all over again. He decided to just enjoy the moment for what it was, hoping maybe it would happen again.
Neither of them spoke, lying in silence together until a scream shattered their moment.
* * * *
CHAPTER 3 — Mary Olson
Mary woke shivering, surrounded by black.
She was cold, confused, unable to remember anything but her name.
Where am I?
Fear was copper on her tongue. She reached into the darkness. Her fingers touched cold, wet grass, and the world was slowly lit as if someone were turning a dimmer above.
She looked up to see the full moon peeking out from behind dark clouds gliding through the sky. The world was bathed in a milky-blue luminescence, revealing something that seemed unreal — two rows of thick, ancient trees on either side, carving a neatly sculpted path of tall grass in front and behind her.
Again, Mary wondered where she was.
She looked ahead and behind, both paths identical, not knowing which way to go.
Her head buzzed, sounds of something she couldn’t quite decipher swirling beneath a high-pitched ringing. She reached up to cover her ears.
Moving hurt.
Her body ached, though she saw no signs of injury.
Mary was wearing jeans and a dark sweater, clothes she couldn’t remember owning.
Confused, she moved forward, her back and legs aching with every step. The ringing in her ears faded, though the whispers — perhaps fragments of memory — remained. She tried to focus but couldn’t make out anything other than a male voice, his words muffled as if underwater.
She continued forward and noticed something ahead: small and red, almost glowing in the grass.
Confused, she picked up her pace then stopped in front of the small glowing object. She bent to retrieve it: a red rose petal, bleeding with a luminous amber light, fading to black as her fingers rubbed the soft, silky texture.
The petal blackened, and the rose disintegrated, so fast that Mary feared its undoing would spread to her hand and render her into nothingness.
She was about to turn back and head in the other direction when she saw more petals ahead, all lighting at once, illuminating the path.
She had to be dreaming.
Yet this didn’t feel like a dream. The cold air pocked her with gooseflesh. The gentle breeze rattled tree limbs. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a new sound — a train?
Mary kept moving, faster now. Each petal disintegrated when she reached it, charred embers lifting then getting carried off on the wind in every direction.
This must be a dream.
Ahead, the path narrowed until it closed in on itself. A voice called out in the dark.
“Mommy?”
Paola?
Mary remembered her daughter, shot dead before her eyes.
More memories flooded her mind, but Mary ignored them, clinging to the image of Paola.
Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she brought me to this place. Maybe there’s some part of her still alive!
Mary shoved herself forward, following the trail of petals into the darkness.
The train raged behind her, so loud they must be sharing a path.
Mary broke into a run, ignoring her aching body and buzzing head, along with the branches scratching and scraping her skin. The path closed in around her.
The train screamed behind her. Then Mary recognized the sound: a tornado, not a train.
A flash of memory raced through her mind, too fast to grasp or make sense of before it was gone. Another deadly tornado — on that other world.
She looked back and wished she hadn’t. Everything behind her was coming apart — like the petals — remnants cast in every direction.
The path had sealed ahead of her, giving way to an endless tangle of brambles.
The red petals had vanished, but Mary couldn’t turn back. Whatever was ripping the world to pieces was growing closer and louder, eager to catch her. The only way was forward, through the sharp brambles.
“Mommy!” Paola’s voice cried out, scared, from somewhere ahead.
“I’m coming!” Mary screamed.
She closed her eyes and
Neither of them spoke, lying in silence together until a scream shattered their moment.
* * * *
CHAPTER 3 — Mary Olson
Mary woke shivering, surrounded by black.
She was cold, confused, unable to remember anything but her name.
Where am I?
Fear was copper on her tongue. She reached into the darkness. Her fingers touched cold, wet grass, and the world was slowly lit as if someone were turning a dimmer above.
She looked up to see the full moon peeking out from behind dark clouds gliding through the sky. The world was bathed in a milky-blue luminescence, revealing something that seemed unreal — two rows of thick, ancient trees on either side, carving a neatly sculpted path of tall grass in front and behind her.
Again, Mary wondered where she was.
She looked ahead and behind, both paths identical, not knowing which way to go.
Her head buzzed, sounds of something she couldn’t quite decipher swirling beneath a high-pitched ringing. She reached up to cover her ears.
Moving hurt.
Her body ached, though she saw no signs of injury.
Mary was wearing jeans and a dark sweater, clothes she couldn’t remember owning.
Confused, she moved forward, her back and legs aching with every step. The ringing in her ears faded, though the whispers — perhaps fragments of memory — remained. She tried to focus but couldn’t make out anything other than a male voice, his words muffled as if underwater.
She continued forward and noticed something ahead: small and red, almost glowing in the grass.
Confused, she picked up her pace then stopped in front of the small glowing object. She bent to retrieve it: a red rose petal, bleeding with a luminous amber light, fading to black as her fingers rubbed the soft, silky texture.
The petal blackened, and the rose disintegrated, so fast that Mary feared its undoing would spread to her hand and render her into nothingness.
She was about to turn back and head in the other direction when she saw more petals ahead, all lighting at once, illuminating the path.
She had to be dreaming.
Yet this didn’t feel like a dream. The cold air pocked her with gooseflesh. The gentle breeze rattled tree limbs. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a new sound — a train?
Mary kept moving, faster now. Each petal disintegrated when she reached it, charred embers lifting then getting carried off on the wind in every direction.
This must be a dream.
Ahead, the path narrowed until it closed in on itself. A voice called out in the dark.
“Mommy?”
Paola?
Mary remembered her daughter, shot dead before her eyes.
More memories flooded her mind, but Mary ignored them, clinging to the image of Paola.
Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she brought me to this place. Maybe there’s some part of her still alive!
Mary shoved herself forward, following the trail of petals into the darkness.
The train raged behind her, so loud they must be sharing a path.
Mary broke into a run, ignoring her aching body and buzzing head, along with the branches scratching and scraping her skin. The path closed in around her.
The train screamed behind her. Then Mary recognized the sound: a tornado, not a train.
A flash of memory raced through her mind, too fast to grasp or make sense of before it was gone. Another deadly tornado — on that other world.
She looked back and wished she hadn’t. Everything behind her was coming apart — like the petals — remnants cast in every direction.
The path had sealed ahead of her, giving way to an endless tangle of brambles.
The red petals had vanished, but Mary couldn’t turn back. Whatever was ripping the world to pieces was growing closer and louder, eager to catch her. The only way was forward, through the sharp brambles.
“Mommy!” Paola’s voice cried out, scared, from somewhere ahead.
“I’m coming!” Mary screamed.
She closed her eyes and
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