Ian's eyes opened.

The first thing he saw was the moon, through the sharply foreshortened frame of the windowsill above him. Her piercing silver light didn't hurt his eye. She was the only mother he had ever known. 

She wouldn't hurt him.

It was night. Was everything previous to this a dream?

Access memory. No. He'd seen people he'd never seen before. His aphantasia wouldn't allow for that. He never got to see his dreams.

So... the girl was real?

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Damn. 

He uncrossed his arms from over his chest where he'd tightly drawn the covers and sat up slowly, looking straight ahead the whole time. His head had been pointed into the corner where two windowed walls met, his feet aimed at the center of the room. At the height of the sit-up, he breathed in deeply, held it for seven seconds, breathed out slowly, held it for seven seconds.

Then, his head snapped toward her.

"What are you doing here?"

Molly sat in the corner, smiling at him. She covered her smile with one hand and waved a tiny little wave with the other.

Ian sighed again. This one was less of a sigh of annoyance, with her at least. 

How did this happen?

How did you let this happen?  

"You told me to come home with you."

"I did? Why?"

He reached for a clove and his heavy pewter lighter, with two skulls cast into it facing outward from the center. 

"Of course you did, silly. I missed the bus to Warwick, so I missed my plane to Arizona."

"That's not any sort of answer. It only provokes more questions."

He lit his cigarillo.

"Ian, don't you remember?"

He paused. "I told you my name?"

When he said this, she looked genuinely hurt. Her head tilted to the left, and her eyes and eyebrows twisted upward.

"You... don't..."

 A tear started to spill down her cheek. Then, Ian realized something. He snapped upright.

"Is it still 1999?"

He threw the clove and lighter down.

"October, yes."

Ian stood up quickly off the tatami mat on which he lay and strode to the door. He grabbed his black cashmere coat on the way out and threw it over his already fully-dressed shoulders, buttoning his vest once he did so.

He stepped out the door. Walked a few paces. Turned around and observed the house. Walked back in. Closed the door.

He stood at the door for a second, intimately close as he slowly fixed the door handle to its original orientation. He breathed deep and sighed again, then turned to look at her.

She was sitting in his father's chair.

"Get up. You have to go."

Her face immediately turned so red her freckles disappeared. Her mouth turned into the literal definition of an upside-down smile. He had never seen such a perfect semicircle formed by lips. It was an odd thing to smile at, but he did, and when she saw the corner of his lip curl she burst into tears.

It took a second, but he stepped forward. He was still too far away to reach her, but taking another step felt awkward. He leaned. Nope. He took a quarter of a step forward and leaned as far as he could, setting a hand an her shoulder.

"Listen, I..."

She leapt at him.

Approaching from right side. Body diagonal, head currently at stomach level. Feet off balance.

Method one. Elbow to back of skull. Result: Unconsciousness or paralyzation. Possible death, especially if optional knee added to throat.

Method two. Right palm strike to jaw, followed by six to twelve stream punches starting in the left ribs and moving up to the jaw. Walk her to the floor. Result: Unconsciousness, three broken ribs, broken jaw, possible fracture to neck. Unconsciousness to paralysis. Death assured if afterstrike ensues.

Method three. Hip throw. Turn sharp right at end to dislocate...

She reached him, after what seemed like an hour of tactical planning from his perspective, and wrapped her arms around him. He chose the first option. He had allowed her to take him by surprise and had gotten too close to employ the knee, but...

She hugged him. 

She held him.

She cried.

He realized after a while his elbow was still raised to strike, and slowly moved it down to set his hand on her shoulder as she sobbed into his chest.

He noticed then he was still wearing his gloves. He normally at least took those off before going to sleep. He must have been tired.

He slowly pushed her away.

"Where is my cigar?"

A moment passed, and her lip began to quaver. She held out the extinguished and crushed clove in her palm.

"Why?" he asked.

She burst into tears.

"The man I love wouldn't do that to his body!"

She wrapped her arms around him. He found himself sighing yet again.

---

"So, there's nothing in your house?"

"There's no house. I'm surprised you're even here."

"What?"

Before he could explain, the waitress pulled up and set down a coffee for Ian and a diet cola for Molly.

"My house exists outside of natural reality," he said anyway. The waitress didn't seem to mind, and set down some utensils.

"Your order'll be up in a bit, hon," she said.

"Thank you," he said to her, then turning back to Molly, added "The fact that you were able to see it or enter it naturally is indicative of several things. And I'll be damned if I know what about half of them are."

"What are some of the ones you can think of?" Molly asked.

He thought a moment, then offered "You suffer severe mental retardation."

"Well, that's obviously not the case." She chuckled.

He raised his other eyebrow. He realized he was just looking shocked now and chose one to lower.

"Why were you going to Arizona?"

"I had signed up for ASU."

"Why? Go to a library. You don't need school."

"I want to be an artist, and..."

"Then there's absolutely no reason to go to college."

Ian struggled with something for a minute. Why did he care about this? Why was it important? Did he really need to bother asking?

"Well, I was going to go live with my grandma, who lives in Sedona."

"Why?" Damn. He thought, I should be asking myself that.

"My brother died. I was living with him and had nowhere else to go."

"Your parents?"

"A car accident, seventeen years ago. I was four. I was in the back seat."

"You and your brother were the only survivors?"

"He wasn't in the car. He was nineteen and away at school at the time."

Ian sat back. He still wasn't sure why he was going in on this line of questioning. There was only one reason, he thought... This admittedly strange young woman, dressed like she's some kind of evangelical housewife, must be part of the cult. She must be related... a plant. He had sensed it immediately... The synchronicity of running into this conservatively-dressed, polite, beautiful...

...he shook his head.

...this young women dressed conservatively bumping into him randomly while he was on the platform didn't sit with him. He couldn't sense anything real from her. She was blank. Always happy, unless she was crying. There seemed to be no depth or complexity to her workings, and yet she was deeply complex.

"Who ARE you?" He said finally, leaning forward, steepling his fingers over his lips.

"You already asked that. My name's Molly, silly."

"That doesn't tell me who you are. There are a million Mollies in the world."

"But only I'm me!"

"Which means I need more explanation than just 'Molly.'"

Saved by the bell. The door opened, and Ian heard three sets of hastened footsteps. Rich and the crew had arrived.

"Antonio got the word out to us. What's..."

Rich stopped when he saw Molly. He froze mid-stride, stood straight up staring at her the whole way, then slowly turned back to Ian.

"Uhhh," was all he could manage to say. Ian heard Steve drop his customary "Dude!" in the background.

Jenny remained silent, as was expected. Ian felt the heat from her direction.

"Where are you from?" Ian continued his interrogation, ignoring the arrival of his comrades.

"Little Compton. It's..."

"I know where Little Compton is. Southeast of here. Wooded. Kind of secluded. Next to Tiverton, bordering Massachusetts."

"Yeah," she replied timidly. 

He felt bad about interrupting her.

"Ian, what..."

Ian held his hand up, silencing Rich.

"I've been awake for three weeks straight dealing with this. I offered to help her, but I think my body fell asleep. My mind is programmed to take me home safely in the even that happens."

A younger waitress was walking by. She was the only person who looked askew at this comment.

"Well, what are we gonna do with her now that we have her?" Jenny asked. Ian snapped his head to look at her, and she shied away.

He looked back at Molly.

"But, you were staying with your brother, and he died unexpectedly, so now you have nowhere to live, and are moving to your grandma to facilitate going to ASU?"

He turned to his crew, who were still standing in the aisle.

"Sit," he commanded. As they did, he asked "So, what's the problem with this story?"

Nobody answered for a second, but Rich was, as Ian expected, the first one to reply.

"Where are your bags?" he said, turning to Molly.

Molly was crying.

"Oh, god damn it," said Ian. He felt Jenny looking at him, and when his eyes met hers, they were not pleased. He regretted his words as he turned back to Molly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "My little corner of the world isn't meant to have gotten this full."

He put his hand on her shoulder, and everyone watched as he closed his eyes. It looked like his hand seemed to grow, or that she was shrinking, and despite the crowded diner, only five of them saw the distortions rising from his hand, like the heat throws at the end of a long road or a desert horizon. He raised his hand to her cheek and brushed her tears with his thumb.

They dried up instantly, and she looked up toward him. Her eyes wide, glistening. Her lip quavering as she stared deep into his eyes.

Then, she fell asleep.

"We don't have time for this," he said. "We have to find Eric Wise."