Post by Bonnie Blue on Sept 27, 2014 16:14:48 GMT -5
Time does not pass in any relevant way in the in-between places; those realms of shadow, the mortar in the cracks between universes. In some, it stands still and hangs in the air like too much humidity on an August night, a physical represntation of Dali's melting clock theme. Bump into one moment, shatter another. They fall like dominoes, and break with the sound of forgetting.
Navigating the Ranchero through the shadow realms is like piloting a submarine through molasses... on Neptune. It is only due to the Timekeeper's presence that Johnny is able to get anywhere at all. The thief had managed it more easily; the Bell was a sort of key, in addition to its other gifts. One in possession of it could slip through timespace as easily as thoughts through a schizophrenic mind. Alone -- or at the head of a vast and mighty force, leading beings that thrive on terror and bloodshed; things best left unimagined, lest the tales of Lovecraft seem as nursery stories in comparison.
These are the notions Johnny turns over in his mind, as relayed to him by the Timekeeper. Oblivion, it occurs to both of them now, was only a harbinger. The Entity had opened a path by which a single creature could emerge from the dark and steal away with one of the most powerful Artefacts in the Multiverse. Absently, his hand turns the wheel, and the Ranchero swerves to miss a half-ethereal thing as it darts across the road.
Reb: Ya do know where we're headin', right? It's damn hard to see anythin' out here.
Timekeeper: The path does not deviate.
Johnny glances at his passenger, not entirely appreciative of the sullen recalcitrance. Beneath the wheels, the pavement continues to arrange itself in a straight line; behind, the road recedes back into the ground, not even a blade of dry grass disturbed in its wake.
Reb: Ok, y'ain't gonna talk, fine. I can talk enough for both of us. So I'm gonna finish what I was sayin' earlier.
The Timekeeper gives a noncommital shrug. On closer inspection, Johnny realizes that his strange companion is a little pale. It isn't only the Timekeeper's power that wanes, he understands suddenly.
Reb: WAR. This is a time that careers are made... and dreams are shattered. Many of us have done this before. Some of us have won. Bobby Cairo comes to mind. The man is a legend. Contrary to what some folks is sayin', he's got years left yet. Nothin' slows him down, an' I got only the greatest of respect. The Force is strong with him. If our paths cross in that ring tomorrow night, it's gonna be spectacular.
Jeff Purse, he's done it before, too. Although, considerin' the odd way he's been actin', hangin' out with a puppet for whatever reason -- I mean, weird. Look, whatever a guy wants to do in the privacy of his own home, that's his business. Don't gotta bring your weird fetish to work; we got enough of that with Logan alone.
Johnny steps on the brakes as the road seems to end at a river; then a bridge builds itself out of free-floating atoms, and the Inveterate Confederate drives on across. He has learned not to question, too much, the odd physics of the between places. Even so, he isn't comfortable until he's on apparently stable land once more.
Reb: This is one of the best WAR lineups I've seen in my entire career. Jonny Fly, Corey Black -- both excellent competitors, both men I respect an' have worked with in the past. Respect goes a longer way with me than with other people 'round here. But respect don't always mean you stay outta someone's path. Sometimes you show respect by not pullin' any punches -- an' I never do.
Speakin' of respect... two of the men I've most respected durin' my career -- an' both of whom I've recently taken on one-on-one -- have taken off on strange divergences of their own these last few months. Jayson Price... nobody ever expected integrity, really, an' the way he gets under Lerch's skin, that almost makes up for some of the shitty things he tends to do -- in or out of the ring. An' Steve Orbit... all's I can say is, I hope he pulls his head outta his ass soon.
Now the scenery begins to change. Instead of broad, flat plains, the road is lined with trees. They look remarkably like any other trees, with tall sturdy trunks, spreading branches, and leaves. The difference here is that the foliage is a shiny black and spotted with little broken pustules. Well, that, and the fact that the trees float about three feet off the ground, gnarled roots tangled around a ball of soil. A few tendrils untwine themselves and reach toward the car; Johnny's response is to press down on the accelerator.
Reb: I can't wait until we get the fuck out of here. This place is goddamn creepy. That McMorris, he'd prob'ly like it. I assume. A guy is called Zombie, it's the logical conclusion.
From the passenger seat, the Timekeeper makes a disgruntled sort of sound.
Reb: I know. Lame segue. I'm tryin'. If I don't keep up a steady stream of chatter, this shadow realm is gonna make me lose my mind. Listen, I don't underestimate McMorris. I've seen him wrestle plenty enough to know better. My best bet is to stay outta his reach, an' that is exactly what I plan on doin' unless it becomes unavoidable.
Then there's Gravedigger. Leaner an' meaner, these days. We tangled before, but it was a while back. I don't reckon he even remembers; but I do. I know what he was like when he was slower an' fatter. Guy like me, my best bet is to let someone else deal with him. On t'other hand, when was the last time I followed my own advice? In my estimation, Gravedigger is pretty high up there in terms of threat factor -- top three, at the very least. That makes him one of the first targets, should the opportunity present itself.
Who else ain't I mentioned yet?
The Inveterate One pauses to think. Ahead, the path seems to fork in two opposing directions.
Reb: There's John Gable -- used to be the TV Champion. His delusional ass insisted on calling it the "Cinema Title". That's cute. But cute don't cut it in the WCF, as he should well know.
Timekeeper: Follow the right turning.
The Timekeeper's complexion has taken on a more ruddy look; they must be drawing close. Johnny turns the wheel to the right, and the road builds itself anew. In the rearview mirror, he can just make out the other path, almost entirely enclosed in creeping blackness; he might have refused to go on had the journey taken them that way.
Reb: Oh, and Livewire! Dude thinks I'm a nutcase -- I wish he was here right now, experiencing this. Then we'll see who's crazy. Dude reminds me of a white Jakeem Thunder -- but without the genie living in his pen.
Timekeeper: What? Djinn don't live in pens.
Reb: I know that. Well.. I didn't know so much as I woulda guessed. It's a thing in a comic book. Justice Society.
Timekeeper: You should use caution with comic books. Some of them are highly dangerous.
Reb: Now who's crazy?
Timekeeper: I never said you were.
Reb: Right. Moving on... Ubiquitous as always is JoJo the Dog-Faced Boy, otherwise known as Hyena.
Timekeeper: You should not overlook the mangy one. He, too, has his part to play.
Reb: Yes. His part in WAR is to get eliminated. Hopefully by Omega. That would be fun to see. If it looks like that's about to happen, don't be surprised if I just stop to watch that shit. Getting eliminated myself would be worth it simply to see that.
Johnny hesitates, thinking about that for a moment.
Reb: On second thought, that's why God invented DVR. Who else? Ah! Kilty McHaggis! I mean... Cormack MacNeill. I'm just playin'. Me an' him once had a match an' he come out on top -- that time. Things change, though, an' in a situation where fists an' bodies are flyin' like ... I dunno, some kinda tortured metaphor about rappers in strip clubs makin' it rain. Yeah, that doesn't work. Anyway, point is, a split second can make the difference between vict'ry an' defeat. What happened between us last time ain't likely to happen again. Be like lightnin' strikin' twice.
Same goes for -- whoa!
The Ranchero rolls to a stop as Reb lets off the gas. Ahead, there is no more road. Instead, there is a wall of black smoke, or at least something that looks like smoke. It appears impenetrable at first glance. Johnny wouldn't risk the car in that anyway. He puts it in park and glances at the Timekeeper, who appears more alert and eager than when the journey had begun.
Reb: You ready for this?
Timekeeper: Are you?
Reb: Fuck no. Hand me that rope under your seat.
Wordlessly, the Timekeeper reaches under the seat and passes Johnny a thick coil of climbers' rope. Johnny ties one end around the axle, then loops the other around his waist. With instructions to the Timekeeper to feed the rope out incrementally, Johnny approaches the wall of blackness.
Reb: Remember...when I pull on it three times, it means I'm done. You start reelin' me back in. Otherwise, I reckon this could be a one-way trip.
He looks at the wall, then back at the Timekeeper, and gives a flippant salute.
Reb: Tally ho!
And he steps into the dark.
The Wall shrieks. It is insubstantial, yet winds buffet Johnny from every direction, tearing at clothes, trying to unknot the rope tied around his waist. Each step forward is a trial. Voices assail him; some whispering, some shouting in words no rational mind could hope to understand. Covering his ears only makes them louder, somehow, so he clings to the rope and concentrates on moving ahead.
After what seems like an eon, and simultaneously a fraction of a second, the barrier vanishes. Johnny's eyes are greeted with the same monotonous nighttime landscape. He stands in a field of corn stubble, a dull crimson moon overhead. Somewhere off to his right, an emaciated figure lies crumpled on the ground. As he draws near, Johnny can see that the figure is still alive; it cradles something protectively in its arms. Kneeling, he reaches toward the wretch.
Reb: Hey, are you all --?
With a gasp of surprise, he draws back. The figure turns unseeing eyes on him, and a slow smile spreads across the time-beaten face. A low, mocking chuckle issues from the wretched figure's throat. It's that chuckle Johnny finally recognizes as Brian Greene; or, to be specific, the alien doppelganger who kidnapped and impersonated the prominent physicist for over a year, back when Johnny's troubles with Oblivion had begun.
Now the disjointed jigsaw pieces fall into place. There had never been just one operative; there had been two -- the hidden and the revealed. Now it all makes sense. When he had failed to obtain the Omega Paradox -- thanks in large part of Bill Nye the Science Guy -- Greene had set the next part of his plan in motion. Even as they had escorted him offworld to face justice administered by powers nearly as high as the Timekeeper himself, the contingency had gone into effect. It was Reb's return to reality that set the wheels back into motion.
Greene: Yes... you do understand. Now you see it was inevitable. Now you know. We waited... and waited... And all around us, Time shifted; Reality altered.
Reb: But you were banished, exiled to...
Greene: Right here. Exiled, yes... but my physical existence only. It is not easy to project a thoughtform from here. Still, project I did, and the Oblivion Entity was only all too eager to play along. And now...
The ragged thing that used to be Brian Greene casts aside a tattered robe to reveal the object clutched to his sunken chest.
Johnny's eyes widen in surprise.
Reb: You stole the Bell! But how?
Greene: You helped, Johnny Reb. All that was required was a simple incantation and a blood sacrifice. The blood... of a time traveler, who, by his very nature, is a living paradox. What? Did you think Oblivion's little party in the slaughterhouse was simple revenge?
He laughs openly at the look of befuddlement on Reb's face.
Greene: You should thank me. He wanted to tear your throat out and feed your corpse to his Vixens. I suggested the alternative. The Gateway opened, and for a time, I was free. But free only to track down the Bell. Timekeeper was clever; he took it from the Rock and hid it in your reality. I was so long in finding it, I almost despaired.
Johnny fidgets nervously. The last time he'd encountered Greene, the man -- alien -- hadn't been quite so conversational. He's killing time, Johnny realizes belatedly. Until...what?
Reb: You put Oblivion on me just so you could gain access to my reality and steal the Timekeeper's Bell? What the fuck for?
Greene: Oh, how I would love to tell you... but the dark master would pull out my vitals one at a time if I ruined the surprise. For you, however, Johnny Reb -- I think I can offer you a few spoilers....
Nearly too late, the Inveterate One senses something moving in the semi-darkness. Several somethings, and big. They tower over the two like ancient trees; moving with inexorable purpose. Johnny can't make out many details, though for that he is grateful. The things close in, nearer with each breath Reb takes. He barely has time to make a decision; with the speed only a lifetime of training can impart, he grabs for Greene -- and the Bell.
Before Johnny's fingers so much as brush the golden metal, Greene's emaciated form is engulfed in a flash of brilliant light; and then he is gone. But the creatures encircling him aren't, and the light doesn't appear to have bothered them one bit. Johnny makes a mad dash back the way he'd come, hoping the things aren't quick enough to shift directions as readily. At the edge of the wall, he tugs the rope frantically.
Meanwhile, appendages of many descriptions reach out of the darkness, grasping at Johnny's clothes, scratching his skin, pulling his hair. He swings a wild fist, which does little to dissuade the creatures. A tightening around his waist goes nearly unnoticed as he is yanked backward and through the barrier again.
This time, it happens in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, Johnny is on his ass on the hard ground, breathing hard, but relatively safe. For the moment. Blood trickles from a fresh scrape along one cheek, likely a souvenir of the encounter. He looks up into the worried face of the Timekeeper, and simply shakes his head.
Reb: I almost had it. But... he escaped.
Timekeeper: Who, Johnny? It's vital! Who escaped?
Reb: Guy who had the Bell, that's who! An' I reckon I know what he means to do with it. If you had a plan B, Timekeeper, this is when we implement it. I'll explain ever'thin' after we get the hell back home.
Refusing to say anything further on the subject, Johnny gets back in the car. The strain of shifting them both back to the proper reality is nearly too much for the Timekeeper. By the time they've returned to the hotel, the elder being is completely unconscious. Johnny looks him over, wondering what he's supposed to do now.
Reb: Damnit all to Hell...
Navigating the Ranchero through the shadow realms is like piloting a submarine through molasses... on Neptune. It is only due to the Timekeeper's presence that Johnny is able to get anywhere at all. The thief had managed it more easily; the Bell was a sort of key, in addition to its other gifts. One in possession of it could slip through timespace as easily as thoughts through a schizophrenic mind. Alone -- or at the head of a vast and mighty force, leading beings that thrive on terror and bloodshed; things best left unimagined, lest the tales of Lovecraft seem as nursery stories in comparison.
These are the notions Johnny turns over in his mind, as relayed to him by the Timekeeper. Oblivion, it occurs to both of them now, was only a harbinger. The Entity had opened a path by which a single creature could emerge from the dark and steal away with one of the most powerful Artefacts in the Multiverse. Absently, his hand turns the wheel, and the Ranchero swerves to miss a half-ethereal thing as it darts across the road.
Reb: Ya do know where we're headin', right? It's damn hard to see anythin' out here.
Timekeeper: The path does not deviate.
Johnny glances at his passenger, not entirely appreciative of the sullen recalcitrance. Beneath the wheels, the pavement continues to arrange itself in a straight line; behind, the road recedes back into the ground, not even a blade of dry grass disturbed in its wake.
Reb: Ok, y'ain't gonna talk, fine. I can talk enough for both of us. So I'm gonna finish what I was sayin' earlier.
The Timekeeper gives a noncommital shrug. On closer inspection, Johnny realizes that his strange companion is a little pale. It isn't only the Timekeeper's power that wanes, he understands suddenly.
Reb: WAR. This is a time that careers are made... and dreams are shattered. Many of us have done this before. Some of us have won. Bobby Cairo comes to mind. The man is a legend. Contrary to what some folks is sayin', he's got years left yet. Nothin' slows him down, an' I got only the greatest of respect. The Force is strong with him. If our paths cross in that ring tomorrow night, it's gonna be spectacular.
Jeff Purse, he's done it before, too. Although, considerin' the odd way he's been actin', hangin' out with a puppet for whatever reason -- I mean, weird. Look, whatever a guy wants to do in the privacy of his own home, that's his business. Don't gotta bring your weird fetish to work; we got enough of that with Logan alone.
Johnny steps on the brakes as the road seems to end at a river; then a bridge builds itself out of free-floating atoms, and the Inveterate Confederate drives on across. He has learned not to question, too much, the odd physics of the between places. Even so, he isn't comfortable until he's on apparently stable land once more.
Reb: This is one of the best WAR lineups I've seen in my entire career. Jonny Fly, Corey Black -- both excellent competitors, both men I respect an' have worked with in the past. Respect goes a longer way with me than with other people 'round here. But respect don't always mean you stay outta someone's path. Sometimes you show respect by not pullin' any punches -- an' I never do.
Speakin' of respect... two of the men I've most respected durin' my career -- an' both of whom I've recently taken on one-on-one -- have taken off on strange divergences of their own these last few months. Jayson Price... nobody ever expected integrity, really, an' the way he gets under Lerch's skin, that almost makes up for some of the shitty things he tends to do -- in or out of the ring. An' Steve Orbit... all's I can say is, I hope he pulls his head outta his ass soon.
Now the scenery begins to change. Instead of broad, flat plains, the road is lined with trees. They look remarkably like any other trees, with tall sturdy trunks, spreading branches, and leaves. The difference here is that the foliage is a shiny black and spotted with little broken pustules. Well, that, and the fact that the trees float about three feet off the ground, gnarled roots tangled around a ball of soil. A few tendrils untwine themselves and reach toward the car; Johnny's response is to press down on the accelerator.
Reb: I can't wait until we get the fuck out of here. This place is goddamn creepy. That McMorris, he'd prob'ly like it. I assume. A guy is called Zombie, it's the logical conclusion.
From the passenger seat, the Timekeeper makes a disgruntled sort of sound.
Reb: I know. Lame segue. I'm tryin'. If I don't keep up a steady stream of chatter, this shadow realm is gonna make me lose my mind. Listen, I don't underestimate McMorris. I've seen him wrestle plenty enough to know better. My best bet is to stay outta his reach, an' that is exactly what I plan on doin' unless it becomes unavoidable.
Then there's Gravedigger. Leaner an' meaner, these days. We tangled before, but it was a while back. I don't reckon he even remembers; but I do. I know what he was like when he was slower an' fatter. Guy like me, my best bet is to let someone else deal with him. On t'other hand, when was the last time I followed my own advice? In my estimation, Gravedigger is pretty high up there in terms of threat factor -- top three, at the very least. That makes him one of the first targets, should the opportunity present itself.
Who else ain't I mentioned yet?
The Inveterate One pauses to think. Ahead, the path seems to fork in two opposing directions.
Reb: There's John Gable -- used to be the TV Champion. His delusional ass insisted on calling it the "Cinema Title". That's cute. But cute don't cut it in the WCF, as he should well know.
Timekeeper: Follow the right turning.
The Timekeeper's complexion has taken on a more ruddy look; they must be drawing close. Johnny turns the wheel to the right, and the road builds itself anew. In the rearview mirror, he can just make out the other path, almost entirely enclosed in creeping blackness; he might have refused to go on had the journey taken them that way.
Reb: Oh, and Livewire! Dude thinks I'm a nutcase -- I wish he was here right now, experiencing this. Then we'll see who's crazy. Dude reminds me of a white Jakeem Thunder -- but without the genie living in his pen.
Timekeeper: What? Djinn don't live in pens.
Reb: I know that. Well.. I didn't know so much as I woulda guessed. It's a thing in a comic book. Justice Society.
Timekeeper: You should use caution with comic books. Some of them are highly dangerous.
Reb: Now who's crazy?
Timekeeper: I never said you were.
Reb: Right. Moving on... Ubiquitous as always is JoJo the Dog-Faced Boy, otherwise known as Hyena.
Timekeeper: You should not overlook the mangy one. He, too, has his part to play.
Reb: Yes. His part in WAR is to get eliminated. Hopefully by Omega. That would be fun to see. If it looks like that's about to happen, don't be surprised if I just stop to watch that shit. Getting eliminated myself would be worth it simply to see that.
Johnny hesitates, thinking about that for a moment.
Reb: On second thought, that's why God invented DVR. Who else? Ah! Kilty McHaggis! I mean... Cormack MacNeill. I'm just playin'. Me an' him once had a match an' he come out on top -- that time. Things change, though, an' in a situation where fists an' bodies are flyin' like ... I dunno, some kinda tortured metaphor about rappers in strip clubs makin' it rain. Yeah, that doesn't work. Anyway, point is, a split second can make the difference between vict'ry an' defeat. What happened between us last time ain't likely to happen again. Be like lightnin' strikin' twice.
Same goes for -- whoa!
The Ranchero rolls to a stop as Reb lets off the gas. Ahead, there is no more road. Instead, there is a wall of black smoke, or at least something that looks like smoke. It appears impenetrable at first glance. Johnny wouldn't risk the car in that anyway. He puts it in park and glances at the Timekeeper, who appears more alert and eager than when the journey had begun.
Reb: You ready for this?
Timekeeper: Are you?
Reb: Fuck no. Hand me that rope under your seat.
Wordlessly, the Timekeeper reaches under the seat and passes Johnny a thick coil of climbers' rope. Johnny ties one end around the axle, then loops the other around his waist. With instructions to the Timekeeper to feed the rope out incrementally, Johnny approaches the wall of blackness.
Reb: Remember...when I pull on it three times, it means I'm done. You start reelin' me back in. Otherwise, I reckon this could be a one-way trip.
He looks at the wall, then back at the Timekeeper, and gives a flippant salute.
Reb: Tally ho!
And he steps into the dark.
The Wall shrieks. It is insubstantial, yet winds buffet Johnny from every direction, tearing at clothes, trying to unknot the rope tied around his waist. Each step forward is a trial. Voices assail him; some whispering, some shouting in words no rational mind could hope to understand. Covering his ears only makes them louder, somehow, so he clings to the rope and concentrates on moving ahead.
After what seems like an eon, and simultaneously a fraction of a second, the barrier vanishes. Johnny's eyes are greeted with the same monotonous nighttime landscape. He stands in a field of corn stubble, a dull crimson moon overhead. Somewhere off to his right, an emaciated figure lies crumpled on the ground. As he draws near, Johnny can see that the figure is still alive; it cradles something protectively in its arms. Kneeling, he reaches toward the wretch.
Reb: Hey, are you all --?
With a gasp of surprise, he draws back. The figure turns unseeing eyes on him, and a slow smile spreads across the time-beaten face. A low, mocking chuckle issues from the wretched figure's throat. It's that chuckle Johnny finally recognizes as Brian Greene; or, to be specific, the alien doppelganger who kidnapped and impersonated the prominent physicist for over a year, back when Johnny's troubles with Oblivion had begun.
Now the disjointed jigsaw pieces fall into place. There had never been just one operative; there had been two -- the hidden and the revealed. Now it all makes sense. When he had failed to obtain the Omega Paradox -- thanks in large part of Bill Nye the Science Guy -- Greene had set the next part of his plan in motion. Even as they had escorted him offworld to face justice administered by powers nearly as high as the Timekeeper himself, the contingency had gone into effect. It was Reb's return to reality that set the wheels back into motion.
Greene: Yes... you do understand. Now you see it was inevitable. Now you know. We waited... and waited... And all around us, Time shifted; Reality altered.
Reb: But you were banished, exiled to...
Greene: Right here. Exiled, yes... but my physical existence only. It is not easy to project a thoughtform from here. Still, project I did, and the Oblivion Entity was only all too eager to play along. And now...
The ragged thing that used to be Brian Greene casts aside a tattered robe to reveal the object clutched to his sunken chest.
Johnny's eyes widen in surprise.
Reb: You stole the Bell! But how?
Greene: You helped, Johnny Reb. All that was required was a simple incantation and a blood sacrifice. The blood... of a time traveler, who, by his very nature, is a living paradox. What? Did you think Oblivion's little party in the slaughterhouse was simple revenge?
He laughs openly at the look of befuddlement on Reb's face.
Greene: You should thank me. He wanted to tear your throat out and feed your corpse to his Vixens. I suggested the alternative. The Gateway opened, and for a time, I was free. But free only to track down the Bell. Timekeeper was clever; he took it from the Rock and hid it in your reality. I was so long in finding it, I almost despaired.
Johnny fidgets nervously. The last time he'd encountered Greene, the man -- alien -- hadn't been quite so conversational. He's killing time, Johnny realizes belatedly. Until...what?
Reb: You put Oblivion on me just so you could gain access to my reality and steal the Timekeeper's Bell? What the fuck for?
Greene: Oh, how I would love to tell you... but the dark master would pull out my vitals one at a time if I ruined the surprise. For you, however, Johnny Reb -- I think I can offer you a few spoilers....
Nearly too late, the Inveterate One senses something moving in the semi-darkness. Several somethings, and big. They tower over the two like ancient trees; moving with inexorable purpose. Johnny can't make out many details, though for that he is grateful. The things close in, nearer with each breath Reb takes. He barely has time to make a decision; with the speed only a lifetime of training can impart, he grabs for Greene -- and the Bell.
Before Johnny's fingers so much as brush the golden metal, Greene's emaciated form is engulfed in a flash of brilliant light; and then he is gone. But the creatures encircling him aren't, and the light doesn't appear to have bothered them one bit. Johnny makes a mad dash back the way he'd come, hoping the things aren't quick enough to shift directions as readily. At the edge of the wall, he tugs the rope frantically.
Meanwhile, appendages of many descriptions reach out of the darkness, grasping at Johnny's clothes, scratching his skin, pulling his hair. He swings a wild fist, which does little to dissuade the creatures. A tightening around his waist goes nearly unnoticed as he is yanked backward and through the barrier again.
This time, it happens in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, Johnny is on his ass on the hard ground, breathing hard, but relatively safe. For the moment. Blood trickles from a fresh scrape along one cheek, likely a souvenir of the encounter. He looks up into the worried face of the Timekeeper, and simply shakes his head.
Reb: I almost had it. But... he escaped.
Timekeeper: Who, Johnny? It's vital! Who escaped?
Reb: Guy who had the Bell, that's who! An' I reckon I know what he means to do with it. If you had a plan B, Timekeeper, this is when we implement it. I'll explain ever'thin' after we get the hell back home.
Refusing to say anything further on the subject, Johnny gets back in the car. The strain of shifting them both back to the proper reality is nearly too much for the Timekeeper. By the time they've returned to the hotel, the elder being is completely unconscious. Johnny looks him over, wondering what he's supposed to do now.
Reb: Damnit all to Hell...
