"Because of those women," Gage frowned but blushed. Cheri had been crying, since people started talking about his father and the ladies that worked under him.

"BOY," he snapped, hand rose.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and Brian rubbed his eyes. The desert returned in a feverish haze, smothered in a bruised purple. Inside the infinite, a word was whispered upon the scouring winds. This utterance filled the finite, crushed it with the absolute of entropy and chaos. Brian felt flesh unmoored from the world, though his mind stood in that desert. It solidified before him, as the sky above parted to reveal a dead nebula of unfathomable dreams. This gibberish to the sane was prophecy to the mad.

"Give me your pencil," Brian staggered.

"I don't understand," Gage tried to steady his father.

He snatched at his son's back pocket, ripped the small notebook from the jeans which tore. "BOY, are you good for anything?" Brian growled. He staggered, "I killed and I killed."

"Do you want me to help you get to bed, Dad?" he asked, eyes stung. Tears would only earn a beating, so he pushed them down.

The pencil savaged the paper, as Brian attempted to form the alien symbol. Blood ran from his left nostril, but he focused on the paper. It drew up into his head. He cursed and kicked a bottle across the floor. It shattered against the wall. A child proof lighter on the table next to the ruin wobbled.

"It's wrong!" he shook the notebook, ripped out the page, and threw it at Gage. "It…I," he mimed a cube with his hands, but cursed in fury.

"A three dimensional image," Gage frowned.

"More than that," he shook his head, squeezed eyes shut. Brian winced at a hissing click that buzzed in his ears. He tucked it into a pocket though meant to toss it away. Gage blinked, but could only shake his head.

Brian opened the door but froze. A pile of river stones had been set on the porch. About the yard he looked, which still had a thick layer of ice. Tracks cut through the grass, where a lot of boots had left clear trails. He stomped outside, Gage behind, and kicked the smooth rocks off the deck. A hand reached inside the door and grabbed the shotgun. The late evening sun cast an orange light across the farm. A bruised purpled tinged the edges. Out in the yard, he looked about, but none of the men remained, who had left a rock. The promise and threat was issued. He threw one of the stones with a bellowed curse.

Gage looked at the river rocks, but hid his relief. The men of the community were tired of his Dad's behavior. Since the truth had come out, he had kept hope out of his heart. "Do you want me to clean it up?" Gage walked over to the slick stones.

"No," he held out a hand, shook his head. "They can come teach me a lesson! Anybody, who comes to my land, they'll get a slug in the chest." Brian looked at his son, who shifted and shivered. "We need to get some stuff done."

"Alright," he swallowed. Mom and Moe is the house, at least. Gage touched the scar, and thought of Moxie "Moe" Weber. He removed the hand, as his father glanced back. Gage could still recall how the bottle shattered. I thought I was blind; glass was everywhere.

"Over to the back shed," Brian commanded, yet the vision of the desert overlaid the ice smothered yard. Corporeal Farley's face sprung before him. "He's coming!" he declared, as light bounced and danced through hoary grass.

"The Van Lear," he said, but clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

"What," he shook his head to dispel the bruised purple light.

"You said he's coming," Gage looked at his father, who swayed.

"I," he touched the pocket with the symbol drawn upon it. Like the eye of some malignant giant, it stared into him, through him. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but turned away with a shiver.

Gage frowned. Dad is scared. The thought grew in his mind. Was the Van Lear family going to kill him? NO, Pa cheated, and they might send a man to beat him. He hated those Grays. Gage recalled how their family had fought for the Union. They had won; yet, the Confederates lived at the top of the mountain, and looked down upon all. "The Johnny Rebs," he ventured. "Those Slavers that live in Swannanoa, I mean."

"Oh," he frowned. The world felt thin, as a cruel ruse upon an awful truth. I've been meaning to talk to you, Boy, about them," Brian turned a vicious grin on the Lear Mountain, which surveyed the entire county.

"Okay," Gage replied, but braced himself.

Brian moved to the shed, but motioned for his son to stay outside. He moved about the space, and dismantled the lab. "You know we fought for the Union," he said, "and we came here to uproot the Van Lear family. We failed, and a lot of people, ours included, died. Lance Van Lear the Confederate General executed his slaves, so to not give them up."

"Yeah Dad," he nodded, and moved things around that his father set out.

"When I," he recalled the last times stones were set on his porch, "made a mistake, I moved out here. I wanted out of town, a place to have a family, and keep my business private." Brian looked up at Lear Mountain, eyes hardened, "Well, you might hear some things, about money. I wanted you to know it wasn't for the cash like Chris or Sheila. I did what I did, because someone has to stick it to them. They lord over this county like some royal family!" He cursed, and threw an old brick.

Gage winced at the boom, "They are bad people." He had learned his father expected certain replies. The Grays that remained loyal to the Van Lear family were odd, but he never felt anything about them.