"How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home."

- William Faulkner

12:12 p.m

4 days earlier

Cemeteries continued to hold a mystical grip over humankind. An aura of spookiness that seemed to seep out of the grilled gates and onto the streets around it, creating a bubble of peace around itself in the outskirts as compared to the chaotic runs within the city. The grass that surrounded the gravestones had thickened to a comfortable fluff from the lack of maintenance over the past week.

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?”

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.

“You know, mom?” he said out loud, reminiscing of the fading memories of her. “Right before dad died, we said we would finally visit you together. But he's gone now. And so is Clay. And I have to help save Stella and everyone's out to get me,” he pulled his knees up and buried his face in it as hot tears soaked into his pants. “You always knew what to do. And right now, I don't know what to do. And I miss you. And I don't know what to do.”

XXX

Tim blinked blankly at the sudden change in environment. He sat in a comfortable, ergonomic, plastic office chair in front of a sleek, lacquered, mahogany office desk. To his right was a long glass wall that viewed out above the clouds to a scene of the sky that stretched on forever. It was the only view in the otherwise empty, white-walled office, illuminated by dull, white fluorescent lamps in the ceiling while the arid smell of paper floated through the air.

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.”

Anything? Was the question that ran through his mind immediately. Could she bring back dad? Clay? Mom?

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?”