and I don''t shoot your pretty face, girl?¡± Tim, having crossed the 9 o''clock mark on his circling, replied, ¡°You''re not stupid you say?¡± the man turned, his crazed state of mind forgetting there was a second person behind him. ¡°That''s not what I see.¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± he turned frantically between Tim and Stella, the two now walking towards each other, having both passed by the man from where they started. ¡°Stop moving you little shits!¡± he swiped his gun frantically between the two. Stella smugly replied, ¡°What are you going to do about it?¡± He actioned the gun and settled on her as the target. From behind him, Clay brought the iron lug wrench down hard on the man''s nape, the impact sending the gunman flying forward and off his feet before crashing face down on the ground. ¡°Woohoo!¡± Stella raised her hands in glee, her rifle over her head. ¡°Teamwork!¡± Clay squatted down beside the now unconscious man. Checking his wrist, he found a pulse that brought a breath of relief from him. After disarming the man and storing the gun in his back right pocket, covered by his oversized shirt, he retrieved the bottle of Somnidin and helped the woman to her feet. He asked her, ¡°How''s your head ma''am?¡± ¡°It''s just a scratch,¡± she replied, attempting to wipe away her tears only to smear the blood from her forehead across her cheeks. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Clay looked down at the bottle of drugs in his hand. The woman reach out to take the pills back from him but he backed away, bringing the bottle up to his chest protectively. In a nervous mumble, he said, ¡°No...¡± When he noticed, Tim rushed up to his best friend. ¡°Clay!¡± Clay turned to Tim and Stella, who stood by with looks of worry etched into their otherwise fearless personalities. ¡°Kid...¡± with shaking hands, he quickly passed the bottle back to the woman and turned away from her. ¡°Lock your doors. Don''t come out until this is over.¡± Controlling the sudden shudders that had taken over his body, Clay walked to his friend and sister. A soft whisper of a second thanks came from behind him as he listened to the apartment door close with a rusty creak. Stella walked up to her brother and placed a caring hand over his cheeks. ¡°You okay?¡± He cupped a hand over hers and leaned into the warmth of his beloved sister. ¡°Yeah," they hugged. Tim slung his rifle over his back as Clay unwillingly reminded him of the grim reality of the situation before them. ¡°The world''s gone crazy.¡± The trio turned down the alley and watched a new stream of smoke rise from the town centre, snaking it''s way into the sky to join the already dark clouds above. Tim continued, ¡°And we''re just a bunch of kids. Are we really going to be able to stop this?¡± Stella replied, ¡°We''re doing this because no one else has stepped up to the plate.¡± ¡°Plus,¡± Clay added, ¡°We''re trying to save our own skin. But whatever the reason, we''re going to do it.¡± ¡°We''re nuts,¡± Tim finished. Clay let out a puff of derision. ¡°Good. We''ll fit right in.¡± Chapter Twenty Three: Dont Look Back "It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane." - Philip K. Dick, VALIS 4:34 p.m 9 days earlier Vashmir Commons'' townhouse was lodged between a sex shop and a bikers bar. For Tim, it didn''t matter if the shops came before or after the house, being equally disturbing a location to live in either way. Stella noted, ¡°Doesn''t look like anyone''s home.¡± Most of the blinds of the building were drawn shut, and those not were boarded up by wooden planks. Unlike the other buildings surrounding the trio, the Commons'' two stories, black-bricked- Victorian house was the sole structure left untouched by looters or rioters. A group of wandering bandits simply circled around the building, staring with amazement at the three teenagers that stood before them. Eyes gazed out of the apartment buildings opposite the street, fearfully watching their every move. Clay scanned the people, meeting their gazes only to have them break eye contact or ducking away into the darkness of their homes. ¡°That''s not creepy at all,¡± he noted sarcastically. From his bag, Tim pulled out a torchlight and the others followed suit. ¡°Let''s get this over with.¡± He climbed the steps and opened the door to his side, letting Clay and Stella in first. Tim turned back and scanned the streets, seeing something in the eyes of the watchers aside from fear. ¡°Reverence,¡± Tim mumbled his observation. Turning his back on the watchers, he closed the door behind them. In the main hallway, darkness swallowed most of the corners. The light that gleamed through the blinds barely made it past their rooms to even reach them. ¡°The power''s out,¡± Clay deduced as he flicked the light switch a few times before turning on his torchlight. Tim and Stella followed suit. The trio ran their beams over the hallway, their light reflected hazily on the plastic sheets that covered the leftover furniture. Tim asked Stella, ¡°I thought you said Vashmir had a family?¡± ¡°He did,¡± she replied. ¡°But they left for vacation quite a while ago. Never borthered to return. Maybe they''ve moved?¡± ¡°Too many memories in a home like this I guess,¡± Clay continued, ¡°And from the looks of the people outside, nobody''s likely to disturb us.¡± Tim replied, ¡°Good. There will be no one stopping us from ransacking the place. Let''s split up. You and Clay search around here. I''ll go upstairs and see what I can find.¡± As Tim stepped onto the steps of the stairs, Clay reminded, ¡°Remember to look for the diary, kid. That''s what we came for.¡± Tim gave a thumbs up as Clay headed into the living room and Stella left to explore the rest of the first floor. Tim watched the lights from their torches faded as the siblings dispersed to their own investigation before turning back up the stairs. Dried and lacking maintenance for unknown months, the wooden boards creaked and bent with every step. The darkness was disorienting, as was the act of focusing solely on looking down at the light from his torch to guide him. He fully expected that when he looked back up, the Sawman would be staring back at him from the landing, having crossed the boundaries of realities and dreams in its hunt for him. When he reached the second floor and finally looked up though, he saw nothing but a wall, with an oil painting of a farm in the countryside. ¡°Get a grip,¡± he criticized himself. The second floor corridor was bland and straight. Without any windows, it stretched into the void until he brought his torchlight up. Equally plain with lighting as it was without, the two doors on the left stood out in the empty path like a baseball player on a soccer field. Stepping fully into the shadow, he headed for the closest door to him. Surprisingly, the old oak door opened noiselessly and without resistance, missing the rusted creaks of the hinges that typically showed in fiction. Peering in, the room was somewhat lit by the light that seeped through the blinds. Though the room was large, only a single bed frame, devoid of its mattress, was kept in it. It wasn''t hard to conclude there was nothing there from sight alone so he closed the door behind him and headed for the second one further down. Once there, the teen faced the closed entrance, a gut feeling telling him that this was Vashmir Commons'' room. Then his torch burned out and threw Tim into complete darkness. Panicking, he leapt forward to find the knob, only to smash his nose into the wall instead. Losing his balance, he was about to tumble over when his outstretched hand found the metal grip. Using it, he pulled himself up to regain his balance, only to crash face first onto the floor of the room as his grasp slipped and the door opened inwards. ¡°Ow...¡± he groaned as he lifted himself off the ground. ¡°Kid?!¡± he heard Clay shout. ¡°You okay?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Tim replied, watching the blood from his nose drip onto the blue carpeted floor. ¡°Just tripped over myself, that''s all.¡± Getting to his feet, he scanned the room while rubbing his bleeding nose with his shirt, knowing full well it would stain. His nose did not feel fractured or broken, but the bruising pain still lingered enough to make his eyes water. The first thing he noticed was that the windows had been boarded up, but not enough to prevent rays of light from shining through, floating in the air on the reflection of dusts, platforms of light in suspension. Aside from that, the room was the same as the one from the picture Stella had showed him. Dried blood still stained the walls and the yellow-green striped bed sheets. Even the pillows were left untouched on the floor and he wished he had the luck to had fallen on them instead. The room was a stark contrast to the otherwise emptied-out house, and an even stranger scene when the blood was factored in. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. A small desk was installed into the wall closest to the window, which was where the diary was placed in the photo. The sole difference between the picture from months ago and the present was the cardboard box on the desk then. Though the hair on his hands stood and Tim felt his heart was beating fast enough to punch a hole through his ribs, he managed to gather enough strength after a deep breath to approach the table. In large red fonts, the box was stamped ''EVIDENCE'' on the side. A piece of paper detailing the contents and identity of the owner, in the case, Vashmir Commons, was pasted on the lid. A ''Diary'' was listed as one of the things kept in the box. Sure enough, when he opened the lid, the leather bound diary was at the top of the pile. He took out the book and set it aside on the table and rummaged through the remaining items in the box. A bloodstained singlet, a toothbrush, and a pen missing its cap. Nothing of interest. Returning his attention to the diary, he unfettered the strap that held the book close and flipped randomly to one of the middle pages. Vashmir wrote of his day at work and a few other thoughts about his life. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Running his fingers through the edge of the book, he found the last few entries of the man and glanced through from there instead. They keep coming. Every night. I can''t take it. Everyone''s telling me I''m just having bad dreams but I know they are real. When I wake up, I feel the pain from all the falls I took while running. My friends keep telling me to see a doctor. They don''t know I already am. It''s not helping. I''m not crazy! It''s been three days since I''ve last slept. I don''t think I can keep it up much longer. So tired. But they''re coming. It seemed obvious to Tim that the man was suffering from Sin, but he reminded himself that at that time, it was not a recognized phenomenon and understood why Vashmir would have been taken for being insane. He flipped the pages, glancing at lines after lines of similar experiences from night to night. Then an entry popped up, shorter than the previous half dozens. I met a guy in the dreams. He said he can get me out. Give me power to fight back. All I have to do is agree to his conditions. The record abruptly ended, and the pages after that contained no other entries. Tim turned through the remaining pages of the diary and after over a dozen empty pages, he found one sentence scrawled hastily, all in uppercase letters, in red ink across two full pages near the end of the book. THE END IS HERE! Tim turned to the next page and was bombarded by scrawls of red ink and dabs of blood, all repeating the same message. The world will end in 139 days and we will ascend. The world will end in 139 days and we will ascend. The world will end in 139 days. In 139 days. 139 days. The world will end. We will ascend. 139 days. In 139 days. 139. 139. 139 139 139 139 139 139...... The number continued to repeat itself, covering the rest of the pages before Vashmir, having found no other room on the two pages to continue, started filling in the gaps between the lines with the number. ¡°What the fuck...?¡± Tim let out, closing the book in fear. He had never thought pure text would be able to spook him out as much as the diary had. He stored the diary in his backpack and almost immediately, the bag felt heavier, as if the weight of the diary consisted of the physical manifestation of Vashmir''s experience with Sin. The teen turned back to leave the room, again expecting some sort of spectral form of the late Vashmir to appear before him, ready to murder him for going through the dead''s belonging. But no such entity existed. Exiting into the corridor, he left the door to Vashmir''s room opened to allow some light to guide him. He headed back past the empty room with the soundless door, ignored the farm painting on the wall, and down the dry stairs with the eerie creaks. A wave of relief washed over him as he heard the voices of Clay and Stella coming from the living room. He entered after them. The pair stood in the middle of an otherwise normal looking living room, save for the obvious empty space on the television table. All the remaining furniture had been wrapped in plastic. A fireplace resided in the corner, though Tim was sure he had not saw any chimney from the outside. Tim asked the pair, ¡°You guys find anything?¡± They turned to him and Clay held up a large, soot covered book. ¡°Photo album. Seems like the Commons tried to burn it but it didn''t do so well in that.¡± Stella added, ¡°But most of it is covered in soot or damaged. Lot''s of the pictures will take some cleaning. Did you get the diary?¡± Tim thumbed to the bag on his back as a sign of affirmation. She then shone her torchlight over his face, temporarily blinding him. ¡°Hey!¡± he called out in discomfort. ¡°What happened to your nose kid?¡± Clay pointed out. She followed to state the obvious, ¡°You''re bleeding.¡± ¡°Fell on my nose,¡± Tim replied. ¡°Can we just get out of here? This place gives me the creeps.¡± Stella took the light off him, granting him vision again. Clay noted, ¡°I''ve never seen you scared before.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, you haven''t seen what''s in the damn diary. Come on, let''s get back to the car before sundown.¡± Stella corrected, ¡°S.U.V.¡± Chapter Twenty Four: The Man with the Remote "We revel in the laxness of the path we take." - Charles Baudelaire You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Chapter Twenty Five: The Stadium "We passed from laughter to terror which, like love and hate, are close relatives." - Lisa Deharme 02:45 a.m 8 days earlier Having grown up watching countless Hollywood action movies with his father, Tim had high expectations for his first car chase. One of the idea he had was they would be jumping from car to car, swinging swords and shooting guns at everything that moved. Sadly, reality was much, much more boring. Having driven for over 7 hours without stopping, Clay Barber''s initial adrenaline of driving away from Joseph had all but waned and was on the verge of keeling over at the wheel from fatigue. He yawned every other minute and nodded off once for a brief second, nearly swerving off the empty highway. Without any other cars around and the added incentive of a homicidal maniac chasing them, they had been driving at full speed for nearly 2 hours, with Ridge Valley shining just over the horizon. Joseph''s pick-up''s top speed was apparently, brimming with coincidence, clocked in just a notch under their SUV. Clay took a quick glance in his rear view mirror and sure enough, Joseph''s pick-up was still trailing behind them, though the slower vehicle was now only a small headlight in the distance. ¡°This isn''t going to work,¡± he voiced out. ¡°What are you talking about,¡± Tim replied, checking his air rifle for the twelfth time in the past two hours. ¡°We can barely see him now and we''re almost back into the city.¡± Stella chimed in, ¡°And I''ve managed to call the cops. They said they would get a unit out so we should meet somewhere between here and the city.¡± ¡°That''s not what I meant,¡± Clay said sheepishly, swaying left and right as he desperately fought to keep himself awake. ¡°We''re running out of gas.¡± ¡°What?¡± Tim leaned over and confirmed via the gauge. The needle was already on ''E'', meaning they''ve been running of the reserve gas in empty. ¡°How''s that possible?¡± Clay replied, slightly annoyed, ¡°How the hell are we suppose to refuel when we''ve been chased for the past two hours?¡± From the back, Stella passed the loaded pistol they took from the looter in Roagnark to Clay. Her brother then slotted it into a cup holder by his gear-shift. ¡°You think he''s tired?¡± the girl asked. ¡°Joseph that is.¡± Tim laughed at her ability to joke under such situations. ¡°Why don''t we stop and ask him?¡± he turned back to look at her but saw something that made his heart beat twice instead. ¡°Where''s the pick-up?¡± ¡°What?¡± Clay glanced back up to his rear-view mirror and to his fenders''. The light from the pick-up had disappeared and the only thing following them was darkness. ¡°Do you think he ran out of gas?¡± Tim replied, ¡°I highly doubt that,¡± noting to himself that if Joseph had stopped at the diner for long, he would have refuelled. ¡°I have to slow down or we''re going to lose the lights,¡± Clay said. ¡°No!¡± Tim cut in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. ¡°I think I know what Joseph in doing. Cut the lights, cut everything. And stop on the opposite side of the road.¡± ¡°But we''ll be sitting ducks!¡± ¡°I know,¡± he replied solemnly, acknowledging the disadvantage. ¡°Stella, get the torches out but don''t turn them on yet.¡± ¡°Got them already,¡± the girl replied with torches in hand, somehow having seen into the future. Though not fully convinced, or even know what his friend was doing, Clay let loose of the accelerator and kept one hand on the keys in the ignition. ¡°Turning off in three...two...one.¡± Clay turned off the engine and they were engulfed in shadows. Without street lamps or headlights, and the stars and moon covered by cloud, the light from the city was their only source of illumination, barely showing the outline of each of their faces. Their breathing prominent without the hum of the engine and air-conditioner. ¡°What''s your plan kid?¡± Clay asked, taking off his seatbelt to face the others. ¡°If my hunch is right, Joseph turned off his lights to sneak up on us. He won''t be expecting us to do the same,¡± Tim explained. Stella chimed, ¡°So we just wait and hope for him to drive by us?¡± ¡°That''s the plan.¡± ¡°That''s a terrible plan! It''s all luck based. How often do your plans fail?¡± ¡°It''s a rare occurrence,¡± Tim admitted, ¡°One in ten? Plus or minus a few. I''m quite lucky.¡± ¡°Wait,¡± Clay shushed him with a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Do you guys hear that?¡± In the shroud of night and deep silence, the trio raised their ears to the air. The soft hum of an engine approached them and Stella turned back to watch the rear. However, she could see nothing behind them, despite the angle of the city''s lights giving them an edge in sight. ¡°Nothing,¡± she informed. Clay asked, ¡°Where''s it coming from?¡± Tim read somewhere once that a human had more senses than the traditional five. Amongst them were a sense of time, a sense of heat, and for the occasion, a sense of direction. He looked out his passenger side window and could only make out half the outline of the pick-up barrelling towards them from the field. But it was enough. ¡°Shit,¡± was all the reaction time he had before the truck rammed into them. He felt himself fly through the air on impact and tumbled through space. Flung out of his seat, Tim catapulted through the air and slid over the smooth, waxed floor of an empty stadium corridor, slowing down enough to make his contact with the wall as just a light tap. In a panic, he attempted to get to his feet but instead flopped back on his chest as his decapitated arm found no ground to hold below it. With his nose against the floor and a vision of the empty hallway, he calmed himself down enough to wish the lack of a right hand meant he was back in his dreams and that he had not actually lost it in real life. Slowly, he managed himself back onto his feet and sure enough, his right arm remained in the makeshift bandage Sister had made for him. ¡°Okay. I''m probably unconscious right now,¡± he theorized of his situation in the real world. Looking down both paths of the corridor, he found himself alone again in the dream world. ¡°At least I''m not dead.¡± It''s our jobs, he remembered Sister saying once. We''re grim reapers. He wondered if his physical body might have actually died and this was his final sleep. A part of him wished that if it was his time to die, that Sister would be the one to send him on his way. One last chance to see her again. ¡°Stella!¡± he shouted out, only to listen to his voice echo down the hall. ¡°STELL!¡± Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. He physically jumped at the sound of the saw. Settling, he cursed the lack of time to compose himself or to decide where to run. Right. Left. Only two ways to escape. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. ¡°Come on. Come on sonofabitch!¡± he egged, more to psych himself up than to antagonize the monster. ¡°Where are you?!¡± From down his left, a familiar voice reverberated to him. ¡°Come on you asshole!¡± Clay shouted. ¡°Fuck this shit! Fuck you!¡± With his choice made for him, Tim bolted down the corridor towards the sound of his friend, glimpsing the elongated shadow of the man in the straw hat from the other path and was alleviated of the fear of running into The Father. His footsteps slammed like gongs against the concrete floor, ringing through the corridor as he ran. He followed the winding road and swore to curse everything if he was running in some dream loop, only to be proven false as the light from the exit tunnel shone brightly around one of the turns. Blasting out from the hallway, he jetted up a flight of stairs and shot out onto the first level of the stands of the baseball stadium, right behind third base. The flood lights lit the field in an otherwise starry night. On the pitcher''s mound stood Clay in dark blue shorts and a white shirt which had been muddied brown. Obviously unprepared for his dive into Sin, the teen had no footwear on, his feet soaked in the mud of the field. He had a wooden baseball bat in his hand, ready to swing. Nervously, the white-haired teen turned on the spot, scanning the empty field. Tim yelled, ¡°Clay!¡± and vaulted over the rail of the stands, falling three meters onto the soft mud, his shoes digging in as he landed. ¡°What the fuck are you doing here, kid?¡± Clay asked, shocked at the appearance of another person in his dreams. ¡°We''ve got to get out of here, now!¡± Tim said, ignoring the question. He started to jog towards his friend. ¡°NO! Don''t come any closer!¡± Clay stopped him, raising his bat as if it was a gun capable of firing stop signs. As he said that, a teenage boy in a white-with-black stripes baseball uniform appeared on third base in a rupture of sand and dust, bringing Tim to a halt. It stood between Tim and Clay, facing the former, his cap covering his eyes and the tip of his aluminium baseball bat set in the sand. Tim raised his hand in peace and attempted to parley. ¡°Okay, you''re The Brother right? You can talk. I know you can. You''re not like The Father I''m sure. Whatever he''s offering you, it''s not worth it!¡± He blinked and Brother seemingly teleported towards him, a trail of risen dust behind it. Shocked by the sudden movement, Tim fell backwards onto the mud. The Brother raised its bat menacingly, ready to bring down the metal weapon on him. From behind, Clay swung his wooden bat at The Brother''s head and the creature disappeared in a burst of dust just before the weapon collided. Clay pulled his friend to his feet. ¡°Okay, I have a lot of questions for you, kid.¡± Brother reappeared with a whirl of dust and wind on the pitcher''s mount and began its advance on them again, dragging its bat behind it. The pair stood their ground, Clay with his bat raised and Tim looking left and right for an escape route. Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. The sound of the saw rang out loudly in Tim''s mind, worrying him enough to turn his attention away from one homicidal dream creature to another. The door to the dugout burst off its hinges, flying out onto the muddied field. From the darkness of the corridor behind it, the Sawman stepped out, walking as calmly and slowly as it always had, which was what terrified Tim the most. The confidence in its invulnerability. ¡°What was that?¡± Clay asked, a rare tone of anxiety in his voice. Back-to-back, Tim replied, ¡°Nothing. Just prepare to run and keep your eyes on The Brother.¡± ¡°Brother? What brother?¡± ¡°That fucking baseball kid!¡± Tim yelled frustratingly. He continued to look for an escape but the only way out of the field ¨C which was the door to the dugout ¨C was guarded by the Sawman. The Sawman stepped onto the grounds and the two felt their hearts trying to burst out of their chest from the sudden fear that swallowed them. Tim''s mind went into overdrive, trying to figure out if The Father had been able to mark him as his victim before The Brother did. He was sure that since Clay had been marked by The Brother, the Sawman could kill his friend with no life and death consequences. Almost sure. Then, as if remembering a homework he had forgotten to do, Tim realized something was amiss and urged, ¡°We need to wake up. We need to wake up now.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Cause Stella''s not here,¡± solving the puzzle that was his train of thoughts, Tim finished, ¡°And neither is Joseph.¡± XXX 02:53 a.m 8 days earlier Lying on her neck on the ceiling of the car, Stella stayed as still as she could, trying to stop the drum bursting ringing that had built up in her ears. Warm blood flowed out of her mouth and around her nose, making it all the way to her strawberry blonde hair. Held upside down by her seatbelt, she watched dizzily as the gas tank from their car, which had detached itself in the impact and ensuing tumble, burn softly in the dark outside her window. The right half of the back-seats of the SUV had been crushed by the collision, compacting just passed the middle, almost reaching her side of the car by mere inches. The passenger''s seat has been twisted outwards, but she could still see Tim''s chest rising and falling with each breath. Reaching around the driver''s headrest, she felt for her brother''s neck but found his wrist instead, but breathed a sigh of relief when a pulse was detected. She knew that from her position, she would be unable to do anything for them. Unable to turn her head in the awkward pose, she held her weight up with her left hand while searching for the release button for her seatbelt. She traced the strap and found the mechanism, but fumbled with the button for a moment before pressing it. Her body crumbled over the unsupported side and she winced as she twisted into an uncomfortable position. Remaining her composure, she manoeuvred onto all fours despite the tight space, thanks to her small size, and began checking her body for injuries. Shoulders, elbows, hands, ribs, hips, knees, ankles. Everything seemed fine saved for a lost right premolar and a cut on her left temple, which explained the blood. She wiped the red off her face with the sleeves of her shirt, staining the green to brown. Clay''s body laid entirely face down on the ceiling of the car. Having unbuckled shortly before the crash, her brother was entirely out of his seat, leaning unnaturally with his right leg stuck out of the broken windscreen and his left below Tim''s dangling head. The latter was still buckled in, his legs held in position against the side of his seat by the crushed door, though not in a noticeable vice hard enough to break them. Just a gentle pin. Both of them bled from more parts of their bodies, having taken more of the impact, but otherwise looked physically fine. ¡°Brother...¡± she shook his arms gently, with too little strength left to raise her voice and worried she might accidentally further any injuries if she shook too hard. ¡°Wake up...¡± She turned to Tim and did the same. Neither replied. Then, the fire from the near-empty gas tank flickered and she heard the closing of a car door. She could see the wheels of the pick-up from the right side of the car, as well as Joseph''s feet heading towards them. ¡°Joseph...¡± she reminded herself of their adversary. Miraculously, the pistol still hung from the cupholder it was last placed in. A silver lining in the cloud, since if the gun had been kept anywhere else, it would have likely be flung out of reach. Taking the firearm, she held it at her side, finger lightly on the trigger. She grabbed one of the torches on the ceiling and climbed out of her window, hiding behind the overturned vehicle. The gas from the tank ran out and the fire flickered to an ember. Back in the dark. The ringing stopped. Safety off. Chapter Twenty Six: Phobophobia "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." - Plato Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Chapter Twenty Seven: Meet the Man "One should not as a rule reveal one''s secrets, since one does not know if and when one may need them again." - Paul Joseph Goebbels This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Chapter Twenty Eight: Say When "Why do they call it rush hour when nothing moves?" - Robin Williams If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Chapter Twenty Nine: Crawl, Run, Fall "Conform and be dull." - James Frank Dobie ¡°Do you know the kind of world we live in right now?¡± Adam said, circling Clay. The teen was bound by his hands and legs to a steel chair, bolted to the floor. Breathing heavily, with blood flowing from the corner of his lips and bruises that added on to the ones he already had, he stared at his knee in silence, drained of energy from the events of the past few days and the pain of the abuse that the drug dealer had put him through. Adam wiped the dust off the sleeves of his suit and continued, ¡°A world where sleep is a commodity and Somnidin the currency,¡± he leaned into the armrest of the chair, bringing his face close to Clay. ¡°Look around you boy. I am the richest of us all.¡± Surrounding them were crates and boxes, stacked to the brim of the small storage room, with only the centre kept bare to hold Clay in place. The dank lighting composed of a single fluorescent lamp that hung above his head. The swinging lamp was enough to make the scene look like a 90s torture-interrogation chamber. Adam continued, ¡°I like your style. Smart, quick witted, I could use someone like you. So, last offer,¡± he held up a pill bottle of Somnidin to Clay''s face. ¡°Join me. And I''ll give you all the Somnidin you''ll ever need. Reject me, and I''ll torture you for the funs,¡± he finished with a smile. Clay looked up, face-to-face with the criminal. But his stare was on the bottle, a wanting glare that sought the solace of a night''s rest. ¡°I...¡± ¡°Come on. You''re a smart boy. Logical even,¡± Adam shook the bottle, rattling the teen in the heart and mind. ¡°Take it.¡± With sparse breath, Clay replied, ¡°I...I would...I would rather fuck a cactus,¡± he spat at the man''s face. Adam wiped the spit off his face with his sleeves. Letting out a small chuckle, ¡°Too bad. I like you kid. You''re funny. You''re like me. You probably learned to run before you could walk. That makes you different. Some sort of misplaced pride in your nonconformity,¡± he half-turned to walk away but stepped back and backhanded Clay, hard. ¡°But your pride will be the death of you.¡± The door to the storage room opened and one of Adam''s henchman walked through. Clay recognized him as the tattooed Mexican from their previous meeting. Adam asked Tattoo, ¡°What are you doing here?¡± ¡°Getting the payment for the guys, boss.¡± ¡°Right. The cop killers,¡± Adam replied calmly. ¡°Take one box to them. And here''s a little bonus,¡± he tossed Clay''s pill bottle to him. Tattoo raised the bottle in thanks, pocketed it, and picked up a box of the drug nearest to him. ¡°Thanks boss.¡± Adam asked, ¡°What''s happening at the police station?¡± ¡°They just got their first responders. The entire city''s civil force is out chasing all this death by Sin cases. No one''s available to even clean up the bodies.¡± ¡°Good. That means we can do whatever we want. See you later,¡± Adam said. The tattooed man nodded and left with the drugs. Adam turned back to Clay. Holding up his prisoner''s face by a vice grip on his jaw. He growled, ¡°Now, let''s see how long you can stay awake before the nightmare gets you.¡± Westlay Street was deserted, with overturned vehicles blocking the road. Some ambers glowed within some of the charred cars, a remnant of the destruction that happened the day before. Tim looked up and down the road from his seat in the sole caf¨¦ that remained opened. Broken bottles, baseball bats, crowbars, and other makeshift melee weapons laid on the tar road, bathed red by the setting sun like the aftermath of a blood-soaked battlefield. A lone street sweeper on the other side of the road repeatedly brushed garbage off the pavement. A waitress stepped out of the caf¨¦, a tray in hand. She set the tray down on the table next to Tim and from it, removed the cup of coffee, placing it softly on the table. ¡°Here you go,¡± she said happily. ¡°First customer of the day.¡± ¡°First customer?¡± Tim looked around and noticed that every single chair around him were still pushed into their tables. ¡°Not a single person came in the whole day?¡± The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Nope,¡± the waitress tucked the tray under her arm. Her name tag read Lily. ¡°Just you. Not surprising, after what happened last night.¡± ¡°I''m guessing riot?¡± Tim assessed the overturned cars. ¡°Yeah. Stretched out the whole block. I think the whole city knows by now,¡± she said in surprised by Tim''s lack of knowledge. ¡°Where were you the past day?¡± Blankly, Tim replied, ¡°Out of town.¡± His attention was caught by an old, black car that had driven up across the street, parking right across the caf¨¦. A heavily tattooed man exited the vehicle, circling around to the back. From the trunk, he carried out a cardboard box. With a beep audible within the dead quiet city, he locked the car and proceeded down the street with his delivery. ¡°Got to go,¡± Tim got up from his seat and meandered out of the caf¨¦, only turning back once to shoot the waitress two thumbs up. ¡°Coffee''s on me.¡± He jogged across the littered road just as Tattoo turned into an alley. With the sun past the edges of the buildings, a sudden shadow fell over the streets, only to be instantly illuminated by spots of white as the street lamps turned on. At the car, he looked through the driver side window, hoping to find a GPS that could lead him to the car''s last travelled location. The dashboard was empty, and Tim comforted himself by reasoning GPS might not even be working with the world''s media in the disarray that it was in. He went around to the trunk, looking to the caf¨¦ to make sure the waitress had went back inside. The street sweeper had turned a corner to Aston Avenue, leaving Tim the last man on the road. He picked up a nearby crowbar, with dried blood stuck to the edge of the tool. Shoving the crowbar into the gap between the trunk, he hoped the lock was weak or worn out. Given the state of the car ¨C dents, rust and all ¨C it was a reasonable request. He was proven right when without much effort, the trunk popped opened. The boot was empty, which bode well for his plan as it meant the tattooed man would have no reason to look back in. Tim climbed in with his new crowbar, closing the trunk just enough so that the lock only engaged lightly. In complete darkness, he waited, occasionally lighting up his watch to check the time. A minute passed. Then two. Ten. Twenty. Half an hour flew by and Tim wondered if he had made a mistake, and that perhaps the henchman had intended to leave the car here to get rid of some sort of evidence, and instead was hoofing it to wherever Adam was holding out at. The boot was getting warmer by the minute. A slight thirst took him and he wished he had drank that cup of coffee. Then, the car shook as a door opened and the man he assumed was the Mexican got in. A slam indicated the shutting of the door. Soon after, the engine revved. Tim held onto the sides of the boot with his hands and feet as the car accelerated off. Tim blamed action movies for making kidnappings and sneaking into enemy compounds look too exciting. Real life gave plenty of free time to him; Time spent patiently waiting within the trunk boot as they travelled to their destination. Throughout the hour, he fought the urge to sleep. Partially because he worried of the deadly consequences that might befall him in the dream world, but also as a precaution to the deadly consequences that might befall him in the real world. He felt the car turn and drive over a hump, as if leaving the main road behind. A while later, the vehicle slowed down to a stop before reversing into what he assumed was a parking space. The engines turned off and the opening and closing of the driver door followed. They had reached wherever they were. Tim gave ten minutes to waiting and listening, making sure that there was absolutely no one audibly near him before crowbarring the trunk open again. He climbed out, careful to avoid his left leg which had gone numb during the ride. Gently, he closed the trunk, all the while nursing the blood back into his leg with tiny shakes. He took a quick scan of the area. He was in the middle of a storage lot, with rows of storage lockers extending left and right, cutting off at the fenced boundary. Now in ''enemy'' territories, he drew his revolver and holstered the crowbar onto one of his belt loop. He did a quick check to make sure his gun was loaded, before feeling the cold brunt of a metal pipe slamming into the back of his neck. His legs buckled from the pain and his vision blurred, his body falling to the ground. ¡°What should we do with him?¡± Tim heard a man say. His body, paralysed by the hit to the tip of his spine, refused to move. The only thing he saw was the ground before him. Adam''s voice replied, ¡°Throw him in with that Clay kid. We''ll deal with them both later.¡± As the world around him dimmed, he watched from his view of the concrete lot as a well shined leather shoe stepped into his view. ¡°Timmy boy,¡± he heard Adam said. ¡°You shouldn''t have come.¡± One of the shoes raised into the air, before swinging against his face. Chapter Thirty: The Corridor "Character consists of what you do on the third and fourth tries." - James Albert Michener Galaxies littered the night sky. Like an entire bathtub of milk that had been flushed down hundreds of small drains. Larger than stars and brighter than the moon, the sight was one of the most breathtaking display of the dream world that Tim had seen yet. It was the entire universe, shrunk down to the size of the canvas that stretched out before him. An endless domain of wonder. He sat up, the dew of the damp grass sticking to his clothes. To his sides and back, about two meters apart, five stories tall walls blocked his way, with the only clear path being forward. But even that ends with a fork a short way down road. Careful to watch his right stump, Tim got to his feet, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary. At least, as out of the ordinary as the situation could get. The only thing he noticed was that the grass was artificial. Plastic. But the dirt beneath it was real. ¡°Alright. Fake grass,¡± he reached his hand out and touched the wall. ¡°Real concrete.¡± The walls were smooth, almost as if scrapped flat by a passing sandstorm. With no visible footholds or even a blemish, they were impossible to scale. With no other option left to him, Tim started towards the fork in the road, the fake grass crunching under his feet. At the junction, which split diagonally, the right let to another fork, while the left curved slowly, with the road disappearing after a distance. ¡°This is a maze,¡± Tim thought aloud. Clang Like The Father''s saw, the sound of the metal bat only echoed within his mind, but Tim had no doubts who or where it came from. He turned to look down the curved left path, and sure enough, The Brother walked out from behind the walls. Without a second thought, Tim bolted down the right road, turning left at the next junction. On and on the path goes. With more forks, winds and turns as he went on. A right turn. A left. Up a stairs and under an archway. Another left. And a third. The teen did not slow down, did not dare to. Trapped in the endless corridor, he had no other choice but to run and make up some distance between him and his hunter. A sudden sharp right and a flash of white. Like a scene right out of a high school romance drama, Tim collided with the girl in the white dress. He swore he could hear romantic music playing within his mind for a second. But unlike a show, Sister wasn''t knocked off her feet, and the pair did not find themselves romantically coiled up with each other on the floor. Despite her tiny stature, she withstood the full brunt of Tim''s weight and momentum, not even staggering an inch, while Tim awkwardly found himself in a half embrace. ¡°Tim!¡± Sister exclaimed excitedly, ignoring the whole fact that she had just phased through the law of physics. ¡°Finally found you. So...how''s it going?¡± she asked playfully. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her body seductively into his, her face drawing exceedingly closer to him. He felt her aura wash over him as he fought the sudden lustful desires and thoughts that crossed his mind. ¡°Cut that out. I''m being chased by The Brother!¡± ¡°Oh...that is worrisome,¡± she replied, though not with any of the sense of urgency as her words would have implied. However, the seductive atmosphere disappeared and Tim could concentrate again. Sister moved her arms down to his waist. ¡°And disappointing. I missed you.¡± Admittedly, he wasn''t uncomfortable with her intimacy. Even without her aura, he was quite attracted to the beautiful, spectral girl. ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked. She only replied with a devilish smile. ¡°Hold on tight.¡± Taking a step back from him, he had just a second to wonder what she meant before the white cloth tied around his waist pulled him up and off his feet. ¡°Woah!¡± he was dragged up and against the wall by the makeshift rope. At three stories up, he looked down to see Sister waving and laughing at his shock. Slowly, he was lifted to the top of the wall. He turned and positioned himself to climb onto the platform. Once the edge crossed his view however, he found himself facing a dumbfounded Clay, panting heavily and sweating as if he had just walked out of a pool. Surprised, Clay let out, ¡°Kid?¡± before offering his best friend a hand. Tim took it without hesitation and was pulled onto the landing. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Panting himself, Tim replied, ¡°Aren''t you guys tired of asking that?¡± he looked back and down into the maze, but Sister and her magic cloth had vanished. He glanced around their level and saw that the maze extended seemingly endlessly into the galaxy filled horizon. ¡°It''s a pretty repetitive question, isn''t it?¡± ¡°No. Cause I haven''t had my answer yet.¡± ¡°Do we really have the time for that now?¡± Sarcastically, he replied, ¡°Well, my body has been beaten unconscious by a psychopathic drug dealer and I''m being chased by a homicidal dream monster. So yeah, we got time.¡± A memory jogged from the recess of Tim''s mind. ¡°Wait, there''s something I have to tell you. It''s about Brother,¡± he remembered the envelope given to him by the librarian, Howard Galloway. ¡°The baseball kid?¡± ¡°Yes. The thing you asked from Howard, he got it. The Brother''s a kid from our world. You were right. They exists in our world as well, somehow,¡± Tim could see Clay wanting to speak so he raised a finger to hush the later. ¡°Let me finish. He used to be from some baseball club out west. Committed suicide twelve years ago, after his team lost in some national finals. The dude''s name was Harrison Smith.¡± Ecstatic, Clay exclaimed, ¡°Fantastic!¡± followed by a period of silence while wearing a smile on his face. The grin broke when he said, ¡°So what now?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°So what do I do with the information?¡± Clay asked with a blank face. ¡°I don''t know! You''re the one who went looking for it. I thought you had a plan?¡± ¡°Not really. I was just sort of going with it. There isn''t really any other leads to follow you know.¡± A faint ''clang'' echoed into their minds. Shivers ran down their spines when they heard the sound. Thinking fast, Tim recited the rules of the dream world to his friend, ¡°Okay, if we kill ourselves, we''ll be able to wake up.¡± ¡°Are you crazy?¡± Clay said in a panicked tone, ¡°How sure are you?¡± ¡°Did it twice. Kinda confident about it,¡± he looked over his shoulder and down the five stories wall. However, what used to be hard ground and fake grass was replaced by sand, which cut the drop to a mere five meters, nothing more than a cushioned fall. ¡°Okay, that''s not going to happen.¡± ¡°The sand wasn''t there before.¡± ¡°Must be The Brother.¡± ¡°What if I strangled you?¡± Clay asked nonchalantly. Surprised, Tim replied, ¡°What? Why would you do that?¡± ¡°You said the last time if we don''t get killed by the thing hunting us, we''d survive. And we did. So if I killed you, you would wake up?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Tim confirmed, but a thought of worry crossed him. ¡°But if you do that, you''ll get killed by The Brother.¡± Clang. The sound got closer. As if they had headphones on, the audio was both something they could hear and sense in their minds at the same time. Clay explained, ¡°My body''s tied up in the real world. There''s nothing I can do even if I wake up.¡± ¡°No. No! NO! I should be killing you!¡± Tim raised his voice in protest, unwilling to let his friend make the sacrifice. ¡°I have more chance of surviving here! I know more about this place than you do. I can fight!¡± Matching his tone, Clay rebutted, ¡°What about Adam? I''m tied up in a chair kid. I''m as dead out there as I am here.¡± ¡°I''m not gonna let you do this,¡± Tim rejected the plan, turning away from his friend. A small whirlwind of dust caught his attention, signalling the arrival of The Brother. ¡°You don''t have choice,¡± he heard Clay mumbled from behind. He didn''t even have time to react as his friend''s bony arms wrapped around his neck in a sleeper hold. ¡°Clay!¡± Tim gasped, struggling as his airway was wrenched tighter. He kicked wildly, body instinctively expending energy in a desperate attempt to break free. He tried to pull apart Clay''s grip, but the smaller hand was buried beneath his chin, disabling him from getting a grip. Despite the scratches drawing blood and a few strong kicks to the shin, Clay held his stance, not once letting lose his hold. ¡°I''m sorry,¡± he whispered, ¡°I''m so sorry,¡± Tim''s frantic struggle slowed to a few jerks and weak attempts to wrench free, before finally, his body slumped unconscious. Like the after image left on a screen, his body slowly faded, until even the physical weight of it disappeared, leaving Clay hugging the air. A whirl of sand formed on the platform opposite Clay, and the body of The Brother materialized from within. ¡°Just you and me,¡± Clay said, a calm having settled over him after saving his friend. He drooped his arms to his sides, a fiery look in his eyes as he felt a final confrontation approaching. ¡°Let''s do this.¡± Chapter Thirty One: Turn and Face the Mirror "Only the dead have seen the end of war." - George Santayana 7 days earlier Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Chapter Thirty Two: The Brother "The ultimate test of man''s conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard." - Gaylord Anton Nelson 12:51 a.m 7 days earlier 32 rounds. Either the henchman did not know how to count, or he ran out of bullets. Whatever the case, Tim felt the extended 33 rounds magazine of the pistol made the gun slightly back heavier and was uncomfortable with its grip. He sighed in recognition that the ''gangster gun'' was his best option of a weapon at that point and tucked in into his belt. Clay had been untied. But with both their injuries, it was impossible for Tim to move him and himself without suffering from pain and further damage to their bodies. He had no choice but to hold the fort, awaiting Stella and her backup. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since he called her. Fifty since the now dead and bloodied henchman had his last contact with Adam Pearlman. As if on queue with his thoughts, Pearlman''s voice rang out from Tattoo''s radio. ¡°Hey moron, what''s taking you so long?¡± Tim thought fast, reaching over to the radio on the corpse''s belt, careful not to look at the pulp that was now the thug''s face in worry that he might vomit. With his best imitation of the man''s thick accent, Tim radioed back, ¡°Still packing things, boss.¡± It seemed Pearlman bought it, for he radioed back, ¡°Damn it. We''ve got to get to the docks in thirty minutes. I''m coming over to help.¡± ¡°No!¡± Tim panicked, his voice croaking slightly. He cleared his throat, ¡°I''ll be done in five minutes.¡± Only silence replied him. The beat of his own heart and each breath he took was as clear to him as the ticking of the hands on the thug''s Rolex. He could see his window of success closing. Adam had probably figured out his plans and was making preparations to return and take him down, having seen through his dreadful attempt at voice acting. His worry was eased when Adam finally replied, ¡°Fine,¡± and Tim let out a breath of relief. ¡°By the way, your accent is terrible. See you in ten, Timmy boy.¡± False hope was the most cruel thing in Tim''s view. And it seemed Adam Pearlman was someone who was willing to play the card for a psychological advantage. Determined not to fall into the throes of the man''s game, Tim started to plan. He could try to move Clay out of the storage room, but felt they would not get far, given their weight and injuries. The room was too small to be a good place to set up a defence. If Adam was desperate enough and willing to sacrifice some of his stash of Somnidin, a simple Molotov would be enough to turn them to ashes. Though he was betting that the drug dealer would not resort to such means so as to preserve his goods, Tim did not want to take that chance. The confined space also meant the likelihood of any gunfire exchanged to hit the immobile Clay. Stepping out of the now unlocked door, he clicked his tongue in disappointment as he found themselves in the centre storage locker of a row of fifteen. With no clear hiding space left or right of him, he was stuck with the option of barricading the door. That was also not a good option, as Adam would likely have the keys to open the larger garage door. With the addition of moonlight, he turned to face the shelf-filled room. His mother taught him that sometimes, to move fast, he had to go slow. He breathed calmly, scanning the place for something he could use. Behind him, the open road had no hiding place. The inside of the room however, was too cramp. He kept floating back between those two locations and plans. Then, from the corner of his eyes, something glinted. And he grinned. XXX 01:01 a.m 7 days earlier Adam strolled down the aisle of storage lockers calmly and with the confident gait of a king. He caught sight of black cat running by the opposite end. He smiled at the display. Never having understood the reasoning of people of old for believing that a black cat signified misfortune, he instead found the creature slick, clean, and a pleasant view for the eyes. As much so as the suit that he wore and favoured. It was a symbol of wealth to him. The ability to afford a colour that was a blend of everything. As he passed storage locker 5, he pulled out his 38. Magnum from the holster under his blazer, feeling the heavy weight of the firearm in his hand. He liked the gun for its sheer power, an was as confident in its explosive strength as he was in his ability to wield it. He was also confident that Tim would stay in the vicinity. Either in the storage locker itself, or around the far corner. That was the problem with good guys. They had something else to protect. Adam called those things ''burdens''. He reached the door, trying the knob. Not to his surprise, it was locked. ¡°Come on Timmy!¡± he called out to the occupant inside, banging the door. From his pocket, he retrieved the remote control that would open the garage door. ¡°Don''t make me come in there!¡± In a prone position, Tim lined his sights, his left wrist resting over his right, holding down the entirety of his arm against the coming recoil. With a shorter barrel, the key to accuracy, as was taught by his air rifle club, was a steady arm. But he wasn''t shooting a pellet anymore. He could feel the awkward weight of the extended magazine and the heavy implications that came when Adam drew his gun. The idea that he was about to attempt to take someone''s life crossed him. And he fired. Adam''s right shoulder jerked as the bullet grazed just over the top. Tim fired two more rounds from his perch on the opposing flat roof, both shots ricocheting off the concrete floor. The drug dealer turned and spotted the teen above. He fired hastily, the larger, more powerful magnum round blasting off a chunk of the concrete roof. Tim put up the stepladder he used to climb up in front of him, using it as a poor makeshift shield between him and Adam, knowing full well the thin metal would do nothing to stop the bullet. But he hoped it would do enough to disconcert the man''s aim. And it worked. His opponent''s next two shot missed any and everything around him entirely, allowing him the time to recover. He got onto his knees and unloaded half his magazine onto Adam in a hopeful barrage, forcing the man to run towards the building Tim stood on, and running out of Tim''s sight beneath him. Not willing to give the man any room to recuperate, Tim jumped to his feet and fired over the edge. He heard the distinct sound of bullets striking concrete. Looking over, Adam had disappeared. Instead, the man had ran off towards the left, attempting to escape the disadvantage in elevation by creating distance. Tim gave chase. Adam fired over his shoulder, the bullet grazing the edge of the roof. Tim shot another five wild rounds at the opponent, the bullets spraying all over the place, except on their mark. He was no action movie hero, and once again cursed films for portraying gunfights as easy, with guarantee kills every shot. From the horizon of the storage lockers, streaks of red and blue light flashed against the buildings opposite. At the same time, half a dozen light turned on from the apartments around them, eager shadows popping to the windows to catch a glimpse of the action. The sirens of the police vehicle wailed into the night. Backup had arrived. Suddenly, the garage door behind them exploded from its hinges, blasting out and slamming like a crashing car into the locker facing it. From the smoke, Clay stumbled out, holding his broken arm to his chest, his free hand gripping the same bloodied steel pipe Tim used earlier to murder the henchman. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Clay saw Adam first, a glint of mania in his eyes as he eyed the drug dealer''s gun. Clay began running towards Adam, shouting, ¡°Shoot him! SHOOT HIM DAMN IT!¡± From Adam''s escape route, a muscle car braked sharply at the junction, blocking the exit. From the passenger''s side, the red haired detective, Julianne Smith, jumped out. ¡°Stay in the car!¡± she shouted to the back seat. From the driver side, Oliver Hardy stood from the seemingly undersized door, his muscular figure overshadowing all the combatants that had gathered, like a juggernaut amongst gladiators. He stepped towards the convict with his gun raised. ¡°Adam Pearlman! You are under arrest!¡± His partner did the same. However, she pointed her firearm up at Tim instead. ¡°You too boy!¡± the female detective was on the verge of running over, eyes gleaming with mad excitement. ¡°Put down your gun or we''ll shoot!¡± But the two former prisoners weren''t listening. For trailing Clay was a cloud of dust, slowly twisting and turning like a small twister. Denser and and denser it got until it started to form the rough silhouette of a person. Lines of sand coiled around the mini-twister, moulding the finer details. Then, colours set into the grains, and the form of The Brother appeared before them, baseball bat and all. The detectives, especially Oliver, stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the phenomenon, rushing forward and changing their targets to the forming creature. Adam however, was the only adult that kept his poker face throughout the dust show. Clang. Instinctively upon hearing the sound, Tim turned his gun to The Brother and started firing. Clay jumped to the ground as Adam and the detectives did the same thing, unloading their rounds into the general direction of the creature. Bits of The Brother''s skin chipped away with each impact, but quickly turned to sand instead, as if the dust was an armour that it wore. And the bullets were nothing but pellets that scrapped the coating. ¡°Brother!¡± Stella called out in worry, climbing out of the car with her crutches under her arms. ¡°Get back in the car!¡± Oliver demanded. ¡°Not until you get my brother here!¡± Tim was the first to stop firing. Not because he ran out of bullets, but because he realized they were doing absolutely no damage to the dream entity. Adam followed, taking the opportunity to reload his gun. Even Oliver stopped. The Brother continued its slow, confident walk towards the group, but started to speed up the closer he got to Clay. Still, Julianne continued shooting, pulling her trigger constantly in a blind frenzy. Even after her gun had ran out of bullets, she continued to fire blankly, the trigger clacking against the barrel with no effect. ¡°That thing shouldn''t be here!¡± she yelled, her voice shaking with fear. Taking the panic as an opportunity, Adam ran past the two flustered detectives. With a strong backhand, he smashed the butt of his gun into the head of the distracted Julianne and the female detective crumpled to the floor like paper. With gun loaded, he headed straight for Stella. ¡°Brother!¡± the girl screamed as the dealer grabbed her by the throat, bringing her in front of him as a human shield. Her crutches dropped to the ground as she desperately stood on one leg to maintain balance. ¡°Shit,¡± Oliver cursed, turning his attention to the hostage situation. ¡°Let her go, asshole!¡± Adam replied, licking his lips, ¡°Give me your keys then!¡± ¡°You''re not exactly the big problem here!¡± Oliver replied, implying at The Brother. ¡°And we just shot that thing to hell!¡± Adam screamed back. ¡°It''s still coming, and I know when to make a retreat. Now give me your keys!¡± Tim jumped off from his rooftop perch, landing painfully on his already tired and injured legs. He ran over to help his best friend to his feet. ¡°Come on!¡± he heaved through gritted teeth, the muscles of his body starting to give way. ¡°Stella needs you!¡± Like magic words, Clay found the strength to stand. Gripping the steel pipe tighter than before, he turned to analyse the hostage situation. ¡°Can you make the shot, kid?¡± Tim turn to look at the confrontation between Adam and Oliver, then to the approaching Brother, before replying sternly, ¡°I need time.¡± ¡°I''ll do you one better,¡± Clay said with brimming confidence. From his pocket, he retrieved two bottles of Somnidin, passing them to Tim. Without looking at his friend, he said, ¡°Don''t need them anymore,¡± before walking off to face The Brother. Tim trusted Clay. And that trust was a two-way street. He turned to face Adam, their distance far enough apart that the older man did not even have Tim in his immediate vicinity of attention. Tim notched his gun arm over his free forearm, using it as a stabilizer. He took his aim, lining the sights to encompass Adam''s head within the two iron pieces, then raised the gun just a millimetre higher. Clay approached The Brother. Pipe in his hand, he said, ¡°Let''s do this, Harrison Smith.¡± He raised the pipe just as The Brother raised its bat. The two metal clashed as Clay swung to block the attack. He swung back up, the pipe smacking The Brother across the jaw. But instead of the burst of dust and sand that was expected, trickle of blood drew from its lips. Clay took a step back. The Brother, taking the opportunity, struck his bat right onto Clay''s head. Stars danced in front of his eyes from the blow, his knees nearly giving way as he heard the cracking of his skull. From behind them, Stella screamed, ¡°Brother!¡± The gun still felt awkward in Tim''s hand. Back heavy. Then he realized the reason. Ejecting the crude extended magazine, he re-aimed his shot, a single bullet in the chamber. The pistol felt balanced. Another blow from the bat onto Clay''s injured right shoulder. Gritting through the pain, he wrapped his broken arm around the metal weapon and yanked as hard as he could, pulling the weapon out of The Brother''s hands and sent it clanking over the ground. He was sure he had dislocated his shoulder. And the blood that profusely bled from his arm told him he might have broken it beyond recovery. But the adrenaline pumped ferociously through him, numbing him from all pain and thought. Tim pulled the trigger. Clay swung his pipe. The bullet bounced off the top of Adam''s magnum, sending the weapon flying. Ricocheting off the firearm, the round changed its course straight through the criminal''s eyes. Knocking The Brother off its feet, Clay slid his hand up the length of the pipe, soaking his palm in the blood of the henchman until he held the weapon in reverse. With a primal yell, he sent the weapon piercing down into The Brother''s face. The creature exploded into a cloud of dust, the force of the burst knocked Clay off his feet and sent him flying a few meters back, the teen landing with a loud crunch on the concrete ground, where he continued to lay, unmoving. Adam, with his brains punctured and no longer in control of his body, released Stella from his grip. The teen hopped and staggered over towards Oliver, but past the detective entirely, sweeping away the man''s offering hand, and headed straight for her brother. She tripped, fell face flat on the ground, sobbing at her helplessness. Oliver picked her up in his arm as one would a basket of kittens, carrying her over to Clay as Adam''s deceased body fell to his knees, gravity dragging it to lean against the car door, its temporary resting place. Tim turned to his friend, lying unconscious on the floor, the surrounding ground covered in a layer of dusts. Oliver set Stella down beside him and the girl gently cupped her brother''s face in her hands. From behind, Julianne reared, groaning as she slowly regained consciousness. Tim looked to the kind giant, Detective Hardy, who told him, ¡°Run. Get out of here.¡± Tim looked to Stella, who through tears, and despite needing comfort and a shoulder, nodded to Tim. ¡°Go.¡± Though they had won the battle, Tim felt they had lost the war. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the group and ran. Chapter Thirty Three: Breathe "War is hell." - William Tecumseh Sherman 10:21 a.m 7 days earlier Detective Julliane Smith, with a bandage wrapped around her forehead, entered the ward with her partner, Oliver Hardy. She strode with purpose towards Stella, a daunting gaze in her eyes despite the atmosphere. Stella ignored the new presence from her seat beside her brother''s bedside, the ECG beeping away the seconds. Wrapped in bandages from head to toe, his broken arm in a cast that dangled from a sling strung to the ceiling, Clay breathed with the aid of a tube down his throat, his chest rising and falling to the chug of the ventilator. She knew what the detectives were there to ask, and her answer would remain the same. ¡°Where''s Timothy Kleve?¡± Smith asked, standing beside the girl without care or consideration. ¡°I told you,¡± Stella replied. ¡°I don''t know.¡± ¡°Do you really expect me to believe that?¡± Oliver cut in, ¡°Julie, I don''t think she knows anything.¡± ¡°These kids are somehow part of it with that baseball boy. I just know it,¡± she replied to her partner before turning her attention back to Stella, ¡°People have died because of them.¡± Without looking, Stella replied confidently, ¡°Tim will save them.¡± Julliane leaned into the chair, trapping Stella within her long, slender arms, like an insect in a web. ¡°Do you think this is a game? Your friend is a murderer. The world is going to hell because of this stupid mass hysteria. There''s been a massacre at the police station, and our entire internet and media has just been wiped from the face of the Earth. What do you think a bunch of kids like you can do?¡± she stepped back, arms crossed. ¡°It may seem peaceful now, but that''s only because everyone''s too scared and confused to do anything. You''ve been to Roagnark. You saw the riots. It''s only a matter of time before Ridge Valley explodes as well.¡± ¡°And what do you hope to accomplish by catching Tim? Will that stop the inevitable? Will imprisoning the one person who stands a chance at stopping this help us in any way?¡± Stella grabbed one of her crutch from against the wall and got to her feet, standing toe-to-toe with the adult. She was ready to pounce. She was pissed. ¡°My brother is unconscious. My friend is on the lam. And you have my parents under house arrest. And for some reason, you''re hell bent on capturing a single person you deem as a ''kid'' that you say have no ability to affect what''s happening right now,¡± she pushed closer with her crutch, now face-to-face, eye-to-eye. She could smell the sweat on the female detective and the stench of... ¡°-Fear. That''s why you''re doing this. You''re afraid because you don''t know what''s happening. And you want someone to blame. So you grab hold of the first thing you see that''s a threat to your believes and you bite it like a dog.¡± Stella saw the slap coming a mile away. Stepping back ever so slightly, the unintended scratch from the detective''s nail drew three lines of red across Stella''s left cheek. But even as blood rolled down from the wound, her stare did not waver. Fiercely, the girl continued, ¡°You think we wanted this? To fight for our lives? This was the hand we were dealt. We''re dealing with it. You can blame others all you want, but running around in circles won''t change anything,¡± she expected another slap, but none came. Instead, Julliane stared at her audacity with wide-eyed disbelief. ¡°You''re not getting anything out of me. You''re going to turn around and walk out that door and continue to cower in your fear.¡± The detective opened her mouth as if to speak, but only muted air came from her breath. Without another word, she turned and left the ward with the slamming of the door. Oliver just stood where he was, having been ignored by both parties the entire time. Finally, he spoke, ¡°The three of you,¡± he looked to Stella, then to her brother. ¡°You''re all something, I''ll give you that.¡± Calming down from her out of character outburst, and feeling the strain from standing, Stella settled back in her chair. With eloquence and a tone of finesse that was not present in her dealing with Smith, she replied to Oliver, ¡°Thanks detective. I''ll take those words as compliments.¡± He stepped forward to her, retrieving a folded note from his pocket. ¡°He asked me to give this to you,¡± he handed the paper over and headed for the door. Looking over to Clay and back to her, he said, ¡°I''m sorry. About everything,¡± and left the room. Stella stared at the door long after the echoes of the click had faded from her mind. The ECG beeping keeping her company, along with the aided breaths of her brother. She unfolded the note. Written in Tim''s scribble of a handwriting was a request. Sleep before 12 Ask Sister to find me XXX The sun set over the horizon of the sea, waves slapping gently against the sandy shore. A lighthouse continued to spin its shine along the cliffs to the north, the building towering over all natural structures in sight. Sitting on the fallen trunk of a coconut tree, the moment was the first period of grace that Tim had in the last three days, with a sight soothing enough to warrant a resort built in its presence. He wished the world would stay that way for even an hour longer. But the two approaching girls from along the shore signalled the end of his relaxation and marked the start of yet another frantic run. He got to his feet. Sister closed in to him in her typical seductive manner, sliding her arm against his, ¡°Well, aren''t you all high and mighty, calling me here.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°I needed to make sure The Father doesn''t mark me, that''s all.¡± ¡°Aw...¡± she danced away and around him. ¡°And here I thought you just wanted to see me.¡± A little. Was his thought. But he wore his best poker face. Turning to Stella, he asked ¡°How is he? Clay?¡± ¡°He''s on life support right now,¡± she explained grimly, looking down at the grains of sand beneath her feet, as if a solution to all her problem laid between the cracks. ¡°The doctors managed to close his wounds but...he''s hurt bad, Tim. He''s hasn''t woken up yet, and he''s not breathing naturally either.¡± Tim nodded back, expression doleful. Even the usually cheerful Sister looked solemnly from the side, her antics cast away for the moment. Tim continued, ¡°I see,¡± but his tone betrayed his expectant of the situation. Stella further explained, ¡°And the detective, the female one. She seems hell bent on capturing you.¡± ¡°She''s deluded. Afraid,¡± he turned towards a wooden pier on the far south of the shoreline where two shadowy figures sat and fished from the edge. ¡°Can''t blame her. But I can''t let her catch me now. For some reason, I can cross dreams. It''s something I can use to solve this whole thing.¡± ¡°Where are you now?¡± Stella asked. ¡°In the real world I mean. Don''t you have to be in some close proximity to jump dreams?¡± He held out a ''V'' with his fingers. ¡°Two floors down from you. In one of the empty doctor''s office. Stealing fentanyl.¡± ¡°What''s that?¡± ¡°Knockout drugs, basically. I figured that if we''re gonna have a chance at beating this thing, I''m going to need to be able to sleep as-and-when I can as well,¡± Tim explained. Sister cut in, ¡°But if you sleep, you''ll get hunted by everyone here. The Father, Brother, Mother, everyone! I''m not going to be able to reach you first all the time.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he smiled at her reassuringly, happy to know that despite her initial apathetic actions, the girl in white did actually care for his life. ¡°But I have a theory. And I think, it''s going to be the most important theory ever, of all time. Which is why, Sister, you need to tell me this. Clay beat The Brother in the real world. Like how I did The Father here. But I need to know, can you tell if The Brother''s dead? Dead and can''t stand again?¡± ¡°If you''re asking if I have some sort of telepathic connection with the others, then no. I can''t tell if they''re standing right behind me without seeing them,¡± Sister said. Twirling the end of her hair on her finger like a spool of silk. She continued explaining, ¡°But I don''t think he''s dead. None of us have died in the time I''ve been here. And from what I know, we''re as good as immortals. The only way we can ''die'' is if we finish our term of service to whatever entity put us here. And even then, we only know one of us has left if we see a replacement.¡± Having expected the answer, Tim replied, ¡°That''s fine. It''s what we''re here to find out,¡± and turned to Stella. He placed his one hand on her shoulder and, with a crestfallen gaze, said, ¡°We''re here to meet someone. And I need you to be strong.¡± Stella''s lips trembled when the meaning of the words sunk it, ¡°W-why?¡± she asked, her voice breaking slightly, her eyes glimmered with surfacing tears. He swallowed hard and forced the words out. ¡°Cause we''re here for Clay.¡± Looking back to the pier, the two fishermen had disappeared. In their place, a single figure stood at the end, admiring the blood-red sun. His hair gleaming white in the setting light. Chapter Thirty Four: Thanks, And "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." - Charles Dickens Ripples broke the smooth water surface as the pebble skipped thrice along it. At the end of the its journey, the stone plopped into the sea, the final ripple wider than any before. From within his hand, Clay materialized a second pebble, once again sending it skipping across the water. Tim, Stella and Sister approached the lone teen on the pier. The wispy girl in white looked on in amazement; Stella with concern; Tim with sombreness. Tim said, ¡°You look like you''re enjoying yourself.¡± Clay closed his palm and reopened them, and another pebble appeared. ¡°Not much to do here,¡± he sighed without facing them. He still wore his grey shirt and cargo pants from the day before, complete with his bloodstains and dirt patches from his fight with Brother and encounter with Adam. ¡°That''s a neat trick,¡± Tim noted the magically appearing stones. ¡°How''d you do that?¡± ¡°No idea,¡± he replied, twirling his fingers. ¡°One day, just...poof. Guess it''s true what they say about being able to manipulate your own dream. But I can only do simple things though. Rocks. Sticks. Stuff like that.¡± ¡°Brother...¡± Stella began, but Tim paused her with a raise of his hand. ¡°Days. You said a few days.¡± ¡°Yeah, I did. Just like you, kid, to notice things like that,¡± Clay sighed in resignation, finally turning to the group. ¡°I''ve been here for three days. Jumping from one dreamscape to another, being chased by The Father. Sometimes there''s a break between the running like right now. But they''re starting to get fewer and farther between.¡± ¡°Impossible. It''s only been a few hours in the real world!¡± Stella stepped forward and hugged her brother, her eyes glistening with held-back tears. ¡°You''re coming back. We''re going to bring you back.¡± He returned the hug but slowly pulled apart. He looked over her shoulder to Sister and asked, ¡°You''re Sister, aren''t you? I sort of figured some things out in the past few days. Time doesn''t go straight here,¡± he paused as he tried to get the impossible words out, ¡°I''m stuck here, aren''t I?¡± The girl in white nodded back, ¡°I''m sorry.¡± Clay nodded dejectedly. A part of him had held hope, though the realist inside him knew chances were slim to none. Stella grabbed her brother by the hand, ¡°No! We''re bringing you back. I won''t let you stay here,¡± she turned to Tim pleadingly, ¡°Think of something. Have...have some clever deduction or come up with a plan! Like you always do!¡± However, Tim could only look to his feet in shame. His reply equal in emotions as the atmosphere, if not more. ¡°There''s nothing I can do.¡± She charged at him, pouncing on him by the shoulders, sinking her nails into his skin. ¡°THEN WHAT ARE YOU HERE FOR!?¡± she yelled while shaking Tim in desperation, her composure finally broken. Tim dared not look her in the eyes, instead, staring off towards Sister at the side, who looked on sadly, though not with pity. Clay said, ¡°He''s here for what I know,¡± their eyes met. And Clay smiled at his best friend, showing his understanding of the situation and forgiveness. ¡°He needs to know what I did to The Brother.¡± Sister asked, ¡°Is The Brother dead?¡± A small smile formed at the corner of his lips as he replied, ¡°Yeah. Haven''t seen him once since I came here. That''s pretty much the silver lining here. He''s dead. But The Father somehow seems to be...taking on his victims,¡± he turned to Tim, ¡°It''s the name. Their real names. I think the name brings them to our world. Makes them real. It''s this place, I think. The realm between worlds. As long they are here, they can''t die.¡± Realizing her situation, Sister exclaimed, ¡°That''s why we can''t remember our names and part of our pasts. It''s like a... like an anchor. To keep us in the dream world,¡± still with questions, she asked Clay, ¡°But how did you kill him then?¡± ¡°Emotions,¡± Tim replied in his stead. ¡°That''s how your powers works, right? You overwhelm our emotions. My father''s rage with fear. Clay''s confidence with anxiety. And my clarity with your...¡± ¡°Lust,¡± Sister said, not denying the deduction. ¡°Yeah. But I never thought it would-¡± ¡°It would actually work the other way around?¡± Tim cut in, feeling the fire of his deductive reasoning being lit. ¡°I know. That''s cause until this whole Sin business, and me, everyone''s been isolated or otherwise...¡± he glanced over in Clay''s direction as a nod to the latter''s current condition. ¡°Incapacitated. It''s a struggle over emotions. It may be corny but, the one with the strongest will power wins.¡± This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Stella, dumbfounded by the casualness of the conversation, demanded, ¡°What about Clay?¡± Clay stepped towards his sister, who continued to protest, ¡°We have to get him out! We have to-¡± She was suppressed by Clay''s gentle hug. He kissed her forehead tenderly. ¡°I''m not going Stella. I know my real bodies beaten to shit, so I''m not waking up any time soon,¡± he stroke her golden hair as the girl broke out in tears, dropping to their knees and crying into his chest. ¡°Like you said, it''s only been a few hours for you, yet three days for me. And I can''t run from The Father forever. The only reason I survived this long was cause I needed to tell Tim what I knew. I''m out of juice now, and I don''t see a way out for me this time.¡± ¡°No...¡± her muffled cries stung him. ¡°I''m sorry Stell,¡± he held her close, comforting her in his embrace. A blanket of dark fog rolled up the horizon, slowly cutting away the light like a rising curtain in the sky. Looking to Tim, he said to his best friend, ¡°We''re running out of time. Kid, keep her safe.¡± Tim knew it was a promise that was easier said than done. But it was one he intended to keep. Their eyes crossed intently, as if all of Clay''s pride and confident were to be passed on through their gaze. ¡°I promise.¡± Clay smiled back, ¡°Good! If you break that promise, I''ll personally come kill you, kid,¡± he helped Stella to her feet as the girl tried to control her sobbing, to little success. Reading Clay''s intention, Tim helped separate the siblings, taking Stella in his arms. To his sister, Clay asked, ¡°Tell mom and dad, ''thanks for everything''. And I love them. And I love you. All of you.¡± Speaking through sobs and choking tears, she managed a pained, ¡°I love you too,¡± the horizon fog had cross a quarter of the sky, covering half the water in darkness. He turned his attention to Sister. ¡°Sorry, I know this is the first time we''ve met but, could you do me a favour,¡± he smiled cheekily, ¡°I think a smart and pretty girl like you already know what it is though.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Sister replied. She floated over, her dress extending to the ground as she did, covering her feet in the process. ¡°I''ll make it painless.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± he turned back to his friend and sister who were both slowly vanishing before his eyes, the fog darkened the ocean and crossed over them, covering them in shadows. He smiled at them, and right before they awoken from the dream, Tim could have sworn that the smile was that of a man who had found peace, who had lived a life with pride and no regrets, despite the short time alive. ¡°And goodbye.¡± Sister kissed Clay, and the light of the world extinguished before them. XXX 5:02 a.m 6 days earlier Even though he was awake, Tim could only stare blankly at the ceiling. Shrouded by darkness, he laid on the examination bed of the empty doctors'' office. His body ached and every fibre of muscle screamed for him to stay still and go back to sleep. He could barely make out the shadowy figure sitting behind the desk, watching him lie motionless on the bed. He knew who it was and felt no fear. However, hesitation overwhelmed him from acting, and he continued to maintain his position. The desk clock ticked away the seconds, and he counted the minutes that passed. In silence, the two of them stayed in the room, until Stella finally said, ¡°He''s gone,¡± her tone void of emotion. ¡°Brother''s dead. Cardiac arrest,¡± he could hear her gulping saliva to find the words to continue. ¡°What do we do now?¡± He wondered what was the point. What had they accomplished in the week that lead up to that moment in time. Joshua was gone. Clay was gone. Everything they had retrieved from Vashmir Commons'' house had been taken as evidence by the police. He had killed Adam Pearlman and Stella killed Joseph Camein. They had blood on their hands with nothing to show for their efforts. Himself, Stella, Oliver Hardy, and Sister. They were the last remaining players in his dwindling circle of allies. Julliane Smith had become a wall between them and the Vashmir evidences. The Father continued to hound his heels in dreams. Steeling himself, Tim explained, ¡°We get the diary and photo album back from police. See if there''s a clue there to The Father''s real name,¡± he listened to Stella''s steady breathing and the rhythmic beat of his own heart. ¡°And then we kill him. End this thing, once and for all. Make it worth while.¡± Chapter Thirty Five: Riot ¡°This way!¡± Oliver Hardy yelled back to his partner as they sprinted through the corridors of the hospital, his coat fluttering in the move. The sound of the crowd got louder with each step. Julie ran behind him, ¡°How many?¡± she asked, refreshed from a change of clothes to comfortable blue jeans and a red shirt. Her gun tucked underneath a leather jacket. ¡°Fifty?¡± he panted back. ¡°Maybe more.¡± The pair stepped around the last corner, shooting out into the hospital lobby. A horde of citizens were gathered in the lobby, desperately trying to push their way through the half a dozen uniformed officers and two security guard standing at the entrance to the pharmacy. Nurses stood fearfully opposite the counter, backing up as far as they could to the walls. ¡°We want Somnidin!¡± shouted one of the males on the front-line of the mob. ¡°We told you,¡± one of the nurses replied, ¡°There''s none left!¡± ¡°You''re lying!¡± A woman climbed onto a chair, capturing the attention of her fellows. ¡°I say we go in there and find it!¡± The crowd roared in unanimous agreement and resumed their push with added ferocity. One man slipped past the line of officers, managing to climb halfway over the counter before being violently pulled back by one of the police, tumbling back into the crowd. Oliver asked, ¡°What do we do, Julie?¡± She pulled out her gun from her shoulder holster and fired into the ceiling. Bits and chips blasted off the wooden board, showering her in a rain of white particles. The entire lobby stalled to a hush. The mob turned to face the source of the gunshot in fear. ¡°What the hell?¡± Oliver exclaimed, jumping away in surprise. She ignored him. Her voice booming in the now silent room, she shouted, ¡°You are all going to calm the fuck down! Or I The peace broke when an old man stepped forward, ¡°Do your worst cop! There''s no medicine left, so we''ll die anyway!¡± the crowd chanted in agreement. She pointed her gun at the crowd and the whole mob backed away in united terror, the fear of dying etched into the wideness of their eyes. Julie said, ¡°Come back at night and we will get you a new batch of Somnidin.¡± Oliver whispered to her, ¡°I hope you''re not saying what I think you''re saying. Those drugs are evidence in a homicide!¡± ¡°If we don''t give them Pearlman''s stash, we''re going to have a riot on our hands,¡± she murmured back. ¡°The lab just needs one crate anyway. We can give the rest away.¡± ¡°Yeah but-¡± ¡°There''s no station right now. We''re all spread too thin. We have to control the situation, whatever the means,¡± she turned back to the crowd without waiting for Oliver to reply. ¡°Everyone, I assure you, we will have a new batch of medicine tonight. Please go wait at home until then.¡± Murmur erupted within the crowd as discussions ensued. ''Lies'' were one of the words that managed to float to the detectives. Despite the apparent distrust, the mob slowly dispersed, glaring menacingly back at the pair as they did. The two security guards came up to the detectives. The taller one, with a beard that seemed almost apart from his face, commented, ¡°Thanks detectives. I don''t know what would have happened if you weren''t here.¡± But Julie was critical, replying, ¡°How did you two let such a large group get past you?¡± Nervously, the shorter guard replied, ¡°We-we were called upstairs. One of our medical stores and equipment room was broken into. Looks like theft.¡± Oliver asked, ¡°What was stolen?¡± ¡°A few syringes and a couple of bottle of fentanyl.¡± ¡°Knock out drugs? Aren''t you supposed to have those under locks and keys?¡± The tall one replied, ¡°We''re kind of short handed here. What with the Vashmir Pandemic and all that. The anaesthetist on duty was called for an emergency surgery.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Oliver replied, nodding understandingly. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°They also took two walkie-talkies,¡± the tall guard added. ¡°Good ones. Long range. No interference. We use them for power outages and emergencies.¡± Julie sighed, ¡°I think I know who took them.¡± A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°Tim,¡± Stella''s voice croaked through the two-way radio. ¡°Can you hear me?¡± Walking down the empty streets, Tim took the walkie-talkie out of his pocket and radioed back, ¡°You''re suppose to say ''over'', over.¡± ¡°I refuse to stoop to your level of childishness.¡± ¡°Now you''re just being a downer. Are you at the library?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Stella''s tired heaves could be heard, even over the static. The city''s public transportation had shut down, forcing the pair to travel everywhere by foot. Stella''s injured leg was no doubt giving her a problem. ¡°You''re right though, Mister Galloway''s gone.¡± ¡°I had a feeling that would happen,¡± he did not know who or what the librarian was then, especially after the old man''s vanishing act at the station. But he felt Howard was there to help, and he needed all the aid he could get. ¡°Did he leave anything behind? Like maybe a note or something?¡± A short pause later, Stella replied, ¡°Doesn''t seem like it. Want me to come find you?¡± ¡°No, you stay there,¡± he knew Stella would suggest meeting up. But he was worried of her condition. Not just her injury, but also her emotional health after losing her brother. She had insisted on continuing to aid him despite his disapproval, but he intended to keep her as far away from the physical dangers as possible. ¡°Take a look around, see if there''s anything he may have hidden.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± she replied, rather disappointed but seemingly understanding of his decision. ¡°Are you at the station yet?¡± ¡°Not yet. I''ll radio in again once I''m there. We can''t communicate after that or I might get caught. We still don''t know what that place is like since Adam ran through it,¡± he gave a pause, but did not let go of his transmitter. ¡°Listen Stell, about Clay. You sure you don''t want to talk about it?¡± She insisted, ¡°Look, I don''t care what he said. I''m going to help you.¡± ¡°I know that. I know that. But that''s not what I meant,¡± he released his call to allow her to reply. But when none came, he continued, ¡°Do you want to talk about ¡°Yeah. I want to talk about it,¡± she said. But the receiver continued to run, preventing him from replying. He could hear light sobs coming from the other end. ¡°But not now. Not yet. I''m not ready yet.¡± Tim nodded, though he was unsure what for as there was no one around to witness his actions. ¡°Okay. We''ll talk when you''re ready.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± He walked the last two streets to the police station in silence. His mind fell onto Clay and his father, and he could not escape the idea that the two of them had sacrificed themselves to give him a chance. But before he could delve further into his self loathing, he turned the last corner onto the street that housed the police station and halted in his track. Tens of cars were parked haphazardly on the road. Ambulances and coroner vans stationed at the perimeter. Bodies, covered in white sheets stained with blood were slowly being carried out of the station to the weeping tears of family and friends who had gather at the foot of the station in waiting. Waiting to identify the bodies. Even from as far as he stood, he could hear the cries of sadness, the wails that seemingly echoed through the world. Tim thought of Adam, and the realization that a single man with a stock of Somnidin managed to do this gave him a conclusion. The world was changing. It might have already changed and was forever so. He raised his radio. ¡°Stella. I''m at the station.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± she replied. ¡°How are things there?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± he lied, as a woman fell to her knees in front of the latest stretcher carried out. ¡°I don''t know how we''re going to do it, but we ¡°Of course we are.¡± He headed towards the alley that led to the back of the station. With the attention focused on the front, he found no resistance. Scanning the building, his only way of entrance was an opened window on the second floor. He pondered to himself, ¡°Okay, now what?¡± looking deeper into the alley, he saw a dumpster and a used bed frame leaning against the wall. ¡°Pile of trash. Just my speed.¡± Pushing the container and lining it under the window, he stacked the bed in front of it. Backing up against the opposing wall, he created some distance between him and his platforms. With a deep breath for composure, and a thought to Clay and Joshua to protect him, he dashed towards his makeshift launcher at full speed, bolting up the bed, onto the dumpster, and kicked against the wall as he flung himself up towards the ledge of the opened window, both hands outstretched. He managed to grab hold of the edge, pulling himself up and over into the empty office. Chapter Thirty Six: Rat and Trap But what bothered Tim the most was the shattered glass that shown the hallway outside and the bullet holes in the walls behind him. Pool of dried blood marked the ground, with one of the desk on the further end being smeared red with it. The bodies of the officers were nowhere to be seen, which lead him to believe that the second floor had been cleared of the dead. He remembered smelling and almost puking at the stench of death just days ago, and was surprised at how well he was already handling the current situation. A lone revolver sat on the desk closest to the door. He walked by it on his way out and contemplated of taking it. Another idea came to him instead and he ransacked the drawers to find a shining brass police badge and a box of spare ammunition. He pocketed the bullets, holstered the gun in his belt and clipped the metal badge to his left pocket, where it could be seen even with his shirt tucked out and hiding the firearm. It was a flimsy disguise at best, as anyone who looked closer would realize the farce and that he was in fact, just a teenager. But he only needed it to get him as far as the evidence room. Any windows from then on would suffice as an escape. He stepped out of Vice and into the empty hallway. Blood splattered the wall opposite the office, a single bullet lodged into the wall behind the red. He walked by it, focusing on the road before him, afraid that if he stopped to look back, he would be overwhelmed by the knowledge of the death that had happened before. He made it to the stairs without any other disruption and could hear, even from the top of the steps, the crying of family over the ones lost. He thought of his father, and willed himself away from being mystified by the cries. Taking a deep breathe, Tim took his steps down. The wailing got louder as he proceeded. He turned the corner at the first landing, and saw the spotless clean floor of the station lobby. Despite it, the image of the bloodbath days before still overlaid his vision, and he could clearly picture the positions of the blood and bodies. Without knowing it, he had reached the bottom of the landing. A uniformed officer approached him, snapping him out of his trance. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± the man looked down and saw Tim''s badge and added, ¡°Detective?¡± Off the tip of his tongue, Tim replied, ¡°Phelps. Detective Phelps from Vice.¡± ¡°Ah, checking up on the Pearlman case I assume?¡± ¡°Yes. That''s right. Just went up to look through some files.¡± The officer looked Tim up and down, raising a brow of suspicion. ¡°Forgive me but...you look a little young to be a detective.¡± Quickly changing the subject, Tim said, ¡°Sad what happened here.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You know, the shooting?¡± ¡°Oh,¡± the officer replied as if he had just been slapped awake. He turned to look at the scene. ¡°Terrible. We lost a lot of good people. I mean, my partner''s in the hospital right now. One of the two survivors. It''s just...bullshit, you know?¡± ¡°Yeah...¡± Tim replied. Though he did not want to be rude, he knew the longer he stood there, the higher was the chance of him being caught. ¡°Listen, I need to get to the evidence locker.¡± ¡°Right,¡± the officer turned back. He looked over Tim''s shoulder and towards the stairs down, indirectly pointing the way to Tim. ¡°I''ll leave you to it, detective.¡± Tim bid farewell and the officer returned to comfort the grieving families. A group of coroners carried out bodies from the opposite end of the station, up from the stairs that led to the holding cells. Tim sighed at the sight and descended to the basement. At the end of the stairs down, he was greeted by a sign and faced with a short hallway. To his right was the gun range and the equipments room. While to his left was a single door at the end of the corridor that led to the evidence room, which he headed towards. He was glad to see that the lock of the door had been blasted apart. Metal pellets on the ground indicated a shotgun was used. He opened the door and was immediately greeted by the stench of rotting corpses. The room had stacks of cardboard boxes arranged onto metal grated shelves. Each two dozen boxes covered up most of the space in the cramp room. To the left of the entrance was a small room where the body of a woman, white eyed and slumped against the wall from a shot to the head, worked the caged counter in silence. In between the aisles were two lap technicians in bloodied coats that laid sprawled and unmoving in pools of their own blood. The door of the room had been closed for awhile, and the odour had coagulated in the air, enough to make him dizzy with vile just from standing. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Not wanting to waste any more time than needed, Tim reached through the steel bars of the counter and grabbed the blood splattered logbook from the desk. He flipped through the pages, finding his name under the case code #139-HM. Aisle 13. Shelf 6. Box number 21. He manoeuvred his way to the aisle. Down the shelves. Over a body. And to the empty spot that once housed box 21. ¡°What the hell?¡± Tim voiced out, feeling the air in front of him to make sure it was not some sort of dreamscape illusion. From the end of the aisle came, ¡°Looking for this?¡± Tim turned to see the brown coated Detective Oliver Hardy standing with both diary and charred photo album in hand. Both pieces of evidence kept clean within clear plastic bags. ¡°Detective,¡± Tim voiced his surprised. ¡°How did you know I was here?¡± ¡°Boy, I may not look like it, but I did earn my badge,¡± the man said, throwing the bag of books to Tim who caught them without problems. ¡°After we heard the hospital got robbed of ¡°Yeah, sorry about this,¡± Tim noted the badge himself. He looked around the place warily for signs of a trap. ¡°Where''s the other detective? The hot one.¡± ¡°She''s at the hospital. A little too in over her head trying to catch you to think clearly,¡± Hardy said as he scratched his nose. Even his experience on the force had not prepared him fully for the smell of the room. ¡°Obsessed, Julie. Her logic got twisted till she thinks you''re behind all of this.¡± ¡°Am I?¡± ¡°I don''t know,¡± he replied in earnest. ¡°But I do know you are ¡°You''re involved too, detective.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he scratched his head, contemplating his position. ¡°Not enough to do much for my partner.¡± ¡°And I am?¡± Tim replied, still not completely trusting of the detective. ¡°I''m a kid. You two said so yourselves.¡± ¡°Maybe that''s what we need right now. A mind that''s not tied up by jobs, family, money, or duty. Someone whose sole goal is to stop this thing. Who can dedicate all their time and resource to it.¡± ¡°Like me?¡± Oliver rubbed the shine of his badge. ¡°I am a cop after all. There''s are a few things I can''t do. Like, steal a car, breaking and entering, stealing drugs, murder...¡± ¡°You''re making me out to sound like a lunatic.¡± ¡°Your words, not mine,¡± Oliver said. Tim sighed. Oliver continued, ¡°You should go.¡± The teen nodded in stoic agreement and turned to leave with his prize, but stopped in his track to ask, ¡°This is probably going to be the last time we meet under such amicable situations so let me ask you this. What if you''re wrong? What if I fail?¡± ¡°Then we''ll have to hope that there are other people out there trying as well. And if there isn''t, then, given what''s happening, it might be the end of the world.¡± The grim news passed onto Tim like a car just fell on him. ¡°So I''m the only thing that''s standing between us and the apocalypse?¡± he chuckled at the thought. How outlandish the idea was that he, an ordinary teenager would be charged with the safety of mankind. ¡°I''m just trying to save my friends here, not the world.¡± ¡°How''s that working out for you?¡± Tim thought back to Clay and his last promise to protect Stella. ¡°Still working on it.¡± ¡°I''ve been on the force for a long time now. I''ve seen many people die,¡± Oliver started, looking up and down the shelves of evidence, then through to the corpse behind the aisle they stood, reminiscing on lives long lost. ¡°If there''s one thing that I learned, is that sacrifice can only happen when the people left behind decide to do something about the deaths.¡± ¡°What are you saying? That I''m not doing something to avenge Clay?¡± ¡°If that''s what you''re thinking, than you got the idea of sacrifice wrong. Clay gave up his life to give you a chance. Use his death. Step on his body if you must. Because your friend''s dead.¡± ¡°I hope you have a point detective,¡± Tim said through gritted teeth. ¡°Cause you''re starting to piss me off a little.¡± Oliver gave out a muffled chuckled, as if his hardened features were actually preventing his facial muscles from moving. ¡°He''s giving you a fighting chance. You have to use him. Don''t push his memory aside to mourn later. Look at what he did now, and what he left behind. His spirit or whatever.¡± Tim looked towards the detective, unspeaking. Absorbing the words into his hardened emotions. ¡°From what I know, Clay only cared about one thing. Saving his sister. That''s what he left for you. His wish. Save his sister, and you''ll also save us all.¡± Chapter Thirty Seven: Catch "Man cries, his tears dry up and run out. So he becomes a devil, reduced to a monster." - K¨­ta Hirano 02:22 p.m 6 days earlier Leaving behind the wailing and crying, Tim darted through the alley opposite the police station. He came up beside a trash can and stopped to ponder if he should discard the police badge he had stolen. He found no logical reasons to keep it any longer and threw it away. He fished out his two way radio and turned it on. ¡°Stella, are you there?¡± but for the few long seconds, only static replied. ¡°Stella?¡± he called out again, this time slightly worried. He clicked his tongue in frustration. ¡°But aren''t they having some manpower issue right now?¡± XXX 08:12 p.m 6 days earlier She was not sure, but Detective Julliane Smith thought there were even more people in the hospital than the amount of the mob from earlier in the day. But unlike earlier, the group of civilians queued up neatly in a line in front of the medication counter, as an officer with a megaphone called out instructions. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. She watched as one by one, the once near desperate and angered mob peacefully surrendered to conformity to cure their supposed ailments. She thought of her own condition, and wondered if it would reached a point where she would also want the help of the fictional medication. A woman who looked to be in her late forties, with rough brown hair and bags under her eyes that seemed to have sunk down to her bones, approached the detective. Jullie smiled back, ¡°Think nothing of it. Besides, I don''t think this pandemic business is all that real.¡± From the line, a man stepped out and asked, ¡°You''re saying someone did this to us?¡± his voice travelled far down the queue, and chatter erupted amongst them. Realizing her mistake in accidentally revealing case information, Julliane tried to assure the crowd, ¡°We are currently investigating some of these supposed Sin killings and, though we can''t be sure yet, we do have a suspect,¡± suddenly, the rasp of the crowd toned to an ear shattering silence. She had somehow gathered everyone''s attention. ¡°We um...the police force are currently on hand with this and are in midst of arresting the suspect, so there''s no need for you to worry.¡± A man from the crowd yelled, ¡°Who is the suspect?¡± Another asked, ¡°Is there anything we can do? Jullie continued to try to rest the crowd, but felt that any attempts were futile from then on. ¡°We are appreciative of this community effort but the police will be able to handle this.¡± The woman in front of her ask, ¡°But there must be something we can do?¡± A light flipped within Jullie''s mind. ¡°Actually...¡± she began, unknowingly grinning. XXX 12:13 a.m 5 days earlier Though the blood had been cleaned and the body removed, Tim could not get the image of his father''s dead body out of his mind. Back in his own home, he stood at the doorway to his father''s room, looking in on the still surprisingly neat space, wondering picturing his Joseph''s corpse, a cut down his torso, lying unmoving on the bed. Sighing, he closed the door behind him and returned to the small living room table, where he and Stella had been combing through information from the library and Vashmir Commons'' journal for the better part of the day. The girl having stepped out to meet call her parents from a pay phone as all cellphones were down and only landlines were left working. The apartment would be the last place anyone would look, as it had was small, had no resources and was the scene of an earlier crime, making it the least logical place to hide. He sat back down, looking at his table of messy research which had so far, yielded no results. ¡°Nothing,¡± he huffed, picking up Vashmir''s journal dejectedly, before unceremoniously dropping it back. He looked towards his father''s room and muttered, ¡°Sorry dad.¡± No matter how many times he comped through it, the journal contained nothing more than Vashmir''s account of his weeks with Sin, degrading into undecipherable madness towards the last pages. He had even tried shading the hard cover backing for some hopeful indents from a perhaps missing page to no avail. The burnt photo album remained as it was, with only a few pictures still visible through the char and age, all of which depicted farms and barns and other photographs from Vashmir''s youth. Though the two had attempted to restore some of the photos, it was turning out to be a painstakingly slow process, having already ruined two photographs out of their seven attempts. Two vials of fentanyl and a couple of capped syringes laid on the corner of the table, making the scene looked slightly akin to that of a drug den. He had swiped the drug from the hospital in case he needed a quick way of falling asleep, though as the night dragged on, he was finding his fatigue increasingly making that plan obsolete. Clay''s bottle of Somnidin, which was given to Stella, was placed beside the rest of the pharmaceutical, which asked him if he would consider using it and missing out on a chance to learn more of the dream world in return for safety. As he contemplated on taking a pill and returning to his room for a nap, the front door opened and Stella came in on her crutches. Gently, she set her crutches against the wall and slowly lowered herself to sit beside him. ¡°They are...quite pissed. They want me to come home.¡± Tim unveiled it to reveal the picture of him the police took during his first arrest. And in bold words below it was; WANTED Timothy Kleve Suspected bio-terrorist of Vashmir Pandemic Citizens arrest allowed Shocked, Tim stared at the wanted posters with eyes wide. ¡°What is this?" Chapter Thirty Eight: The Wish Uncountable grains of sand flowed down the side of the cliff like a waterfall of dusts, falling neatly into a swirling basin below. Surrounded by a thriving forest with cawing of crows and growls of animals, Timothy stood by the bay of the sand basin, entranced as he watched the grains spiralled towards the centre, vanishing into an invisible drain below. ¡°How is that happening?¡± he asked Sister. The girl in the white dress replied, ¡°How is what happening?¡± from her seat on a fallen log behind him, her white dress resting in an impossibly long spiral around her. ¡°The sand. How does it keep going like that?¡± ¡°Aren''t you a curious one,¡± she got to her feet and walked to his side, staring down the same phenomenon as he did. ¡°Truth is, I don''t know how it works. I don''t really know how much of anything here works. They just sort of happens, as if they were always there.¡± ¡°Then what about you?¡± he asked, turning to her. ¡°How do ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked, baffled. ¡°Your powers. Your abilities. How you get me all...um...¡± ¡°Sexually aroused?¡± He could feel his cheeks heating up at the statement, but did not deny it. ¡°Yeah. How do you do that?¡± She smiled playfully, putting her arms around and getting physically closer than he was capable of stopping his heart from beating. ¡°I knew you thought I was pretty,¡± and kissed him on the cheek. Embarrassed, he asked annoyed, ¡°So are you going to tell me or not?¡± ¡°Well, it''s not that hard to understand,¡± she danced away from him, spinning on her feet in glee. ¡°I just multiply your arousal for me.¡± ¡°Multiply? So...if a person has no attraction to you-¡± ¡°Which you do,¡± she interrupted. Defensively, Tim corrected, ¡°Which I don''t!¡± he shot her an irritated stare only for her to laugh giddily back. ¡°As I was saying, if a person doesn''t have attraction to you, at all...¡± ¡°Then the power would not work! Which means you like me!¡± He just stared back wide eyed, his deduction having backfired on him. Surrendering to the better wit of his opponent, he took a seat on the sandy shore. Sister followed, taking her place beside him all whilst grinning from ear to ear. As he watched the whirlpool of sand spiral into the earth, he calmly asked, ¡°What if, hypothetically of course, I had feelings for you. How would that work?¡± ¡°Well,¡± Sister replied, with a tone more solemn than what he would expect from her personality. ¡°If it happens, I would ask you to put your hypothetical feelings aside. Since we are separated by dimensions and life and all that.¡± ¡°But hypothetically, would you return those feelings?¡± Sister remained quiet to that question. He remained unwavering, keeping his eyes forward despite an overwhelming wish to turn to her to see her reaction. But a part of him felt that his life would be endangered for viewing her at a vulnerable moment. Then, Sister replied, ¡°I will...tell you, hypothetically...yes. But...I can''t leave here.¡± Without thinking, he replied, ¡°I can save you.¡± ¡°Hah!¡± she let out, ¡°I don''t need you to save me. I can take care of myself.¡± ¡°I know that,¡± he turned to face her, their eyes crossing in earnest. ¡°But I can still save you.¡± ¡°Look, Tim, you are amazing,¡± she replied with a gentle smile, one that nearly melted him. ¡°But there''s only so much that even you can do. And you have to save Stella. She comes first.¡± ¡°I''ll save both of you,¡± he replied seriously. ¡°I can do it.¡± She chuckled. ¡°You''re surprisingly optimistic today.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he said softly, remembering the last sleep he had. The final image of Clay on the pier and his final request for Tim and the resulting promise. He then thought of his father, and how he was once again sleeping beside his father''s room, though the man was no longer and will never again be there. ¡°I guess I''m just sick of losing by now.¡± They sat together in silence, a short moment of peace for Tim that was needed as much as every single others that came before. The brief reliefs had become both bliss and torture for him, as he not only had the time to rest, but also to think of everything that led up to that point. ¡°The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Then-¡± ¡°But,¡± Sister cut in. ¡°You have to focus on saving Stella first. Right now, you have more than enough on your plate,¡± she paused and took his one good hand, wrapping her fingers around it gently. ¡°And you have to, most importantly, save yourself. I am a monster Tim. I am one of them. And I have killed...a lot of people. And I do not deserve you saving me.¡± ¡°But you saved She sighed sadly, getting to her feet. ¡°I wonder if your feelings are because of my powers. After all, we barely know each other,¡± she turned to him with a forlorn smile. ¡°I bet even you can''t figure out where one line ends and the other begin. Even with your power of deduction.¡± ¡°It''s real, I''m sure of it,¡± he replied without hesitation. ¡°Whether you believe it or not, you are funny, and kind, and full of life. Especially for a girl who claims to be dead,¡± he stood up purposefully. ¡°What I feel for you, be it romantic or not, is good. I am absolutely sure of that.¡± 5 days earlier ¡°Morning,¡± she greeted without looking his way. ¡°Hey. Morning,¡± he rubbed his eyes in a futile but very human and natural attempt to gain clarity. ¡°I didn''t see you in my dreams last night-¡± he paused, realizing his mistake, but too late. ¡°Aw...¡± she replied sarcastically, ¡°I love you too Timmy boy. Wanna make out now that you''re awake?¡± ¡°Shut up...¡± he got up, finally gaining some lucidity. ¡°You know what I meant.¡± ¡°I know,¡± she said playfully. ¡°Sister said she wanted to talk to you privately when she got the chance, so I took some Somnidin.¡± ¡°Wait, you sure about that? They are addictive, remember?¡± ¡°It''s just one pill He was suddenly struck by anger for the fact that humans are unable to see their own faces, for he felt his was red again and wanted to tell it to cut it out. ¡°Nothing!¡± he stood defensively, rushing to his bathroom to wash his face. ¡°Just, you know, stuff about...you know...stuff.¡± ¡°Mmm hmm,¡± he could hear her even from his room. Though it was no surprise considering how small the apartment was. ¡°Well, what are you going to do today? Sticking around to clean these photos?¡± ¡°I don''t think so,¡± Tim walked out with a towel around his shoulders, his messy hair seemingly neater despite being slightly wet, a contradiction for the ages. ¡°There''s something I want to check out. And we need more leads than these photos. Right now, they''re quite a long shot.¡± ¡°Good. Cause if you said you were staying, I would have said it was a waste of your time,¡± Stella replied, finally taking her focus off the restoration work. ¡°But be careful, you are wanted now. There will be people out specifically looking for you.¡± ¡°I''m not too worried about that,¡± he replied, returning to his room, throwing the towel unceremoniously on his bed. Grabbing a fresh change of clothes, a white shirt and black cargo pants, he even managed to uncover a clean pair of socks hiding under his bed. ¡°We haven''t seen anyone on the streets lately, I doubt that''s about to change.¡± ¡°Still, watch out.¡± ¡°You should listen to yourself, Miss Gunshot Wound. You''re not exactly in a good position either,¡± he said part in jest and part in sincere worry. ¡°Don''t worry honey. I can take care of myself.¡± He put on the holster and checked the revolver he kept from the police station, making sure it was still loaded. He found his rarely used black hooded jacket and slipped into it, completing his ensemble of looking like the world''s tiniest and least imposing grim reaper, the weapon hidden beneath his jacket. He headed for the door. ¡°I''ll be back soon,¡± he turned back to say, slipping into his one good pair of shoes. ¡°Sure. You''ll be back before I know it.¡± Chapter Thirty Nine: The Ever Young Tim darted and slipped out from the alley, his hood up. The trek to the city library having taken a quarter of his day away. He kept his head low as another group of people on the opposite side of the street crossed him. A fowl stench had continued to waft from the drains as it had the whole day. He could have been considered the stench of fear if it was not physically scratching at his throat. ¡°Stupid detective...¡± he cursed under his breath, nearing the steps of the library. The pressure of the manhunt the latter placed on him was heavily impacting his ability to move around and investigate. He walked up to the glass door, which on normal occasions, would automatically slide open. However, that day, it stayed shut. His translucent reflection staring back at him. ¡°Come on Galloway,¡± he muttered, pressing his face against the glass to peer inside. ¡°I know you''re in there.¡± ¡°Actually, I''m out here.¡± Tim jumped in surprise as the voice came from behind, turning on his feet and nearly tumbling back into the door. Just like the time in the prison cell, the man that stood in front of him seemed significantly younger. Howard Galloway looked to be in his early twenties, as if the previous years of his life had just vanished. Wearing a grey trench coat and white inner shirt with fitting blue jeans, he was all but unrecognisable, save for the slight similarity in facial bone structure. ¡°Mister...Galloway?¡± Tim greeted questioningly. ¡°Yes? Yes! That''s right, that''s me!¡± the librarian replied, initially confused. ¡°Howard Galloway, librarian!¡± he struck a dramatic victory pose, as invigorated as his seeming age. ¡°I''m starting to think you''re not just a librarian.¡± ¡°Very good, Tim my boy! What else are you getting with that amazing deduction skill of yours?¡± ¡°Nothing really, cause I have no idea what you could be. You are literally getting younger by the day and you just popped up behind me,¡± he said, sure that no one had followed him. ¡°Bah! Now that''s just boring.¡± ¡°Listen, Mister Galloway?¡± he asked, unsure if the new youth the man had found meant their age was now closer and if the suffix would stick. But the older man seemed not to mind. ¡°I need information on something.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Galloway replied, though his tone gave away that he already somehow knew what Tim wanted to ask. ¡°And what would that be?¡± ¡°I''m looking for a girl. Fifteen, maybe eighteen years old tops.¡± ¡°That''s a very vague description you have there but can''t say I''ve seen many teens round here lately,¡± he replied playfully. ¡°Have you tried dating websites.¡± ¡°In case you haven''t noticed, the internet is pretty much down for the count. And she''s not from around here. She''s dead. Probably for awhile now.¡± ¡°And how am I suppose to find a dead girl?¡± Howard replied sarcastically. ¡°I was hoping you''d, I don''t know, look through the library archives or something. Her death had something to do with a white dress. Maybe she was buried with it. Maybe it was some sort of medical gown. I don''t know, but I thought that would be a good place to start.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Geez, I''d love to help, but the library''s closed.¡± Tim cocked a brow at the man, who met his stare with a sly smile. ¡°But you''re the librarian. Can''t you just, you know, open it?¡± ¡°I could. But I won''t.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Tim replied in frustration. He could feel his facial muscles tensing up as anger started to build. The older man''s games were starting to annoy him. ¡°And who the hell are you really? Why are you younger? And what''s with all this appearing out of nowhere business? And-¡± a thought came to him that stunned him for a split moment. Intensely, he asked, ¡°Are you the one causing all this?¡± With a voice that neared disappointment, Howard replied, ¡°Close kid. But not close enough. I will admit that I know quite a bit about what''s happening here, but I am not the one behind it. That knowledge is a mystery, even to me.¡± ¡°But you can help me?¡± ¡°I can''t. It''s part of the rule.¡± Tim sighed dejectedly, closing his eyes in a quick mediation between his temper and his control. Seething, he replied, ¡°Fuck you, old man. Can you please stop being so fucking cryptic about this? Clay is dead and Stella''s next. I really don''t have the mood for all this deduction crap.¡± ¡°Sorry my boy. But I can''t help you this time. You''ll have to solve this puzzle yourself.¡± Tim threw his hand up in frustration, ¡°What the hell is up with all of you people? You, Oliver, Sister. Everyone thinks I''m some hero that''s going to somehow figure all this crap out.¡± ¡°But you are. You just don''t know it yet.¡± ¡°So what am I suppose to do now? You won''t let me in. Do I have to break the door with a brick?¡± ¡°Please don''t do that again,¡± the man waved off the notion flamboyantly. ¡°Look, I will tell you one thing. I''m not the one who can help you with this. But you do have another ally here that can.¡± ¡°What? Stella?¡± Tim replied hesitantly. ¡°I don''t know. She just lost her brother and I don''t think what I''m looking for is exactly at the top of her list. Can''t you just do a search of the archives here?¡± ¡°Sure. Just give me a second,¡± he stopped moving, rolling his eyes around upwards in thought and replied stoutly, ¡°Nope. Nothing.¡± ¡°Don''t be a dick.¡± ¡°Look, there really isn''t anything you''re looking for in there. Go to Stella, and just ask her to help. She will be able to find it. I guarantee.¡± ¡°You know, brother,¡± she said to her lonesome. ¡°You never gave me a chance to say goodbye.¡± Despite having skipped both lunch and dinner, she did not feel any hunger. Just a continued numbness throughout her body, as if she had been anaesthetized from physical discomfort. ¡°If you think about it, it''s really my fault. If I didn''t get shot by Joseph and forced the detectives to take me with them, you wouldn''t have to make that sacrifice. You wouldn''t have to save me,¡± her hands began to shake, beads of tears splashed into the tray of water in front of her. She sobbed, ¡°I miss you so much...¡± She felt her body start to ache, her stomach clenched tightly as she full on wept after the long afternoon of solitude. Her nose ran and her eyes held firmly shut in a futile attempt to hold back the tears. ¡°It hurts...it hurts...¡± she whimpered. ¡°I''m sorry brother! I''m so sorry!¡± Burying her face into her hands, she screamed, Beethoven drowning out her sorrow. Chapter Forty: The Portal ¡°Stella,¡± he muttered under his breath, rehearsing his speech. ¡°I need you to help me find out what Sister''s name is.¡± Out loud, nothing sounded wrong with the request. It was research work on a person who had long since been dead. But his dreaded instinct clawed at him uncomfortably, keeping him on the edge as he inexplicably felt something terrible would happen if he made the request. ¡°Come on...¡± he egged himself. ¡°Just ask her. She''ll make a few calls, dig up some articles. She probably won''t even meet another person while doing this. Completely safe,¡± yet inexplicably, he couldn''t convince himself of those words. He had half a mind to turn back but the door swung open without his effort, the handle ripped away from his grip. On the opposite of the archway, Stella stood on her crutches in one of Tim''s old light blue pyjamas. He greeted with, ¡°You found my old clothes?¡± ¡°Yeah. Can''t keep wearing the same thing for days now, can I?¡± she replied. ¡°Why are you standing out there like an idiot?¡± she looked down to his still outstretched hands, still grasping at air. He quickly pulled them back. ¡°You high?¡± ¡°What? No!¡± ¡°You on drugs?¡± ¡°Isn''t that the same thing?¡± ¡°Are you hiding something?¡± ¡°No...¡± he replied truthfully. ¡°Just a little hesitant...¡± he dragged and paused. ¡°About...asking me out?¡± ¡°What?¡± he exclaimed, ¡°No! No! I''m not asking you out. Why would I at a time like this?¡± ¡°But you''ve considered it?¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°Then stop beating around the bush and ask me whatever.¡± ¡°Fine. Look, I need you to help me to find out Sister''s real name.¡± ¡°What?¡± she replied surprised. ¡°That''s it?¡± Unsure of himself, Tim let out, ¡°I...guess so.¡± ¡°Sure, I can do that. I mean, I have been trying since day one. I''ve came close to it but with everything that''s been happening, I''ve put the search on hold. I can start it up again though,¡± she told him her situation, not one bit of hesitation with agreeing to the request. ¡°Why would you balk at asking me that?¡± ¡°I don''t know. I just have this terrible feeling in my stomach that kept telling me not to.¡± She looked down at her body, checking for any sudden defects, as if a third arm would start growing out of her belly. ¡°I look fine to me.¡± ¡°Yeah...I don''t know what I was worried about,¡± he replied, though still unable to untie the knot in his guts. ¡°Should we...I don''t know, head in?¡± In the distance, a shriek dragged into the night, the sound seemingly having been carried from beyond the neighbourhood they were in. Unlike the daily howls of drunken bar-goers or gang members, this one chilled them, drawing their attention. And in the split seconds after, reverberating murmurs began to rise around them. Murmurs that seemed to reach out from all directions. Tim could only let out a brief, ¡°What the hell?¡± before waves of screams and shouts pierced through the air. Stella stepped out of the apartment as Tim leaned over the railings to look down at the streets. Dozens of people rushed out of the building and its neighbours, running frenziedly down the road, gathering at the junction. The crowd stood there in between green lights, staring at the city. Some pointed, others gasp. One fell to his knees and cried. To Stella, Tim said, ¡°Something''s happening.¡± Sharply, she replied, ¡°No shit.¡± Ignoring her snide, he simply said, ¡°Let''s go,¡± before bolting for the stairs. ¡°Hey!¡± she shouted. Her rarely raised voice enough to stop even his curiosity. He turned and she gestured to her cast covered leg. ¡°Slow down.¡± ¡°Can''t,¡± he told her before squatting down with his back to her. Tapping his shoulder, he signalled, ¡°Get on.¡± ¡°You''ve got to be kidding me.¡± When she realized he wasn''t, Stella gave a sigh and dropped her crutches at the door, hopping to him on one leg. Awkwardly climbing onto his back, she buckled in as he, with a heave, got to his feet. Once stable, he made a mad dash for the stairs, pushing his momentum forward so as to make the climb with the extra human weight on his back. Two floors later, he ascended the last flight to the rooftop with heaves and pants. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. He jibbed, ¡°You need...to lose weight,¡± to which he earned a slap across his head. ¡°I''m letting you feel my thigh so shut up and climb.¡± And he could not argue with her reasoning. He was holding on quite tightly, mostly because he was out of and was afraid any loosened grip would mean his friend tumbling down the steps behind. With one last leg and push, he kicked open the door to the rooftop and stepped out under the open sky, the towering stretch of skyscrapers of the city laid out before him. Though panting and sweating, his breath still managed to get taken away. ¡°What...¡± he was speechless at the sight. Slowly, he knelt down to let Stella dismount beside the entrance to the roof. She leaned against the wall, a look of surprised etched across her face, her jaws hanging loosely. ¡°...the hell?¡± Even from where they stood, they could smell the noxious fumes of smoke and could see the black smog that continued to climb from the city streets. Flames flickered orange against the buildings'' sides as bushels of fire spreads across the city. However, it was not the sight of the riot that broke out or the broken screams and shouts that seemed to echo on forever that entranced them. A swirling mass of purple gas hung above Hotel Alexandria, the third tallest building of the city. It looked almost as if someone had ripped a hole in the sky, and the atmosphere swirled around it like water down a drain. Blue crystals, the size of two entire levels of the building, encrusted the tip of the hotel like the spikes on a mace, while thin, purple, rolling mists floated down the side of the building. ¡°We need to get to the dream world,¡± Tim said, though unable to take his eyes off the phenomenon. ¡°We need to go, now.¡± He finally managed to tear himself away from the spectacle. Returning to Stella, he let her climb onto his back again. With a much more manageable slope down and renewed energy from the mysterious event, he took the flights of stairs two at a time. Stella asked, ¡°What was that thing?¡± ¡°No idea,¡± he replied between breaths. ¡°But...I''m sure...The Father...has something...to do with it!¡± Reaching his landing, he took a sharp left into the corridor, smoothly picking up Stella''s crutches from the ground as he dodged back into his open home. Letting Stella off at the couch, he went into his bathroom in strides and pulled opened the medicine cabinet with such energy that the hinges creaked from the torque. From within, he took out a pair of syringes and the bottle of fentanyl and returned to the living room. Sticking the needle through the rubber cap of the bottle, he asked Stella, ¡°How much should I use?¡± ¡°What? You took it without checking?¡± ¡°I did!¡± he replied, drawing the liquid out of the bottle. Pulling the syringe out, he checked it for air bubbles, pushing back out some of the drugs to get rid of them as he had seen in movies. ¡°But I''m still not a doctor,¡± he toyed with the needle in his hand, contemplating on the injection. He wondered if it would be better to let himself fall asleep naturally instead, but felt his blood was pumping too much to calm himself down soon enough without wasting too much time. Stella said, ¡°I think I should go instead. You just stay awake and on the lookout.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± he questioned, a little more dramatically than he would have liked, waving his hand around. ¡°I thought we were both going?¡± ¡°Tim, you don''t have your arm in the dream world, and I don''t have my leg here. Whatever situation is happening, I think we''re going to need to be at our best, don''t you?¡± He was reluctant, the clench of his instincts from before had yet to subside and he was not comfortable with her taking the risk. Any risk. Yet, he could not find a hole in her argument. Stella continued, ¡°If something happens here and I can''t wake up, you can carry me off. I''d even let you touch all of me,¡± her tone was her usual playful self, but Tim felt it carried more weight behind it and could not find it in him to rebut. ¡°And I sure as hell can''t carry you.¡± Conceding the argument, Tim handed the syringe to her. ¡°Fine. But if anything happens-¡± ¡°There is absolutely nothing I can do to warn you,¡± she cut him off, saving him from the embarrassment of having to think of a solution to a problem with no answer. ¡°We''re just going to have to wing it from here.¡± ¡°Your brother and I say ''wing it''. I''m not so sure I like it when you say it.¡± ¡°Tim,¡± she stopped him from continuing, unhesitatingly injecting the drug into her forearm. ¡°Stop dragging. We have a magic purple sky hole to deal with.¡± Chapter Forty One: A Hard Place 02:12 a.m 4 days earlier The stack of cleaned pictures had grown. About a novel thick, most of them were photographs of landscapes. Barns, farmlands, and a river populated a majority of the images, with the occasional propping of an elderly male farmer and his wife, a chair bound woman that was often pictured in a rocking chair on a porch. Tim was beginning to lose hope that the photo album would be able to provide them with any sort of clue as to what was happening with Sin and that it might have simply been one of Vashmir''s personally belonging which he threw into the fire in a fit of madness. Tim was not even sure what he expected to find, but the lack of leads meant it was either that or to sit and wait to die. Stella breathed softly in his room. Having kept a peaceful sleep despite the noises of the world outside. He had taken a peek out to find the streets filled with cars attempting to leave the city. Since their apartment was nearer to the edge of the metropolis, he could watch the slowly growing waves of refugees getting into the gridlock, more people than he had seen in the past two weeks combined. Honks blared through the whole city and into the night. Behind him, the city centre continued to turn with screams and shouts, the cycle of which had become a strange rhythm that echoed as a gentle heartbeat to his ears. Once again, Tim stepped out of the apartment and stared over the parapet. On the ground, most of the cars had moved forward, with a new batch in their places. However, Tim could see a few that had stopped their advances. The driver seats emptied. A sparse group of people weaved between the cars as they proceeded forward on foot. Then, the flitting flash of torches cast long shadows across the street. Catching his eyes, he leaned slightly over to look down to the walkway below. A group of about a dozen people stood in a circle at the entrance to his apartment building. He watched them discuss noisily, though the five stories distance meant their voices were still muffled enough that he could not make out what they were saying. It was during the prolonged conversation that he saw it. Each of the men and women were armed with a variety of garden appliances. From hoes to shovels to even sickles and pitchforks. To himself, Tim noted, ¡°That''s a mob,¡± and with that, one of the woman in the group looked up at him. Their eyes crossed and she pointed him out to the others. ¡°Oh. That''s my mob.¡± The group broke off, with two staying on the ground level while the rest disappeared into the building. Tim took the movement as a sign to retreat back into his apartment, locking the door behind him. ¡°Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,¡± he cursed as he fumbled into the apartment. He hurried back into his room where Stella slept. Shaking the girl by the shoulder, he begged, ¡°Wake up. Come on, wake up!¡± but to no avail. She continued to stay unconscious without even a flicker of her eyelids. ¡°Okay. Okay. Okay. Think fast,¡± he ran back into the living room and grabbed all the photographs and album off the coffee table and brought it to his father''s room. Junking the evidence under the bed, he went back out and shifted the furnitures aside, making way for the couch to be pushed to the door. With heaves and huffs, he moved the small furniture into the narrow entrance. Sweating and panting, he rammed the sofa against the frame of the door and added to the weight by lifting the shoe cabinet onto the barricade. All this just in time as the furious knocks from the mob came from the outside. ¡°Open up, Timothy Kleve!¡± a man shouted. ¡°We don''t want anyone getting hurt!¡± Tim shouted back as he re-entered his room, ¡°Says the people armed with gardening supplies!¡± as gently as possible, he lifted Stella off the bed. ¡°What are you trying to do if not hurt me? Give me a fucking trim?¡± he actually felt his hair was getting quite long and could in fact, do with a visit to a barber. ¡°Look,¡± a woman''s voice this time. ¡°If you''re not coming out, we''re coming in!¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. He carried Stella into Joshua''s room. Watching her leg, he placed her down on the floor beside the bed. ¡°Don''t believe those stupid posters, you idiots!¡± heaving, he pushed Stella under the bed. Luckily, her full body pyjamas meant she simply slid across the floor without resistance. ¡°Sorry,¡± he whispered to her. He pulled the blanket of the bed over to cover the gap. From outside, he could hear the woman say, ¡°Ralph, do the thing.¡± ¡°No, Ralph!¡± he shouted back. Getting to his feet, he did a quick scan to make sure Stella was completely hidden underneath. ¡°Don''t do the thing!¡± his pleas were ignored as the sound of body ramming against wood banged through the household. Tim bolted back out into the living room. It was impossible for him to escape while carrying Stella, but at the very least, even if he was caught, she would be safe then. However, he had no intention of giving in. Grabbing his revolver, he managed a plan as he put on the holster. ¡°I''ve got a gun!¡± he yelled back, trying to buy some time. And almost instantaneously, a man called, ¡°He''s lying!¡± ¡°Fucking idiots,¡± he whispered under his breath. He held his gun out to the ceiling and fired a warning shot. The women outside screamed and he could hear Ralph the battering ram flailing and falling back in fear, crashing into everyone around him. In the confusion, he loaded a new round into the fired chamber, grabbed his jacket, and headed into his room. About an arms reach away from his window was the unceremoniously bland brick wall of his neighbouring apartment. A sight which he had hated for years yet found inexplicably lovable at that moment. He climbed over and onto his desk. Once balanced he pulled his jacket over his hands. Holding onto the inside wall of his room with a foot on the window sill, he reached his left hand out and arched into the brick wall opposite, finding some grip for his fingers. He did the same with his left leg, managing a foothold in one of the larger crevices. Slowly, he eased his entire body out of the room, where he hung between the building gaps like a mutated starfish. As the ramming of the door returned, he looked down the five stories difference between him and the ground and huffed out, ¡°Dumbest. Idea. Ever.¡± With that self cursing, he manoeuvred himself back and away from his windows. Grunting as his muscles strained with his weight. He pushed his limps to lock himself in place between the two walls. Knowing full well that loosening too much would meant him pin-balling into the ground below. Slowly, he loosened the grip his feet had, adjusting until he felt them just about to slide away from the walls. ¡°Okay. Okay. Okay,¡± he tried pumping himself. The door to his apartment broke open with a crash signalling his time for an all or nothing. He locked his legs'' muscles and released his fingers from the crevice and begin his slide down the walls at a speed much faster than he had thought he would. Past the forth floor, past the third, he plummeted downwards, desperately trying to control his descend with his hands. Protected by the jacket sleeves, he pushed his arms against the wall and he slowed slightly, though not without a grunt of pain. Once past the second floor though, he released all his limps and free-fall the last four meters to the ground, breaking his fall with a roll. Yet, he had no time to rest. He needed to draw attention away from his house and in turn, from Stella. He needed to get the attention of the mob, which was not hard, as he grunted out a large, ¡°FUCK!¡± while squeezing his aching hands in pain, the sleeves of his jacket having been ripped to shreds. However, his hands, save for a few small cuts, were otherwise unharmed. ¡°What was that?¡± he heard the female ground floor watch voiced out. ¡°It came from there!¡± another man exclaimed. Tim got to his feet and began limp-jogging towards the back alley. He heard a woman behind him go, ¡°He''s down here!¡± shouting loud enough for her conspirators upstairs to get wind of. ¡°He''s getting away!¡± He looked back to see the pair chasing him struggle to fit through the small pathway with their larger builds. Easing himself through the last leg, Tim tucked out into the back alley. Looking left and right for cars that did not exist, he made sure he was not followed from elsewhere before running towards a garbage pile to his left. Without worrying further, he sauntered over and into the midst of the black garbage bags. Pulling up his hood and zipping up his jacket, he squatted into the trash, camouflaging himself amongst the shadow of the alley, the darkness of the night, and the black of the bags. He had to raise his jacket up and over his nose to cover not just his face, but the nauseating stench of being in a pile of waste. His two pursuers stepped out of the pathway and into his view. ¡°Where did he go?¡± the man asked, his eyes scanning right over the corner of darkness that Tim was in. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes lingered at him, but soon turned away. Tim held back his sigh of relief as the man commanded, ¡°You go that way, I''ll head down here. He couldn''t have gotten far,¡± he pointed to the two opposing directions before splitting up with his partner. Once the pair was out of earshot, he quietly climbed out of the garbage pile and stepped out into a thankful breath of fresh air. Wasting no time, he bolted down the alleyway opposite him, away from his two pursuers and before the main mob could join back up. His home was no longer safe. He needed somewhere else to hide. Chapter Forty Two: The Graveyard Under a lengthily grown oak tree and beside a row of simple stone graves, Timothy Kleve sat back into the trunk of the plant, nursing his aching feet from the long, meandering walk to that spot. The roots of the trees had long since grown into the path of much of the nearby graves, the ground protruding uncomfortably in some spots. From behind him, the crunching of leaves drew his attention and he turned around to find Stella, on her crutches and still wearing his pyjamas, limping towards him over the jagged earth. ¡°I thought I would find you here,¡± she said. ¡°You left me under the bed!¡± Surprised by her appearance, he asked, ¡°How did you get here so fast? I just got here like an hour ago.¡± ¡°Parents picked me up,¡± she replied, grunting as she settled down beside him. ¡°They''re waiting outside to take us home. Told them to let me talk to you first.¡± ¡°I guess they''re not very happy with what we''re doing?¡± ¡°We''re going to have talks later. Or more precisely, they are going to talk and I''m going to listen and nod.¡± ¡°Isn''t your place under watch right now?¡± ¡°They had to pull the police out. I guess the force is really dwindled now with what''s going on in the city.¡± ¡°A big giant purple hole in the sky spewing god knows whatever kind of gas? Yeah, I think that will scare some people,¡± Tim stated sarcastically. Remembering that Stella had gone to sleep earlier to speak with Sister. ¡°What did Sister say by the way?¡± She sighed, stretching her injured leg out and massaging her good thigh, ¡°She said the walls between the dream world and ours are breaking down.¡± ¡°What? Is that even possible?¡± ¡°Apparently,¡± she leaned back against the tree. ¡°All the souls The Father has killed, he has kept them. Sister told you what they were supposed to do with them, right?¡± ¡°Yeah. Grim reapers. Take our consciousness and send them to a new world,¡± he repeated the information. ¡°But Father kept all of them and they''ve been piling up in the dream world. That weight has ripped a hole between there and here,¡± she explained. ¡°He''s like a fat guy sitting on a cardboard box right now.¡± Grimly, with a frustrated sigh, Tim said, ¡°And we are the box. Fuck...¡± he cursed with a hiss. Closing his eyes and leaning his head against the tree, he resisted the fatigue that he felt trying to drag him into sleep. ¡°We killed one guy. And we''re not even sure how we did it. Not to mention everyone in the city right now is after my hide, and there''s also a hole to another universe tearing into our skies,¡± he sighed again, almost resigning his fate in the situation. ¡°I don''t see how we''re going to get out of this.¡± He felt her place a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. ¡°You''ll find a way. Come on. Let''s head back, clean those photos and figure out Sister''s name.¡± Tim dropped his arms to his side. Opening his eyes, he tried taking a breath to clear his mind but found his nose slightly blocked to do so. Light shone through the canopy of the trees, like stars dancing through the leafs. He replied, ¡°You go ahead. I''ll catch up in awhile. I want to clear my head here,¡± he felt as if his brain had absorbed too much information to process and would explode any second. ¡°Your house isn''t that far. I can walk.¡± She nodded understandingly, ¡°Just be careful, okay?¡± she got up and prepared to leave. ¡°Stella,¡± he stopped her. ¡°How did you know I was here?¡± She giggled lightly. ¡°I was thinking of the last time you thought you felt safe. You felt at home. And thought that if I was you, this would be the only place I''d go too.¡± Tim chuckled. Though it was not so much an answer from deduction as it was an instinctual wild guess, she was spot on. Softly, Stella asked, ¡°Did you talk to her about this?¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Staring at the gravestone before him, the name ''Miranda Kleve'' etched into it, he blankly replied, ¡°Yeah. I did.¡± She did not continue her questioning. Without looking to her, Tim could hear Stella slowly crunching the grass beneath her feet and crutches as she walked away. Her footsteps quickly faded and he could faintly hear the start of an engine in the distance as the Barbers drove off. He huffed to himself, ¡°I''m really getting sick of this bullshit.¡± A smooth, female voice replied, ¡°Is that a statement or a fact?¡± Tim jumped in his seat, the chair rolling backwards as he did so. Turning forward, he was stunned to see a figure before him that he was sure wasn''t there before. A woman with long flaming red hair, sharp chin, tightly folded middle-aged skin that was almost motherly in nature, and a piercing cat-like golden gaze that seemed to stab him with each passing second, sat in a newly materialized seat opposite him, behind the desk. Crisp black blazer and ironed inner white shirt, her knee-skirted legs long and crossed, the being known as The Mother poised herself with a composure equivalent of a queen. ¡°You are The Mother,¡± Tim muttered out. ¡°Correct. That is a fact,¡± she replied. She reached out her slender arm and waved it over the desk. A paper contract, like the one she presented to him in the barn, appeared where her hands left off. ¡°And you are Timothy Kleve. Is that a fact?¡± He did not know the reason for the question, but felt that if he did not play by her rules, he would be in tremendous danger. ¡°That is a fact,¡± he replied, a chill running down his spine as he said so. The same kind of shiver one gets when they just stepped away from the edge of a cliff. ¡°Very good,¡± she smiled. Though it was a welcoming grin, he could feel the animosity beneath emanating at him. ¡°Now, sign this paper and you will get anything and everything that you want.¡± But another question popped into his mind, and for the first time in a long while, he was glad of his curiosity overpowering his other senses. His insatiable appetite for answers kicking in. ¡°Is that a statement?¡± ¡°What?¡± suddenly, her glare shot at him and he felt her power physically tugging at his heart. He knew then that his wants for the revival of his loved ones was caused by her power. A power to pull out a person''s desires. Resisting the temptation, he asked again, ¡°Is that a statement?¡± glad that he was faced with a more mental-centric foe than a physical one like The Father or The Brother. ¡°No,¡± she said, uncrossing her legs and sitting back into her seat, a look of seriousness across her face. ¡°That is a fact.¡± ¡°Prove it.¡± ¡°Sign the contract.¡± ¡°Prove it first.¡± ¡°How?¡± Putting on the best poker face he could, Tim internally smiled as he realized he had somehow managed to pull The Mother into his playing field. It was a chance to find more information. But he also needed to plan an escape while he did so. He needed to buy as much time as possible then. Annoyed at Tim taking his time with answering, The Mother growled, her voice croaking like a tiger, ¡°How do I prove that fact?¡± ¡°If you can give me anything, than you should know everything,¡± he swallowed hard, licking his dry lips to ready himself for a linguistic barrage. ¡°If you can answer all my questions, I will sign your contract.¡± ¡°A test?¡± interest piqued, The Mother crossed her hands together and leaned back in her seat. ¡°And what questions do you have in mind?¡± ¡°First question,¡± he said. ¡°How do you stop The Father?¡± Chapter Forty Three: The Mother The Mother looked almost on the verge of laughter, with a grin the stretched across her face like the painted smile of a clown. ¡°Stop The Father?¡± she replied, a faint chuckle behind the words. ¡°The Father cannot be stopped. The Father is going to tear into your world and there''s nothing you can do but watch it happen.¡± Tim twiddled his thumb at the side, feeling the clamminess of his palm as he carefully waded through the verbal battle. He looked at the piece of paper provided, the sentences reading as gibberish to him. Even though he could make out the letters as that of the alphabets, he could not form them into words for his mind, as if he had sudden dyslexia, or his brain had sprung a leak. ¡°If that''s the case, then I''m not signing your contract. You obviously cannot provide everything, so there''s no guarantee you can provide me anything.¡± ¡°There are other ways to make you sign.¡± ¡°But don''t you think it would be easier to just talk me into it?¡± ¡°Dead men don''t usually ask much questions.¡± ¡°I''m not dead yet.¡± She screamed, ¡°You''re about to be!¡± her voice echoed sharply through the room, piercing his ears with its sudden shrillness. Her anger however, quickly subsided and she stated, ¡°You ¡°And what would those ingredients be?¡± he pushed carefully, not wanting to step too far into The Mother''s comfort zone. He needed to make sure she was answering her question, but at her own will so she would feel in control and he could continue the conversation instead of moving on to some form of torture. ¡°Of course, you can choose not to answer, but that will just make me doubt you more.¡± She scanned him, eyes lolling up and down his body, measuring his stature. ¡°You''re small in size, but that just mask your cunning. You''d make a great businessman.¡± As casual as talking with a friend, Tim replied, ¡°I was thinking more along the line of detective or police officer.¡± ¡°What''s the difference?¡± she asked without batting an eye. Leaning further back into her seat, she answered, ¡°To close the portal, you''ll need someone who''s able to manipulate this.¡± Putting a finger into the air, she drew a line horizontally across his vision. Her fingers elegantly slashed through the air, leaving a trail of blue mist in its wake. Her eyes wandered across the floating tracks with a lustful glint, licking her cherry lips in anticipation. Without waiting, Tim asked, ¡°What''s that?¡± to which The Mother immediately jumped forward in her seat and hissed back, her eyes flashed bright red, with anger or annoyance he was unsure. The creature took a deep breath, the luminescence in her eyes slowly dissipated as the cloud before her vanished back into the thick of the air. With calming inhales, she sat back into her chair for the third time. She continued, ¡°Prana. Mana. Mist. Aether. Seither. Dark Matter. Many names for it across many worlds. And every universe has a certain amount of it, which is how we are all connected here,¡± she waved her arms outwards, gesturing towards the universe they reside in. ¡°Dream world. Peninsula. Forth dimension. Whatever you call it, the source of the matter that you see before originates here, leaking into all the multiverse. The weave that ties realities. So long as you exist here, you are made entirely of it.¡± ¡°How do I control it?¡± ¡°You can''t. Your time doesn''t have the technology, nor has your species evolved to the point as to be able to manipulate it.¡± ¡°If that''s the case, you can''t help me. And it just proves that you are not all powerful.¡± She leaned forward and with one slender arm, slipped the paper contract further towards him. ¡°I can give you the power to manipulate the Mist. All you need to do is sign.¡± ¡°But that''s not enough any more.¡± ¡°And why not?¡± he could see wrinkles crunch her forehead, her hair grew impossibly more crimson than it was a second ago. Her iris seemed to slit themselves, almost cat-like as her annoyance with his dragging grew. ¡°What more do you need?¡± Keeping his best stoic face, he replied, ¡°There''s nothing more I need from you.¡± She growled, ¡°I can tell you how to kill The Father.¡± ¡°I already know how to kill him,¡± he replied. ¡°Besides, why would you tell me?¡± ¡°Because I know you can''t succeed. And that once you see the futility of your effort, you will be begging for my power,¡± he watched as her eyes darted around in thought. Almost as if different visual stimulus could give her clarity. Before long, with less of a growl than earlier, she continued, ¡°You already know you need his real name to bring him back to your world. You also know that to counteract his powers, you need surpass his control over your emotions.¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. His heart beat with anticipation, but he kept his excitement hidden with cool indifference. ¡°And?¡± ¡°But he won''t be able to die permanently. Someone must be willing to take his place. Otherwise, our...boss would just put him back to serve out the rest of his...contract. If you kill him in your world, it would take a much longer time because of the disconnect between dimensions, but Father would eventually return.¡± ¡°So...¡± his mind began piecing together the new information. ¡°Someone has to die and replace The Father after he is killed in the real world?¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± she replied with the same faux smile. ¡°Someone willing to suffer through a hundred fifth dimensional years in his place. Someone like you...¡± again, she inched the contract ever closer. Lost in thought however, he did not notice the gesture, nor that he had muttered, ¡°So I can''t save Sister either.¡± ¡°No, you can''t,¡± The Mother replied, to his initial surprise. ¡°Not without someone taking her place,¡± he thought of a reply but was cut off by, ¡°But your friend already knew that.¡± He felt the wind knocked out of him as if a car had decided to use him as as road. ¡°What...did you say?¡± Realizing she had hit a spot, The Mother''s grin grew wider. ¡°The girl with the pretty blonde hair. She was like you, asking all these questions.¡± ¡°Not possible,¡± he denied outright. ¡°She''s not your target. And she can''t jump dreams.¡± ¡°We don''t choose our targets. Our targets chooses us. Depending on their personalities. The closer they are to our requirements, the easier it is for us to bridge the gaps between our minds, and yours. A short laps in judgement, maybe a traumatic event for one moment, that''s all it takes,¡± for the first time, she stood from her seat and circled around her chair. Leaning into the spine of it, she said, ¡°Sign the contract,¡± and finally, a pen materialized on the desk, signifying the end of their discussion. Tim stood to his feet, fist balled as a sense of urgency overwhelmed him. ¡°I know how your power works. It''s so clich¨¦ Miss Businesswoman,¡± he circled his own seat, increasing the gap between him and his opponent. ¡°Father kills with physical harm, Sister with a kiss. The Grandmother with food. You, for some reason, do it with a contract. I sign it with the promise of having anything I want, but you never specify where, how, or if I will get it. That''s where you do your job, and move me to the next world. Classic movie premise really.¡± He looked down at the contract and the words started to make sense. The first word he saw being ''death''. Gripping the spine of his chair tightly, flexing his muscles, Tim readied himself. ¡°Clever boy,¡± she hissed. ¡°But you''re not getting away. I Her nails grew to the length of daggers. And with them, she swiped viscously at him. With all his strength, he pulled the chair up as a shield, the claws slashing into the cushion of the back rest, the force of the attack pushed him a step back. Crossing his legs, he pivoted on the spot, spinning the chair with all the strength he could muster, the muscles in his entire left arm strain from the weight. Despite that, and with a desperate heave, he managed to fling the chair towards the window, falling over his own feet just as The Mother slashed overhead with another attack, leaving her mark in the wall behind. The chair crashed through the glass pane, and fell off into the abyss below the building. Tim scrambled to his feet, desperately charging towards the opening he had made. Behind him, The Mother let out an inhumane screech, his eardrums nearly popping from the shear pitch. He could not tell if the scream was getting louder or if she was closing in on him. He made no effort to turn back to satisfy that curiosity. At the edge of the floor, between the window pane and a plummet to his death, he jumped without hesitation into the open sky, the claw-nails just scratching away an inch of his pants leg before he began his drop down the impossibly tall building. Through the cloud and out into the lower atmosphere, he saw that the office building was the sole structure within a large, barren dessert. Seconds counted down the drawn-out fall, long enough for him to reflect on The Mother''s words, including Stella''s knowledge about the conditions to kill the dream creatures. On top of that, she had continued to search for Sister''s real name despite that knowledge, and had not told him of the conditions. Which could only mean one thing. Chapter Forty Four: The Sister ¡°Stella!¡± Tim called out from the lawn. ¡°I know you''re home! Answer me!¡± He waited for a reply, but the only sound that called back was the barking of the neighbour''s dog and the screeching of tires in the distance, wailing like a banshee. The dog went quiet. Tim walked up to the house and knocked on the door. Trying the door, he found it locked. ¡°Mister Missus Barber! It''s me! Tim! Open up!¡± he pressed the electronic doorbell, the tune of Desperate, he banged on the door to which only the echoes of his effort replied. Sighing in resignation, he stepped back out onto the lawn to distance himself and survey his options. The garage door remained closed and likely empty. Whatever happened in the past six hours, the Barbers, at least the parents, were no longer home. He contemplated circling round to the patio behind, but the fenced up stretch of road would require him to circle the entire district to reach it. The second floor window was too high up for him to climb as well. He studied the garage door again. It was one of the older models, a manually operated plate that blocked off the entire entrance. Not a possible access. He knew the Barbers had kept a spare key outside the house, but never found out exactly where it was hidden. Scanning the landscape, there was nothing visible to hide under. No flower pots, nor a welcome mat. Aside from the bricks that made up the structure, there was nothing else exposed. Then it hit him. ¡°Doorbell,¡± he smacked his forehead to make it literal. Jogging back to the front porch, he carefully removed the outer casing of the device. He missed sight of it in the dark and the key dropped clanging to his feet. He picked it up, realizing it was a ring of two keys instead of the single one he had expected. Frustration crept up to him the moment he tested both keys and the front door remained locked. He had half a mind to start kicking the wooden board down, but knew, both from knowledge and experiences from the past week, that nothing in the movie is like it seems. Spinning the ring of keys on his finger, he asked himself, ¡°Why two keys?¡± he paced himself back onto the lawn, surprised by his ability to keep his cool despite figuring out that Stella intended to sacrifice herself for Sister. ¡°Two keys. Two As expected, there was a small catch that hid a keyhole in the middle of the door. Opening it, he tried the keys, the second one working as the safety latch of the garage door clacked away, the door sliding up and into its spot in the ceiling with loud rumbles that he was sure the space station could hear. As expected, the garage was empty. He headed into the darker room, making sure to close the garage door behind him. The entrance to the living room was locked as well, but the second key opened it and he stepped into the empty house. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Tim called out, ¡°Hello?¡± just to make sure he was indeed by himself. As expected, there was no reply. He headed for the stairs. ¡°Tim?¡± the familiar female voice called out from the second floor. It was, however, not the one that he had hoped, or expected to hear. ¡°Sister?¡± he asked back. In a frenzy, he dashed up the stairs, turned the full 180 at the first landing, and bolted the last flight three steps at a time. The second floor remained dark, save for the faint light beaming out from the gap of Stella''s corner room. Rushing over, he flung the door wide open with enough force that it slammed into the wall behind it. It was a relatively large room, with a long, white painted desk facing the window. On the table, the mess of the photo album and cleaning supplies laid out across it. The sole light in the room was from the reading light left on. In front of him, in the darkness, stood the girl in the white dress. Both her hands clutching her chest, scrunching up the neck of her dress in her palms. Through tear filled eyes, she said to him, ¡°I''m sorry Tim. She asked me to do it. And it was too late. I had to.¡± He reached for the light switch, ¡°What are you-¡± he flipped the switch and the room immediately burst with white light. The phantom girl disappeared from his sight as if he had blinked her away. Behind her, laying on the bed in the same clothes she wore in the afternoon, her cast leg dangling from the side of the bed, Stella laid unmoving. ¡°No...¡± he let out softly, fear and dread spreading over him, a man drowning on dry land. ¡°No. No. No! NO!¡± he rushed to her bedside, furiously shaking the unmoving body. ¡°Wake up Stella! WAKE UP! You can''t do this to me! You can''t do this too!¡± hot tears streamed down his face as he frantically scanned the room. On the night stand was a bottle of sleep medication. Emptied and uncapped. Suddenly, Stella looked as fragile as Clay in his final confrontation with The Brother. The siblings, pillars of support for Tim all his life now needed him the most, and he had no idea what to do. He had a promise to keep to the brother, and the life of the sister to save. Hopelessly, he started CPR on her. Pushing frantically into her chest with huffs, and kissing breaths of life in desperate attempts at revival. ¡°Come on! Come on!¡± he stopped, moved and wrapped his arms under her shoulders and hurriedly carried her up. Wrapping his arms around her stomach, he squeezed her as hard as he could. ¡°Come on! Just puke it out!¡± He cried as he did so, the act of carrying her body while crying knocked the wind out of him, growing increasingly tired as the seconds ticked past. He spent five full minutes, desperately trying to revive her, until his legs could no longer support their weight as he slowly lowered her to the ground, dropping to his knees dejectedly with her, sobbing uncontrollably as he did so, his tears soaking everything from his shirt to her back. ¡°S-Stella! Stella!¡± he cried while hugging her tightly. He felt something within him break, a pressure welled up in his chest as his heart got torn asunder. ¡°Ah...ah...argh...AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!¡± He found himself running, bolting out through the front door of the house and out on the streets. Blacking out, he sprinted through a deserted forest and off a cliff. Regaining consciousness, he was still running, halfway down the streets and away from the Barbers'' and from Stella. Half crying, half panting, he passed out again, waking in the vast ocean as he frantically tried to keep himself afloat, with his cognition breaking apart at the seams. Liquid started to fill his lungs as he kicked his legs desperately, only to find himself lying face first in the middle of a road, choking on air as if water had filled his lungs. Crawling to his feet, stumbling forward, blacked out. Stumbling around a floating platform in the sky. Fell off. Woke up. Limbed over and hugging a street lamp. Pain welled up in his head as he felt the overwhelming rush of sadness engulfed him, his mind feeling as if it was trying to claw itself out of his skull. He pulled his head back and without hesitation, slammed it into the lamp post. Chapter Forty Five: Hymns "The ultimate test of man''s conscience may be his willingness to sacrifice something today for future generations whose words of thanks will not be heard." Sitting on the sandy shores of the empty beach, Tim sang the song alone, carrying the voice across the sea, which waves were muted by the mystical workings of the dream world. Sister strolled to him from a ways down, her long dress dragging snakes in the sand, her trademark smile, often sly, was nowhere to be seen. Replaced by a solemn sadness. ¡°Our future''s done...¡± he ended monotonously. Sister stood beside him, unwavering. Not even fluttering within the breeze. Tim continued, ¡°I''ve finally figure it out.¡± ¡°Figured what out?¡± ¡°The singing. From the first night, I''ve heard this singing.¡± ¡°What does the singing do?¡± she asked. But he remained silent, watching the soundless wave crash at his feet, dirtied water washing his legs, soaking his shoes. Ignoring her question, he said, ¡°I figured out I can close the portal. It''s possible I may be the only person alive who can do it. Maybe it''s because I''ve smashed my head in. Or maybe I just don''t have anything left to fight for. No more worries. Never felt this clear headed in years,¡± he stood up, taking in a deep breath of the ocean air, which he was thankful existed, unlike the sound around him. Turning to Sister, he said, ¡°I''m going to kiss you.¡± ¡°What?¡± before she could reply, he leaned in. She stumbled back to avoid him, somehow tripping over herself, her entire calm demeanour vanished as she fell flat on her back. She screamed at him, ¡°You can''t do that! You''ll die!¡± ¡°I know,¡± he stoically replied. He took a step forward, the scene disturbingly similar to that of a girl about to be raped. Regaining her senses, Sister pushed herself off and floated far away from Tim, before gently hovering to her feet. White cloth ropes extended from the end of her dress, shooting towards Tim and wrapped themselves around his arms and legs, binding him in place. She asked, ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Instead of fighting against his captor, he dropped to his knees in defeat, arms limped by his sides. Tears streamed down his eyes, like water from a fall. It gushed without stop, mucus dripped unceremoniously out of his nose. All the movies he watched that showed heroes crying beautifully with a single drop of tears were wrong. He cursed the movies. They were always wrong. ¡°Everyone''s gone!¡± he cried. ¡°My father. My best friends. Everyone''s dead!¡± ¡°Tim...¡± she wanted to approach him, but was afraid he was still too unstable to control himself. ¡°You killed her! YOU KILLED STELLA!¡± he screamed at Sister. She wondered if, as the dream entity that she was, she was able of tears. Turns out, with the water that ran down her eyes, she was. ¡°I had to. If I didn''t take her, she would be trapped here. She would never move on.¡± Tim fell his head to the ground, arms and legs still bound. ¡°I know...I know...¡± he sobbed. ¡°That''s the worst part. I know.¡± She ran to him, kneeling in front of him and cradled his head in her arms. She held him tight, making sure he could not bring his head up to her lips before fully embracing his back. Continuing through tears, ¡°There''s no one left to save,¡± Tim sobbed. ¡°There''s no one left to fight for.¡± ¡°Tim. This is not the time to give up. The world is about to end, and you said you''re probably the only person who can close the portal. You can''t give up now.¡± ¡°I couldn''t save the people closest to me. Now you''re expecting me to save the world? I can''t just close the portal. I have to kill The Father as well, or it''ll just happen again. I can''t do all that! I''m just a stupid kid,¡± he gently pushed himself away from her. Sure that he would not try to kill himself at that point, Sister faced him. Tim continued, ¡°I can''t save anyone.¡± ¡°You have to try,¡± she placed her hands reassuringly on his shoulders, rubbing it gently in comfort like a mother would a child. ¡°The people you loved, loved you as much as you loved them. You''re not the only one willing to die for the other. They gave up their lives to get you here. Joshua. Clay. Stella. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°There''s no one left to save. There''s no one left,¡± he repeated the mantra, eyes looking blankly down at the grains of sand beneath him. He looked up, staring into Sister''s misty grey eyes. His stare widened, his pupils dilated as his brain strained itself with the connection. ¡°There''s no one left to save!¡± he leapt to his feet, hands on his head, ruffling through his hair madly as all the thoughts flowed in. ¡°Tim?¡± Sister asked, worried. ¡°Are you okay?¡± Again, he ignored her, and she was getting slightly annoyed by it. He exclaimed, ¡°You were there! You were in Stella''s room!¡± he said excitedly. ¡°You were right. They would sacrifice themselves for me. My friends. My dad. They did just that. But Stella, she had time to prepare. She wouldn''t do it unless she knew I could handle it! Don''t you see? Hah!¡± a maniacal smile spreads across his face. ¡°I don''t say this often but you are seriously scaring me right now.¡± He pulled her up standing and hugged her joyously, all while the last remnants of his tears and mucus dripped and dangled. ¡°Wait!¡± he pushed her apart again. ¡°What did you say Father is doing with the souls of the people he killed?¡± ¡°He''s...trapping them in the dream world to tear open the fabric of reality...¡± she stopped as Tim burst out laughing. He exclaimed, ¡°Oh! This is fantastic! Do you know what this means?¡± ¡°That...you''ve finally lost it?¡± ¡°No,¡± he pulled her close until his nose was scrapping hers. Looking her in the eyes to make sure she understood how serious he was, he said, ¡°It means I can save everyone. Happy endings for all.¡± Grinning, Tim stated, ¡°He''s here,¡± before asking Sister, ¡°You''ve marked me?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she replied. ¡°You''re safe. What are you thinking?¡± ¡°I''m thinking, after what I''m about to say, he''s gonna want to kill me,¡± he spun on his feet, turning around to face the newly materialized Father. Still grinning, still maniac, he stepped towards the creature without fear, ¡°Hello. My name''s Timothy Kleve. I''ll be your demise soon. Are you my daddy? Of course not. Not yet anyway. Soon though, hah!¡± The creature growled, raised its rusted saw with its blade to Tim''s throat, an act of hostile threat unbecoming of a mindless beast. But of course, Tim already knew none of the hunters were actually ''mindless''. ¡°You don''t scare me anymore. Because in this exact order, I''m going to save my best friend. Then, I''m going to close the portal, save the world. I''m going to save to save her,¡± he pointed to Sister behind him. ¡°After that, I''m going to kill you,¡± The Father roared, though Tim could not see its lips move underneath the straw hat. ¡°I''m going to save my father. And last but not least, I''m going to save my best friend''s sister. Well, maybe not that exact order, but I am going to do all that!¡± The Father pulled its weapon back and swung it at Timothy''s neck. Sister gasp, but the saw, though as sharp as it ever was, merely pierced and stopped just half an inch into the skin. Though bleeding, though enduring the pain through gritted teeth, Tim managed to spit his last retort at The Father. ¡°You are going to lose.¡± The creature pulled the weapon, slicing off his neck. He wasn''t sure if the pain in his neck was due to having smashed his head against a steel post or the after effects of being decapitated. He knew though, that the blood flowing down his face and into his lips were his own. His watch beeped as it passed the midnight line, and through veils of red, he saw he had been unconscious for over 24 hours. Tim wondered how his body, still slumped against the lamppost, was left untouched for such a long time, until he realized that people probably had more problems on their hands with a hole in the sky than a kid passed out on the streets. His head throbbed, and wished the constant ringing would stop, until he realized the sound was that of a vehicle''s alarm wailing into the night. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, using the bloodied pole as a support to stand. He was still in the suburbs but almost half a mile away from where the Barbers'' house was. He must have ran all the way to that one random street corner, which would explain why his entire body, not just his skull, was burning with aches and pain. Chapter Forty Six: Goodbye The door swung opened. Under the archway stood Gordon and Matilda Barber. Husband and wife. Father and mother of Stella and Clay. He still wore his working suit, which given the occasion, was a ghastly mirror of a mourning outfit. She wore one of her many flowery dress, white to the bone, her marshmallow fluffed hair drooped to one side. Both their eyes were red from crying, and their cheeks shone from residue tears. Tim looked up at the two adults, heart beating as fast as guilt could coat him. ¡°Mis-Mister and Missus Barber...¡± he mumbled, turning his stare down to their feet. ¡°About Stella. And Clay. I''m sorry. I should have protected them. I should have done more. I should-¡± Matilda pulled him in, taking his entire body in her arms in a sombre embrace. It was then Tim was reminded of his age. That he was still no more than a child, despite his personality. She cried, and he cried too. Gordon placed a soothing hand on his shoulders. ¡°Timmy,¡± the woman said soothingly, her voice a croaking hum. He was reminded of his mother, and how she would hum tunes to get him to sleep when he was younger. ¡°You''re family.¡± His legs gave way and he sank to his knees, sobbing into her dress. ¡°I-I need to keep going. I-I''m almost done.¡± ¡°We know,¡± she admitted as she rubbed his back. ¡°Stella told us everything. Anything you need. Just say it.¡± They had set the thermostat to the lowest temperature, keeping the room at a frosty 10 degrees Celsius. Enough to bring Tim a slight shiver. Gordon tore his eyes away from his daughter, wiping away a tear that had gathered. ¡°What are you looking for, boy?¡± Tim looked away, entering the room and focussing on the desk with all the things they were working on before her suicide. ¡°She would have left me something. Something I could use. She''d probably have left me everything I needed,¡± he scanned the desk, over the charred photo album and diary. ¡°Something small,¡± he opened the diary, revealing a sealed envelope with his name on it. He recalled how after his mother died, he had written a note similar to this. How Stella and Clay comforted him through the days that came after the funeral. How he tore it into pieces in the year that followed. He had never once thought that he would be on the receiving end of one of their letters. To Gordon, Tim asked, ¡°Did she write one for you too?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± he stated. ¡°She told us everything that happened in them. Said she loved us. Told us to be happy. Told us not to worry cause she''ll take care of Clay for us,¡± his voice broke towards the end. Tim nodded, breathing in deeply, gathering strength, ¡°What are you planning to do with her body?¡± he asked. ¡°If there''s a funeral, I''d like to be there.¡± The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°Of course you''ll be there,¡± Gordon replied. ¡°We''re going to drive down to the morgue, first thing in the morning. We''ll collect Clay and bring him home,¡± he stopped and licked his dry lips. The words seemingly lost to him as he tried to finish his answer. ¡°We''ll wait a day of two. See if all the craziness dies down. Then we''ll give them a proper burial.¡± ¡°And if it doesn''t die down?¡± The man paused. Tim could hear him taking breaths after breaths, trying to speak, but always stopping right before the words would come. ¡°We might have to improvise something,¡± tears rolled down his cheeks again, and the stern looking, monstrously large man Tim had known for years suddenly shrunk in front of him. ¡°Whatever happens, we''ll see them off properly.¡± He held up the envelope in his hand, staring at his name. ¡°Sorry sir, but do you mind if I read this alone?¡± Gordon looked to his daughter, nodded understandingly, and closed the door behind him. Tim listened to the man''s footstep echo away. Pulling up a chair beside the bed, he took sat beside his friend. Carefully, he tore opened the envelope. In it was a photograph wrapped in a bag. He held the picture in the light, depicting a younger Vashmir Commons standing in front of a lumber rack, straw-hat on his head, suspenders on his body, saw in hand. Chapter Forty Seven: The World Between ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± Gordon Barber asked from behind him. The morning sun was rising over the water, its light shining through the glass patio doors, bathing the room in a soothing orange. Slowly, Tim picked up the gun and checked the cylinder. The chambers were all still loaded. ¡°I have to stop this. I think I''m the only one who can.¡± Matilda said, ¡°I don''t understand.¡± ¡°Me neither,¡± Tim replied truthfully, reclining into the couch. She asked, ¡°Tired?¡± ¡°Yeah. I think I''ll take a nap.¡± Gordon asked, ¡°You want some of those medicines? Somnidin?¡± ¡°No,¡± he replied curtly. ¡°Those things are almost as bad as the dreams.¡± ¡°Don''t worry,¡± Sister said, appearing beside him. He wasn''t shocked though, having grown accustomed to her sudden appearances. ¡°This place isn''t that dangerous once you get used to it?¡± ¡°Where are we?¡± he asked, staring around. ¡°Corridor of some sort. This is a shady corner of the dream world. Nobody ever comes here.¡± ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°I was looking for you. Specifically. I just followed your scent here.¡± He stared at her oddly, ¡°Are you a bloodhound now?¡± she laughed daintily, and he smiled. Then, a thought crossed his mind and he asked seriously, ¡°Can The Father track me?¡± ¡°Yes. But he has to do it consciously. And it''s easier when your personality suits his powers better. And I don''t think he''s hunting you right now. He''s busy with that whole, ''ripping a hole into your universe'' thing,¡± she explained, taking a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall. ¡°It''s all very complicated.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he replied, pacing up and down the corridor, trying to drown out the disturbing noises with his own footsteps. ¡°I have a question though. If he''s trying to get into our world from here, there must be, like, a gateway or something, right? A place where he''s pushing through?¡± ¡°Of course. I''m guessing you want to see it?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he replied without hesitation. She jumped to her feet excitedly, clapping in joyous anticipation like a child about to go on an adventure. ¡°Alright, follow me,¡± she opened the door closest to them, where laughter was emitting. But instead of a room, or a person, or anything resembling a place where sound could come from, they were faced with a literal wall of black. It did not reflect nor shimmered. No glow emitted nor any sign of movement shown. Just black. Without missing a beat, Sister stepped into the wall, disappearing into it as easily as a one would jump into water. Even then, the aftermath broke Tim''s expectation. No ripples followed her, and the wall remained as seemingly solid as it did before. Gathering a breath for courage, he placed one feet through. The air did not feel any different on the other side. Though he tried not to close his eyes as his leg passed through, by the time his face was close enough to touch it, he blinked, and opened his eyes to a space impossibly emptier than the last. He wanted to call the place a room, but there were no walls. He wanted to describe it as an outdoor plain, but there was a ceiling above. He wanted to call what he stood on ''ground'', but his legs were soaked shin deep in clear water. The ceiling was also impossibly made from the same liquid. Colourless and clear, yet he was unable to see his own two feet nor a reflection. Below the liquid, below where his feet should be standing on, was an empty white that stretched infinitely in all direction. Tim exclaimed, ¡°What the hell is that?¡± and pointed towards a white, whirling tube that spiralled up from the ground to the ''ceiling'', hundreds of feet top to bottom. Hundreds of meters away, the whirlwind still looked imposingly huge. From what he could see, it stretched at least half a kilometres across. Sister explained, ¡°We''re in The World Between. One of them at least,¡± she stepped forward towards the whirlwind. Despite how ferocious the phenomenon looked, there was not even a slight breeze from it. ¡°This is one of the places where the space between two universes are at its thinnest.¡± ¡°I thought you said the dream worlds were of different universes?¡± Tim asked, confused. ¡°Sort of. They are like after images. A world a little bit forward and back in time, out of synch with the present. You''re sort of there, and not,¡± she bent over, scooping up a handful of the liquid below. The liquid stayed connected like slime, never completely breaking apart. ¡°What you''re standing on is pure energy. It''s what we manipulate to give us our powers. When the universes are apart, these are mixed together, creating the dream world. But when they are close enough, they stabilize, and we get a place like this.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Tim looked to the top of the whirlwind. ¡°You''re saying that the ceiling is another universe?¡± ¡°Yeah. And the ground is yours. Specifically, the bottom of that whirlwind is Ridge Valley.¡± Tim was left speechless. He had questions, but did not know what those were. He was both confused and clear-headed at the same time, and that conflicting feeling was making his head spin. He then thought, ¡°Wait, so that whirlwind is the portal thing in Ridge Valley? Does that mean it''s a gateway to another universe?¡± She nodded hesitantly, an unsure look on her face. ¡°Sort of. I''m not sure how to say this, but that thing hasn''t fully connected to your universe yet. That whirlwind is like a drain. It''s sucking energy in from the other universe.¡± ¡°The blue Mist,¡± he thought out loud. ¡°There''s this blue gas that''s been spewing out from the portal.¡± ¡°That could be it. But it''s not completely connected to your world yet. That''s what The Father is doing. He''s withholding all the souls, the energy of the people he''s killed so that they''d try to return to your universe. It''s like he''s holding a super magnet against a balloon,¡± she walked back to him, a worried look in her eyes. ¡°You said you have a way to close the portal. How?¡± ¡°I''m...not sure,¡± he said. ¡°I''m still trying to get a hang of it.¡± ¡°Of what?¡± she was flustered, confused. He thought that she looked cute like that. ¡°That thing is made of pure energy. You can''t just cut it off. Believe me, I''ve tried. The only way is to close it is to cut of the end. The portal in your world. Even then, you have to be able to manipulate energy to do so, otherwise, it''s just a solid thing. You can''t even really touch it. It''ll be as hard as concrete.¡± Reassuringly, Tim tried to stop her, ¡°Sister.¡± ¡°What?!¡± she yelled, though not meaning to. Realizing how tense she was getting, she calmed herself down and tried again. ¡°What?¡± ¡°My feet is in the water.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°My feet. Is in the water.¡± She looked down, and sure enough, Tim was submerged in the liquid just as she was. Her eyes widened, surprise etched across her face clearer than the stains on a homeless man''s coat. ¡°That''s not possible. It should be like stone to you. You shouldn''t be able to even break the surface!¡± she grabbed his shoulder tightly. ¡°How are you doing this?¡± ¡°The singing. I''ve been hearing these hymns since I started coming here. And I could also travel between dreams. You said it wasn''t normal, so I did some deduction. I figured it must be me, reacting to something in the dream world,¡± he looked around him, the pure energy that flowed beneath him swirled around his legs. ¡°Now that I know all this energy thing, it makes sense. I can manipulate energy here. Which means I can also close the portal from the other end.¡± She looked distressed. More so than he had ever seen her. ¡°No. You can''t do that. We don''t know what will happen if you close the portal from the real world. You could really die.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°No. No! You...you have what Stella left you?¡± she asked frantically. ¡°You have my real name! You can just call me to your world, and I''ll close it from there! I''m already dead, so it''s okay.¡± Tim took her in his arms, her small body settled into his chest. For the first time, he felt like her equal. She was not helping him with her knowledge, nor overwhelming him with her powers. She was as worried, unsure, and capable as he was. Gently, he said, ¡°I need you here.¡± She couldn''t think straight, her mind racing faster than she could focus. ¡°Why?¡± she asked. ¡°I''m going to the portal. Then, I''m going to drag The Father out and kill him so he can''t do this again,¡± he wondered when it was that he started saying ''kill'' with such ease. ¡°When he dies, I need you to find my father. Joshua. He''s one of the souls that are trapped. And I need you to tell him to take over The Father''s duty so that that monster can never revive again.¡± Softly, regretfully, she muttered, ¡°And then you''ll close the portal?¡± His steady breathing was all that they could hear. ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, unbent. Slowly, she pulled away from him. With a calm but sad smile across her face, she said, ¡°Once the portal close, all this thing that you''ve been doing, you might not be able to do them again. The only reason we can even talk now is because of the portal. Time between our worlds need to synchronize. But once that closes...¡± ¡°I know,¡± he spoke for her. ¡°I''ll stop remembering my dreams. Everything will go back to normal.¡± ¡°So this will be the last time we get to talk.¡± ¡°Probably,¡± he replied, staring down to his feet, not in shame, but disappointment. ¡°Until the day I die at least.¡± She bit her lower lips nervously, her eyes not daring to meet his. ¡°I guess I should say everything I want to say then.¡± Sister extended a piece of cloth from her dress, gently wrapping it around Tim''s head before it covered his mouth. His eyes bolted wide in confusion at the act. However, the cloth had muted him, and he could only look at Sister in disarray as the later smiled lovingly. 10:39 blinked on the television set-top box, signalling the end of his 15 hours long sleep. He looked to the right where Matilda laid in a sleeping Gordon''s shoulder, both snoring gently away. Tim got to his feet, taking the blanket and returning their care by gently laying it across the couple. From the coffee table, he picked up the revolver, but left Stella''s note and photograph. He could feel it. The last chapter was coming. And he finally had a plan to finish it. Chapter Forty Eight: The Streets ¡°The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.¡± -Ernest Hemingway ¡°Did you know I was in a war a few hundred years ago? Or was it hundred years later? I always get those mixed up.¡± ¡°Was it anything like this?¡± Tim asked monotonously. Howard Galloway replied, ¡°Pretty close actually. Just a lot more people though.¡± The pair of them stood on the roof of the apartment building. Tim had walked to the city from the Barber''s house, leaving the couple behind for their safety. He had chosen that location to rest his weary legs when somehow, amidst all the chaos, the librarian managed to find him. Behind them, the sun was slowly setting between the gap of the horizon and black smoked clouds. Below them, in a sea of fire, cars burned and barrels were lit with flames. Mixed in an ocean of mass, rioters and looters pillaged and rampaged through the streets. Rescue vehicles were overturned while a group of teenagers repeatedly smashed a fire hydrant with baseball bats and crowbars. Tim noted, ¡°It''s senseless.¡± ¡°War always is. What are you going to do now?¡± ¡°I need to get to Hotel Alexandria. That''s where the portal is.¡± Standing on one of the overturned cars, Detective Julliane Smith stood with a megaphone in one hand and a pistol in the other. Her flaming red hair stood out even in the burning streets. With ferocity he had not seen in her before, she shouted out orders to those who followed her. Kill the boy. All the Somnidin you want. Save the world. The librarian said, ¡°She''s gone mad,¡± and Tim merely nodded in agreement. The man asked, ¡°Are you going to stop her?¡± Tim stepped away from the edge of the roof, hand rested gently on the butt of his revolver. He headed for the door. ¡°Not my call.¡± ¡°Hey Timmy,¡± Howard called out. Tim turned, and the older man threw him a camcorder. Catching it with his free hand, he stared at the contraption, confused, ¡°What am I supposed to do with this?¡± ¡°Whatever you will do with it,¡± the man replied, an out-of-situation smile stretched across his face. Tim nodded a farewell, leaving the man behind on the rooftop. Taking the stairs down the apartment building two at a time, he arrived on the ground floor within a dozen breaths of air. Staring up at the glowing exit sign that marked the back door of the apartment, he pocketed the small camcorder and drew his revolver. The gun felt heavier than it had ever been. He remembered the image of the bullet going through Adam Pearlman''s forehead. How Clay took a bat to The Brother. How Stella shot Joseph Camein with the latter''s own rifle. How Joshua saved him from The Father. 4 hours earlier ¡°Find the boy!¡± she yelled into the machine. ¡°You find him and kill him and this nightmare will all be over!¡± Even through the crowd, Oliver stood out like a sore thumb. Pushing through the masses, he headed towards his partner, screaming, ¡°What are you doing? This isn''t like you Julie! Snap out of it!¡± Ignoring her partner, her eyes, sharp and trained from years on the force, spotted the maroon headed teen popping out of the apartment building. Tim stood outside the door, making sure the coast was clear. However, their eyes met, and he knew that he could only run. She grinned, ¡°Gotcha,¡± Tim bolted across the streets, pushing through the crowd, gun hanging by his side. Dropping her megaphone and at the top of her voice, Julie shouted, ¡°THERE HE IS!¡± she raised her pistol and fired at Tim. Oliver shouted, ¡°JULIE!¡± The bullet ricochet off the door as Tim ducked to avoid the shrapnel. Thinking quickly, he darted into the crowd, keeping low as he moved through the walls of human shield. ¡°Damn that kid,¡± she cursed. A group of her followers charged in the general direction she had fired at. She jumped off the car, chasing after the teen. Oliver cursed, ¡°Fuck!¡± and followed after her, shouting, ¡°Stop it! This isn''t you!¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. She swung her gun back and fired at his feet, bringing him to a halt. ¡°If you follow me, I''ll put one between your eyes!¡± she turned back to her target and fired another round just as Tim darted into a corner alley. Blood burst from his shoulders, splattering against the brick wall right before he disappeared from her sight. ¡°Shit...¡± she followed after. Tim held his shoulder, panting in both pain and exhaustion as the hurt from the gunshot wound sunk in. His vision blurred as Hotel Alexandria''s large neon sign came into view. The skyscraper, with the whirling portal overhead, was just two streets across, looking menacingly similar to a super villain''s lair in a cheesy 1990s superhero movie. He could feel his own blood soaking into his hand. Instinctively, he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, only to have the blood smear into his hair. From behind, another gunshot rang through the alley, and he knew the detective had caught up to him even before the bullet plunk off the wall beside him. The adrenaline kept him awake, and he dashed back into another crowd, toppling over the television set a man had stolen from one of the many raided stores. Pushing through to another alley, he almost stopped to catch his breath again, only to turn back to see the redhead flowing through the people like a knife through water. She was, at that moment, almost as terrifying as any hunter he had in the nightmares. ¡°Crazy bitch,¡± he huffed under his breath. He sped through the last alley, knocking over trash cans as he passed. But the alleyway was long, and a clear line of sight between him and Julie. She raised her gun in a jog, firing wildly at him as he zigzagged to dodge the hail of bullets. She emptied her magazine, slowed further to reload, giving Tim enough time to turn a corner at the end of the alley, crossing the final street that stood between him and the hotel. The entrance of the hotel had a driveway curving into it. But what used to be a magnificent set of double oak doors had a black, smoking limousine embedded through it. Sucking up the pain in his injured arm, Tim climbed on top of the vehicle, a lot slower than he had hoped to do. He slipped on the windscreen and screamed in pain as he slammed shoulders first onto the roof of the car. His entire body almost gave in to the pain, his vision blurred as the border of consciousness greeted him. ¡°Stop right there!¡± Julie commanded from behind. That shout both saved him from passing out and scared the living hell out of him. Slowly, he got to his feet and stood on the roof of the car. Even slower, he turned to face the female detective whose gun was aimed at him. But also, to the back of Oliver Hardy, who stood between his partner and the teenager, his own gun raised at the former. Julie barked, ¡°Get out of the way Ollie!¡± her red eyes seemingly reflecting her anger. Her once beautiful face scrunched in a crazed rage. ¡°You-¡± Oliver started through gritted teeth and panting breaths. ¡°You are a detective.¡± ¡°I won''t say it again,¡± she insisted, taking a menacing step forward and better positioned herself to make her intentions clear. ¡°Get out of my way.¡± Her partner took a breath for conviction, and another for strength. ¡°You''re not the only one with a gun here. If you try to hurt him, I will shoot you.¡± ¡°You won''t shoot me,¡± she called his bluff, taking aim at Tim. Tim got ready to jump away, but Oliver made good on his words and fired a round at her feet. Stunned by his action, she momentarily snapped out of whatever mad trance she had been engulfed in. Oliver reasoned, ¡°You are one of the best detectives I''ve ever met. One of the most logical, fierce, and loyal people I''ve ever met. If you can give me one shred of proof that this kid is behind all of this, then I will turn around and shoot him myself. But until then, he is an innocent civilian and I will not let you lay a finger on him,¡± he turned to Tim and nodded for the teen to go ahead. Tim mouthed back his thanks, asking the detective to, ¡°Evacuate as many as you can. Get as far away from the city as possible,¡± before climbing off the car and into the hotel. Still shocked by her partner''s action, Julie did not give chase. Instead, Oliver returned her his attention. ¡°You are my partner, and my best friend. I will not let you waste an entire life of right for this one wrong. Even if it means I have to take you down.¡± From behind her, through the crowd, her followers pushed through, clumsier and slower than their leader, but approaching all the same. A mass of frightened individuals ready to tear apart a single life to save their own. ¡°What''s it going to be? Are we partners?¡± Oliver asked before raising his gun sights to line with her head. ¡°Or enemies?¡± Her gun still half raised, she stared at her partner in confused deliberation. ¡°Ollie...¡± her hands shook as she muttered his names. Her fears subsided, her thoughts no longer fixated on her impending demise by Sin, she lowered her gun. Sighing in relief, Oliver did the same. From behind, a woman leading the mob ran up to her. ¡°Detective! Where is the boy?¡± Still numbed, the words somehow managed to force their way out of Julie''s mouth. ¡°He went that way,¡± she lied and redirected them down the streets, knowing that talking them off would take too long. ¡°Make sure no one gets hurt.¡± The mob gave a loud shout as a poor attempt at a war cry, only to sound like the whistle of a punctured heater. As they left, Oliver walked up to her, covering her shivering body with his coat. She said to him, ¡°I hope you''re right Ollie,¡± and turned to look up the towering building. ¡°If you are wrong...¡± ¡°I''ll buy you a cup of coffee.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± she agreed. ¡°Coffee sounds good right now.¡± Chapter Forty Nine: Hello Brother ¡°God is cruel. Sometimes he makes you live.¡± -Stephen King Unlike most hotels, Alexandria doubled as an office building for the first 49 stories, before the last 30 became available with rooms, and the final being the roof access. Usually, this would not have posed a problem as there were 6 elevators available. Two for staffs, three for guests, and one for goods. But the power to the city grid was unstable, and the elevator could not be made to work, no matter how hard Tim pressed the buttons or kicked furiously at the doors. With another group of looters closing in, he had no choice but to staunch his wound with a makeshift tourniquet and head up by foot. His last breath up the 60 flights of stairs let out with a curse. Though the hotel rooms started 10 floors ago, the 60th Fucking...sixty...storeys!¡± Even with multiple breaks between floors, he was almost sure he would pass out from exhaustion before bleeding to death, and recognized the miracle that he didn''t do either one. ¡°Three...fucking...hours!¡± he heaved, pushing open the fire doors and stepping into the hallway, which he was beyond grateful was still somewhat air-conditioned. Pigs would blush if they could see him sweat. Most of the lights in the corridor remained operational, but some blinked in-and-out of the shadows. The elevators were still not operational, the maintenance light blinking on the LED screen served as a constant reminder. Keeping pressure on his wound, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the master key he made at the reception and headed for the closest room. He swiped the card once but it did not read. The second try failed as well. That was when he realized his blood was smeared across the magnetic strip which he frantically wiped away with his shirt. On the third try, the door lit green, and he stumbled into the room. Despite the modern exterior, the inside of the suite was classically decorated. The furnitures were made of mahogany, and the floor was lined with actual wood. Though sure he wasn''t followed, Tim wanted to make his safety a guarantee. After locking and latching the room, with what strength he could muster, he pushed the cabinet to the door. The fact that it was empty made the job easier. He was still amazed how he had managed to stay conscious, or how it was possible that he had not bled out yet. He wondered if it had anything to do with his newfound ability to manipulate energy and his proximity to the portal. Either way, he knew that if he did not treat or at least bandaged his wound better, he could still end up in trouble impossibly worst than what he was already in. From the bathroom, he yanked the hand towel from its holder. After that, he headed to the mini-fridge and received the first good news throughout the whole day. A bottle of vodka, which was strangely priced a dollar cheaper than a bottle of water, sat cooled within. Without remorse, he downed the water first within seconds. Finally,¡± he huffed with a smile as he threw the empty bottle away and grabbed the vodka to compliment his towel. With his makeshift first-aid kit, he headed for the dresser. The camcorder Howard Galloway passed him still rocked around his pocket. Whatever you will do with it. It was then Tim realized that if he died, no one else in the world would know what had happened, or even have a chance of stopping it if he failed. I hate telling stories,¡± he muttered to himself as he realized he would need to recount his experience. Sighing, he reminded himself, ¡°First thing''s first...¡± He sat in the dresser chair, feeling the pain in his shoulder that marked him as living. Scanning his beaten self in the mirror, he brought his hand to his bloodied shirt and tore away the soaked sleeve. Sister stood on the higher beam of the construction building. Her outstretched cloth hung limply from the edge of her dress. She had just hung Timothy Kleve, killed the teen in the dream to save his life. Below her, standing within the labyrinth corridor of cardboard walls and plywood floors was the man in the straw hat. The Sawman. The Father. Deprived of his prey. She said to him, ¡°Tim will stop you.¡± In a growl akin to that of beasts, it croaked, ¡°I know what you are trying to do,¡± its voice was low, slow, and rough, like what a bulldozer would sound like if it had a vocal cords. ¡°There will be no happy endings for you.¡± I don''t expect one,¡± she replied. ¡°Happy endings are for people who are alive. I am dead. Just like you. There won''t be a happy ending for you either.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The world dissolved around them, the bars and beams melting like molten metal, swirling and reshaping itself into a different shape, colour, and even material. What was once a metal beam she stood on turned into the large root of a mangrove tree. What used to be ground made of wood slowly flooded with muddied water. Trees sprouted out from the support pillars, and slowly, their surroundings transformed fully into a dampened, muddy swamp. Behind The Father, a giant whirlwind spun, the epicentre of the portal, stretching miles into the distance. You know our powers don''t work on each other. You can''t kill me,¡± Sister stepped off her perch, floating down to the level of the water, her dress shrinking up to her shin, her feet never touching the mud. Starting out seductive, she continued, ¡°So be good boy. Get out of my way,¡± she hissed the last part, her eyes glowing white as tendrils of cloth extended from her dress. The Father, legs knee deep in mud, stepped onto and above the liquid surface as easily and as if it was walking up a step of stair. Saw in hand, he stared down the girl, and without warning, charged in with blade raised. She readied herself for the impact. Her cloth shot outwards at it like spikes. The creature dodged them with ease, fading uncannily before each hit could connect. From the side, in unceremonious shorts and sandals, feet splashing against the surface of the mud, a trail of grey powder streaming in his wake, the white haired teen came flying, his black hood flapping behind as he swung the steel pipe at The Father''s face. The Sawman was caught off guard, catching the outsider''s attack completely with the corner of its jaw. Supernaturally enhanced, the hit sent even The Father flying away into a tree. Surprised at the arrival of her aid, Sister exclaimed, ¡°You are-!¡± however, the name evaporated from the tip of her tongue and memory. ¡°Brother.¡± I am,¡± Clay replied, panting heavily from his rushed attack. ¡°This power though, gonna take some getting used to.¡± Remembering, she added, ¡°You should get to Tim! He knows your name. He can save you.¡± The kid? I already know his plan. Had a lot of time to figure things out here,¡± his pipe hung limply in his right hand as he stared at the tree The Father crashed into. The dust, yet to settle, blocked Clay''s view. ¡°Go find his dad. I''ll buy you some time.¡± But what about you? You can''t kill him!¡± she walked up to him in worry. ¡°And without your name, you can''t go back!¡± I know that. But I had a sister, didn''t I? I know that much. And I know I loved her very much too,¡± the powder that trailed from him gathered around his left hand, slowly spinning and condensing themselves into his palm until they formed the shape, and eventually, the texture of another steel pipe. ¡°She''ll be here soon. I''m not leaving her alone.¡± The Father''s figure stood up from within the cloud. Slowly, menacingly, he stepped back out of the crevice made in the large tree and back onto the field of battle. Sister looked at their opponent, and realizing she was not going to have another chance like that, simply said, ¡°Thank you,¡± before rushing over towards the spinning whirlwind, gliding over the mud. As she sped, the sound of clashing steel echoed out behind her. Even if The Brother had abilities, he was still new to them, and would not be able to hold back The Father for long. She had to hurry. The nearer she got to the whirlwind, the more green spectres appeared. Blobs of energy, formed from the souls of those killed and held hostage by The Father. They floated around aimlessly, barely forming the outline of humans. Ghastly afterimages of the dead. Even at a hundred meters away from the whirlwind, there were no wind or breeze. Joshua!¡± she shouted, hoping that the spectre of the man had managed to retain its sanity. Time flowed differently in the dream world, and it could have easily been months since his spirit was ripped away from his body. ¡°Joshua Kleve! Your son needs you!¡± There was no reaction from any of the ghostly figures. Flustered, she reached her hand out to the nearest figure. A soft, white glow emitted from her palm and she placed her hand on the ''face'' of the spectre. The translucent figure slowly took form, its head slowly returning to the looks it had in real life, albeit still see-through. The red headed teen that took the spectre''s place was definitely not the man Tim had described to her. The bullet wound through the forehead was also a gruesome sight. As she removed her touch from the figure, the face of Joseph Camein also melted back into green. For a moment, Sister thought of individually checking each spectre, hoping to get lucky. But the presence of literally millions of them surrounding the miles wide whirlwind meant such an action would require luck even beyond supernatural. Joseph,¡± she muttered desperately. Frustration settled in. And for the first time in a long, long afterlife, she felt hopeless. ¡°JOSEPH!¡± Turning off the camcorder, Tim finally finished his recount, all the way and up to the moment he sat down. The words flowed from him much easier than he thought they would, and sounded immeasurably more impossible than it had been in reality, which had already broken the line. The blood from his wound had slowed to a crawl and the towel-bandage seemed to be doing its job far beyond expectations. He looked to the digital clock next to the bed, midnight closing in and blinking at him in a ghostly green. The songs returned to plague his mind, even away from the dream world. He did not mind them, as he had long since figured out what they were. He got to his feet, wobbled slightly, but held firm to his stance. Doing another check on his revolver, still fully loaded, he finally went to remove the cabinet against the door. However, the cabinet proved harder to remove than it was to place, requiring him to yank the furniture out. He soon found out why. Behind the blockade was an emergency fire axe, with its red head, lodged deep into the door, the bladed portion stuck in the cabinet. Apparently, someone had tried to raid the room while he was unconscious, but couldn''t do much since it was barricaded and their breaching equipment was stuck. Breathing a sigh of relief, but still wary, he readied his revolver in his one good arm, a practice he had gotten used to in the dream world. Knowing that inching his exit would give anyone on the other side more time to react, he flung the door open with all his might, quickly sweeping the corner down the sights of his gun from the cover of his room. The corridor was empty, but the lights were all turned on and most of the room towards the elevator had been broken into. Some with the violent destruction of their doors. The ones further down the hallway were intact, likely from the axe having gotten stuck and the looters giving up after. He contemplated taking the weapon, but could not convince himself that his arm would be able to wield it decently and left it in the door. Following a gut hunch, he headed towards the elevator instead of the stairs. Indeed, it was functional again, with the LED screen showing the last known floor being the first, meaning the looters that had taken it up had probably left the building. Feeling confident, he hit the button and called the elevator just at the song finished off in his mind. Chapter Fifty: The End Chapter Fifty: The End ¡°Fear is a poison produced by the mind, and courage is the antidote stored always ready in the soul.¡± -Dean Koontz, One Door Away from Heaven Tim knew he was a lightweight and had half expected himself to be swept off the roof by the high altitude wind. But when he stepped out of the service exit and onto the skyscraper''s rooftop, he encountered not one breeze nor a drop of rain. The portal floated menacingly above the centre of the roof, just waist height above the ''H'' of the helicopter landing pad, purple and blue Mist swirling around and above its bus wide diameter, spewing gas like a fountain. It was like a tear in the universe, someone unplugging a drain in the sky and the water was travelling out in reverse. He watched as the gas spun on the outskirts of the edge of the building, just out of reach from the parapet, wind swirling outside of his little bubble like the centre of a tornado. He had confidence up till that point. Balls of it in fact. But faced with the whirling portal, it occurred to him that he had no clue of what to actually do to close it. He climbed onto the helipad platform and carefully walked up to the portal. Raising his hand to it, he focused, squinted, tried to close it with the power of his mind. It did not work. He waved his hand over his view. Nothing. Once again, movie logic - of magic this time - had failed him. Beyond the centre of the portal, he saw what he could only describe as the universe horizon. Similar to what he learned in science class about the event horizon of a black hole, where not even light could escape, there was an image, sharper than anything around it, curved and distorted as the world would seem through a droplet of water. Within it, there were figures, clear entities of green, moving around in a pattern aside from the chaotic whirl that happened within his world. He paced around the portal, thinking of how to close it. He wondered if he needed physical contact to even interact with the energy. But just as he contemplated on going closer, his left hand raised itself instinctively towards the direction of the portal. Some of the veins in his forearm began to glow white, though disjointed and few, they spread upwards towards his elbow almost like a circuit, blooming like a flower. XXX Another spectre slowly returned to its physical form. Sleek black hair, drooping eyes, another bullet wound to the forehead. Adam Pearlman was not Joshua Kleve, and Sister frustratingly released the dead back to the realm of incorporeal. She was running out of time, with Brother''s hard earned extra seconds ticking away for her. There were literally billions of dead. Even though the group she stood in seemed to be of those who were killed in Ridge Valley, that was still hundreds of thousands of spectres to comb through. She had barely covered the first hundred. She closed her eyes, her mind drawing up the image of Timothy. The maroon hair. The focused, determined green eyes. The rare smile. The missing arm? No. He had an arm before coming to the dream world. She felt a breeze pass her and opened her eyes to a green spectre floated mildly before her. Slowly, the gas peeled away, revealing the face underneath it. The hair was almost golden, and his build was muscular. Despite the polar contrast, she knew, without a doubt, that she had found Joshua Kleve, for his face was a splitting image of his son. His eyes flickered open, his fingers twitched as life after death flowed back into him. For a moment, he stared at her drowsily, almost as if he was a baby who had just woken from a nap, trying to make sense of the world around him. A glint then rushed back into his eyes as they wandered the landscape. Memories of his death at the hands of The Father flooded back. Distracting the creature to save his son, to the cut with the saw that took his life. He looked down to his shoulder, still dried red. ¡°I was dead. It was so...quiet,¡± his eyes flew wide as his brain wrapped itself around the situation. ¡°Tim! You said Tim sent you? Is he okay? Where is he?¡± This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. She had expected some resistance. ¡°Aren''t you going to hear what it is first?¡± from what Stella had told her, Tim''s relationship with his father had been rocky for years. She nodded understandingly. His love for his son was proof that the method she had used to locate him had not work of coincidence. She explained, ¡°He''s trying to stop The Father from tearing into your universe. Basically, Tim''s trying to kill him,¡± she noticed his shock and eagerness to reply, but stopped him with an understanding nod. ¡°I know it''s dangerous, but there''s no other way here.¡± He must have held his breath through that explanation for Josh let out a loud sigh in resignation. ¡°Okay. What does he need me to do?¡± She chuckled, ¡°Yeah. He''s the most selfish selfless person I''ve ever met.¡± Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun. Sister spun towards the sound. Standing just a hundred meters away was The Father, apparently finished with his battle with The Brother. Joshua exclaimed, ¡°Back for round two, asshole?!¡± He made a step forward but Sister held him back. ¡°No! If you break contact with me, you''ll lose your consciousness. You''ve been away from your physical body for too long, you''ll just become one of these ghost again!¡± she gestured at the spectres around them. ¡°If that happens, you won''t be able to help Tim! Sister starred down The Father, once again cornered by the man with the saw and straw hat. Uttering a rare curse, she prepared to buy enough time for Tim to get to them, despite knowing her combat ability not matching up to that of her opponent''s. But just as she readied her cloth for battle, a gentle hand placed itself on her shoulder. She turned, and Tim, in his real world white shirt and brown cargo pants, both arms intact, stood beside them. Behind the teenager and at the base of the whirl of energy, a tunnel was cut clean through it. In the middle of the passageway, past the universe horizon, was the crystal clear, albeit inverted image of the rooftop of Hotel Alexandria. He smiled to her, ¡°I got this. Go close the portal.¡± But before she could finish, he said, ¡°I love you, Sally Sparrow,¡± and with the blink of an eye, the girl in white vanished from the dimension. He yanked away from his father just as the man faded completely, before making a mad dash for the tunnel home. Tim could hear The Father speeding towards him, slashing through the air with the same ferocity and whistle as a jet would across the sky. The Father bleached away from the dream world, reappearing right on the opposite end of the portal, its weapon cutting through the empty air in front of it. Pulling out his revolver, Tim jumped just at the edge of the whirlwind. He glanced left, and a flash of strawberry blonde caught his eyes, Stella''s last smile forever burnt into his mind. Shoulder first, he crashed through the universe horizon and slammed down onto the helipad. He could not afford the time to cry in pain, settling for a grunt of discomfort as he quickly shot back up to his feet. Revolver out, sights aimed down at the figure at the edge of the roof and beyond the helipad, Vashmir Commons turned just in time to see the first flash from the muzzle and felt the bullet ripping through his shoulder. Tim fired two more rounds in succession. Still with his supernatural abilities, Vashmir brought up his saw, moving at a speed fast enough to block them, the bullets clanking and sparking off the blade. The teen rushed in. With just three bullets left, he could not afford to miss. Tim aimed at his opponent''s face and fired two more rounds. The sawman raised its weapon again, blocked the shots before they could reach him. For the split second that his own weapon covered his line of sight, Tim leapt wildly from the helipad, landing both his feet firmly onto the creature''s chest. One hand holding The Father by the head, he jammed the barrel of the gun into the gap between the saw handle and The Father''s finger. The trigger clicked. The firing pin knocked in. The bullet exploded out of the chamber. Smoke rose. Dismembered fingers, smashed and some disintegrated, burst apart from the hand. The saw dropping to the floor. Tim jumped back and landed on his feet. He threw the emptied gun at The Father, who swatted at the projectile. But without his weapon or his fingers, missed completely, and the firearm simply smacked him in the eyes. Vashmir swiped the weapon away, the blood from his hand smeared across his face, no longer a shadow of a nightmare, but that of a human, twisted with anger. He lost track of the teenager, and could only watch as the helipad moved further and further away as Tim tackled him square in the gut with the full, desperate force of his body. He was lifted off his feet, arms flailing in desperation as the two of them toppled over the parapet. As Tim fell off the roof, watching The Father plummet away from him towards the ground below and the adrenaline of death by fall shooting through his veins, he could vividly see the faces of his best friends, Clay and Stella. His father, Josh, and his mother, Miranda, the day before she died. There were images of birthday parties and outings. Sleepovers and dinners. First day of school and last days of summer. He willed himself to skip all those memories. Life would have another chance to flash by his eyes when he dies of old age. He reached towards the outstretched hand above him, grabbing it just before he was out of reach. Tim swung back to the building, slamming face first into the steel wall. His nose bled, but he did not care. One hand held up, he kicked desperately against the wall to prevent himself from falling and pushed and flailed against gravity. He swung his free hand, found the edge of the parapet, and with his saviour''s help, pulled himself up, over, and back on the rooftop, collapsing onto the ground in a final heave. Lying on his back, staring up through gaps in the dispersing Mist, the stars wrinkled in the night sky. Tim panted to his rescuer, ¡°Thanks.¡± Sister knelt beside him. After a moment however, decide to lie down instead, his arm stretched out as a pillow for her to lay in. ¡°Don''t ever make me do that again,¡± she huffed out, curling into his shoulder. He could hear her heartbeat, the steady thumbing as she tried desperately to calm it down. From the corner of his eyes, he could see that the portal had been closed. The purple gas no longer spewing, the wind no longer twirling, the world no longer crazy, he could finally feel all the aches in his bones and creaks in his muscles. It took awhile for her to answer, ¡°Yeah?¡± her own name contradictorily sounded both foreign and familiar to her. His chest rose steadily with each breath. His heart no longer beating at death''s door. The moon peeked out from the clouds. She kissed him on the cheek. He slept in evening''s gaze.