text: [Themes: Religious, Afterlife, Time Travel, devil, moral choice]
  
  > examine the intake
  But you've already completed the Thompson's records for this year's intake.
  
  > 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?
  
  > 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.
  
  > go south
  Your work papers lie in disarray beside the telephone.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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?
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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?!"
  
  > 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?"
  
  > tell Wraith about the Doctor
  "Why were you not there for her at the last? Where WERE 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.