"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.”
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“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.