The World That Never Was

That went better than expected.

I'm not sure WHAT I expected really, but as I've never entered a portal on the trail of a techno-necro cleric with a panache for downplaying and a Brooklyn accent before.

Jesus Christ, my life is weird.

I knew a bit about this Path of Black Leaves, starting back when a certain Robert Sagel spoke about it, and survived a trip there. Consider it a dimensonal shortcut between places if you will.  You step into it, you have a destination in mind, you walk a considerably shorter distance, you end up there.


Now, before you raise an eyebrow, I assure you this is actually a thing that several people have done in their lives. That's not to say its a /good/ thing to do. Hell, it can easily kill a person due to exposure to...something.

Surprise, surprise, I happen to be a bit more tolerant than most people. That is because I met a most unfortunate end, you see.... Let us take a step back, shall we?




There on that night, I knelt upon the roots of the Bleeding Tree, jamming bones into its eyes, screaming wildly that it has to die here, because I had to do /something/ worthwhile before I died. I sat there, just out of view of those giant head-sized eyes, as it thrummed and vibrated against me...like its own aura was capable of killing.  I had covered myself up to avoid skin to bark contact, to avoid whatever nastiness those root tendrils were hoping for.


And then I had a terrible thought. That if twelve ulnas wouldn't do the job, then perhaps thirteen /would/. I savaged myself with the broken blade of a piece of shit sword in order to fulfill what I considered to be a saving grace.


I had to share my success to the world, as I lay slumped there, dying of blood loss, and shock. I sat there, relived and willing to just...let it all go.


It is a funny feeling to feel so vindicated, so righteous into death. That you could simply ease into that sweet embrace of death, a smile on your face, and the knowledge that you did the right thing.


I didn't quite get that experience. No angels sang me to rest. My last moments were spent watching a giant branch shift and unfurl from the top of the tree, moving downward, bending down much like an arm. And this branch, unlike so many others, was empty.

In my catatonic bliss, I wondered why that could be, before I died.



As I understand it, others had spotted me in the tree later, the Messenger for one, if I recall. Jack herself had seen me, Konaa too, as I understand it.

I suppose in death, I served a warning of caution, of hubris, of reality crashing into damn fool idealistic dreams.


I woke up on the Path, completely disoriented and unable to think, to move. An inordinate amount of time later, I found myself able to move, and a compulsion to walk. Senses muted, my mind foggy, I walked, and walked, and walked.

Have you ever had a fever dream that was so realistic, that it may have well been reality? Picture yourself walking into an endless abyss, and just knowing that there was no hope ahead of you. Cast about the gloomy haze, there was nothing but the occasional corpse to remind you of the others that have gotten just as far as you...and died.


The Path was /my/ fever dream, my punishment. I expected things to go right back how they were, if I were to ever end up there again, that whatever power it had over me, it would exert it again, and I'd face another million years of hopelessness and misery, stuck on a quest that could never end.


So that night, after Twenty-Six left my side, and implied that she had a good amount of answers for me, I froze. For that was the place I could not tread.


And it wasn't a newfound spirit of courage that put me on my feet. It wasn't some drive to find answers, like a noir private eye who had the stuffings knocked out of him.



It was fucking grim acceptance.


I looked around that room, knowing the death on my hands, knowing that there was an investigation, knowing that Paperclip was no doubt involved with the Police by now.

I knew any chance I had at doing this thing 'right', was gone.

There are no rewind buttons on life, even when you manage to get an extra life.


So, Kelevra, This wasn't some angsty self-sacrificing play of mine, to 'finally win', whatever that means.

Thanks for that, by the way. The worst part about it is that you normally would've been right. So fuck you too.

Anyway.

I decided that if that was the fate that awaited me, a million years of endless anguish and despair, then maybe I deserved it. Maybe I deserved every damn punishment I've ever been given, every snide comment, every 'I hope you die' remark, every little ounce of hate.

Maybe I just fucking deserved it all, and that the world would be better off without me.

I entered that Path, having decided that if that was how it was going to go, then maybe I'd just let it roll, and spend the rest of time alone.

Where I couldn't hurt anyone else.

Fuck it.

I'm going in.  I'll miss you all if I don't return. It was fun to be back if for a moment. And its not even a damn Solstice or Equinox.


Do better than I did.

Find your way.

I should go.

What Holds Us Back

Cue a few days of me running through the woods, circuiting around town, trying to avoid several human investigators, and one decidedly not, so now we're up to today again.

In that off time where I'm taking a few moments to reflect on how nightmarish my life has become, I examine what I have officially deemed the 'clicky box', or Mr. Clicky for close friends.  Thing is still moving, and still clicky, those little levers and such on it, which I have to remind myself was INSIDE someone, is still active, so it must have some sort of internal power source.

It *also* has something that could be writing in a language I don't know. Then again, I've also seen what Russian cursive looks like, and that is indecipherable.

Still, its in my best interest to give it a go.  Problem is, is that I figure Paperclip has given my number out to the cops, which means I can't answer my phone, JACK, because I don't want them doing that telemetry thing to me.

I honestly don't know if that really is a thing, but I'm in no mood to take chances.

So I circle back to of all places, Paperclip's house.  Why? I knew he lived alone now, I know what car he drives, his basic work hours, and the fact that the back of his house is close to the woodline.

I've made it a habit to learn all the exits near me, and stuff like that. You would, too.

His computer's unlocked, lots of tabs up and music and stuff, I just make a new tab, because I don't want to leave any bigger a trail here than I have to. I set the Mr. Clicky down on its....back? and start looking up obscure languages. Its a shot in the dark here, vaguely googling languages, taking photos with the phone and running them through reverse image lookup.

I got nothing.  It really could've been scratches for all I knew, but the lead turned out to be dead.

Soon, I'd follow.

I decided to engage in one last creature comfort before I ran off into the darkness. I used the lavatory.

So imagine my surprise when I come back out into the computer room and I see Mr. Clicky wasn't there anymore.

I drew. Too much weird shit goes on the moment you turn your back, so I did something stupid and smart simultaneously. I closed my eyes and looked for that little telltale purple aura that it emanated.

I saw a shape of similar color, humanoid, in the kitchen.

I did NOT want another confrontation like this. I started to pray to whatever forgotten god that would listen to a wretch like me, that this wasn't Paperclip come home early, or possessed or infected now, so then I'd have to behead two men in his family.

God, what if it was Matchbook?

What if it were my shadow?

I moved quietly towards the kitchen, and held back at the wall nearby. I closed my eyes again, to look for the figure. It wasn't there.

I spun around as fast as I could, my weapon up.

I had the right instinct, but the wrong defense.

I eat drywall, take out part of the wall and stagger back into the computer room.

 

"Magic" sword or not, you can't interpose a weapon against a stronger foe without getting impacted by it, you've either got to deflect the energy coming at you, or not be in its path. A good parry can do one or the other if you're prepared for it. Just holding the sword between you and she only works if you can counter that strength.

I could not.

I cursed to myself as I got myself back up and readied. She came into the room slowly, with purpose. A, presumably female, figure wearing an elaborate outfit that would suit something retro-futuristic more than modern day wear. All in all, she looked like a techno-nun with a face that gave strong skull motifs.

"Shit." I muttered, "Proxy bullshit? In my investigation? Its more likely than you think." 

She tilts her head at me, I go on about it, trying to summon an inner badass that isn't showing. "And if you tell me your name is Rika, I'm just leaving right now. But otherwise..."  I point to her hand, where Mr. Clicky is being held. "THAT sucker is mine, and I'm going to need you to hand it over."

Without much regard for me, I heard a hum and was sent into a tumble.

I sprawled against the computer desk, and smashed against the keyboard. It didn't matter now who this strange woman was, or how she knew about the death I was looking into. She was going to kill me. So much for Mr man, Mr zero my hero, and all that unwarranted praise I got. 

 

 I was just a mortal, and she was something else. I stood back up, and readied myself, cursing the fact I still wore this stupid ass outfit of mine. I needed more peripheral vision to see her. I tore off the mask, the hood. And I waited, as she watched me. 

 

And then something stupid happened... 

 

I heard clapping coming from the computer

 

 

I had hit the keyboard, and apparently hit enter just at the right spot, to play music.

 

This Music.

 

Why the fuck was it that song?

Fate was continuing its mocking jig at my expense, but I found some solace in hearing the tune. I was reminded of who I was eight years ago, or at least who I wanted to be. I still wasn't that person, I was never going to be that /warrior/ that we all dreamt of. But as Santa Esmerelda played on in the background, I decided one thing, 

 

That I wasn't going to die here.

I'm a scrapper nowadays, and admittedly I can take a punch, knife, or death squeeze pretty well. But I haven't quite built up an immunity to it.

She moved again, and this time I saw what she was doing. Her hand came forward and for about a second and a half, she was armed with some sort of staff or polearm or such.  It just popped right in as she moved, and disappeared the moment she stopped.

Invisible weaponry. Good Times

 

 I'm on full defense. I see her move her free hand, I don't do anything funny I just hurl myself out of the way. The drywall to my side explodes as I tuck and tumble.

"Son of a bitch! I was trying to be discreet here!" I snap at her.  

She's unfazed.

I see her start to move again, and move again, I catch some of whatever the hell that hit was, and hit the ground hard. It felt concussive, not edged, which means I have a better chance of a broken rib than arterial spray. 

I suck wind with some effort. "Okay...fuck this. Morningstar sends his goon after me, and you don't even get snappy, no retorts."

I ready my stance and stare her down, I'm ready for her.

She strikes, I go to block.

I'm not ready for her. My hands nearly go numb as I interpose the blade, its like hitting pure steel at full power. It doesn't give, *I* give.

Sword goes down, I would LOVE to grasp my numb hand, but that's the only one I have, so I am very much in a predicament.

Don't extrapolate on the fact that I'm writing this, btw. You don't know.

 

(Side note: I've decided to italics when people are talking to me, I think it'll help conversations read better.)

She speaks, and I place her accent as possibly somewhere in New York.  "Morningstar?"

I figure I can buy some time to get my hand back working again, and say with every ounce of glibness I can muster.  "Yeah."

She gives me what I would assume would be a wry smile, if it weren't for the fact that I notice her eyes aren't blinking. The very personification of some sort of tech-death cultist, and she's just being casual with me.

She continues, "You think I'm with that clown?", the figure reels and lets out a snort. "Please!"

I pick up my blade, and regard her, standing back up. "Okay...so a different side of Team Evil or whatever it is now."

She grins at me as she turns off Santa Esmerelda, "Team Evil?  Nah, man, just a girl with a job." I squint at her, "Is the job to kill me?" "You? Get over yourself! I'm just here to snag the thing."

Mr. Clicky.

"So you know what it does, or at least who it belongs to?" She nods, "Yeah, Mang."  As I talk to her, she unwraps some chewing gum and chews it.

This situation just keeps getting weirder, but I've struck a lead, so I press it. "Okay, can I get your name at least before you go back to killing me?"

She answers with a mouthful of gum, must've eaten three strips. "Twenty Six" I was about to say that wasn't a name, but then my own handle came to the forefront. I swallowed my protest and nodded, "Noted. Okay, Can I see whomever made this...Mr. Clicky?" I gesture at that item again.

Twenty Six nearly chokes on her gum. Well there was one win condition I hadn't considered. "Mister Clicky? Nice."  She looks at it, then shakes it offhandedly, "I don't know what it does, but yeah, I guess. Ole Dee Emm doesn't deal with company much. Hop a ride."
She ran two fingers over the air, and split reality in twain. I've seen it before. Hell, I *did* it before, back in the day, and the monochrome area within sent a chill through my bones.

A black leaf came out of that portal.

I shook my head. "Oh no.  Not there. I can't do that."

Twenty Six shrugged, "Geeze, make up your mind. First you wanna fight, then you don't. You want answers, now you don't.  You're like the verbal equivalent of a cocktease, ain't ya?"
How the fuck could I tell her about that damn place, what it did to me?

What happens if I go back there and I can't come back?  What if its like it was before?

I wave her off, I can't even look at the damn thing. I start screaming at her to just go.  Not afraid to say that I was just sobbing like a four year old, and slumped in the corner.

"Geeze, what's with you?  Well okay then, but iffin you're wantin to meet Dee Emm, you'd better get on the horse. These things move about pretty fast like."  She shot me a finger gun, pulled her hood down a bit more, and disappeared into the night.

And I couldn't follow.

I *can't* follow.

What You Are In The Dark

I spent a lot of time thinking while on that path.

I mean, there was nothing else to do, but walk. So I thought *a lot*.

Sometimes between my rambling thoughts, I'd think back to my life.  What I did wrong, what I did right. How I'd change things.

I thought about how I'd approach people, or situations, try to use my head to analyze things further, use caution at all points, you know, a real layman's backseat analysis at solving problems.

Well that worked out real well, didn't it?

I cannot believe that it happened again, that shit spirals out of control so fast.  I mean, I get that its not my fault....well, okay maybe I should be to blame at least in part. Maybe I was being reckless when I looked at him.

I had no idea that would happen. I don't know if its something that I caused, or maybe he was programmed to do. I just don't know.

But I need to take responsibility for my part of this.

And now the area's got police and news copters about, talking about the 'wild killer' who killed an elderly man.

Never you mind that he chased me down four flights of stairs, took out drywall, and tore doors off their hinges to get at me. My only saving grace right now is that my face didn't pick up well on the hospital cameras.

Where the fuck is that perception filter that shows up conveniently, when /I/ need it?

Shit.

So now I'm hiding out in the woods, avoiding dogs and search parties.  Holy balls, I cannot believe how bad this mistake has gotten.

And you know what? I keep thinking about that stupid thing I pulled out of Matchbook. Its about the size of a cell phone, with little levers and stuff on it. The damn thing moves on its own accord a little, making whirring noises like those little wind-up cars from the 80s. I'm half tempted to let it go run free, so I can see where it leads, but right now, that's all I have.

Maybe when I get caught, I can offer it up as proof of what was (probably) making Matchbook do what he did.

Oh who the fuck am I kidding? I'm going to get shot dead if they find me.

Fuck me.

Misericorde

It was dark when we arrived at that hospital. I got out of the car, and started to reach back in for my stupid sword.

Seriously, why don't I just get a firearm or something?....okay, because I'm really rather likely to injure myself with one, more than do anything worthwhile for it.  Man, this entire life of mine has gotten real stupid, hasn't it?  Running around with a mask, a black hoodie with day-glo operator symbols, and a replica sword that got reforged by Amalgamation Sage, and is apparently 'magic'.

Magic.

Fuck me.

Anyway, as I cursed my life (and then promptly stopped, thinking about what my alternative was), I realized that I had to leave my gear behind.

Paperclip and I made our way inside. I had asked him about visiting hours. Paperclip raised a hand, leading me deeper into the hospital, "Private room, they only kick people out if they're in a semi-private spot."  I mused as we stepped into the elevator, "And he'd have to have a private room because he's got a cop on him."  I grimaced, "I feel really uncomfortable in here as it is, and now I gotta lie to a cop." He waved his hand, "Friend of the family. The guys I've seen, barely care as it is."

The doors opened, and he lead on, a bit of an impatience in his wide-stance steps. I just sort of plodded along behind him. What was I supposed to do? Snap my fingers and find an answer? Even if I did see him as being 'tainted' or whatever, that just tells me that there's truth to the claim. It doesn't give me an answer.

Paperclip was putting a lot of trust and hope into me, and I hated the fact that this was going to end poorly for him. Three rooms in, past the smell of antiseptic, and quietly hushed staff, we walked past a slouching officer of the law with barely a word, and into Matchbook's room.

An older man, mid-sixties, I'd guess. Hair had fully receded back, and what was left was growing long, stringy white. He was intubated, with a full breathing mask on. Physically, the man was pretty similar to his son. Stocky, short, and with a ruddy face, which looked pale in the hospital light. Meanwhile, Paperclip stares at me like this is it, like this is how things get fixed. I sigh and shut the door.

I look him over again, and check his arms and feet for signs of self-harm. Nobody likes to talk about it, but those of us in this sort of game, we end up...well, I won't say anything further on the subject actually. I can't comment on the struggles of another life.

I looked him over enough to vouch that the man was indeed stripped, as distasteful as that was to say. Paperclip just silently watched, his hands together in unease and expectation. I didn't see anything, but did I /see/ anything? I never knew what really triggered that old sight. I just knew.

But that taint never fully goes away. Not if my dreams have anything to say about it. In my life, I've been double marked. Once by the Hollow Man, once by the Bleeding Tree. They both have a hold on me in the long run. I thought about that fevor I had back in the day (last blog), that sense of justice, and fury that came with it. It was who I was, who I had been reforged to be, a catspaw for the Tree.

It lead me nowhere. I sighed and sat down on one of those deep chairs they have in  private rooms. Wordlessly, I gave Paperclip a weak shrug. I didn't want to outright say it, that either I had no idea how to verify it all, or if maybe Matchbook was responsible for his own crimes.

I sat there, and shut my eyes, my head in my hands.

THAT is when I saw him.

I saw his body's faint outline, despite my eyes being closed, not too dissimilar to seeing light through closed eyes. It was as if he was viewed in thermal vision, no depth, just a glowing spot in a background of darkness.  I rubbed my eyes and stood up, testing it out again. It was a strange color, a purplish color. Far different from that red and orange I used to see for the Tree's victims.

Paperclip couldn't take it, and broke the silence. "What do you see?" I walked right up beside Matchbook and peered down at him. It was as if one spot of him was glowing more than the rest.

and THAT was when the outline moved.

I opened my eyes, to see Matchbook staring up at me, his eyes open wide like he had seen a ghoul. Instantly his hands came up to grab at me. The restraints on his hands kept him bound to the bed, and yet the whole bed shook under his force.

I gave the best advice I could have ever given in my sagely career.

"Run!" 

I took to the door immediately, as the bed clattered.  Paperclip was about five seconds behind me, just clearing the door apprehensively, when the bed must've tipped over. He said something, I just started to run.

He was up, and his eyes were straining solely towards my unlucky ass..

I found the fire exit, and just started to clear as many steps as I could.  Halfway down the first turn downstairs, the door above me explodes in force, and Matchbook, covered in hoses and still in his paper gown, puts himself into the dry wall in my wake.

He starts peeling himself out of the dust and crumbling wall, I took that as a good cue to resume my fleeing, and flee I did. I hit the ground floor, I hear panicked announcements over the PA, and lights flash.  Someone in uniform tries to interpose between myself and the exit. I take him to task, and bowl him over. Matchbook's back on my heels, I see him in the reflection of the exit doors, he's moving on all fours, tiles being torn up as he cuts a swath through the hospital.

I put my foot into what I hope is an alarm, and clear the two chambers of exit doors, heading for the car. I can't leave Matchbook like this so I can't just flee, but I also refuse to let him tear me to pieces barehanded. I kept thinking that maybe I could find another way out of this.

By the time I get my sword out, I look back. Matchbook was caught in the doors, actually bending them out of his way.

Holy shit.

I flee to the woods nearby, and I mean I am covering some serious ground towards it. There's no real plan in mind, other than my own personal survival. If I fight him, one of us dies, possibly both. The fevor he had for assaulting me, that wasn't going to allow for rational thought. So I had to run.

I hear the snap of branches behind me, and start to throw myself down, and a cannonball explodes into my back. He comes down partially atop me, and with enough momentum that both of us tumble in the high grass and dirt.

I start to regain my senses only to feel steely hands clawing at me. Matchbook's just grabbing at me, but it is with such a ferocity that he's about to dig furrows into my flesh. As he did before, it seems.

I put my hand into his eyes to try to dissuade him, but to no avail. This sixty-something year old balding man stares down at me with the absolute horror and intensity of someone who was born for a single moment.

My sword's partially underneath me, and I need every ounce of leverage I have to keep him as far off of me as I can manage. I roll him over, and catch him on part of a stump. The grip breaks, and I lunge for the blade. He recovers instantly, catching my leg. Pain roars up my calf as he squeezes.

He's not even trying to just kill me smart, he'd have gone for a choke or the head, as if this is his only form of assault. I put my other foot into him as he lets out a hoarse breath. Matchbook doesn't give, and I'm in agony. He starts to move his hands, and my mind goes back to those deep furrows that Paperclip mentioned.

I take the blade to his arm, and deliver a poorly aimed, but wounding strike, backed by sheer adrenaline.  I hack again, and a vein opens up. I curse this damn day and my damn job. He was going to bleed out here, his heart had to be racing a mile a minute.

Matchbook releases my leg and catches me again as I try to get up.  The bastard is strong, and not to sound like a broken record, but I've got one arm to work with. One hand grabs at my head, and the other enters my mouth.  He starts to squeeze again.  There's no soft tissue to work with here, only an agonizing pressure as he tries to break my jaw open, or crush my skull.

I didn't want to do it, but there's no choice now. I was going to die right here. It was literally him or me.  The blade thrust upwards into his chest, and it cut him good, it eased into him without much resistance. Writing this, I nearly threw up thinking about it.

 If it hurts him, it doesn't show, as I stare at this panicked, intent expression on his face, his eyes nearly bulging out.  I draw out the blade, coating my chest in blood.  I aim higher.

He was caught in the neck, and the son of a bitch turned his head INTO it, slitting his throat. Arterial spray trickles out of him, covering me further. I get my foot underneath me and kick him back, unsheathing as I do.

I can hear Paperclip off in the distance, or someone.  Someone's shouting, and I'm finally getting to my feet.

Matchbook slumps. I can't believe I nearly decapitated the poor soul.  He's laying there, like a disgusting Pez dispenser, and I'm in shock.

Gotta flee. I've gotta disappear into the dark, I sure as hell can't go back. I'm fucking done. I turn to leave.

And I heard motion behind me, a gurgling sound, and movement.

My eyes close instinctively as I whisper, "No way."

I turn. 

Matchbook's standing back up, his head lolling over his back, his blue gown gone.  So now I'm dealing with a naked old man who's clumsily getting to his feet.

"No. Fucking. Way."

And my eyes are still closed. I know what it has to be, and I don't want to see it, but i can't not see it.  There's that damn purple aura I see, and its so focused now, there's this intense glow of it right under his right arm.

He comes at me. I aim there with the blade, and say my prayers. 

Again we collide.  This time, I get back up.

Matchbook appears to be down this time.  I whisper a prayer for forgiveness, and clumsily try to say something about him, even while I come to grips with what I have to do.

I've got to find out what that aura is, what is causing that coloring, it had to be the cause of all this.

So yeah, I desecrate him further, and I find something there. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was some sort of cell phone.

Its covered in gore now, thanks to the fight.  Its my clue to the problem at hand, at least.

The only price was another life corrupted by evil.

I flee into the darkness, and run as fast as my legs can take me.

Some things never change.

Potions

I've been stalling because I have no answers, so how's your lives going?

Honestly, I know that there's nothing more to it than going to go check out Paperclip's father, Matchbook. I can't solve a problem without knowing what it is, and nothing that I've come across so far is a sure sign of problem. I sat down Paperclip and gave him the deal before anything else.

"Alright, man, first off, you have to understand that I don't have a lot of answers, I only have *some* answers." He leaned forward towards me, his expression somber and his face a bit ruddy due to the way his forehead was tilted towards me.  "Okay." He nodded after a moment's hesitation. He didn't want to hear that. Paperclip wanted to hear 'I can make everything better'. I pressed him before he could build up expectations again. "Not going to lie. A lot of people who end up proxied, or whatever it is we call it, they end up not coming back. That means they either end up having severe psychological issues, or just dead. We could go talk to him, and he or either of us could end up dead. You need to understand that too." That thought was a bit much for him, he rubbed his hands on his slacks, and nodded again. "Okay..." He drew out the word a bit, and then followed up before I could continue. "but he's in a coma, so that shouldn't happen, right?"

I shrugged in agreement, "Yeah, well, a lot of things happen that shouldn't, but I just want you to be aware that right now, there's a really high chance that your father, Matchbook..."  I wanted to phrase this better, but I couldn't sugarcoat it. "He's probably already gone, in one form or another. I think ideally, that you might want to let this sleeping dog lie. If he spends the rest of his life in a coma...well, that's probably for the better." I added as the thought hit me, "if he has good insurance."

I folded my hands together, "Now, I do not want to get your hopes up, but there has been some....marginal luck in, well I guess I can call it 'transferring a connection', from one person to another. Its one of those 'damn yourself to save another' things, I advise against it." He looked up at me then started shaking his finger at me, "You mean like that thing you did way back when? Listen, my father is a damn good soul, he needs better than this. You don't understand, Tim." He stood up and gestured with passion, "They think he killed his daughter."

I took to my feet as well, "He may have, PC, this won't change anything in that regard, it just means he might end up aware enough to realize what he did, isn't that worse?"

Paperclip fumed and said very clearly, "I brought you here to clear this up, Tim."  "And do what? Tell the police about the Hollow Man? You know that's not how this shit works! When we spread knowledge, it only gets worse. People get stupid, and curious, and things go bad. Do you really want me to go to a court with this? Tell a newspaper?  They'd laugh at me, and you KNOW what the headlines will do to your dad."

I said it slowly, "Older man found complicit in Hollow Man stabbings." I shook my head at him, and his fevor died. "They'd put him in the news. He'd hit the 24 hour news cycle, and we'd get to hear all these people who don't know the situation, talk about him about how he got suckered into a fad. Don't let that happen."

He sagged to the cushion and nodded again, a glum look in his eyes. We sat there for a moment before I wordlessly got up, we had gotten together to go to the hospital, he picked up on that. I let him process his thoughts on the road in that same silence.

About fifteen minutes out, he said, "So I could drink some sort of solution and turn the Hollow Man's gaze towards me? That was your idea?" I shook my head, "I dunno if its really some stupid tonic of ice water and...stuff. I think it might've been more the intent, the belief to go with it. Maybe that's something we've all been dancing around all this time. Maybe it really IS intent that puts things in motion, just like with everything else in reality."

He parked the car at the hospital. I didn't tell him the other part of that backup plan. I wasn't going to have him drink some silly 'potion'.

I was going to.