Tapestry
Daniel Ravipinto
adaptive hints alternative endings built-in hints cover art devil ethics fate IF Competition 1996 IFComp Game moral choice moral dilemma multiple endings walkthrough Xyzzy Awards 1996 XYZZY Best Story
You were born; you lived; you died. Not everyone gets a second chance to go back and change crucial decisions. You have been granted one and must go back to critical moral dilemmas; but do you change the course of your life, or daren't you?
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Fleeting glimpses of faces half-remembered in the gloom. Screams, the sound of squealing tires, a sudden thump, a sickening crunch and a violent jolt followed by a sense of weightlessness and disassociation. The last thing you remember is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, forcing its way through the chaos that surrounds you and then there is...

Your sight fails you. For that matter, you don't know if your eyes are opened or closed. Concepts like time and place have no meaning here. Your mind attempts to impose something, some order, some structure, upon the space in which you exist, and fails. There is only the void. For all you know, that is all there ever was.
Inventory
There is only Nothing.
You wake up
There is only Nothing.

No, wait. There is ... something, moving in the darkness. It dances at the edge of your new-found vision, teasing you. You turn your head toward the shape, when your neck suddenly gives out and your head lolls backward. Blinding pain explodes from the back of your head.

Your eyes flutter open...



A small room, with circular walls and a floor of pale white stone. There are no apparent exits, other than a small slit of a window off to one side.

An angelic-looking young man looks upon you with concern.

Along the far wall opposite the window hangs a tapestry.

The young man smiles.

"Ah, you are all right. You had me worried, my friend," he says.
You look at the man
A face almost harsh in its perfection, with crystal-clear blue eyes half-covered by a flowing mane of gold. He wears a gown of white, about his neck is a silver pendant, and in his left hand he carries the long graceful curve of an ivory torch.
About yourself
From what you can tell, you're as you've always been.

The young man's smile suddenly fades and he sighs.

"There is much we must speak of my friend," he says. He turns and points at the tapestry. "And there are choices which must be made."
You ask the man about yourself
"Ah, yes ... you have no memory of yourself." The young man pauses a moment. "You, lost traveler, are Timothy Hunter, recently a mortal, now dead. Because of your actions in life and what has just happened at the moment of your death, the fate of your soul is in doubt."

"But here, I have not even introduced myself. Forgive me," he says, bowing with a flourish. "I am ... Morningstar."
Kiss man
That would be pointless.

Morningstar turns to the window and looks out it.
You examine the window
Approaching the opening, you realize it is hardly more than a slit in the wall. Peering through it, you see the night sky, brilliant with innumerable stars. Straining your vision, you can make out the landscape, far below, covered with trees. You are in a tower of some sort, in the center of a forest that goes on for as far as the eye can see.

Running your hand against the wall you realize that it is not the stone you took it for. It is far too smooth, and feels warm to the touch. For a moment, the confused image of your hands running over piano keys runs through your mind. And then it hits you: you've felt this before. It's ivory. An ivory tower...
You ask the man about death
"What is there to say that you already do not know, Timothy? You are dead, and your soul is in jeopardy."
You ask man about Morningstar
"I am no one of consequence. All you need know is that I am your friend and guide, and I shall do all in my power to help you."
You ask the man about the soul
"What is there to say that you already do not know, Timothy? You are dead, and your soul is in jeopardy."

He stares at you for a short while, his eyes shining in the near-darkness, then he seems to reach a decision and takes you by the hand.

"Come Timothy," he says, leading you toward the tapestry. "There is much I must show you, and I fear there will be much you do not wish to see."
You examine the tapestry
A large, intricately woven tapestry which depicts three tableaus on three different panels.

You stare at the swirling colors of the wall-hanging as Morningstar places the torch in his right hand while still clinging to your own, and then places his left upon the tapestry. His hand, pale as the ivory of the torch he carries, caresses the first panel, running up and down its length.

"Come Timothy, your destiny, past, present, and future, awaits."
You look at the first panel
Upon the first panel is a scene of an elderly woman in a hospital, with a doctor looking sadly down upon her.
You examine the second panel
Upon the second panel is a scene of a middle-aged woman lying in a bed, with what appears to be her soul halfway in and half-way out of her body.

The rumbling shakes you from your contemplation of the tapestry. At first, you can feel it more than hear it, but as the vibration of everything around you increases, so does the volume of the noise behind it. The room, the tapestry, the young man at your side, everything begins to sway and shake at the behest of the ferocious sound. You try to wrest your hands from Morningstar's and clamp them against your skull, anything to blot out the terrible song which fills your ears and shakes your bones, but he holds fast.

Then, with a sudden forward rush, a universe of multi-colored threads leaps from the hanging, flooding your vision. They wrap themselves about you in a spinning dance that, combined with the noise, threatens to overwhelm your senses. Just when you think the din will drive you mad, there is a flash of light, again the sense of weightlessness, as if you have been separated from the rest of the world, and then, somehow, you are somewhere else...
Look around
Another room of white walls, but where the walls of the Ivory Tower seemed to contain a vitality, these walls are cold and dead. A patina of sickness and decay stains everything and the room reeks of hospital disinfectant. This place is clean, yes, but a manmade clean, a futile attempt to wash away the odor of sickness and death which will inevitably return.

An elderly woman lies here in a hospital bed. A doctor looking down upon her.

Morningstar is here.

"Mercy Hospital," he says, "where you left her, Timothy, for all those months. Where you left her to forget her."
You examine the woman
The old woman lies still in the bed, her eyes closed. Her grey hair falls in long locks over her face and from her arm protrudes the clear line of an IV-tube, leading to a machine which stands at the bedside. There is something vaguely familiar about her.
You ask Morningstar about the woman
"Alicia, your mother, Timothy. She'd been ill for a very long time, and, I suppose, you could not deal with it any longer. You'd taken care of her for so long, and it seemed as though she'd never bow out gracefully. So, you sent her here. Out of sight, out of mind. You could finally get on with your life."

Morningstar sighs deeply.
Kiss mother
She is motionless. At first, you thing she is asleep, but then you see that the doctor does not move either. It would appear that time has somehow stopped.

"Except, it didn't work out that way, did it Timothy? When the doctor called you, told you that she had died, crying for you, it all came flooding back. The guilt at leaving her, at abandoning her finally overtook you. And then the final insult of not being there when she died." He shakes his head.
You look at the doctor
A middle aged man, in the obvious uniform of a doctor, looks down upon your mother. He stands frozen with a look of pity on his face. About his neck is a silver pendant.

"You were working with a major client at the time, just about to leave for an important meeting, when you got the call. You'd been working so hard, so caught up in your own life, forgetting her had been so easy."
You look at the pendant
A pendant in the shape of a silver sunburst hanging from a silver chain.
You ask Morningstar about the pendant
Morningstar looks at you with incomprehension for a moment and then looks from his own pendant to the other. He stares at you.

"You can see this?" he whispers.

You nod dumbly. He stands in shock for a moment, then seems to recover his wits.
"It is nothing, Timothy. A symbol, perhaps, nothing more."

Morningstar looks at the figure on the bed, then up to you.

"Come," he says, taking you by the hand again. "There is more to see..."
You examine the woman
You brush the hair lightly from the woman's face. Her eyes are closed, but for some reason you know her eyes are the most beautiful jade green. Her expression is locked in one of grimacing pain. You know her, no, that's wrong ... you SHOULD know her.

Morningstar sees the look of shock on your face. He sighs.

"So you have forgotten even her ... her whom you promised you never would forget."
You ask Morningstar about the woman
Morningstar pointedly ignores you.

"Yes, Timothy ... murder. Oh you may have other names for it: mercy-killing, euthanasia. There have always been words to soothe the conscience. But you know them for what they are. Excuses, rationalizations. You've always known you murdered her. Your Sarah, your beloved wife. But perhaps not so beloved when she became a burden?"
You wake woman
There is no response. In fact, you notice for the first time that nothing moves. Time has stopped.

"She'd been ill for so long, hadn't she?" He runs the back of his hand delicately along her cheek. "It seemed as if it never would end, the doctor's visits, the second opinions, all of them useless. And she just kept clinging to this vague existence she called life, refusing to bow out gracefully ... just like your mother. Oh how like her she was!"
You hit Morningstar
And what would that accomplish?

"And so, going financially bankrupt from the bills and emotionally bankrupt from the constant strain of taking care of her, you decided to take the path of least resistance."
You shut up
Morningstar has better things to do.

"It was easy. You remember that much, do you not? The pills to cloud her mind, the whispering of nonsense in her ear to calm her, and then the pillow. It was as simple as snuffing out a candle, was it not? But the words you placed upon the act afterward did nothing to release you from the guilt of what you'd done."
You touch the woman
Keep your hands to yourself.

"Come," he says, taking you by the hand once again. "The story does not end here..."

A darkened street, a snapshot of a city held frozen for a brief instant. Streetlamps line the walk you stand upon, lighting the night with their blinding shafts of radiance. In the surrounding gloom, you can make out dim figures frozen mid-step.

The sudden halt in the flow of time has caught a car in midair, about to strike a young woman who has stumbled into its path.

Morningstar is here.

"But it does end here," he says, "where you died." He surveys the scene. "Ignominious, is it not?"
You look at the woman
The poor thing is barely an adult, her face still scarred by the rigors of adolescence. Her eyes are turned upward into the lights of the car bearing down upon her, just realizing its existence. One hand has dropped before her, trying to stop her fall, while her other is outstretched back. Looking behind her, you catch a glimpse of a figure standing on the sidewalk ... a figure that looks as if it's pushed her.

"You were trying to run away from it all, the memories, the guilt. You'd been running away for so long that it seemed second nature."
You look at the figure
A young man with raven black hair. He has apparently just shoved the young woman into the street, his silver pendant flying backwards as he stumbles back to view the result of his actions.

"It affected everything. First you lost her, then you lost your faith in life and yourself, you lost your dignity, your self-respect. Then your job."
You look at the pendant
A pendant in the shape of a silver sunburst hanging from a silver chain.

"And so it all came to this night, when you went driving for no reason at all."
You ask Morningstar about the pendant
"I have already told you, mortal. It is nothing you need concern yourself with."

"And it seemed that perhaps you weren't content to leave this world alone. You had to drag an innocent along with you."
You ask Morningstar about the figure
Morningstar looks to the figure, then back to you. He shrugs. "What of him?"

Morningstar turns to you, a mask of mixed pity and disgust.

"And so this is your legacy." He smirks, then sighs deeply. "Look ye on your works and despair."
You look at car
Looking more closely, you recognize it as an old Dodge, almost falling apart. It has apparently struck the curb, which is what caused it to go flying. A streetlamp's beam strikes the windshield squarely. cutting off your view of the interior. Shifting over and squinting, you can make out a figure in the driver's seat. Wait a minute, it can't be ... it's ... it's ...

...you.

Again the rumbling and the threads throw you into their heaving embrace, and leave you gasping on another strange and distant shore...

The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.

Morningstar is here.

He stands motionless, a statue in white ice, his eyes glowing in the near-darkness.
You examine the stars
Whatever apocalypse destroyed the Tower has rent the ceiling from the room. Above, you see innumerable stars in strange constellations.

An ethereal chuckle erupts from nowhere and everywhere. A low, female voice follows it, the hint of the laughter still in its voice.

"And so you would leave him here, Phosphoros? With the tale half-finished, as is your wont?"
You look at the third panel
The third panel is a scene of a young woman, hardly a child, stumbling into a road, arms flailing, eyes open in shock at the sight of your car barreling down upon her.

Morningstar seems as startled as you, but quickly recovers. He smiles and speaks to the air.

"You find me an inadequate storyteller, Parcae?" he says, bowing deeply. "What more would you have him know?"
You look at the fires
The woods that blanket the landscape for miles around are apparently on fire. Plumes of smoke fill the sky as the fires slowly spread outward from the Tower.

The voice speaks again, but this time all frivolity from it is lost. You catch an odd echo in it, as if it were multiple voices speaking in chorus.

"You know that is not Our way, do not think to mock Us."
You listen
Morningstar motions to you to be still and silent.

"I, Lady of the Skein, you think I would mock you?" Morningstar places his hand to his heart, all innocence.
You listen
Morningstar motions to you to be still and silent.

"There is many a thing We would put past you not, Son of the Morning, but We come here not to speak of you..."

A gust of wind startles you and you turn to see a shining filament suspended in midair. Its light falters for a brief moment, rendering it immaterial, and then begins to solidify.

A shimmering pattern of webs begins to weave itself into being from the central thread, its beams crisscrossing in increasingly complex shapes. At its apex, a brighter light begins to shine: a small, slender spider, also made of light, with an hourglass symbol etched in golden radiance upon its back.
You examine the webs
The spider flickers at it moves down the web, one moment solid, the next, insubstantial.

The arachnid slowly makes its way down the web, its delicate legs running over the threads. As it descends, its light begins to pulse, masking it from view, then reappearing. Their rate increases as it continues its course, its shape becoming more and more indistinct. One moment the legs look like tiny human arms, hands grasping at the threads, the next, immaterial shafts of light. As the spider touches the ground, there is a blinding flash, and a human figure stands in its place.
You examine Parcae
The figure is made of an ever-shifting pattern of golden light, its face constantly changing.

The figure's face shimmers, revealing a middle-aged woman.

"Greetings, traveler," she says in the same odd voice, bowing slightly. She turns her attention to Morningstar. "To you as well, King of Tyre." Morningstar returns her greeting with a nod of his head.
You examine her
The figure is made of an ever-shifting pattern of golden light, its face constantly changing.

The figure's shimmering reveals the visage of an old hag.

"Know, mortal, that we are Fate, the Parcae, alloters of Man's destiny. I am Atropos, the inflexible Cutter, who did sever the thread of your life at the moment of your death." The figure shimmers again, revealing a very young-looking woman. She smiles at you shyly.

"I am Clotho, the Spinner, who spun your destiny thread at the moment of your birth." Another shimmer and the middle-aged woman appears again.

"Lachesis," she says, "the Alloter. It was I who did measure the length of your thread, and with it, your life."
You ask her about the thread
Clotho appears, looking pained. "Please, you must listen to Us."

Atropos reappears.

"The Lightbringer speaks truthfully when he says you are in a precarious position, Timothy, but not for the reasons he gives." You see Morningstar scowl at this. "Your destiny is finished mortal, its threads played out upon the skein of Fate, but powers beyond your comprehension have thrown this foregone conclusion into doubt. The offer the Angel of Light has given you denies the rules of Moira." Lachesis appears and watches your confused expression with interest, then turns her attention to Morningstar.

"I have not had time to tell the mortal my offer," he growls through gritted teeth. "You have not even given me the chance." Lachesis grins broadly.

"Then do so, Son of the Dawn," she offers graciously.
Wait
Time passes.

Morningstar turns to you and looks deep into your eyes.

"Timothy Hunter, you have seen the pain and suffering your actions have wrought. You have seen the anguish you have caused in those around you, and you have seen how the guilt of what you have done has eaten away at you. Knowing this, I offer you something which very few are given, yet many hope for ... a second chance. You have the opportunity to go back and change the past. This I offer to you before you leave the world you know forever."
You ask Parcae about the rules of Moira
"You must keep quiet, Timothy, please!" says Clotho.

Atropos frowns.

"But know mortal, that defying your Moira, your fate, is not without its price. Perhaps Morningstar is willing to pay it, but are you? The boundaries of your Moira have we clearly marked, and it is not proper that you exceed them. Your destiny has been shaped by your choices, and this fate you have seen is the destiny you have chosen. But again, your choices are everything, and it shall be yours to decide if you shall follow Morningstar's path or mine."

"But Morningstar is correct in that this will be your only opportunity to change your Moira, Timothy," says Lachesis. "If you refuse this, there will never be another chance."
Wait
Time passes.

"But this, still, is not the whole tale, Timothy," says Clotho. "While I do concur with Atropos that your choices should remain the same, however difficult they are, your choices now can be more than a mere replaying of events as you know them. Perhaps this second chance will allow you to examine the pain and guilt you have felt, and, if you have strength enough, perhaps to face them. But, as always, the choice is yours to make."
Wait
Time passes.

The rumbling returns suddenly and without warning and with it the threads. You flail madly, trying to find your way. The voice of the Parcae cuts through the sound, echoing around you. "Look to the Tapestry, Timothy. With it, you shall weave your Destiny." The threads heave a final time...
You ask him about the choice
An Interactive Destiny

An entry in the 2nd Annual Interactive-Fiction Competition

Standard interpreter 1.0
Interpreter 2 Version N / Library serial number 951024
The Prologue can be skipped by using the "begin" command.
Please use the "help" command before beginning.

The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.
You look at Tapestry
Despite the devastation about you, it remains unchanged, its three panels mocking reminders of your recently remembered past.
You touch the first panel
Suddenly the rumbling returns, and the threads throw you into their heaving embrace. After a time they leave you gasping on another strange and distant shore...

The living room of your small home lies in disarray, as usual. Between work and your mother's condition, you haven't had much time to think about house cleaning. To the west is your bedroom; the doorway to the north leads to the driveway. The workroom lies to the south.

Off to one side lies the old fireplace, its soot rolling out onto the dirty carpet.

A strange new addition to the room is the small tapestry hanging on the eastern wall.
You examine Tapestry
The tapestry's single panel depicts an old woman in a long flowing gown. In one hand, she holds a long thread which she prepares to cut with the large pair of scissors she holds in the other.
You examine the fireplace
The chimney being totally clogged with soot, you haven't used it in ages. You've been so busy at work lately, you haven't given much thought to it. You haven't given much thought to anything...
You examine the soot
It's spilled all over the floor, making a mess of the carpet. You've really got to clean this place up sometime.
You get the soot
That's hardly portable.
You ask the woman about the thread
You can only do that to something animate.
You look at the carpet
It's a total mess. You've been thinking about replacing it lately, but just haven't had the time.
You go west
The bedroom isn't much cleaner than the den, with piles of clothes covering most of the floor. You wish you had the time to even try to make the place look like a human being lives here, but you just never seem to. To the east is the den and a small bathroom lies to the south.

The bed is unmade, as usual.
You look at the clothes
They're everywhere. It'd take forever just to sort them, much less thinking of washing them.
You wear the clothes
(first taking the piles of clothes)
They're everywhere. It'd take forever just to sort them, much less thinking of washing them.
About yourself
From what you can tell, you're as you've always been.
Go east
Off to one side lies the old fireplace, its soot rolling out onto the dirty carpet.

A strange new addition to the room is the small tapestry hanging on the eastern wall.
Go south
You've only recently converted this spare room to a workroom to try and play catch-up in the evenings and on the weekends. "Converted" isn't exactly the right word, since all you did was stick a small table in it. The way back to the den lies to the north.

Your work papers lie in disarray beside the telephone.

Also on the desk is a small appointment/address book.
You examine papers
The unorganized heap covers most of the table, some of it even extending over the edge, threatening to fall at any moment. You've had such a backlog of things to do that it's become harder and harder just to keep up and not fall even further behind.
You read the papers
The papers cover a variety of cases. You have no idea where to begin.
You examine the telephone
A standard push-button telephone.
You take the book
Taken.
You look at it
Flipping through the address book you see that you've only had time to write in two well-used numbers: Mike Stevens at work and Dr. Hughes at Mercy Hospital, the doctor who's handling your mother's care. The only information of any importance in the appointment section appears to be a notice reading: "Thompson account MUST BE CLOSED BY THIS MONDAY." It's written in red ink and underlined five times.

The Thompson account? What on Earth is that? You try and remember, but for the life of you you can't recall ever writing down this notice. And today's Sunday...
You call Mike Stevens
The phone rings for a moment, then Mike's secretary answers.

"Hello, Foley Consultants, can I help you?"

"Can I speak with Mr. Stevens please?"

"Sure Tim, hold on a second." You hear the click of the line being switched over, then Mike picks up.

"Yeah Tim? What can I do for you?"
You ask Mike about Thompson
Mike sounds shocked.

"The THOMPSON account? You mean the charity bit?"

You have no idea what he's talking about and tell him so.

"The charity bit! Come on, you couldn't have FORGOTTEN that? It was your freakin' idea! The whole problem with the firm's bad press last year about the orphanage foreclosure? So we were going to do a few cases for charity ... people who couldn't normally afford us..."

"...and I offered to take the Thompson account."

"'xactly, Tim, where's your head BEEN, man?"

"Oh my God, I totally forgot about it."

You hear Mike sigh and then a shuffle of papers.

"Hmm ... let's see. Standard blahblahblahblah, it doesn't look more than a two or three day thing. No real need to wo..." He cuts off. "MONDAY Tim? It's due MONDAY?! Are you crazy? Have you even STARTED it?!"

"I've ... I've had a lot on my mind, Mike."

"Damn, Tim, we all know that, but ... if you couldn't handle it you should have said so! You're the only one who knows anything about the account, and you've got all the important papers there!"

"But, Mike, I've got ... I've got stuff I have to do here."

"Yeah, like the Thompson account! Look Tim, I'm not going to tell you what to do, and I know that your job's not in the balance here; you've been doing too good a job for too long for one little screw up to ruin you, especially under these circumstances. But the Thompson's are totally depending on the firm here. Don't you realize the reason we took the case? They'll lose everything unless YOU can find a loophole that'll at least delay the foreclosure for a while."

"But couldn't someone ... could you...?"

"Look Tim, I can't, I've got so much work here that I couldn't even look at the account if I wanted to. Not to mention the fact that all the important stuff is THERE. No Tim, it's going to be you or no one." He pauses. "Look, I've got to go. Call again if you need help with something, but the ball's in your court now." He hangs up.

You hang up the phone.
You call the doctor
The phone rings a moment and then a female voice answers the phone.

"Mercy Hospital, how may I help you?"

"Dr. Hughes please."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Timothy Hunter."

"One moment, please." You're put on hold. After a moment, the line picks up again.

"Yes Tim? How can I help you?"
You ask the doctor about the mom
Dr. Hughes laughs.

"For the millionth time, Tim, she's fine. Seriously, I'm starting to think you don't have any faith in us. What is this, the second week in a row you've called at least once a day? You've got to stop worrying. Your mother's condition is stable and there's been no sign that would lead us to believe we should expect any change. If there were, we'd call you." He pauses. "Look Tim, I'm busy here. Just trust me and relax, OK?"

Amid your protests, he gently hangs up.

You hang up the phone.
You take the papers
There are far too many papers to lug around with you, better leave them here.
You eat the papers
(first taking the work papers)
There are far too many papers to lug around with you, better leave them here.
You read the papers
The papers cover a variety of cases. You have no idea where to begin.
You consult the papers about Thompson
You spread the papers out and try to get them organized. You vaguely remember that the Thompson account deals with a small family business that might be going under. Apparently they don't have enough money to hire someone to handle the backlog of taxes that they've been accumulating and can't handle it themselves. The papers are broken up into several sections: the back records, this year's intake, and the forms which need to be filled out.
You call Mike
The phone rings for a moment, then Mike's secretary answers.

"Hello, Foley Consultants, can I help you?"

"Can I speak with Mr. Stevens please?"

"Sure Tim, hold on a second." You hear the click of the line being switched over, then Mike picks up.

"Yeah, Tim?" Mike says, "What do ya need?"
You look
You've only recently converted this spare room to a workroom to try and play catch-up in the evenings and on the weekends. "Converted" isn't exactly the right word, since all you did was stick a small table in it. The way back to the den lies to the north.

Your work papers lie in disarray beside the telephone.
Go north
The living room of your small home lies in disarray, as usual. Between work and your mother's condition, you haven't had much time to think about house cleaning. To the west is your bedroom; the doorway to the north leads to the driveway. The workroom lies to the south.

Off to one side lies the old fireplace, its soot rolling out onto the dirty carpet.

A strange new addition to the room is the small tapestry hanging on the eastern wall.
Go north
It's a beautiful spring day, the sun is shining and a soft breeze blows. Taking in the idyllic scene, it's easy to forget all the pressures on you; to forget, if for the briefest of moments, your mother's illness and the work you have to do. The front door back into the house lies to the south.
Go north
You consider a stroll around the neighborhood, but think better of it. You have more important things to do.
Sing
If you really want to...
You call the taxi
The taxi service...now what was that number again...?
You call Mike
The phone rings for a moment, then Mike's secretary answers.

"Hello, Foley Consultants, can I help you?"

"Can I speak with Mr. Stevens please?"

"Sure Tim, hold on a second." You hear the click of the line being switched over, then Mike picks up.

"Yeah, Tim?" Mike says, "What do ya need?"
You ask Mike about the taxi
"So come on, Tim ... what do you want?"
You hang up
You hang up the phone.
You examine table
You shoved it in here when you convered this into a work room. It's overflowing with your workpapers, almost completely covering the telephone.
You look up yourself in the phone book
(in the work papers)
You discover nothing of interest in the work papers.
You consult the book about Thompson
You discover nothing of interest in the address/appointment book.
Examine book
Flipping through the address book you see that you've only had time to write in two well-used numbers: Mike Stevens at work and Dr. Hughes at Mercy Hospital, the doctor who's handling your mother's care. The only information of any importance in the appointment section appears to be a notice reading: "Thompson account MUST BE CLOSED BY THIS MONDAY." It's written in red ink and underlined five times.
You examine the back records
The records go back quite a few years. You start reading through them, trying to get an impression of what needs to be done. The Thompson's have obviously been trying to keep on top of the paperwork, but they just didn't have the expertise. Although there's a lot, you realize that Mike was right, it's a routine job.

Several hours later and almost finished with the back-paperwork, you realize that an entire year is missing from the records. You can't finish the forms without it!
You ask Mike about the records
You explain about the missing records from the papers you have for the Thompson account.

"Hmm ... ok, hold on, let me see if they're up here." You hear Mike put down the phone and then a few minutes of silence. Suddenly, he's back on the line. "Yeah Tim, got 'em right here. I don't know how they got muffed up like that. Here, let me give you the numbers." He proceeds to help you update the records you need.

"Thanks Mike, you're a lifesaver."

"No prob, and good luck on the account!"

You hang up the phone.
You look at the intake
You begin scanning on the records for the current year, on which the Thompsons have done no work at all. You sigh deeply and get to work.

It seems to take forever, the numbers just don't want to work out. Finally, after scanning your work for errors a third time, you decide you've got it done as well as you'll ever get it.
You examine the forms
With the completed records in hand, you begin filling out the forms. By this point, you're so sick of numbers you find it harder and harder not to give up. As you press on, you become worried. You've got to stay awake, aware, because any mistakes at this point could be disastrous...

Four hours later, you're finished. Your hands are cramped from all the writing, your mind spinning from the columns of data, but it's done. You separate the forms from the rest of papers with a sigh of relief.

Suddenly you stop short. You forgot about the signatures! You frantically begin scanning the bottom of the forms, praying you won't find that they have to be signed with a witness...

...and you find that they do. What the hell are you going to do? It's Sunday! How on Earth are you going to get in touch with a notary public this late on a Sunday afternoon?
You call the doctor
The phone rings a moment and then a female voice answers the phone.

"Mercy Hospital, how may I help you?"

"Dr. Hughes please."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Timothy Hunter."

"One moment, please." You're put on hold. After a moment, the line picks up again.

"Look Tim, I told you I'm very busy here. Is there something you need to ask?"
You ask the doctor about the mom
The laughter is gone from Dr. Hughes's voice.

"Look Tim, we've been through this too many times. She's fine. I have more important things to deal with right now than getting that through that thick skull of yours. Goodbye."

You hang up the phone.
You ask Mike about the notary
You frantically tell Mike about the signatures you need and that you have no idea how to get in touch with the notary public.

"God-damnit Tim ... I'd totally forgotten. And it's Sunday, shit..."

"What'r we gonna do, Mike?"

Silence.

"No, wait a minute! I got it! Look, I've got a friend down a City Hall, owes me a couple of favors. I bet I can get the public down in his office long enough to get the stuff signed. Listen, I'll call up the Thompsons, and my friend. I'll tell 'em to meet you down there in one hour. You got that? Anything over that and we're screwed."

"Got it, Mike. Oh, and thanks again. You really saved me."

"No prob, just remember you owe me one."

"Sure," you say, "I'll see them down there in an hour."

You hang up the phone.

As suddenly as you place the receiver back in the cradle, the phone rings. You hastily lift the receiver to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello, may I please speak to Mr. Timothy Hunter?"

"This is he."

"Mr. Hunter? I'm Doctor Feiner, an associate of Doctor Hughes?"

"Yes, Doctor Feiner, what can I do for you?"

"Well, Mr. Hunter, it's ... it's about your mother." A sick certainty overcomes you.

"She's dying," you whisper.

"Yes, Mr. Hunter, and I'm afraid she won't be lasting much longer. Not more than an hour..."

"Oh God... I'll, I'll..."

"Whatever you do, Mr. Hunter, please do it quickly. There's not much time."

With trembling hands, you put the phone back down.
You call Hospital
The phone rings a moment and then a female voice answers the phone.

"Mercy Hospital, how may I help you?"

"Dr. Hughes please." There's a slight pause.

"I'm terribly sorry, but Dr. Hughes is currently tending to an emergency. Would you like to leave a message?"

You don't have to ask whose emergency it is. "No, thank you".

You hang up the phone.
You call Mike
The phone rings for a moment, then Mike's secretary answers.

"Hello, Foley Consultants, can I help you?"

"Can I speak with Mr. Stevens please?"

"Sure Tim, hold on a second." You hear the click of the line being switched over, then Mike picks up.

"Look Timmy-boy, I'm making contacts and half-way outta the office. What do you want?"
You tell Mike about the mom
"Look, Mike, it's about my mother."

"What about her, Tim?"

"Well, she's ... you know she's not been well, and..."

"What happened Tim? She's all right, isn't she?" You can hear the concern in Mike's voice.

"Well, yes, but it's ... it's..."

Mike sighs. "Look, Tim, I don't know what's up here, but are you trying to tell me that you're NOT going to be able to the Thompson account because of your mother?"
Yes
Mike sighs. "Well Tim, it's your decision. Good luck, I hope she'll be ok."

"Thanks Mike, and I'm sorry but ... I've got to do this."

"Like I said, it's your decision, man. I'll see you later."

You hang up the phone.
You examine the bed
It's hard to believe this will be the bed on which Sarah will spend all that time, dying. WAS the bed where she SPENT all that time ... this is so confusing. It's in a shambles, the sheets hidden under one of the numerous piles of clothing scattered about the room.

On the bed you see your wallet.
You get the wallet
Taken.
You open the wallet
You peek inside your wallet and see some money and a small, white business card.
You examine the card
It's a business card from a local taxi agency complete with their telephone number.
You call the taxi
The phone rings several times, and then the line picks up.

"Hello, BK Taxi, can I help you?"

You quickly explain that you need a taxi sent around to your house as soon as possible.

"Certainly sir, it'll be there as soon as possible."

You hang up the phone.
Wait
Time passes.
You wait
Time passes.

You notice a cab slowly making its way up the street, its driver peering at house numbers. Apparently seeing yours, the cab quickly pulls into your driveway and the driver gives the horn three quick blasts.
You enter the cab
You're sitting in the back seat of an old and dirty taxi cab. The seat springs squeak rustily beneath you, litter covers the floor and the windows are covered with grime.

In the front seat, a cabbie sits waiting impatiently.

"Where ya wanna go, mac?" he asks as you slip inside.
You ask the cabbie about Hospital
"You got it, mac" says the cabbie as he hits starts the meter and pulls out of the driveway...

The trip seems interminable, the cabbie babbling throughout it. Talk of nothing: the weather, the ball game on television last night. You hardly hear him. All you can think about is your mother in that vile smelling white room, breathing her last. You close your eyes and hope you'll get there in time.

The sunlight flickers over your closed eyelids, making a shadow-dance beneath, and you pause, lost for a moment in their flickering patterns. Let her be ok ... please, just let her be ok.

The sudden stop in front of Mercy rudely breaks your reverie.

"That'll be 15 bucks," says the cabbie, hitting the meter's flag.

"I'm sorry," you say, handing him your last fifteen dollars, "I don't have enough for a tip."

The cabbie looks at you for a moment, and then slowly smiles.

"Forget it, buddy. You look like you could use a break." You profusely thank him as you open the taxi's door and rush into the building...

You rush past the front desk, running for the elevators and slip between the doors just as they're closing. You frantically stab at the buttons, and then slump against the back wall. First, second, third, fourth, hurry god-damn you hurry ... please ... please ... fourth, come on ... come on you ... fifth! The doors slide back and you rush down the corridor, almost slipping on the tiles and finally come to a screeching halt at the door to your mother's room...

Like a horribly cycling nightmare, you find yourself back in this white room stinking of disinfectant. How many times have you been here before, in your mind, replaying this possible scene of being here with your mother when she died? And now, it looks as if perhaps you'll get your second chance after all...

Here, unmoving on the hospital bed, lies your mother.
You examine the mother
She lies still in the bed, her eyes closed. Her grey hair falls in long locks over her face and from her arm protrudes the clear line of an IV-tube, leading to a machine which stands at the bedside.

For a brief, horrible moment, you think that you're too late ... she's gone. But then, you see her chest slowly lift, then lower. She's breathing ... she's alive.

Her eyes flutter for a moment, then slowly open. Her pupils unfocused, she looks around the room, finally catching sight of you. She pauses, then smiles.
"Oh Timmy..." she says. You heart catches in your throat as you hear how weak her voice is; barely a whisper, hardly stronger than a soft breeze. You must have flinched, because her brow furrows and she looks at you, concerned. "What's wrong...?"

Wrong! Everything, everything's wrong. You're dying and I don't know what to do, you're leaving and I don't know how to say goodbye...

"Nothing, Mama." You slowly approach the bed and grasp her hand. It's cold, and her skin is almost translucent, revealing her tiny bones beneath. She's so fragile and so helpless. And she was such a vibrant woman, so full of life ... just like Sarah.

Sarah. The thought makes you pause. Why? Why did this happen? They were both so wonderful, so caring. They didn't deserve this. She had so many years ahead of her, so much to live for.

She smiles again. "Oh. That's good. You know I worry..." she pauses, catching her breath. "You know I worry so much about you..."

You stroke her hand, biting your lip to stop from crying. "Yeah, yeah I know."

She lifts her head to look up at you, and suddenly you can see a little bit of a glint in her eye, a hint at the vibrance that she was so known for. She peers at you. "Why ... why aren't you at work? Aren't you always busy at..." The rest is lost in a wheeze as she sags back into her pillow.

"Don't worry, Mom. It's fine. I just thought ... I, I just wanted to visit you."

She smiles. "Well, that's ok, but you've got to take..." She suddenly stops.

"Mom? Mama? Can you hear me? Are you all..." Oh no please ... please ...

Her jaw goes slack, then she blinks once or twice. "Oh, oh Timmy ... I think ... I think it's time..."

You begin babbling, not even realizing what you're saying. "No, no please. No! No, you're fine, everything's fine, you'll be ok. Please, please! You're fine!" Hands grasp your shoulders and begin pulling you backwards, you can vaguely hear Doctor Hughes's voice telling you that there's nothing you can do, that it's her time, but you don't listen to him. You can't. You struggle forwards, trying to get closer to the bed. "Please ... please, you're all right, aren't you? Tell me you're all right!"

She looks up to you serenely, seemingly unaware of your panic. "Shhh. It'll be ok, Timmy. Everything will be ok." She pauses again, then closes her eyes, and whispers "I love you Timmy..."

And then she's gone. You can feel it, she's gone...the room's empty now. And then you're falling, clutching her cold form against you and crying, lost and alone.

You don't know how long you've been lying there crying when the hand touches you gently on the shoulder. You look up, about to angrily berate Dr. Hughes for telling you that she was all right when she wasn't, when you see that it's not the doctor at all...

"Well done, Timothy," says Morningstar. "You have changed your path, and found a way to be here for your mother when she needed you. Leave her be now, she goes to a better place." He gently helps you get to your feet.

He sighs. "But this is only the first step on my path, Timothy. There are dangers which still lie ahead. But fear not. You have begun my path, and you shall not leave it until it is complete. I shall be here to guide you, as you need me."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace. They leave you, gasping, back in the Tower...
You look at Tapestry
The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.
You look at Tapestry
Despite the devastation about you, it remains unchanged, its three panels mocking reminders of your recently remembered past.
You touch the first panel
You are finished there Timothy, go elsewhere.
You look at the first panel
The first panel is a scene of your mother in the hospital, a doctor looking sadly down upon her.
You touch second panel
Suddenly the rumbling returns, and the threads throw you into their heaving embrace. After a time they leave you gasping on another strange and distant shore...

The living room of your small home has changed little since your bachelor days, although Sarah's being here has altered it in some small ways. She keeps saying how the place needs more of "a woman's touch," but for all her talk, her work kept her too busy to do much, and now ... well, she can't do much at all. To the south lies your office, and to the west is the bedroom. The doorway to the north leads outside to the driveway.

Off to one side, built into the wall, is a small fireplace.

A strange new addition to the room is the small tapestry hanging on the eastern wall.
You look at the fireplace
You remember the innumerable winter nights you and Sarah sat curled up in front of it as you gazed into the fire. God, when was the last time you did that? It's so hard to remember a time before her being bedridden.

On the mantel you notice a small snapshot in a frame.
You examine snapshot
It's a photograph of you and Sarah out on the lake. She's got her arms wrapped around your neck while the two of you grin like maniacs at the camera from the little boat you're in. You remember when it was taken. Five seconds later, the boat capsized and you and she laughed so hard about it you nearly drowned. God, it's been at least a year since last you were up there.
You examine Tapestry
The tapestry's single panel depicts a middle-aged woman in a long flowing gown. In one hand she holds a slender black rod, which she holds up to a long thread which she holds in the other.
About yourself
From what you can tell, you're as you've always been.
You go west
Your bedroom has been one of the few areas where Sarah's influence has been at work. You felt the presence of her long after she had gone, and a few months after her death put it back the way it had been. A door to the east leads back to the den and to the south is the bathroom.

Somehow, in this strange world of the past, Sarah still lives. She's lying, half asleep, in bed.

Beside the bed is a small endtable.
You look at Sarah
Your slowly-returning memories do little justice to her. You'd almost forgotten how achingly beautiful she was ... is. God, this is so confusing. The illness she's battling has taken its toll, but with her resting like that, it's almost possible to believe she'll be ok.

Beside her on the bed, unused, is a large pillow.
You look at the pillow
A large, white pillow. Apparently Sarah doesn't need this one.
You get the pillow
Taken.
Examine endtable
A small endtable that used to hold Sarah's endless supply of medicines. None of them did any good, though. Some may have eased the pain she's going through, but the doctors have told you again and again there's no cure.

Built into the endtable is a small drawer.
You open drawer
Sarah suddenly becomes animated.

"Timothy, please ... don't do that, ok? For me? Just don't open it, ok?" She seems so worried. You nod and she relaxes.
You ask Sarah about herself
Sarah stirs as you approach. She smiles faintly.

"Hi honey. I'm feeling ok, I guess. I'm just having trouble getting to sleep. It's just really hard to go on sometimes." She pauses, takes your hand and looks at you, concerned. "Are you all right?" she asks. You nod, and she smiles again.
You ask her about drawer
"Please Timothy," she begs. "Please, just humor me...?"
You ask Sarah about the future
Sarah looks at you, confused. She yawns. Poor thing, better not tax her too much.
You ask Sarah about the illness
She opens her eyes and shrugs.

"It comes and goes. Some days I feel better than others, but..." she pauses. "I'm ok, I guess." She sees the concern in your eyes. "Now don't you worry about me," she says, smiling. "I'll be just fine."

She closes her eyes again.
You look at the bed
Your slowly-returning memories do little justice to her. You'd almost forgotten how achingly beautiful she was ... is. God, this is so confusing. The illness she's battling has taken its toll, but with her resting like that, it's almost possible to believe she'll be ok.
You kiss her
Sarah grins and tweaks your nose. "I love you."

"I love you too." you whisper back.
Go south
This small bathroom lies to the south of your bedroom. Ever since Sarah fell ill, it's been a storehouse of false hopes. Every miracle the doctors said might have helped, every drug that might have eased her pain has been kept here. And each and every one did nothing.

Over the sink is a small, mirrored medicine cabinet.
You look at the cabinet
As you approach the cabinet, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. God, is that really you? You haven't slept well in weeks and your pale, haggard reflection looks like a stranger to you.

The cabinet has a hinged door which is closed.
You open the cabinet
You open the medicine cabinet, revealing a small bottle of pills.
You look at the pills
The majority of Sarah's supply of drugs is gone. The doctors have pretty much given up by this point, as nothing they've tried has been of any use. All that remains is this solitary bottle of pills Sarah uses to help her sleep.
You give the pills to Sarah
Sarah looks at the pills. "That's a good idea, honey, but could you get me a glass of water too?"
Go south
This small bathroom lies to the south of your bedroom. Ever since Sarah fell ill, it's been a storehouse of false hopes. Every miracle the doctors said might have helped, every drug that might have eased her pain has been kept here. And each and every one did nothing.

Over the sink is a small, mirrored medicine cabinet.
You examine the glass
A small, empty drinking glass.
You look at sink
An ordinary sink with an ordinary tap. The tap is currently off.

On the edge of the sink is a small drinking glass.
You get the glass
Taken.
You turn on the tap
Water begins flowing from the tap into the sink.
You fill the glass
You carefully fill the glass with water and then shut off the tap.
You turn off tap
The tap's already off.
You go to the north
Your bedroom has been one of the few areas where Sarah's influence has been at work. You felt the presence of her long after she had gone, and a few months after her death put it back the way it had been. A door to the east leads back to the den and to the south is the bathroom.

Somehow, in this strange world of the past, Sarah still lives. She's lying, half asleep, in bed.

Beside the bed is a small endtable.
You give the glass to Sarah
Sarah looks up at you and smiles.

"Aww ... how sweet, my knight in shining armor come to take me to dreamland?" You help her up and she swallows the pills with a sip of water. She takes hold of your hand. You see her lower lip trembling slightly. "Thank you Timmy," she whispers, "for everything."

She lies back down and closes her eyes, but she still has trouble falling asleep. God, you wish she could sleep forever, away from the sickness and the pain.
You open the drawer
Sarah becomes severely agitated this time.

"Please, please ... don't ... please." You can't understand what about the drawer has gotten her so worked up. To keep her calm, you agree not to.
You give pills to Sarah
You already gave Sarah the pills.
Go east
The living room of your small home has changed little since your bachelor days, although Sarah's being here has altered it in some small ways. She keeps saying how the place needs more of "a woman's touch," but for all her talk, her work kept her too busy to do much, and now ... well, she can't do much at all. To the south lies your office, and to the west is the bedroom. The doorway to the north leads outside to the driveway.

Off to one side, built into the wall, is a small fireplace.

A strange new addition to the room is the small tapestry hanging on the eastern wall.
Go south
You've had a place to do work for years, but only recently have you used it enough to actually call it an office. Even at that, it's not much of one, with your desk as the only furniture. The door to the north leads into the living room.

The remainder of your work papers lie on your desk, next to the telephone.

Built into your desk is a small desk drawer.
You open the drawer
You open the desk drawer, revealing an address book.
You examine the address book
You just recently got this address book and for the most part, it's empty. There are a few numbers of family and friends, and a few work numbers. The most important one you notice as you scan through the book is Sarah's doctor, Dr. Albero at Mercy Hospital.
You call Albero
The phone rings a moment and then a female voice answers the phone.

"Mercy Hospital, how may I help you?"

"Dr. Albero please."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Timothy Hunter."

"One moment, please." You're put on hold. After a moment, the line picks up again.

"Yes Tim? How can I help you?"
You ask Albero about Sarah
"No change in her condition? I'm not surprised, Tim. We've been through this before and I've told you again and again: there's nothing we can do for her now."
You ask Albero about the cancer
"Look Tim, I've very busy here. Is there something you wanted?"
No
That was a rhetorical question.

Dr. Albero's voice turns angry. "I know you're under a lot of stress here, Tim, but this is inexcusable." He hangs up.

You hang up the phone.
You examine papers
These papers are the remainder for you work for this week. You've been working on a couple of different cases for the firm, mostly taking care of backlog paperwork. Mind-numbing stuff to be sure, but at least it's the kind you can do at home. The last case left is for, of all places, Mercy Hospital.
You examine the budget
You flip through the project papers and find the budget proposal for the experimental research project. Looking at it, everything seems to be in order, but then something odd catches your eye. The funding request is exceedingly large, but then again, that's expected for so important a project. The oddity comes out in the net results. There's a huge difference between what they're spending on equipment and the like and what's being given to the good doctor for costs. Checking further, you find that he in fact has cut out a good portion of the subjects for the test, no reason given. And yet the money for those subjects is still figured in the budget. Where the hell did the money go?
You ask Albero about the budget
Dr. Albero remains silent as you point out the differences in his project's budget and doesn't answer when you ask about what happened to the money for the additional subjects. Without warning, he begins shouting at you.

"Bastard," he hisses. "What the hell is this?! I'm handling the project as I see fit. Who the hell are you to question what I'm doing with the funding?! Who told you to do this, tell me!"

You don't answer.

"Damn you! Why are you doing this?! What the hell do you want?"
You ask Albero about Sarah
Dr. Albero is silent for a moment.

"What the hell does Sarah have to do with the project's budget?" he asks.
You ask Albero about the treatment
"So it's to be blackmail, is it? You want Sarah on that list. God-damnit, I never expected this of you, Tim." He pauses, thinking. "Fine!" he says, "I'll pull something off. Bring her down here to sign the release forms and she'll be in. And in return, you tell no one about what you know, agreed?"

"Agreed, and no placebos."

"Fine, fine, but I warn you Tim, no doublecrossing, or you'll regret it. Accidents have a way of happening in experiments like this." He hangs up.

You hang up the phone.
You tell Sarah about the treatment
Sarah sits up as you approach. She sees how excited you are.

"What is it, Tim?" Excitedly, you tell her about the program at Mercy Hospital and how Dr. Albero has agreed to let her on the subject list as one of the ones who will really receive the treatment. You omit how you got him to agree to this.

Sarah's reaction surprises you. Rather than being happy, she seems sad.

"Really? A possible cure. I never thought of that." She shakes her head. "No, Timmy, I don't think I could go through that. Not another false hope. You said yourself it's experimental, they don't even know how it would affect me." She seems to reach a decision. "No Timmy, thank you, but it's too late for me."

You sigh. You wish there was some way you could convince her that life was worth living.
You show the photo to Sarah
"Oh Timmy. We had so much fun up there, didn't we? 'The Sweet Audrina.'" She laughs. God, we we almost drowned, didn't we?" You laugh with her for a moment, then you both fall silent. She takes your hand. "We had some pretty good times, didn't we? Tell me a story, Timmy." she says, "tell me about the lake.
You tell Sarah about the lake
You tell Sarah the story, embellishing what really happened. That always made her laugh, the way you used to exaggerate everything until it became bigger than life. She smiles, remembering.

"Oh, we had so much fun, didn't we?" She yawns, then pats your hand. "I think I've had enough excitement for one day, I'm going to take a nap, ok?" You nod, and tuck her in as her breathing becomes slow and regular.
You open the drawer
You promised Sarah you wouldn't. Why is she so upset by what's in there?
You call the Doctor
Dr. Albero's already agreed to let Sarah in the program. Better leave him be.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a snapshot
an address book
a small drinking glass
a small bottle of pills
a large pillow
You open the drawer
It's already open.
You go west
Your bedroom has been one of the few areas where Sarah's influence has been at work. You felt the presence of her long after she had gone, and a few months after her death put it back the way it had been. A door to the east leads back to the den and to the south is the bathroom.

Sarah lies sleeping on the bed.

Beside the bed is a small endtable.
You look at the bed
The pills you gave her have finally set in and she's sleeping peacefully. If only she could be like that always.
You lie on the bed
You don't want to disturb Sarah. Anyway, you're not tired and you have far too much to do.
Kiss sarah
You gently kiss her on her forehead.
You wake sarah
Sarah stirs in her sleep and opens her eyes.

"What is it Timmy?" she asks.
You ask Sarah about the program
"I know Tim, you told me about it."

Sarah looks at you a moment, smiles, and then closes her eyes. After a moment, her steady breathing tells you she's fallen back asleep.
You ask Sarah about drawer
Sarah stirs in her sleep and opens her eyes.

"What is it Timmy?" she asks.

"Please Timothy," she begs. "Please, just humor me...?"

Sarah looks at you a moment, smiles, and then closes her eyes. After a moment, her steady breathing tells you she's fallen back asleep.
You go north
The driveway you stand in is somewhat useless, as neither you nor Sarah own a car. Still, it's nice to get out of the house for a moment. The gloom that seems to have settled over the house since Sarah's falling ill is lessened slightly here. You can almost fool yourself into thinking she's well again. The entrance to the house lies to the south.

You can see today's newspaper here.
You read it
Nothing new ... a riot at the downtown picket lines yesterday, national tension over the budget settlements, yet another war breaking out somewhere abroad... You've lost track of the world outside for a long time now. The whole thing seems like some far-away dream.

You're about to fold the paper back up when a familiar name catches your eye...
You look at the desk
You haven't been into work in weeks because you wanted to stay here with Sarah, so you've been working at home. You've been throwing yourself into it a lot lately, maybe to stave off your increasing feeling of helplessness.
You examine the fireplace
You remember the innumerable winter nights you and Sarah sat curled up in front of it as you gazed into the fire. God, when was the last time you did that? It's so hard to remember a time before her being bedridden.
You go west
Your bedroom has been one of the few areas where Sarah's influence has been at work. You felt the presence of her long after she had gone, and a few months after her death put it back the way it had been. A door to the east leads back to the den and to the south is the bathroom.

Sarah lies sleeping on the bed.

Beside the bed is a small endtable.
Go south
This small bathroom lies to the south of your bedroom. Ever since Sarah fell ill, it's been a storehouse of false hopes. Every miracle the doctors said might have helped, every drug that might have eased her pain has been kept here. And each and every one did nothing.

Over the sink is a small, mirrored medicine cabinet.
You look at the cabinet
As you approach the cabinet, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. God, is that really you? You haven't slept well in weeks and your pale, haggard reflection looks like a stranger to you.

The cabinet has a hinged door which is open.
Inventory
You are carrying:
today's newspaper
a snapshot
an address book
a small drinking glass
a small bottle of pills
a large pillow
You show the newspaper to Sarah
But you've already done that.

Sarah looks at you a moment, smiles, and then closes her eyes. After a moment, her steady breathing tells you she's fallen back asleep.
You tell Sarah about Albero
Sarah looks at you, confused. She yawns. Poor thing, better not tax her too much.

Sarah looks at you a moment, smiles, and then closes her eyes. After a moment, her steady breathing tells you she's fallen back asleep.
You ask Sarah about the drawer
"Please Timothy," she begs. "Please, just humor me...?"

Sarah looks at you a moment, smiles, and then closes her eyes. After a moment, her steady breathing tells you she's fallen back asleep.
You look
You're sitting in the back seat of an old and dirty taxi cab. The seat springs squeak rustily beneath you, litter covers the floor and the windows are covered with grime.

In the front seat, a cabbie sits waiting impatiently.
You look at the cabbie
A non-descript man who seems almost as old and decrepit as the car he drives. He drums the steering wheel in an angry rhythm, obviously impatient at having to wait.
You ask the cabbie about Hospital
"You got it, mac" says the cabbie as he hits starts the meter and pulls out of the driveway...

The trip seems interminable, the cabbie babbling throughout it. Talk of nothing: the weather, the ball game on television last night. You hardly hear him. All you can think about is your mother in that vile smelling white room, breathing her last. You close your eyes and hope you'll get there in time.

The sunlight flickers over your closed eyelids, making a shadow-dance beneath, and you pause, lost for a moment in their flickering patterns. Let her be ok ... please, just let her be ok.

The sudden stop in front of Mercy rudely breaks your reverie.

"That'll be 15 bucks," says the cabbie, hitting the meter's flag.

"I'm sorry," you say, handing him your last fifteen dollars, "I don't have enough for a tip."

The cabbie looks at you for a moment, and then slowly smiles.

"Forget it, buddy. You look like you could use a break." You profusely thank him as you open the taxi's door and rush into the building...

You rush past the front desk, running for the elevators and slip between the doors just as they're closing. You frantically stab at the buttons, and then slump against the back wall. First, second, third, fourth, hurry god-damn you hurry ... please ... please ... fourth, come on ... come on you ... fifth! The doors slide back and you rush down the corridor, almost slipping on the tiles and finally come to a screeching halt at the door to your mother's room...

Like a horribly cycling nightmare, you find yourself back in this white room stinking of disinfectant. How many times have you been here before, in your mind, replaying this possible scene of being here with your mother when she died? And now, it looks as if perhaps you'll get your second chance after all...

Here, unmoving on the hospital bed, lies your mother.
You look at the mother
She lies still in the bed, her eyes closed. Her grey hair falls in long locks over her face and from her arm protrudes the clear line of an IV-tube, leading to a machine which stands at the bedside.

For a brief, horrible moment, you think that you're too late ... she's gone. But then, you see her chest slowly lift, then lower. She's breathing ... she's alive.

Her eyes flutter for a moment, then slowly open. Her pupils unfocused, she looks around the room, finally catching sight of you. She pauses, then smiles.
"Oh Timmy..." she says. You heart catches in your throat as you hear how weak her voice is; barely a whisper, hardly stronger than a soft breeze. You must have flinched, because her brow furrows and she looks at you, concerned. "What's wrong...?"

Wrong! Everything, everything's wrong. You're dying and I don't know what to do, you're leaving and I don't know how to say goodbye...

"Nothing, Mama." You slowly approach the bed and grasp her hand. It's cold, and her skin is almost translucent, revealing her tiny bones beneath. She's so fragile and so helpless. And she was such a vibrant woman, so full of life ... just like Sarah.

Sarah. The thought makes you pause. Why? Why did this happen? They were both so wonderful, so caring. They didn't deserve this. She had so many years ahead of her, so much to live for.

She smiles again. "Oh. That's good. You know I worry..." she pauses, catching her breath. "You know I worry so much about you..."

You stroke her hand, biting your lip to stop from crying. "Yeah, yeah I know."

She lifts her head to look up at you, and suddenly you can see a little bit of a glint in her eye, a hint at the vibrance that she was so known for. She peers at you. "Why ... why aren't you at work? Aren't you always busy at..." The rest is lost in a wheeze as she sags back into her pillow.

"Don't worry, Mom. It's fine. I just thought ... I, I just wanted to visit you."

She smiles. "Well, that's ok, but you've got to take..." She suddenly stops.

"Mom? Mama? Can you hear me? Are you all..." Oh no please ... please ...

Her jaw goes slack, then she blinks once or twice. "Oh, oh Timmy ... I think ... I think it's time..."

You begin babbling, not even realizing what you're saying. "No, no please. No! No, you're fine, everything's fine, you'll be ok. Please, please! You're fine!" Hands grasp your shoulders and begin pulling you backwards, you can vaguely hear Doctor Hughes's voice telling you that there's nothing you can do, that it's her time, but you don't listen to him. You can't. You struggle forwards, trying to get closer to the bed. "Please ... please, you're all right, aren't you? Tell me you're all right!"

She looks up to you serenely, seemingly unaware of your panic. "Shhh. It'll be ok, Timmy. Everything will be ok." She pauses again, then closes her eyes, and whispers "I love you Timmy..."

And then she's gone. You can feel it, she's gone...the room's empty now. And then you're falling, clutching her cold form against you and crying, lost and alone.

You don't know how long you've been lying there crying when the hand touches you gently on the shoulder. You look up, about to angrily berate Dr. Hughes for telling you that she was all right when she wasn't, when you see that it's not the doctor at all...

"Well done, Timothy," says Morningstar. "You have changed your path, and found a way to be here for your mother when she needed you. Leave her be now, she goes to a better place." He gently helps you get to your feet.

He sighs. "But this is only the first step on my path, Timothy. There are dangers which still lie ahead. But fear not. You have begun my path, and you shall not leave it until it is complete. I shall be here to guide you, as you need me."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace. They leave you, gasping, back in the Tower...

The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.
You ask him about the experimental treatment program
Dr. Albero seems in shock that you know about the treatment. He listens silently as you angrily berate him for not telling you about it, or putting Sarah on the test list. After a moment, he speaks.

"I'm sorry Tim, I really am, but we checked her out against the criteria for the program and she just didn't fit. That's why I didn't tell you about it. I knew you'd be upset. There isn't even a guarantee that it will work; it's experimental, after all. And even if I did get her in the program, there's a good chance she'd have been in the group receiving the placebo. I'm sorry, but I just can't help you."

Amid your protests, Dr. Albero gently hangs up.

You hang up the phone.
You look up Albero in the papers
You flip through the papers until you find Dr. Albero's section. Apparently he's quite prominent at the hospital, since he's done quite a few projects over the years. They're listed in chronological order, and the most recent one, an experimental drug treatment program, catches your eye.
You read about the program
What do you want to read about that in?
Papers
The treatment program is the same one that you read about in today's newspaper. The papers contain information on the proposed method, the budget proposal, and the expected results.
You read the budget in the papers
You flip through the project papers and find the budget proposal for the experimental research project. Looking at it, everything seems to be in order, but then something odd catches your eye. The funding request is exceedingly large, but then again, that's expected for so important a project. The oddity comes out in the net results. There's a huge difference between what they're spending on equipment and the like and what's being given to the good doctor for costs. Checking further, you find that he in fact has cut out a good portion of the subjects for the test, no reason given. And yet the money for those subjects is still figured in the budget. Where the hell did the money go?
You call Albero
The phone rings a moment and then a female voice answers the phone.

"Mercy Hospital, how may I help you?"

"Dr. Albero please."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Timothy Hunter."

"One moment, please." You're put on hold. After a moment, the line picks up again.

"I told you Tim, I can't help you. Is there something else you wanted to ask about?"
You ask him about the budget
Dr. Albero remains silent as you point out the differences in his project's budget and doesn't answer when you ask about what happened to the money for the additional subjects. Without warning, he begins shouting at you.

"Bastard," he hisses. "What the hell is this?! I'm handling the project as I see fit. Who the hell are you to question what I'm doing with the funding?! Who told you to do this, tell me!"

You don't answer.

"Damn you! Why are you doing this?! What the hell do you want?"
You ask him about Sarah
Dr. Albero is silent for a moment.

"What the hell does Sarah have to do with the project's budget?" he asks.
You show the snapshot
(to Sarah)
"Oh Timmy. We had so much fun up there, didn't we? 'The Sweet Audrina.'" She laughs. God, we we almost drowned, didn't we?" You laugh with her for a moment, then you both fall silent. She takes your hand. "We had some pretty good times, didn't we? Tell me a story, Timmy." she says, "tell me about the lake.
You tell Sarah about the lake
You tell Sarah the story, embellishing what really happened. That always made her laugh, the way you used to exaggerate everything until it became bigger than life. She smiles, remembering.

"Oh, we had so much fun, didn't we?" You nod.

"Remember when we were happy, Sarah? Remember how it was before all of this? We can be like that again, I swear it ... please ..."

Sarah seems lost in thought, her feelings torn between the hopelessness she has felt for so long and the possible release that lies before her. She pauses, sighs, and then look up to you.

"Ok, Timothy. For you .. for you, I'll try one last time."

You smile and kiss her. "This will work, Sarah, I swear it ... you'll see."

Sarah looks at you oddly for a moment, then closes her eyes.

"I know, Tim, I know ... now, let me get some sleep, ok? We'll go to the hospital later."

You sneak out of the room, and close the door silently. Morningstar is waiting for you in the living room. He smiles broadly.

"Well done, my friend. You have fought the evil that you planted so long ago in the past. You have saved your wife's life, and your own soul."

"Two steps now, Timothy, along my path. You have done well, and a greater challenge still lies ahead. But I have faith in you Timothy, and I know I shall see you again at the end of this Path."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace. They leave you, gasping, back in the Tower...

The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.
You touch third
Suddenly the rumbling returns, and the threads throw you into their heaving embrace. After a time they leave you gasping on another strange and distant shore...

You turn the corner with a sigh, glancing at the street sign in a feeble, half-hearted attempt to figure out where you are. You've left the old familiar neighborhood far behind you tonight, as you have almost every night. Each outing seems to take you a little further, to an area a little stranger and more dangerous.

Tonight, you didn't even bother giving yourself an excuse. Before, it had been that you had somewhere to go, something to do. Not tonight. Some indeterminate time ago, you stumbled out of the house, stuck the key in the ignition, and just started driving.

The sharp honk of a nearby car breaks your musings. You glance upward to see a pair of girls, jump ropes under their arms, pigtails flying behind them, run across the street, right in front of your car...

Time slows as you slam down on your brakes. For a moment, you don't think you'll make it, but with a squeal of the tires, your old Dodge manages to grind to a halt in time. The girls make it across, laughing all the while, unaware of how close death has come.

The old hunk of junk has served you pretty well in the past few years. You could probably afford something better, but why bother? It runs, it gets you to work and back. What more could you want? What more do you need?

The buildings outside seem mostly tenements, their residents escaping the sweltering evening by sitting outside on the stone porches, the sidewalks. The girls continue on their way, and soon enter a tenement.

With a sigh a relief, you step on the gas and continue on your way.
You examine the car
The further you go, the more convinced you're only getting yourself more lost. If anything, the neighborhoods are getting worse. The homeless are more and visible, and the buildings are more decrepit.
You go north
You can't go that way.

As your mind begins to wander, your attention to the road slips. It's been so long since you've been able to just stop; to put all that's happened and all you've done behind. The scars that are left won't fade that easily.
Turn wheel
The wheel spins in your hands wildly as you futilely attempt to control it.

You rebound, sending the car into the air. Closer now, you see her slowly lifting her head, about to realize the flying mass of metal that will end her life. Beyond, on the curb, you can make out the figure you saw in the tableau, eyes ablaze and mouth agape, attempting to scramble to its feet.
You examine the figure
He's terrified for some reason, while crawling his way across the pavement towards the helpless girl.

The car strikes the pavement with a resounding force, the tires squealing as they touch ground. Your headlights strike the girl full in the face, illuminating her in a blinding halo.
Turn wheel
The tires spin and squeal wildly as you turn the wheel sharply, sending the car into a tailspin. Somehow, by some miracle, it's enough. Practically flipping over, the car somehow manages to swerve around the girl.

But it's too much, the car is listing dangerously to the right, and in an attempt to stop from tipping over, you turn the wheel sharply to the left.

Before you can react, the light flashes again, and time contracts to its normal pace, just as the car spins out of control, heading directly for the figure on the sidewalk...
Turn wheel
Fleeting glimpses of faces half-remembered in the gloom. Screams, the sound of squealing tires, a sudden thump, a sickening crunch and a violent jolt, followed by a sense of weightlessness and disassociation. The last thing you remember is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, forcing its way through the chaos that surrounds you and then there is...

Chaos, complete and utter. While the threads of the Tapestry gave you some sense of closure, of being contained, the place where you are now is paradoxically vast and empty, and yet somehow filled. Filled with images and sound, form and motion, a shifting menagerie with neither rhyme nor reason. A filled void, an ever-changing structure whose bounds you can not even begin to imagine. Your senses reel at the assault from every angle.
You look
There is only Everything.

"Well done..."

The voice behind you startles you, causing you to swiftly turn around. Your vision blurs sickeningly for a moment, as you take in the chaotic panorama that surrounds you. Then, your eyes clearing, you see Morningstar standing before you, smiling and obviously unaffected by the confusion that he is at the center of.

"Beautiful, is it not?" he asks, looking about. "The whole of creation is here, Timothy, all existence, all possibility. Pure change lies here, mortal, for to be all forms at all times is to be no form at all. It is from here that the threads of creation are woven, from whence the Tapestry of your life springs. It is here that we are able to bend those threads to our whim, to change your destiny for the better." He pauses, then smiles. "Forgive me," he says. "I merely wished you to see this, to understand some part of the great work we do."

"And with this, we are finished. Well done, traveler! You have looked upon the evil of your ways and done your best to mend them and you have wisely taken advantage of your second chance. The Path you have followed is now at an end; the Tapestry is finished, its threads rewoven. And now, the time has come to leave this place of indecision, and face whatever destiny lies before you. I wish you well."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace...

Fleeting glimpses of faces half-remembered in the gloom. Screams, the sound of squealing tires, a sudden thump, a sickening crunch and a violent jolt, followed by a sense of weightlessness and disassociation. The last thing you remember is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, forcing its way through the chaos that surrounds you and then there is...

Your sight fails you. For that matter, you don't know if your eyes are opened or closed. Concepts like time and place have no meaning here. Your mind attempts to impose something, some order, some structure, upon the space in which you exist, and fails. There is only the void. For all you know, that is all there ever was.
You wake up
There is only Nothing.

No, wait. There is ... something, moving in the darkness. It dances at the edge of your new-found vision, teasing you.

No, you were wrong...

There is only Nothing.



Timothy Hunter was born, he lived, he died.

This was only natural, being mortal. The life he led was probably most unusual in its normalcy; his childhood so much so as to be mundane. Neither praised nor reviled, neither a leader nor an outcast, he was simply another face in the crowd. He went to school, he studied, he did well enough to get by. After graduation he found a job he was good at and paid well enough. He bought a little house and lived there, a bother to no one, and the days just flowed one into the other...

In fact, the first event of any importance in his life was the death of his mother.

She had been ill for some time, but Timothy tried not to think about it. He'd placed her in Mercy Hospital mostly to forget about her, to get on with his life. Apparently, however, it wasn't good enough. His work suffered, his productivity slipped. On the Sunday that she died, he realized that the charity case he had been doing for the firm wasn't yet finished. Half-way through his frantic working, he received a phone call from Mercy Hospital. They gave her an hour at the most.

Something must have happened then; the guilt that Timothy had felt at putting her in the Hospital must have caught up with him. On the spot, he decided that he couldn't finish the Thompson account.

Calling his friend Mike at the firm, he quickly described his mother's condition and that the Thompson account would not be finished on time. Racing to his mother's side, he was there in her final moments, comforting her as best he could, apologizing for what he had done.

The Thompson's lost everything they had ever worked for.

The time after his mother's death was a lonely one for Timothy, perhaps because, for the first time, he realized he was truly alone. Then, he met Sarah, and everything changed. She was so loving, so full of life, so willing to drag him from the small, empty world he had built for himself. They complemented each other so well: her spontaneity to his structure, her boundless energy to his complacency. Their whirlwind romance caught him totally unawares, and when she accepted his proposal of marriage, he thought himself the happiest man on earth.

Truly, their first five years together were the happiest time of his life. The experience of having his life so intricately tied to another was exhiliarating; he built his entire existence around her.

Which is why her falling ill struck him so hard.

It was agonizing for Timothy to see her wasting away. "Apentrylic Syndrome" they called it, a metabolic disorder carried in a recessive gene. There wasn't a cure, they told him, and they didn't think she'd last more than a year.

They were wrong. For five years, Timothy watched his wife slowly rotting away from the inside. Her energy faded, her strength tapped away. The similarity to his mother was horrifying, both women clinging to life in a way that was almost unnatural. The strain on Timothy was telling, and when he happened upon the article discussing a possible cure to the Syndrome, he was overjoyed.

But, upon realizing it was Dr. Albero who was running the program, he fell into a rage. Calling the hospital, he angrily demanded why Sarah had not been entered into the program. The doctor's excuses of placebos and control groups meant nothing to him and, in an attempt to make the bastard agree to let her in the program, happened upon the project's budget. Calling the good doctor back, he causally mentioned the discrepancy in the monies.

Under the threat of blackmail, Albero agreed to allow Sarah the treatment. And, miraculously, it worked. Sarah got better, although she was never again the vibrant woman Timothy remembered.

Halfway through the program, Dr. Albero mysteriously committed suicide, for reasons unknown.

The time after Sarah's crisis was much like it had been before his mother's death; his life mundane, his existence centered around his work. The disease had taken away much of Sarah's vitality, and her zest for life was never the same. His time devoted more and more to himself and his work, he began to withdraw more and more from the world at large. At night, he drove around the city alone, trying to find the meaning of what had happened to him, of why such things had happened to him.

The night he died was such a night. He had been driving for hours, only half paying attention to what was going on. Then, from nowhere, a young girl ran into the middle of the road. With a cry and acting purely on what must have been instinct, he wrenched the wheel to the right, narrowly missing the young woman and almost flipping the car over. In an attempt to right himself, he swerved to the left ... and struck a young man standing on the sidewalk. Both he and Timothy were killed on impact. Afterwards, it was revealed that the young man was the woman's boyfriend. They had had an argument and in an attempt to get away from him, she had half pushed, half been pushed into the the road. Timothy's quick thinking had merely exchanged the death of one of the lovers for the other.

Timothy Hunter was born, he lived, he died. To say anything more would be futile speculation.
You examine the intake
But you've already completed the Thompson's records for this year's intake.
You examine the forms
With the completed records in hand, you begin filling out the forms. By this point, you're so sick of numbers you find it harder and harder not to give up. As you press on, you become worried. You've got to stay awake, aware, because any mistakes at this point could be disastrous...

Four hours later, you're finished. Your hands are cramped from all the writing, your mind spinning from the columns of data, but it's done. You separate the forms from the rest of papers with a sigh of relief.

Suddenly you stop short. You forgot about the signatures! You frantically begin scanning the bottom of the forms, praying you won't find that they have to be signed with a witness...

...and you find that they do. What the hell are you going to do? It's Sunday! How on Earth are you going to get in touch with a notary public this late on a Sunday afternoon?
You look at the card
You peek inside your wallet and see some money and a small, white business card.

It's a business card from a local taxi agency complete with their telephone number.
You go south
Your work papers lie in disarray beside the telephone.
You call the taxi
The phone rings several times, and then the line picks up.

"Hello, BK Taxi, can I help you?"

You quickly explain that you need a taxi sent around to your house as soon as possible.

"Certainly sir, it'll be there as soon as possible."

You hang up the phone.
You ask the cabbie about City Hall
"You got it, mac" says the cabbie as he hits starts the meter and pulls out of the driveway.
You examine the litter
The trip seems interminable, the cabbie babbling throughout it. Talk of nothing: the weather, the ball game on television last night. You hardly hear him. All you can think about is your mother in that vile smelling white room, breathing her last. You close your eyes and hope you'll be finished with this in time.

The sunlight flickers over your closed eyelids, making a shadow-dance beneath, and you pause, lost for a moment in their flickering patterns. Let her be ok ... please, just let her be ok.

The sudden stop in front of the Hall rudely breaks your reverie. "That'll be 15, bucks", says the cabbie, hitting the meter's flag.

"I'm sorry," you say, handing him your last fifteen dollars, "I don't have enough for a tip."

The cabbie looks at you for a moment, and then a smile breaks slowly across his face. He sighs. "Forget it, buddy. You look like you could use a break." You profusely thank him as you open the taxi's door and rush up the long marble steps into the building...

City Hall is a veritable labyrynth of cold, marble corridors and your breathing echoes about you as you run, searching for the notary public's office. You almost miss it when the writing on the door catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Practically knocking it down, you rush into the office.

"... and here he is!" Mike says, seeing you. "Come on, Timmy-boy, let's get this show on the road!" He quickly introduces you to Mrs. Thompson, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, and the notary public. The signatures are done in a flash, with Mrs. Thompson thanking your profusely the entire time, telling you how much this means to them, that they won't be losing the family business, about how afraid they were.

You hardly hear her. All you can think about is your mother, lying there in that room.

"... Mr. Hunter? Are you all right?" Mrs. Thompson's question snaps you back to reality.

"Mike, Mike ... did you bring your car?" you ask him frantically.

Your fear suddenly breaks through his bravado.

"Yeah, Tim. It's out back. What's the matter?"

"It's, it's my mom, we ... I've got to get to the hospital..."

Mike grabs you by the shoulder and the next thing you know, you're running down the corridor again, heading for the back parking lot. Behind you, you can hear Mrs. Thompson calling.

"Thank you again, Mr. Hunter! I hope your mom's all right...!"

You remember nightmares as a child like this, where no matter how fast you went, you knew it was never quite fast enough...

Mike's driving like a maniac, but some part of you already knows that it's too late. You've already been through this and it's too late. And yet...

And yet there's some part of you that's hoping that somehow, someway, she'll be ok, that it won't be the same this time ... it won't ... just somehow.

Mike pulls up in front of Mercy with a screech, yelling at you as you slam into the front doors to go ahead, he'll be up right behind you.

You rush past the front desk, running for the elevators and slip between the doors just as they're closing. You frantically stab at the buttons, and then slump against the back wall. First, second, third, fourth, hurry god-damn you hurry ... please ... please ... fourth, come on ... come on you ... fifth! The doors slide back and you rush down the corridor, almost slipping on the tiles and finally come to a screetching halt at the door to your mother's room.

"I'm sorry, Tim," says Doctor Hughes. He's standing in over your mother's bed ... just like in the Tapestry.

"No!" But it's too late. She's dead. It takes a moment for you to comprehend this. And then you're rushing forward, falling on your knees next to her, clutching her hand and crying out that you didn't mean to. You didn't mean to abandon her. You wanted to be here...

But now it's too late.
You look at Doctor
ONE WEEK LATER...

The past few days have been a blur; the funeral arrangements, the reading of the will, the unending visits by family and friends, offering their condolences, all of it running and smearing together in a confused muddle...

Your mother specified in her will exactly how she wanted everything: the open-casket viewing, whom she wanted to speak the eulogies. It's almost over now, the last of the remaining mourners (mostly old friends of your mother's you haven't seen in years) having already spoken with you. Some stragglers are still making their way past the coffin. As for you, you've been in the back of the room, shaking hands, saying thanks for their condolences, and feeling utterly numb. You haven't had the courage all afternoon to head to the north end of the parlor and see your mother lying there...
Go north
A cold gust of wind arises from nowhere as you attempt to cross the room. The wind rises in intensity and a swirling smoke begins to rise from the ground. A dark writing cloud forms before you and from it a cloaked figure emerges. Its face lost in the swirling mists behind its hood, the figure speaks:

"Hail mortal! We know each other well, though perhaps you remember me not. I have been at your side for many a year, your closest friend, your worst enemy. Familiar lover and bitter adversary. You know me!
You sense it deep inside where your guilt grows in the darkness like the twisted weed it is!" he laughs. "And now! After all this time! At last, a reckoning! Will you face me? Have you hubris enough to commit the breaking of your Moira? Are you fool enough to face your crimes?
You examine the figure
The Wraith is a fearsome figure, indeed. Draped in a cloak of darkest night, its face hidden from sight, its hands lost in the folds of its cloak, what is not seen is far more frightening than what might be.
You ask Wraith about Moira
"Answer, fool! Hast thou courage enough to face me?"
Yes
"Fool! You dare deny me?! You, mere mortal, dare to sunder the Moira set for you? How can you deny what you have done?!"

"Admit defeat, fool! Admit the evil you have done!"
No
"How CAN YOU?! You KILLED her, your MOTHER, whom you owe your life to! MURDERER! What rationalization do you have this time??"

"What excuse have you?!"
You tell Wraith about Thompsons
You tell the Wraith about the Thompson account, about how badly they needed your help and of how they would have gone bankrupt without it. You tell it of Mrs. Thompson's tears, of her thanks.

"LIES! You care for no one but YOURSELF! How DARE you lie as such, to make me believe that you would care for another so much! You left her there!"

"You abandoned her, monster, left her for dead!"
Go north
The Wraith silently glides between you and the casket, blocking you from approaching it.

"You abandoned her, monster, left her for dead!"
No
"BASTARD! LIAR! Your golden tongue shall not save you!"

"Why were you not there for her at the last? Where WERE you?"
You tell Wraith about the Doctor
"Why were you not there for her at the last? Where WERE you?"
You tell Wraith about City Hall
Crying, half-reliving it, you tell the Wraith of the trip to City Hall, of how you wished you could have been in two places at once, of the nightmare trip back, only to find out it was too late.

There is no response...

As suddenly as it appeared, the Wraith vanishes, and in its place stands Clotho of the Parcae.

"You have chosen well, Timothy," she says. "You have learned of your Moira and chosen, as you should, to live within it. You have learned to stand by your decisions, and you have faced your fears with strength and courage."

She gently takes you by the hand and leads you through the frozen crowd towards the casket. Once there, she steps back, waiting. You step forwards, fearful of what you're about to face, but take a deep breath and peer inside.

She looks beautiful. Her hair falls across her face, just covering her eyes, and the dress she wears was always one of her favorites. "I'm sorry, Mom, I'm sorry..." you whisper. And suddenly, somehow, you know. You know that she understands, that it wasn't your fault. She knows that you didn't abandon her, that you were trying to help. You turn to Clotho, eyes bright with tears, and she nods.

"Yes, Timothy. She always knew. And, perhaps in a way, you did as well. But your fear, your irrational guilt, blocked that, stopped you from seeing the truth. And now, now that your Moira has changed, now that you have faced the Wraith, you have stopped what happened before."

Memory floods back. The funeral. How you fled, how you couldn't face seeing her after what had happened ... it's changed.

Clotho nods once more. "Yes, Timothy. Well done."

"You have taken the first step along my path, Timothy. Once chosen, it cannot be abandoned. You shall follow it to its conclusion, with the choices you shall make elsewhere. I shall be near, to guide you as you shall need."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace. They leave you, gasping, back in the Tower...

The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.
No
Without a face, the Spectre nonetheless grins. "Victory! You are wise to know when you are outmatched. To know that your guilt is not without cause, and that to live with it is your course. Your Moira remains unbroken, the path you chose so long ago remains unchanged. Farewell, mortal, for we shall meet again..."

As suddenly as it appeared, the Wraith vanishes, and in its place stands Atropos of the Parcae.

"You have chosen well, Timothy," she says. "You have faced the temptation of hubris and not committed excess. You have learned of your Moira and chosen, as you should, to live within it. You have stood by your decisions and not dared to face the Spectre of your guilt."

She turns and looks towards the waiting casket. "There are some things that simply cannot be faced, Timothy. Remember this."

Atropos turns back to you. "You have taken the first step along my path, Timothy. Once chosen, it cannot be abandoned. You shall follow it to its conclusion, with the choices you shall make elsewhere. I shall be near, to guide you as you shall need."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace. They leave you, gasping, back in the Tower...
Look around
The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.
Go west
Off to one side, built into the wall, is a small fireplace.

A strange new addition to the room is the small tapestry hanging on the eastern wall.

Your bedroom has been one of the few areas where Sarah's influence has been at work. You felt the presence of her long after she had gone, and a few months after her death put it back the way it had been. A door to the east leads back to the den and to the south is the bathroom.

Somehow, in this strange world of the past, Sarah still lives. She's lying, half asleep, in bed.

Beside the bed is a small endtable.
Smother sarah
Clutching the pillow, you consider it. It would be so simple. She would die in her sleep, painless, quiet. And she'd be free of it forever. Your hands tremble as you think of it...

Sarah looks up at you with wide open eyes. You turn away horrified. You can't do it, you just can't do it. You take a deep breath and try and calm yourself.
Go north
Somehow, in this strange world of the past, Sarah still lives. She's lying, half asleep, in bed.

Beside the bed is a small endtable.
Go east
Off to one side, built into the wall, is a small fireplace.

A strange new addition to the room is the small tapestry hanging on the eastern wall.
Smother sarah
Clutching the pillow, you consider it. It would be so simple. She would die in her sleep, painless, quiet. And she'd be free of it forever. Your hands tremble as you think of it...

Gently, tenderly, you stroke her cheek and kiss her forehead. Then, you silently place the pillow over her face and wait. Nothing happens for a few moments, then Sarah's breathing suddenly becomes irregular. For a brief moment you're seized with panic. You want to take the pillow away, make her breathe again.

You bite your lip painfully and take a deep breath. Sarah's breathing is still irregular. She gasps once, and then her breathing slows. Slower and slower the breaths come, until, at last they stop altogether.

You gently remove the pillow. Her eyes are closed and her face is, for the first time since the illness, peaceful. Your vision blurs as tears fill your eyes and you collapse, crying unashamedly. You go on and on, all the pain and sorrow of what has happened pouring out of you. After what seems an eternity, you recover enough to stand again.
You open the drawer
A cold gust of wind arises from nowhere and your hand is violently forced back from the endtable. The wind rises in intensity and a swirling smoke begins to rise from the ground. A dark writing cloud forms before you and from it a cloaked figure emerges. Its face lost in the swirling mists behind its hood, the figure speaks:

The wraith laughs coldly. "So, we meet again!"

"And, so again, you flee before me! Know you now well enough that it is folly to face MY likes! Get you gone, you have no more business here!"

Again, the Wraith vanishes, and Atropos of the Parcae stands before you.

"Once again, you have chosen rightly, mortal. Hubris discarded, you have followed you Moira, as well you should. The Spectre of your guilt stays appeased."

She turns and looks at the endtable. "What is there shall remain unknown, as it should be."

Atropos turns back to you. "The second step is now complete, Timothy. One more along my path remains, once more along the threads of your Moira you must travel. Go now."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace. They leave you, gasping, back in the Tower...

The Ivory Tower, where you started this strange adventure, now lies in ruins. Its walls lie scorched about you, the roof rent to the open sky. The stars, in their impassive brilliance, illuminate the devastation below. Over the Tower's remains you catch glimpses of the fires below, trees smoldering in the darkness.

The Tapestry seems to have survived the Tower's destruction intact.
You touch third
Suddenly the rumbling returns, and the threads throw you into their heaving embrace. After a time they leave you gasping on another strange and distant shore...

You turn the corner with a sigh, glancing at the street sign in a feeble, half-hearted attempt to figure out where you are. You've left the old familiar neighborhood far behind you tonight, as you have almost every night. Each outing seems to take you a little further, to an area a little stranger and more dangerous.

Tonight, you didn't even bother giving yourself an excuse. Before, it had been that you had somewhere to go, something to do. Not tonight. Some indeterminate time ago, you stumbled out of the house, stuck the key in the ignition, and just started driving.

The sharp honk of a nearby car breaks your musings. You glance upward to see a pair of girls, jump ropes under their arms, pigtails flying behind them, run across the street, right in front of your car...

Time slows as you slam down on your brakes. For a moment, you don't think you'll make it, but with a squeal of the tires, your old Dodge manages to grind to a halt in time. The girls make it across, laughing all the while, unaware of how close death has come.

The old hunk of junk has served you pretty well in the past few years. You could probably afford something better, but why bother? It runs, it gets you to work and back. What more could you want? What more do you need?

The buildings outside seem mostly tenements, their residents escaping the sweltering evening by sitting outside on the stone porches, the sidewalks. The girls continue on their way, and soon enter a tenement.

With a sigh a relief, you step on the gas and continue on your way.
You wait
Time passes.

As your mind begins to wander, your attention to the road slips. It's been so long since you've been able to just stop; to put all that's happened and all you've done behind. The scars that are left won't fade that easily.
Wait
Time passes.

You withdraw even further into yourself and soon lose all track of time and place. Wandering the ruin of your life and the wreckage of your past, you find yourself lost in more than one way.
Wait
Time passes.

"Now..."

A whisper calls you back, breaking your reverie. Your eyes focus again, seeing through the window.

"No..."

It's all you can get out before the flash. Yet in that instant you see the scene with perfect clarity: the curb, far too close, the front wheels about to strike it. And there, a little further: the young woman falling. She's still looking downward, still unaware of her impending death.

And then the flash, and time slows. The few seconds left before your death stretch, lengthen, and twist about on themselves. It seems you have a moment of reprieve ... but a single moment only.
You wait
Time passes.

The car inches closer to the curb, striking it. You see the car dip, sparks flashing out onto the pavement, yet you feel nothing. You are detached, separated somehow. And still the girl sees nothing.
Wait
Time passes.

You rebound, sending the car into the air. Closer now, you see her slowly lifting her head, about to realize the flying mass of metal that will end her life. Beyond, on the curb, you can make out the figure you saw in the tableau, eyes ablaze and mouth agape, attempting to scramble to its feet.
You wait
Time passes.

The car strikes the pavement with a resounding force, the tires squealing as they touch ground. Your headlights strike the girl full in the face, illuminating her in a blinding halo.
Wait
Time passes.

The car continues its lurch forward, carried by its momentum. Both your ends are a heartbeat away.
You wait
Time passes.

It's too late. Tumbling out of control, the last thing you see is the car's headlights inches in front of the young woman's face...
Wait
Fleeting glimpses of faces half-remembered in the gloom. Screams, the sound of squealing tires, a sudden thump, a sickening crunch and a violent jolt, followed by a sense of weightlessness and disassociation. The last thing you remember is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, forcing its way through the chaos that surrounds you and then there is...

A dark cliff overlooking an even darker landscape. Above, a full, sullen moon hangs, half-hidden by a mass of dark clouds; below, jagged rocks cover the bank of a black river which flows from a fount in the hillside. You know this place instinctively, the image of it frozen in some primal memory, hidden from view. You realize you've been here before ... in your nightmares.
You examine the river
It's too hard to make out the river from here...
You examine cliff
As you peer down the cliff-side, your heart begins to beat wildly. You've always had a fear of heights, and you've had this nightmare many times. You know there's no way to leave short of jumping ... yet you're terrified to.
You jump
Taking a deep breath and, closing your eyes, you attempt to overcome your panic. Slowly, you step to where you know the cliff edge lies. Standing straight, arms akimbo, you steady yourself and then hurl your body forward with all your might.

For the briefest of moments, you feel like you're floating, flying, but then gravity asserts itself and you're tumbling out of control. You force your eyes open against the driving wind and see the dark landscape come rushing forward, the stones of the lake shore ready to catch you and break your bones.

You scream incoherently as you're about to hit...

...when a sudden upward rush of air slows your fall and gently leaves you on the bank of the dark river.

The moon is brighter here, lighting the scene with an eerie, surreal glow. From a fount in the hillside, a river of black, brackish liquid flows, forming the source of a river which flows out into the distance.
You look at the river
The black, oily liquid flows sluggishly downward from the fount in the cliff-side, spilling onto the ground and out into the distance.
Drink river
As your thrust your hands under the fount and the waters flow over them, you are struck by how frigid it is. Then, in horror, you watch as the waters begin reaching outwards, climbing over your arms and making their way towards your face.

You scream, attempting to wrest your way free, and as the foul material continues its progress, you realize that the invasion is mental as well as physical. You can feel the waters reaching deep into your mind, freeing the dark counterparts they find there: fear, guilt, hate and self-loathing.

With a cry, you wrench yourself backwards, falling upon the soft river bank. But the waters do not give up so easily, and the psychic pull continues for a moment afterwards before releasing you. Left numb and empty, you resolve never to touch the foul stuff again.
You look
The moon is brighter here, lighting the scene with an eerie, surreal glow. From a fount in the hillside, a river of black, brackish liquid flows, forming the source of a river which flows out into the distance.
Go north
You find yourself unable to leave this place.
Drink water
You never want to touch that again for as long as you live.
You examine the moon
The moon seems closer here than it did on the cliff top. Somehow, you feel as if you could just reach out and touch it...
You touch the moon
Your hand tingles strangely as you pass it in front of your view of the moon...
You get the moon
Feeling foolish, you raise your hands, trying to catch the moon between them. You remember how, as a child, you used to think that if you stood tall enough, you could catch it like a ball and hold it in your arms. You strain further and further, reaching upwards ... and then you catch hold. Gently, unbelieving, you pull the orb down from the now-darkened skies.
You examine the moon
The silvery orb glows brightly in your hands, a small but perfect replica of the moon.
You put the moon in the river
As you approach the river with the sphere, you notice it shining even more brightly, even as the river begins to bubble and swirl. Gently, carefully, you toss the moon onto the river's surface. It floats serenely for a moment, then begins to sink into the mire. The waters roil and twist about it, trying to pull it downwards, and for a moment they appear to be succeeding. But then a shining beam of light flies upwards, fighting against the current and eddies and the orb makes its way to the surface again.

As darkness and light continue their struggle, you notice streams of ichor flying upwards from the river, swirling over the surface. A hideous keening noise fills the air as these ghost shapes surround you, flowing upwards and out, screaming into the night. Before you, between you and the banks of the now violent flow, a swirling mass of darkness forms itself into a cloaked figure. Standing forth, it speaks:

The wraith laughs coldly. "So, we meet again!"

"Three times have me met, mortal, and three times have you fled! Know you the master of your Moira, know you the Spectre of your guilt!" The creature throws back its hidden head and laughs, the sound chilling your blood. Still laughing, it vanishes, and a Atropos of the Parcae stands before you.

"The circle is now complete, Timothy. You have acted rightly, and the end of your journey along my Path draws near. Your Moira remains whole and intact, and your destiny within its boundaries firmly set. The crisis is past, disaster no longer looms near."

She turns and looks towards the churning waters. As she does so, the orb's light fades, and the black waters rise. Sinking from sight, the now-dead moon vanishes, and the waters are quiet, still and dark.

"Some places should stay hidden in darkness, Timothy," she whispers. "Illumination is not always a good thing."

Atropos turns back to you. "The final step has been taken, Timothy. The Tapestry is finished, your Moira secure. The time has come to leave this place of indecision, mortal, and face whatever destiny lies before you. I wish you well."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace...

Fleeting glimpses of faces half-remembered in the gloom. Screams, the sound of squealing tires, a sudden thump, a sickening crunch and a violent jolt, followed by a sense of weightlessness and disassociation. The last thing you remember is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, forcing its way through the chaos that surrounds you and then there is...

Your sight fails you. For that matter, you don't know if your eyes are opened or closed. Concepts like time and place have no meaning here. Your mind attempts to impose something, some order, some structure, upon the space in which you exist, and fails. There is only the void. For all you know, that is all there ever was.
You get the photo
You already have that.
You go west
Somehow, in this strange world of the past, Sarah still lives. She's lying, half asleep, in bed.

Beside the bed is a small endtable.
You get the bottle
You open the medicine cabinet, revealing a small bottle of pills.

Taken.
You fill the glass
Taken.

Water begins flowing from the tap into the sink.

You carefully fill the glass with water and then shut off the tap.
You show the paper to Sarah
You're about to tell Sarah about the experiment, but then think better of it. What's the point of depressing her? She'll never get in it.
You give the pills to Sarah
Sarah looks up at you and smiles.

"Aww ... how sweet, my knight in shining armor come to take me to dreamland?" You help her up and she swallows the pills with a sip of water. She takes hold of your hand. You see her lower lip trembling slightly. "Thank you Timmy," she whispers, "for everything."

She lies back down and closes her eyes, but she still has trouble falling asleep. God, you wish she could sleep forever, away from the sickness and the pain.
You show the photo to Sarah
"Oh Timmy. We had so much fun up there, didn't we? 'The Sweet Audrina.'" She laughs. God, we we almost drowned, didn't we?" You laugh with her for a moment, then you both fall silent. She takes your hand. "We had some pretty good times, didn't we? Tell me a story, Timmy." she says, "tell me about the lake.
You tell Sarah about the lake
You tell Sarah the story, embellishing what really happened. That always made her laugh, the way you used to exaggerate everything until it became bigger than life. She smiles, remembering.

"Oh, we had so much fun, didn't we?" She yawns, then pats your hand. "I think I've had enough excitement for one day, I'm going to take a nap, ok?" You nod, and tuck her in as her breathing becomes slow and regular.
You open the drawer
Worry about the drawer later. You have more important things to do now.
You open the drawer
A cold gust of wind arises from nowhere and your hand is violently forced back from the endtable. The wind rises in intensity and a swirling smoke begins to rise from the ground. A dark writing cloud forms before you and from it a cloaked figure emerges. Its face lost in the swirling mists behind its hood, the figure speaks:

The wraith laughs coldly. "So, we meet again!"

"And again, you dare to defy me? I shall destroy you, fool!"

"Admit defeat, Timothy! Admit that you never loved her!"
No
"Liar! Admit that she never loved you!"
No
"You dare to still say this be love after her murder?! How can you? Tell me of her, this one you murdered!"

"Tell me of Sarah!"
You tell Wraith about the lake
"Tell me of Sarah!"
You tell Wraith about Sarah
Mortally afraid and shaking, you nonetheless face the Wraith. You tell it of Sarah's sickness, of her suffering. You explain that you wished to free her from all of it, that she herself found living impossible. You tell the Spectre that your act was one of love.

"You LIE! You cannot prove you were even ONCE happy together!"
You tell Wraith about the lake
"Proof, fool! Your words are not enough!"

"You LIE! You cannot prove you were even ONCE happy together!"
You show the photo to Wraith
The Wraith listens, a silent judge, as you tell him of your marriage. Of the happy times you had together, of the story of the lake, and how happy Sarah was then, and how happy she was when you shared it with her now.

There is no response...

As suddenly as it appeared, the Wraith vanishes,and in its place stands Clotho of the Parcae.

"Well done, Timothy! Once again, you have faced your fears and been victorious!"

Clotho turns from you and approaches the endtable. Silently, she opens the drawer within it, rather anticlimactically revealing a small, folded note. She retrieves it and hands it to you. You see that it bears your name written on the front in Sarah's hand.

It reads:

My Dearest Timothy,

If you are reading this then either I have taken my own life, or
you have helped me to. In either case, there are things I wish you to understand. Please do not think me selfish, my love, to do this. The pain we have both suffered is needless and my choice was to relieve us both of it. [9]If you have helped me to do this, then I know you have done so out of love. Do not let guilt get in the way of your knowing this, for I go to a better place, where I know someday you will join me. I will always love you, dearest, as I know you love me.

Yours always,
Sarah

You stand there, silent for a moment. You don't remember ever reading this note. Maybe your facing the Wraith changed something.

Clotho nods, as if reading your thoughts. "Yes, Timothy. While you have followed your choices for the most part, your Moira has, in fact, been changed. Your confrontation with your guilt has allowed you to see the truth. To see that Sarah was in pain and she wanted you to do this."

"And so, you have taken the second path along your altered Moira. The threads of your Destiny are changing Timothy ... do not falter now. Be brave, for the final step you do not take alone."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace. They leave you, gasping, back in the Tower...
Wait
Time passes.

The further you go, the more convinced you're only getting yourself more lost. If anything, the neighborhoods are getting worse. The homeless are more and visible, and the buildings are more decrepit.
You wait
Time passes.

As your mind begins to wander, your attention to the road slips. It's been so long since you've been able to just stop; to put all that's happened and all you've done behind. The scars that are left won't fade that easily.
Wait
Time passes.

You withdraw even further into yourself and soon lose all track of time and place. Wandering the ruin of your life and the wreckage of your past, you find yourself lost in more than one way.
Turn wheel
Morningstar's laughter echoes about you.

"I am afraid not, my friend. You were foolish enough not to take my offer and that is one choice you must live with."

You rebound, sending the car into the air. Closer now, you see her slowly lifting her head, about to realize the flying mass of metal that will end her life. Beyond, on the curb, you can make out the figure you saw in the tableau, eyes ablaze and mouth agape, attempting to scramble to its feet.
Pray
Fleeting glimpses of faces half-remembered in the gloom. Screams, the sound of squealing tires, a sudden thump, a sickening crunch and a violent jolt, followed by a sense of weightlessness and disassociation. The last thing you remember is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, forcing its way through the chaos that surrounds you and then there is...

A dark cliff overlooking an even darker landscape. Above, a full, sullen moon hangs, half-hidden by a mass of dark clouds; below, jagged rocks cover the bank of a black river which flows from a fount in the hillside. You know this place instinctively, the image of it frozen in some primal memory, hidden from view. You realize you've been here before ... in your nightmares.
You jump
Taking a deep breath and, closing your eyes, you attempt to overcome your panic. Slowly, you step to where you know the cliff edge lies. Standing straight, arms akimbo, you steady yourself and then hurl your body forward with all your might.

For the briefest of moments, you feel like you're floating, flying, but then gravity asserts itself and you're tumbling out of control. You force your eyes open against the driving wind and see the dark landscape come rushing forward, the stones of the lake shore ready to catch you and break your bones.

You scream incoherently as you're about to hit...

...when a sudden upward rush of air slows your fall and gently leaves you on the bank of the dark river.

The moon is brighter here, lighting the scene with an eerie, surreal glow. From a fount in the hillside, a river of black, brackish liquid flows, forming the source of a river which flows out into the distance.
You look at the river
The black, oily liquid flows sluggishly downward from the fount in the cliff-side, spilling onto the ground and out into the distance.
You put the moon in the river
As you approach the river with the sphere, you notice it shining even more brightly, even as the river begins to bubble and swirl. Gently, carefully, you toss the moon onto the river's surface. It floats serenely for a moment, then begins to sink into the mire. The waters roil and twist about it, trying to pull it downwards, and for a moment they appear to be succeeding. But then a shining beam of light flies upwards, fighting against the current and eddies and the orb makes its way to the surface again.

As darkness and light continue their struggle, you notice streams of ichor flying upwards from the river, swirling over the surface. A hideous keening noise fills the air as these ghost shapes surround you, flowing upwards and out, screaming into the night. Before you, between you and the banks of the now violent flow, a swirling mass of darkness forms itself into a cloaked figure. Standing forth, it speaks:

The wraith laughs coldly. "So, we meet again!"

"And it shall be for the FINAL time! You shall not escape me so easily!"

"MURDERER! So you kill again! Slaughtering an innocent in cold blood!"
You tell Wraith about the accident
"MURDERER! So you kill again! Slaughtering an innocent in cold blood!"
No
"How say you so?! Not murder?!"

"How do you explain away your action?!"
You tell Wraith about car
"An accident? HA! You killed that poor child in your haste to flee! You butchered in your panicked flight from the guilt of your evil!"

"You are a fool and a coward!"
You tell Wraith about the figure
"You are a fool and a coward!"
No
"Liar! What bravery have you shown?!"

"What adversary have YOU stood against!?"
You tell Wraith about Wraith
The wraith stands silent as you shout that you have have bravery enough to stand against it and the fear and guilt you have felt. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the Wraith vanishes, and in its place stands Clotho of the Parcae.

"You have done it!" she cries, her face and eyes bright with tears. "Oh Timothy, you have defeated the Wraith, the guilt and darkness within yourself, the embodiment of all you feared ... "

She turns and faces the battling forces behind her. As you both watch, the glow from the orb slowly begins to increase in intensity, flooding the buckling waters with shafts of brilliant light. Wailing in pain and defeat, the blackness begins to subside, and the river begin to brighten. In moments, there is nothing left of the foul substance, and the waters flowing outward from the font are crystal-clear.

Approaching the edge of the bank, Clotho reaches out and grasps the orb in both hands. With a sly smile, she places it in her robes, where it vanishes between the folds.

"Come Timothy," she says as she motions you towards the fount. "Come drink..."

The water is cold as it passes your lips and after drinking deeply, you find the water quenching a deep thirst you never knew you had. As you continue, gulping draught after draught, you find your mind opening, the light of the illuminating water brightening some hidden darkness deep within you. As you stand and turn back to Clotho, you reach an epiphany: that the guilt you felt for the accident was unwarranted. Certainly, you should have paid more attention, but that would not have saved the girl. Attention or not, her sudden appearance in the middle of the road is what caught you by surprise.

Clotho nods. "Yes Timothy, the light you have drawn down from the skies has illuminated the the secrets you have kept from yourself. Well done."

"The final step has been taken, Timothy. The Tapestry is finished, your Moira secure. The fear and guilt of your past you have faced bravely, and perhaps this fate you have woven for yourself is better then the one We originally wove for you. The time has come to leave this place of indecision, mortal, and face whatever destiny lies before you. I wish you well."

The whirling threads appear, and tear you from where you stand into their heaving embrace...

Fleeting glimpses of faces half-remembered in the gloom. Screams, the sound of squealing tires, a sudden thump, a sickening crunch and a violent jolt, followed by a sense of weightlessness and disassociation. The last thing you remember is an overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, forcing its way through the chaos that surrounds you and then there is...

Your sight fails you. For that matter, you don't know if your eyes are opened or closed. Concepts like time and place have no meaning here. Your mind attempts to impose something, some order, some structure, upon the space in which you exist, and fails. There is only the void. For all you know, that is all there ever was.
You look around
There is only Nothing.
You wait for a while
There is only Nothing.

No, wait. There is ... something, moving in the darkness. It dances at the edge of your new-found vision, teasing you.

No, you were wrong...

There is only Nothing.



Timothy Hunter was born, he lived, he died.

This was only natural, being mortal. The life he led was probably most unusual in its normalcy; his childhood so much so as to be mundane. Neither praised nor reviled, neither a leader nor an outcast, he was simply another face in the crowd. He went to school, he studied, he did well enough to get by. After graduation he found a job he was good at and paid well enough. He bought a little house and lived there, a bother to no one, and the days just flowed one into the other...

In fact, the first event of any importance in his life was the death of his mother.

She had been ill for quite a while, and during this time, Timothy was under a great deal of stress. His small, comfortable world fell apart around him as he realized that something had ended; an innocent part of his life where he had thought she would always be with him was over.

The Thompson account had totally slipped his mind, and he had been frantically trying to finish it when he heard the news that she was dying. An hour they gave her at the most. Faced with the agonizing choice of being with her in her final moments on this earth, or helping the Thompson's from losing everything they had, he chose to go to City Hall to get the papers that were necessary signed.

As quickly as he could, he rushed to his mother's side, only to realize it was to late. The guilt and self-loathing he felt for what he thought to be abandoning her were terrible. It took him a long time to realize that it was probably what his mother would have wanted him to do. He had stayed with her as much as he could when she was alive, had checked up on her at every opportunity, and the Thompsons had a great deal more to lose than she. He was very glad that he had a last opportunity to say farewell to her at the funeral. He knew she understood.

The time after his mother's death was a lonely one for Timothy, perhaps because, for the first time, he realized he was truly alone. Then, he met Sarah, and everything changed. She was so loving, so full of life, so willing to drag him from the small, empty world he had built for himself. They complemented each other so well: her spontaneity to his structure, her boundless energy to his complacency. Their whirlwind romance caught him totally unawares, and when she accepted his proposal of marriage, he thought himself the happiest man on earth.

Truly, their first five years together were the happiest time of his life. The experience of having his life so intricately tied to another was exhiliarating; he built his entire existence around her.

Which is why her falling ill struck him so hard.

It was agonizing for Timothy to see her wasting away. "Apentrylic Syndrome" they called it, a metabolic disorder carried in a recessive gene. There wasn't a cure, they told him, and they didn't think she'd last more than a year.

They were wrong. For five years, Timothy watched his wife slowly rotting away from the inside. Her energy faded, her strength tapped away. The woman who had filled his life with motion and vitality now could barely lift her head to take the countless pills the doctors prescribed. But she never complained, she never once told him how much pain she was in, how tired she was. But Timothy knew just the same.

After five years, it seemed as though it would never end. Not wishing to see her suffer further, not understanding why she had to continue such an agonized existence, he tried his best to help her. Putting her to sleep, he smothered her, praying that her death had been peaceful and painless. There was never any investigation of her death, the report said she died in her sleep.

The guilt of Sarah's death on his hands was horrible for Timothy, especially in the face of a possible cure. Facing his fears and his guilt, Timothy forced himself to face his wife's suffering, to realize that he had helped her in the best way he knew how, and that he hoped she would understand why he had done it. When he found a final note among Sarah's possessions, he knew she had.

The time after Sarah's death was much like it had been before his mother's; his life mundane, his existence centered around his work. But Timothy's experiences irrevocably changed him; he was no longer the same man. Timothy thought a great deal of his life, of what he'd seen and what he had done. It seemed so unfair that bad things happened again and again to good people. Some nights he would go driving, trying to ease his mind, trying to find an answer to a question he couldn't formulate.

The night he died he had been driving for hours, hardly aware of the world around him. When the young girl came flailing into the middle of the street, it was too late to stop in time. Both of them were killed instantly.

It turned out that the young woman had been arguing with her boyfriend, and in a struggle, had half been pushed, half pushed herself into the road.

Timothy Hunter was born, he lived, he died. To say anything more would be futile speculation.
You look at Tapestry
A large, intricately woven tapestry which depicts three tableaus on three different panels.
You examine the torch
A torch made of pure ivory, with three silver rings up its length.

"But here, I have not even introduced myself. Forgive me," he says, bowing with a flourish. "I am ... Morningstar."
You examine the lucifer
A voice in your ear remarks, "So educated."

Morningstar looks away from you for a moment.

"Know now, mortal, that your life is over. You no longer are counted among the living, but you are not yet among the dead. Know thyself, Timothy Hunter, and know that because of your actions in life and what has just happened at the moment of your death, the fate of your soul is in doubt."
You take the pendant
Morningstar watches you reaching out for the pendant in shock. Just as you are about to take it, he grasps your hand in an iron grip.

"What are you doing?" he whispers. He stares at the pendant for a moment, his face blank.

"You can see this?" he whispers to you. You can only no dumbly. He suddenly recovers himself.

"It is unimportant, Timothy. Pay attention to matters of more import."
Break pendant
And what would that accomplish?
You eat the pendant
(first taking the Morningstar's silver pendant)
"I told you that was unimportant, mortal," Morningstar growls. "Leave it be."