A fat drop fell with a heavy plop, and rolled down Marie's cheek like a tear. The warehouse was consumed by flame. All Tim's heart prayed for her to wake.

Beyond the flames, where the sweet smell of burning human flesh was only a dream, she floated in the darkness. Heat of the fire had dried the air. It was a loveless heat, as the passion of hateful lovers. Slow exhalation carried gingerbread, taste of Marie's childhood. The low sigh of whispers had departed, replaced by the heat of black rain. Gentle waters carried her on the plutonian night, which soothed the terror. Life always faded to death, so death could birth life.

Ashless Hollow rose around her. It waited for her, and the dark waters receded into the muck. The hues of black lightened, darkness faded. Gloom pervaded the bog, yet this was the land before it had been corrupted. At the top of Lear Mountain, a cancer had settled into the land, and brought with it suffering. She could feel the earth, uncorrupted, and it burst with life. Even now, she could feel the threads carried poison. Pain, misery, and death would defile the land. Time, Marie knew, would bring civilized horror that would leave a wound.

They came, as they always do and always would, to this unsullied place. Time is mercurial in dreams. A moment can become eternity, but it raced now. The corruption bled down from the mountain to congeal in Ashless Hollow. Marie wept at the slow death of the wood's beauty; ugly deed of heart and souls reflected in the land. Water stagnated. Trees twisted as the lush greens darkened, rotted. Over the muck, the Uroboros had gained a black scale, more turned each day. Its polished body was defiled. As the evil bloomed, the trees grew thicker to block the sun's warmth.

At the very start of Hemlock Hurst, a schism had been born. Malevolent flourished, cursed the land. It had come with the Van Lears, Marie saw, and the Ashless Hollow had slowly died to become a darker place. It cried out in pain that moved though the mountain, trees, and land.

A drop struck Marie's brow, and Tim wiped it away. Her eyes fluttered, as the land released her. She trembled, cast away thoughts of Bethany, and saw him. He studied her, always there, and smile grew relieved. Tears fell, when she squeezed him, for the La Voison madness had finally come.

"Uh, Tim," she swallowed, "where is the Sheriff and Jacob?"

"You've been out for a bit," he tucked hair behind her ear, "he took Jacob away."

"Did you see where he went?"

"No," he looked away, "you scared me."

"Sorry," she touched his face, "but we have to find him, before something happens to Jacob."

"Inky," he looked around; "McWhorters and Gregory family are trying to find the Sheriff too. The Van Lear's men came by, they were after Jacob."

"Oh no," she stood.

"The Feds and the Rebs are finally going to get their fight."

"How bad is it going to be?" she picked up the flashlight.

"They had a lot of guns."

The burst of gunfire echoed over Lear Mountain. To the earth lightning raced, and lit the night. Thunder chased the flash of light. Between the fading booms; shots filled the silence. A chorus of whispers was beneath the tumult, which called the shadows. Marie rubbed her brow. Wet heat drew the smell of gingerbread out of her body. Waves of nausea pasted.

Nihilism had spread through Hemlock Hurst. The world became valueless, and everyone in it. Nothing mattered. Purpose lost consequence, so existence became empty. Deep in their hearts, disquiet had grown that drugs could dull but never silence. They sought distraction from this perception. It was always in their minds, this endless misery, and it was inescapable. A moment of pleasure, numbed self-loathing, or they sought others' pain. The more intense the pain could eclipse the boundless sadness. If all suffered, then the townsfolk were a little less alone, united in suffering. They sought to inflict this wound on others, when any should try to rise above their fellows. A circle of moral decay was forged by the abandonment of purpose, so to trap all inside and devour any that moved within.

It had taken time. Old beliefs had faltered under the weight of the yawning void. Holes had formed in the townsfolk's hearts, and their town had begun to rot down around them. Jobs left as business and factories closed, most lost all they owned. Drugs crept into the community. The slow degradation had gone unnoticed, until it could no longer be ignored. Dirty children roamed the streets, parents strung out. Junkies, little more than sore ridden scarecrows, walked the town, mindless from the high. All the misery ran to Ashless Hollow.

The wayward souls of the town had taken up a new religion. Although it had no god, it had a Devil. Emptiness prowled the streets, a great nothing. It crept into their every thought, every deed, until it lived in them. Triumphs and tragedies meant nothing, because both had no value or meaning. They wallowed in this void, unaware of the prison. Life with only a Devil could only ever lead to hell, for it had no concept of heaven.

With another burst of gunfire, the junkies finally embraced oblivion. An explosion racked Owl Sticks as a fire consumed a gas tank. The cheers were nearly lost in the thunder. Fat drops fell from the chaos above, and was caught in the dance of flames. Chemicals from drug labs poured over the earth, rancid but tart. The taste of smoke was filled with ash and stung the eyes.

Marie slowed, "What was that?"

"I can't tell if someone blew up a Meth lab," he listened, "or a bomb went off."

"You should've tried to stop Rutger," she walked away from the burning warehouse.

"I was more concerned with you," Tim followed, "I was afraid."

She turned the flashlight on him, blushed, "I'm okay. I passed out. It was probably the heat and all those chemicals."