The Coming of the Nine: Part IV
Escape to Alterra Prison
Preview Chapters
As the scope of events dawned upon the dissatisfied masses, protests and riots tore our cities apart. As the answers of faith leaders ceased to resonate, myriad cults arose; many violent, aside several viable religions focused on the crisis.
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As we struggled to find sense amid strife, less stable governments fell, and no one had reason to hope for change towards anything better; such was the shared reality as spring approached. Feeling altogether powerless to affect our future, we seemed poised to break completely.
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By March, as civil unrest neared a boiling point, hot enough a harbinger to spur the birth of anarchy, the powerful shut down regular news sources. Soon, Government approved, “updates” began arriving weekly through couriers refusing to give their names. Soon people took up the epithet “Agent Smith” for these hapless messengers.
Read at work, on the TV, and in schools, the gist of the reports was always the same: “Don't panic all will be solved soon… authorities are working on several promising...”
...No one listened.
In the dimmest of shadows, however, one thing was whispered by the out-caste, dissatisfied and dissenting few capable of listing well enough to hear. No one knew why they said it, no one knew what it referred to. They just knew that when they spoke it, or when they heard it, it brought them rare comfort even in the most perilous of moments, so much so it became a sort of blessing. Unassuming and innocuous, no one with a mind closed, a heart broken, or a soul corrupt would give credence when someone whispered...
“So too will come the nine.”
Prologue
The Boiling Point
All that has been is bound to come again and history forgotten inevitably brings upheaval. In 2041 the last such upheaval fell upon the Earth. Some called it 'apocalypse'. Had such a definition been properly applied the death throes of the same hit a better mark.
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The prior decade had seen such an escalation of unexplained events, at the dawn of 2040s few felt capable of shock. In the year’s first three months, fate’s abhorrence to certainty was on full display. After those 90 days, the same masses who thought themselves past such reactions were just as convinced the world was at its end.
Over 250 million citizens had vanished from the Earth, no pattern seemed relevant and no existing solution bore fruit. In America, the typically tenuous relations between authorities and her people had descended near anarchy, as the prior proved impotent in the face of the crisis. Social services mobilized at the behest of humanity's “leaders” were more woefully inadequate than ever, mired by delay; the powerful debating minutiae in lieu of taking action.
Vain pursuits of security were fast disproved. As one vanished, it took an instant and no barriers were effective. Someone blinked, another looked away, a third yawned, and so forth; in an instant, it was as if you had never been.​
ACT I
The End of Hope
If an end is upon us
we should great it like an old and welcome friend
for if death is but beginning's end no death is pure remorse
and if a species erases itself,
if afore its end it can offer nothing
it be a sick and broken thing, better left behind,
we that endure have no cause for mourning
So worry not my kin ore the fate of the chaff
for we the wheat will reign ore hell, heaven, et al for what remains of this eternal round what than can come after but the highest glory worth obtaining
Koval Metat,
Kin Duman of the Warlock sect
7671 BCE
Chapter One
Setting The Board
The Longest Game
In a dimension slightly up, and to the left of ours, a confidence built through the reform in the 30s, had waned in the first 3 months of 2041, and gone completely by spring. Such calamity had come to the Earth chaos had taken hold of most areas, and was ever looming elsewhere.
​
Across the globe in general and more than anywhere in the sleepy little suburb of Saratoga California USA, where we join the story of sentient life playing out in this corner of said dimension; this particular night was to be special.
Over the prior decade, the planning and mechanisms possessed by goodly Maijiks, had swung into motion. The short term impact of the nights events however, hardly fit the term good.
Special can mean sudden and awesome but in most cases, as in this one, the definition of special is far more esoteric. Events being guided by ancient beings, the most mysterious of which few if any of the era could comprehend. So what was special about that night would be noticed by a scant few, and most of those would read it as a sign of doom.
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Doom though, had been coming longer than most of those aware could fathom. Whether or not that night of dread might mean the beginning of the world's liberation from oppression would mean little to the masses. Save a few whose consciousness met the criteria regular folk would wait salvation for centuries still.
​A far off hope for their decedents would have been a hollow comfort, but even that hard solace seemed a vain indulgence. In hidden realms, the longest game ever played entered its endgame. The game predated the history of human sentience, and held, as pawns at least, all living things. For the game masters an end seemed near, but that end would come too late for what the same would see as mayflies. Thus, humanity readied for that night like any other.
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What else could we have done?
On the verge of an outright fit
It would have been a pleasant early spring day for a suburban teenager in most any era; damp, but sunny, and warm, so the misty air was refreshing, and life's motion came easy. These, though, were rare times. The global scope of the crisis meant little to young Martin Drake; his pain sat far deeper. Martin's older brother, and mentor, Jake, was among the first to vanish.
​
As Martin had done each night since that day the 17-year-old sat in a lawn chair, alone on his family's back patio, pondering life's unfairness grimly. Desperately avoidant company, he resented the world sharing his pain, as if robbed of his own process; his pain lost amid the world's strife, not unlike a river's water swallowed by an ocean.
​
“So... how goes the nightly brooding session?” Martin's sister Sara playfully stuck her head out the door, intent upon lifting her brother from his doldrums, though she knew it could not last. Sara, like everyone else in Martin's family tried to behave as if all were status quo.
​
Living in the shadows of her intellectual, free-thinking, quick-witted siblings, Sara strove for normality. Seeing with more clarity, she might have seen her behavior as the furtherance in a series of hopeless, and grasping attempts at reason in a world gone mad. Faced with the state of
things, it was near the best one might expect from any 12-year-old just to muddle forth, and so she did.
​​
“Yeah, you know, just checking the backyard for some hope.” Martin sighed in an awkward shot at humor. The backyard was one place that felt almost normal as the budding trees and chirping crickets saw day into night. The only difference was the smell. Trash service, like every other part of life, had been interrupted. Some people said they had gotten used to it, Martin viewed this as self-delusion. 'Not one thing hadn't changed.' he thought bleakly.
“Find any?” Sara's reply, while clumsy, didn't miss. Her brother had revealed too much truth in his attempt at wit.
“Nope... how was school?” Martin half hoped for an interesting answer. Equally desirable: such a mundane question might annoy his sister into leaving him alone.
“Bout normal” In Sara's view, going unnoticed was the key to surviving life's monotony, but by that point she was kidding herself, and they both knew it. Still, she'd done a better job sidestepping her own confession, at least for a moment. Just as with most of humanity, Sara was bursting with feeling, though she was long past looking for hope.
Sara's junior high experience had become six hours of counselors begging any thought trending that way not to suicide. Inept; the counselors had certain 'signs' considered indicative a problem had reached a point of no return. Perceived Efforts at dodging those same volunteers, were considered one such sign. Sara's strategy of keeping her head down suddenly backfired.
​“How was school for you?” Sara said in an especially callous drawl. Neither sibling cared to talk about school but turnabout is fair play.
“Epicly uneventful.” Martin's new normal was 'independent study' meaning everyone sat in the cafeteria doing their fancy provided no one broke any major rules.
Reducing the environment to tedium, the high school's 'Counselors' were not dissimilar in ineptitude to those at Sara's middle school. Circling like vultures picking those thought more despondent to 'chat'. These captains were so obtuse to the dread they created, the hair on everyone's neck felt permanently erect. Though Initially, a few kids made trouble, as time wore on everyone settled into quietly doing what they usually enjoyed in what groups they usually ran in.
Friends provided so much more benefit than any official 'counseling', the counselors were unwelcome window dressing. The best under-stander and advocate is nearly always another of the same.
Martin earned near-legendary status amid the student body through his uncanny ability to dodge the counselors. “The trick is, blow your top for no damn reason every three weeks. I usually yell at Sam because he loves to yell anyway,” he often joked.​
​
“Figures, it's only the end of the world, why would it be any different from the rest of always” Sara surprised him by passing up his trollish effort to lighten the mood, but her banter betrayed her in much the same way Martin's wit had him a moment before. Instead, she had fallen into
the same pit in which he appeared stuck. No one was hard to bring down
anymore, and Sara had been weeks since her last good cry.
​​​“I thought I was a pessimist,” Martin had to switch roles unexpectedly putting him in a more precarious position. Though Martin liked to socialize, he felt certain aspects of his current outlook were better left unmentioned, so he sought isolation.
“Millions are gone; thousands more every day. I'm twelve, not stupid! We're all running out of time.” Martin wanted to argue but what could he say apart from the one thing he had been avoiding?
“I still can't get Jake off my mind.” The tables had turned again. For the first time the nihilistic front Martin used to avoid talking about his true feelings became a burden. Revealing the farce though, would draw unwanted attention.
“Eventually, you have to let go.” Sara began to cry.
“I can't sis.” Marin felt the words fighting to get out, like soon denying them would be tantamount to denying the air.
“Why?” She had to ask why, a question Martin lied about every time since Jake went missing. It was clear family and friends weren't buying it because they kept asking. Finally, Martin reached a breaking point.
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“He's still out there” Martin blurted, sick of lying. It was what Martin dreaded most; the long silence. Sara went from surprise, to concern, to frustration and back to concern before she spoke.
​
​“Marty he's gone.” Sara said softly, doubting her brother's sincerity, then sanity in turn. Though both were in tears, in a world gone mad, crying didn’t embarrass many anymore. Sara though, was verging on an outright fit.
​“They're gone! 250 million people, where’d they go, Disney Land?” Sara ranted.
“I have no idea.” Marin felt dumb.]
“So, you just know?” Sara blurted, her tears lessened, as she hid her pain under anger. “I'm not sure which is sadder, the millions gone, or the billions trying to pass this off like they're coming back. They're not. The sooner everyone realizes it, the sooner we can get back to normal.”
​
Sara realized how ridiculous she sounded as she spoke, but felt betrayed. After Jake vanished Martin became her defacto mentor. The juxtaposition, to feeling he was more mixed up than she, was too much so Sara stormed inside.””
​
While he felt bad upsetting Sara, and dreaded the doubtless efforts to 'help him let Jake go', mostly Martin was glad the truth was out. If fact, he so deeply convinced Jake was alive he could not imagine any argument might faze him. Martin felt as though he could feel his brother alive, as if Jake had died he would know just as deeply. Even so, Martin, in no hurry to face what he knew waited inside, decided It was warm enough he would catch a nap while his family had the inevitable conversation within.
A fierce defender of the innocent
In the same suburb, and far closer Martin's mind, two siblings, perhaps more unlike than any other pair in the vicinity, tilted each other in their ways.Sitting at his computer staring, Jose (a transgender boy) tried now and then to focus on something, in vain attempts to contain his worry.
​
Whether it be the essay he was supposed to write, or if he had heard from someone on social media that night, his mind wondered. Other
obvious concerns distracting, he had to stop to remember the assignment and social media was an afterthought.
​
“Hey, dummy.” Jose's brother Sam stuck his head in the door.
“What do you want, you hard-headed brute?” Jose's remark hit close to the mark, and Sam knew it. He prided himself in nearly equal measure on being stubborn, and his willingness to throw down on behalf of anyone facing injustice.
“Just seeing if I can save you from yourself,” Sam explained. Both brothers were the type upon seeing another in peril, saw it as a personal mission to see them out. “I don’t need saving, much less from you.”
With peril omnipresent, and safety more clearly than ever an illusion than ever, both brothers were twelfth-level anxious all the time. While both boys knew were far more self aware than most Sam knew Jose better than Jose knew himself and the opposite was just as true.
Jose's parents were wholly supportive of his identity. Mary and Christian Ramirez had worked as ACLU lawyers but split from their employers sighting leftist principle, though it was an excuse. The true impetus for their departure, if more honest with themselves, was to start a very successful transgender rights defense firm, wishing to fight for the rights of people like their son.
Sam, by contrast, was a white straight kid raised by an abusive father whose idea of culture watch Fox News and drink cheap beer. When Sam was 7, his father killed a man in a bar fight. The two 'combatants' were drunk, and the man Sam's father killed had brain trauma. Though the poor fool died dodging a drunken punch, Sam's dad was sentenced to 10 years for manslaughter.
Following the drama, Jose's parents, hoping to save Sam from the foster system stepped in eventually adopting him when Sam’s father died 5 years later in a prison break. All this meant Sam was more accustomed to chaos. As all who see the horror of violence young know, that while Sam wore his pain far better, inside he was closer to breaking than most.
​
“Keep it up, you'll have to save yourself in a sec'!” Just as feisty when someone needed defending, Jose sought a more subtle solution, treating sass as a martial art. No one at school messed with Jose or, he might put you down so hard a meme on twitter would be trending in as little as 17 minutes (his record).
“Mom says it's time for bed.” Sam said halfhearted.
“So have Mom tell me, or are you her messenger now?”
“You know you don't want...” Sam was interrupted as Jose leapt on him, tackling him across the hall into his room.
Sam was highly physical, living more through action more than words. Sports provided a constructive outlet for his anger towards his father. The playground was also the place Sam learned to move past his pain. As he progressed in skill he grew as a person. Being the victim for so long, Sam became a fierce defender of the innocent, so much so bullies refrained from usual routine when he was in earshot, rather than risk his wroth.
“What I want is to be left alone!” Jose said as loudly as he thought he could without drawing his parents' attention. Jose often turned to the physical to make his point, knowing his much larger, fitter brother would never actually try to hurt him.
“Oh come on . . .” Sam readied a retort but was interrupted as his brother was transfixed by something else.
​
“Wait, what is that?” As Jose got to his feet having had a look around his brother's room he'd spotted what was undoubtedly he oddest thing he had ever seen.
​
As an extension of Sam's commitment to all that was innocent, Sam was a lover of animals. Defending and caring for wildlife that wandered into town, as humanity retreated indoors in an instinctual grab for anything resembling safety, was an afterthought.
​
Jose had joked it had become “The Sam Ramirez Animal Sanctuary” but his brother had been too fond of the notion for Jose to repeat it again. During Sam's latest excursion looking for lost and vulnerable creatures, he had found something else.
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“You can't tell Mom and Dad.” Sam pleaded. Jose didn't hear him; he was stunned by disbelief.
​
In Sam's closet was a medium sized pet bed but what sat upon it was unlike any pet seen by modern eyes. The creature was vaguely the shape of a large Maine Coon cat, with legs about half again as long. It also had wings and three tails. As he crept closer, Jose could see a mix of fur and feathers in a rainbow of colors running in long stripes front to back. It had a cat's nose, eyes and whiskers but they sat over a small stout purple beak.
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“This . . . this is wrong! What if it's related to the vanishings?” Jose's first concern was Sam's last.
“What if it's not? What if it's a solution? We both know what most humans would do...” Sam reasoned.
​
“How long have you had it?” Jose wanted more information, but he was already forming an argument.
Just as Jose's mind began to work on this, however, the thing got a funny look on its face and there was a loud bang and a bright light. It was as if a bolt of lightning streaked across the room, and the creature sat at their feet, looking up at Jose affectionately.
“We have a lot to talk about!” Jose realized it must have taken a long time for Sam to gain the creature's trust and his brother would be heavily emotionally invested in the thing's safety. To Jose' mind unless the creature had been around far longer than Sam could possibly have kept a lid on the oddity it was unlikely the cause of the current crisis or Sam would have already disappeared.
Chapter Two
Signs and Portents
Pain will have its due
That night, in the same division of the same suburb – on the other side of consciousness, other odd events unfolded. So gently held aloft by bright purple grass, under deep aqua sky it might have rested on air, a dreamer lay near Nirvana, eyes shut, drinking crisp air like elixir; every detail set exactly, blissfully, right - not hot nor cold, wet nor dry. The world was so tailored to the dreamer it might have wondered, had it died and gone to heaven. For that however, the dreamer need care - all care had gone.
​
“My love.. my love... my love!” A voice sang repeatedly; every instant the dreamer longing ever more deeply to meet source of the song. As the longing grew so did the voice until the dreamer was sure without the singer's presence, it would surely taste that death that had not mattered only a moment before and be glad of it, rather than suffer the absence.
The dreamer’s pain was buried so deeply it had passed perception. In such cases, though all pain is finite, its influence is past measurement. Pain like all debt feeds itself. Some seek to balance pain by hurting others, some try to alleviate the suffering of those around them. Both 'solutions' are fraught with problems, though the surest truth of pain is that pain will have its due.
“Yes?” the dreamer closed its eyes drifting ever farther away until as it could hardly think, an unseen hand caressed the dreamer's cheek softly.
A healthier way to reclaim a debt of pain is through escape, but the mind can reach too far, becoming lost in illusions created in false ecstasy, losing the goal entirely. In a world gone mad, such blind reaching is commonplace and can bring unforeseen consequence.
“Hate . . .” the voice said in a whisper so gentle it was as if the air massaged the ear so the word was almost beside the point, barely registering - but that particular word was of such sufficient disgust to jar the dreamer awake.
“NO!” the dreamer spoke as it awoke, only to forget why it had spoken.
The town's most noteworthy event
Back on physical side of reality, lived the most treasured member of Martin's cohort. Jamie Shaw (a trans girl?) was Martin's on-again off-again romantic partner with whom he had put things on hold after Jake vanished.
​
Though his excuse was he needed to 'sort out his feelings' Martin's avoidance was far more closely tied to his desire to fit in with the rest of his loved ones in their dismay; fearing he might lose himself in romance and forget his front.
Jamie was very much in love, but as so many teenagers whose wisdom dwarfs their age, she played it coy. Though she had never said as much, her lack of expression, was no indication of a detachment from her own feelings, rather a keen understanding of Martin’s.
As was all too common those days Jamie woke from a deep sleep and sat up in bed; panicked, she let out a scream. Two blocks away from the Shaw home was the sight of the town's most noteworthy event of the crisis. Members of a group everyone called a cult caused an explosion and 16 cult members and seven neighbors died.
​
In what was deemed a freak stroke of luck the Shaw home was spared any real damage though both of their next door neighbors suffered serious damage and injury. A small child living next door was killed when their roof caved in. Still having trouble sleeping at home, Jamie found herself in the Drake's guest room, or on the couch at the Ramirez home increasingly often.
“Hey hon.” Jamie's mother, Luna, called out calmly through the door. Luna, a mystic, had sensed her daughter's stress before it happened. Her abilities however had not seemed to provide any insight into the crisis and Jamie had not appeared to inherit her mother's talents.
“I heard something.” As Jamie spoke Luna was already looking out the window.
The night was still and no danger could be seen. Considering however, her failure to predict the cult's fate before it happened, she was avoiding assumptions based solely on her gifts when reassuring Jamie.
​
“Nothin' there child, just more shadows of the past.” Jamie's mother was as supportive a parent as could be of Jamie's gender identity. Hence she had taken to gender-neutral pronouns to a ridiculous extent. Luna surpassed obnoxious when around Sam and Jose, determined to make sure her friends the civil rights lawyers never forgot how cool she was.
“Sorry Mom, I'm still jumpy.” it was no small relief to Luna, her daughter had no experience facing violence; thus Jamie had little understand of the inevitability of trauma response. Luna however was far more versed in such matters than she would admit to one so young.
​
“Your nerves will settle, and you'll be stronger for it,” Luna explained. Jamie was a born leader - quiet, and unlike her friends and peers, very confident, a gift she did inherit from her mother, but she was still naive.
Wisdom that defied Jamie's age, she preferred to allow events to unfold so long as no big mistakes were apparent, ceding decisions to others. Jamie held asserting opinions for when they were needed most. The strategy paid off well, as on rare occasions Jamie got loud, people listened quickly: if they didn't, someone often told them to.
As her mother exited, Jamie stood at her window peering out, not in fear, but wonder. Through it all Jamie was the only person she knew well who had yet to waver from a position of hope. To Jamie, the lack of an explanation for events was a good thing. Her theory was that in so great a mystery anything could be true. If that were so; Jamie chose to believe in hope.
Some unseen force
Eyelids growing heavy, and sleep rapidly approaching, Martin mused to himself. His mind, unburdened via his confession, Martin considered what Jake might have said. Jake was forgiving of most everyone while Martin, as Jamie liked to say, would 'marry a grudge if not her.' Conversely, both Martin and Jake were overly tough on themselves. Jake often joked if Martin kept getting down on others, he would run out of energy to get down on himself.
As the first true smile in months cracked Martin's gloomful face, his moment was cut short. Across the lawn two dim lights barely piercing the darkness beneath a shrub had stolen his attention. So faint they should never have warranted the notice of even a fully alert Martin, he was somehow drawn to them. Still, for some eerie reason, the lights came as such a shock, it was as if a tiny bolt of lightning pierced each eye.
​
The lights suddenly grew brighter at ever hastening speed until nearly blinding. As Martin tried to recoil he realized he could not move, nor draw breath, and his heart seemed to have stopped mid beat. For a moment Martin began to wonder if he had died, but was distracted by something else entirely: utter and total beauty.
The strange lights were no longer painful; rising to face level, moving in Martin’s direction, they became a pair of eyes, so perfectly beautiful he lost all sense and nothing else mattered. There was, no brother, no sisters, no mother, father, nothing... There were only the eyes. Rising to his feet, Martin was lead forward by his eyes in a manner not dissimilar to that of an old cartoon character being lured by the fragrance of their particular ambrosia.
Losing himself in bliss one moment, Martin was yanked from nirvana the next. The things eyes became a vile swirling pool of red and sickly green like blood and sludge inside a flexible transparency, spinning hypnotically as if stirred by some evil power. The creature's true face revealed, was gnarled and grotesque. It’s skin seemed to slither as if an orgy of snakes colored the same sickly red and green. had wrapped themselves around a skeleton.
The creature stared evilly, then laughed hideously as noxious gas billowed from the things maw singeing Martin's nostrils and throat. His senses were so overwhelmed, could he have moved, the contents of the teenagers entire digestive system, would have exited the nearest available holes in impossibly short order.
​
Just before the notion of utter dread set in again and Martin surrendered a second time to death, this time gladly, peace and tranquility quelled the horror. The smell and sound ceased as a look of confusion came across the creature's face, followed by one of fear as it turned and moved away with impossible speed.
​
An instant later, Martin, himself again, but exhausted, fell into his chair. A fall that should have broken the chair was cushioned by some unseen force. Instead Martin felt as though he were caught in a blanket of air, and set down so gently he was not sure he had landed until he moved around to check.
The One No One Need Doubt
In the mind of another dreamer, another drama was playing out. Awaking within a dream, the dreamer looked around, and found itself in a doorless room.
​
“Well isn't this fun!” said the dreamer realizing on some level it was still in a dream. As the dreamer spoke, one wall opened to reveal as posh a setup it could imagine; a big screen TV, every video game system known and many unknown to the dreamer, theater sound and a chair that somehow looked more comfortable than any real chair could feel. The dreamer stepped forward in a daze.
“Ouch” The dreamer's head hit the wall, the previous scene gone. Confused, the dreamer's pain felt real.
​
“Do you really think fun and games will free you?” said a strange and booming disembodied voice.
​
“Who?” As the dreamer spoke it spun round to see who was talking, finding instead four blank walls again.
​
Just then, a second wall opened, this time to an idyllic beach complete with the most attractive person it had ever seen. Stunned again, the dreamer walked forth.
​
“Damn it” the dreamer walked into a second wall. “What's the point of this?”
​
“Who are you?” The voice said.
​
“I'm the one no one need doubt.” As the dreamer spoke it felt as if the words came from somewhere else.
​
“But without doubt, there is no freedom, and all of us make mistakes. Only slaves without will can stand doubtlessness... is that you?”
​
“No... Who are you? Where am I?”
​
“Perhaps in future you might raise questions before banging your head against so many walls. It is said haste makes waste, but far worse still can be sown by hurry.” As the voice spoke, the dreamer woke, forgetting for the moment what was seen.
Going On Adrenaline
“Ghet orffa mhe!” Jose mumbled as he rolled over, swatting at whatever was wet against his cheek He assumed it was something Sam had decide to harass him with. What it was, Jose had to give his sibling credit, he could not have guessed. It felt like the most course sandpaper, moistened and given the slightest jolt of static; needless to say it felt enormously disgusting.
​
While he heard a sharp snicker and the patter of feet Jose saw nothing. Suddenly he was worried... Sam was never that fast let alone as light on his feet.
“Sam... Pst... Sam...” Jose poked his head in as he opened the door to his brothers room.
​
“Wha-da-ya-wan” Sam said, rolling over to look at his brother “It's 5:48 in the freakin morning” Sam picked up his alarm clock and turned it off; it was set for 6 anyway.
“Somebody. . . . something is in the house” Jose tried to sound nonplussed as not to put his brother in protector mode but it was no use. Sam bolted to his feet, picking up an aluminum baseball bat, ready for a fight.
“It's probably nothing...” Jose was having second thoughts about waking his brother, as Sam, going on adrenaline, was not one to take threats, or even a vague suggestion of such lightly. “I don't know I felt something wet on my cheek and when I turned to look I heard what sounded like laughter... I was probably dreaming.”​
“Never known you to be that jumpy.” Sam whispered as he slowly opened Jose's door, looking in. Jose was grasping in his attempts to calm his brother and he knew it. Truth was Jose was freaking out a bit also; with all that had happened in recent months it wasn't hard to scare anyone. It was then Jose noticed it: on the bookshelf behind Sam sat the cat-like creature from Sam's closet.
​
“Wait, how’d we forget about the creature.” Jose stared into the things eyes. He and his brother had somehow completely forgotten what they had seen the night before, and Sam many other times seeing it prior.
​
“Yeah, there's nothing there, I'm sorry now that I'm awake all the way, must have been a dream.” Jose lied as he guided Sam out of the room. Sam was at once in the very same mind as Jose moments before; not really wanting to listen but too dumbstruck to wage protest.
​
As Sam left, the creature came down from the shelf in a bolt of light and rubbed on Jose's leg. Jose sat in his chair and looked at the thing.
“This can't be real.” Jose reasoned aloud, though he could hardly really argue with what he and Sam had both seen.
​
Jose, in a state of heightened alert, slunk into his chair and sighed. The creature looked at him, tilted it's head quizzically, reared up and in a flash of light, it was suddenly in Jose's lap looking him in the eye and purring gently. “What are you?” Jose asked rhetorically.
​
“I'm a sphinx, I am to be your companion. I'm here to let you know as bad as the day will be, by its end, life will have turned for the better.” The creature spoke in a high pitched voice every word enunciated exactly.​
“Do you know why people have been vanishing, do you know where Jake is?” Jose had decided he was still dreaming by that point.
​
“I do, I could even tell you but you will forget me, at least for now now though, you must forget me” said the creature.
​
“Why would I for…” Jose forgot why he was speaking. Finding himself sitting alone, he thought he must have dosed off and been talking in his sleep. Thus he could not place why he suddenly felt a lot more hopeful, but he wasn’t about to question it.