Beyond the Desired Part Two

This is the resolution of the story "Beyond the Desired."

It's a good thing she's small, Brent Johnson thought as he walked along the road heading north. He carried Margaret Agost on his back.
     The girl hadn't moved for several . . . hours. They weren't really hours -- time wasn't passing. Since noon, time had been trapped -- stuck at an event that he didn't fully understand.
     Margaret, the twelve year-old girl on his back, thought that the hidden hour, what she called a period of extra time that only she, the pastor of a Baptist church that carried her now, and a few other people could experience, was caused by the bell Old Lida, which rung high and then low. It was unique. The monster that started to hunt Margaret nearly drove her to insanity, and made her beg Brent to take the bell down.
     Well the bell was down now, just before it would have rung in the noon on a clear, hot Saturday.
     When clocks hit noon time stopped.
     Not really, Brent knew, but close enough. It was just like the hidden hour, but for one difference: time wasn't starting up again.
     And, immediately, green figures appeared, the same that had been getting closer and closer to Margaret during the night. Margaret saw one first and seemed to be in a type of coma. She wouldn't speak or move, and didn't respond to any stimulus, no matter how hard Brent tried.
     He'd dragged her into the church, surrounded by frozen people and figures that he didn't dare look at, for fear that he would go catatonic as well. He'd locked the doors and taken her into one of the inner offices.
     He didn't know what to do. Only the two of them weren't frozen in time. Clouds, electronics, anything that he couldn't move on his own was stuck. The sun hadn't budged. He sat in the office and prayed for Margaret, still bruised from the beating her father had given her a few days earlier, for the people outside the church and -- he didn't know -- perhaps all around the world that were frozen, and finally for himself, for knowledge and courage.
     He sat for a while in the locked room as Margaret lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling without comprehension or, Brent noticed, blinking. He thought about the bell, the hidden hour, the strange things that lingered outside the building, perhaps trying to find their way in.
     During the hidden hour before, Margaret had seen them -- but her brain never let her remember what they were. All she could say was that they scared her enough to keep her up all night, barricading herself in her closet with a bat. From the first hidden hour she'd seen them, each time seeing and forgetting, but knowing that they frightened her.
     Brent had never seen them; no one had. When Margaret came to him and told him about them he believed her, but didn't know what to think. He still didn't, and now he was stuck in a room with a girl that might as well be dead and no one on Earth to help them.
     But, no, he realized. There was another person, the only other remaining person that experienced the hidden hour. The granddaughter of the man that had brought Old Lida from Germany still lived. She was in her eighties at least and living in a senior home twenty miles north of the city. Brent hoped that she could still be reached.
     But how? Phones didn't work -- electronics on the whole were useless, unless they were already on, and even then their outputs couldn't be changed. Digital clocks displayed twelve zero zero in red or green or blue, but never ticked over. Brent guessed that his car would be just as useless. He thought a pedal bike might work, but he didn't know any way to carry Margaret with him unless he strapped her into a seat somehow.
     He dropped the idea. He certainly couldn't leave her lying on the floor in the church, afraid that whatever was outside would find a way in and do whatever it was they intended.
     He found a plastic bag and went to the kitchen of the church, glancing around each corner for only a moment before proceeding. He didn't see anything. There were a few people, frozen in a motion, and the first few times he jumped. Eventually he got to the kitchen and loaded the plastic bag with snacks and bottled water. The refrigerator was interesting; the inner bulb didn't come on when he opened the door, but the interior was just as cold. In fact, he could take his hand in the normal temperature of the kitchen, move it an inch inside the fridge, and feel the powered cold. He took the bag back to the room with Margaret.
     He took off his belt, looked at the plastic bag, and put it back on. He placed Margaret's wrists together and tied the loops of the bag around them, being careful not to cut off the blood flow. The important part was keeping them together. He picked Margaret up and tried to sit her on the desk in the room, but her loose body wasn't cooperative.
     Eventually he got her sitting with her legs off the end, and bent down under her. He turned around and slipped her thin, bruised arms over her head. He stood and gripped her legs. To any observer it would have looked like any other piggy-back ride.
     Brent eased open the door and looked. The hall was empty. He made his way to a north exit of the church and went out.
     The clouds hovered, motionless. The sun hadn't moved. He could see a few frozen people, but nothing else.
     So he set off. Just as the door, unopenable from the outside, closed he remembered his sunglasses. The door clanked shut and he sighed and started walking. He decided that going through open areas was a bad idea, and so he tried to stick to the shadows. The plastic bag tied around Margaret's wrists bounced against his chest, and more than once she threatened to slip off his back. He shifted his grip on her legs and kept moving.

He'd walked for over an hour and gone -- he thought -- at least a few miles. The still sun beat down from its position at high noon.
     Brent was outside the small town of Green Valley now, in the surrounding plains. He wished he had his sunglasses and a hat. He took drinks from the water bottles he brought to keep from fainting.
     He used to run marathons and the like, but he'd stopped doing it with any regularity since getting married and moving to Green Valley. He found the odd fun run to attend every once in a while, but was nowhere as fit as he'd been in seminary. This become painfully clear as he struggled under Margaret's weight in the sun. His legs felt like heated blades and his lungs burned, but he kept moving.
     He worried about the girl. She still hadn't moved since seeing the green things emerging from the shadows and their hidden time. The day had begun hot and felt hotter, though the temperature hadn't changed since the Old Lida had dropped to the ground. Like many other things, the weather was stuck. The worst part, Brent realized, was the lack of wind. If there had been any wind at all, even a small breeze, it would have energized him and dried the sweat off his body.
     He kept walking, sure that to turn back to the town would result in nothing pleasing. The senior home now some-teen miles north was his best bet, especially since that meant getting the girl away from the things in the town.
     He hadn't seen any; for all he knew they were still huddled around the entrance to the church.
     What are they? The pastor asked himself as he trudged alongside the road. People? They can't be, not the way Margaret described them. They seared her brain and shot her full of hot terror, forcing her mind to erase them from memory as soon as she saw them, leaving only the knowledge that they existed and the lingering fear of what remained unseen. They glowed a dark, sick green color, had humanity's approximate form, and only existed -- or could be seen -- during the hidden hour.
     Which was getting closer to becoming the hidden day, at this point. Brent looked up at the sun as he walked. Could they snap it back into its normal motion? If they couldn't would it sit at the top of the world until he died? Would it burn all of its energy before being allowed to fall over the horizon and release this hot land to cool night?
     A verse, out of the final book of the Bible, appeared in the pastor's brain as he walked. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever. Revelation. The verse came just before Jesus' second coming. It was, in fact, the last chapter of the Bible.
     "Are they the dead, walking?" Brent asked himself. Margaret failed to answer. "Is this the end times? Not exactly going in the order we read about," he mused. he shook his head. This was not a biblical event.
     His brain fell into silent prayer as he bent to his task. Hours passed and he felt himself disturbed by light that refused to change. His mind expected it to blend into red and orange and purple and eventually fade down to speckled black -- but it refused.
     But his body began to protest. It was Saturday, the day of rest. He wanted to have his feet up watching a movie or reading or maybe doing chores around the house, eventually sitting at a good meal cooked by his culinary school wife, and then letting the day wind down, heading to bed early to get to the church rested and refreshed, ready to preach.
     Instead, he put on foot in front of the other on a perpetually hot day, walking a marathon with a comatose girl on his back.

It should have been night by the time he saw the senior home. He wasn't sure what time, perhaps eight or nine. He had eaten all of the protein bars and swallowed down most of the bottles of water. He thought maybe he should try to get Grr to swallow water, but didn't know if it was safe.
     The senior home had motion controlled doors, and Brent waved his arms in front of them for an embarrassing amount of time before he realized why they weren't opening. He managed to get his fingers around one of the doors and pry it open; it slid with a moderate amount of resistance. He stepped into the air-conditioned air.
     Sweat drenched him. His shirt was soaked through, especially on his back where Margaret's weight pressed against him. It dripped off his hair and down his fingers. He wobbled toward a water fountain and pressed it futilely. The water bottles were empty and he needed to drink something. He felt dizzy and nearly sick.
     He found the kitchen and made a beeline for the huge refrigerators. Workers, stuck in a dance, filled the place. He found jugs of water and opened one greedily. He drank a few sips and let it settle in his stomach. A few more swallows and he felt better. He shoveled a handful of jello cups, cold sandwiches, and fruit into the bag around Margaret's wrists, and walked out of the kitchen carrying the jug of water.
     He went to the front desk and gingerly moved the attendant, sitting in a rolling chair, away from the counter. He pulled out a book.
     "What was her name?" He asked no one. "Something German. Grunder? I know it starts with Grun."
     He drew his finger down the list of occupants under G. He found it: Theresa Grünhimmel, third floor.
     He looked longingly at the elevators, and headed for the stairs.

"Mrs. Grünhimmel?" Brent asked, knocking on the wooden door to her apartment. "Can you hear me? Are you all right?" He waited for a response. None came. He knocked again. "Mrs. Grünhimmel? Hello?"
     He tried the handle; it turned. Inside was a small sitting room with a few pieces of furniture and a hallway. It was all empty and devoid of life. The lights were off.
     "Mrs. Grünhimmel?" Brent called, looking down the hallway.
     The back room's door was open just a crack, and from within he heard a voice. "Mrs. Grünhimmel?" Brent tapped his knuckles on the door.
     "Come in," a small voice said. Brent pushed open the door and found an old woman lying in her bed, too weak to even support her head.
     Tired as he was, Brent rushed to her side, prying open the jug of water and holding it for Mrs. Grünhimmel to sip from.
     "You're the pastor," the woman said, swallowing painfully. She took more water. "What's happened?"
     "A petition was made to remove Old Lida. Earlier today, just before noon-" Brent looked out the window at the bright sky "-it was removed. Right at noon, when the bell would have rung, the hidden hour happened and it hasn't stopped."
     "The hidden hour?" The woman asked. "You mean Thirteen?"
     Brent watched her look out the window. Thirteen, he repeated to himself. After twelve.
     "That's what I call it, at least. May I have a sandwich?" She pointed at the bag around Margaret's wrists. "The girl?"
     "She calls it the hidden hour. The name sounded good to me," Brent said as he brought out a sandwich and ripped open the package. Mrs. Grünhimmel took it and tore off a piece.
     She had short, sparse gray hair, thin arms, thin everything. She looked like a few more hours without food and she would have withered away.
     "How long have you been in bed?"
     "I don't have the energy to get out much anymore." She gestured at a folded wheelchair in the corner. "I use that when I'm not here. The workers help me eat and exercise. They're so nice." Her dim eyes looked at Margaret, and noticed the bruises and scratches on her body. "Poor thing, what happened to her?"
     Brent drew a chair next to the bed and eased Margaret into it. Her head thunked back and stared at the ceiling. "Her family. They're brutal to her. Her father beats her for any slight; her sisters assault her. She's the odd one out in their family." Brent reflected on what he knew about the Agosts. "They treat her like she's a disease or a parasite."
     "What's her name?" The woman said through her sandwich.
     "Margaret Agost. Her family goes to the church only sporadically. On Sunday she came to me and told me she'd experienced the hidden hour." Brent looked at the woman. "She's had it every night since."
     "God," Mrs. Grünhimmel said, before realizing who stood next to her. "Sorry Father."
     "No Father, Theresa, it's a Baptist church." Theresa nodded. "What's more, she told me she'd seen . . . something. She said that it scared her. She couldn't remember it. Her brain had destroyed the memory of it but left the knowledge that she'd seen it. Every day, just during the hidden hour it got closer and closer to her. Every time she saw it the memory would just destroy itself. Last night she said it was in her room, on the other side of the closet."
     "It was in her closet?"
     "No, she was. It was outside." Brent peeled open a jello cup and swallowed it in nearly one gulp. He offered one to Theresa. "It wanted her." He looked over at the girl. "When the hidden hour happened after we took Old Lida down, dozens of them appeared." He paused, gazing at Margaret's slack face with pity. "I suppose she remembers them now."
     "You didn't see them?"
     Brent shook his head. "No. I saw her fall, grabbed her with my eyes closed, and managed not to see any of them. I . . . " He paused. His body convulsed. "I think one got close. Maybe close enough to touch." He remembered the blasting heat and sickening stench that came off it. "But I turned away. I brought her into the church and then came here."
     "Why would you come here?"
     "You're the only other person alive that can move right now," Brent said. He looked at the small body trapped in the bed. "In a way. Do you know anything about this?"
     "Lord no," she said, digging out the last of her jello cup. "My father never told me anything about monsters or anything like this." She waved her hand at the window and the bright sky that should have been black. "I never heard anything like this from my grandfather, either."
     The pastor leaned forward. "Peter Jillian. Do you know the name?"
     Theresa went pale. "Of course I do. Why bring him into this?"
     "Why do you think he went insane?" Brent asked her. His gaze was drawn toward Margaret.
     "Lord above us. Do you think it was the same things that attacked the girl?"
     "I think it's possible." Brent gave in to his weak legs and dragged another chair next to Margaret's. "Most people who get the hidden hour have something to do with the bell. The only two who didn't are Peter and Margaret. Peter went mad and, his family says, killed himself. What if he didn't?"
     "You mean what if he was killed by whatever made Margaret like this? I can't tell you; I don't know." The woman motioned at the jug of water, and Brent found a cup to pour some into. After that he took a drink of his own. "I'm sorry."
     "It's all right. I wish I could wake her up," the pastor said quietly. "She came to me, trusted me, and now she seems dead."
     "I have nothing to tell you," Theresa said. "I don't know anything about this."
     "I suppose Peter is the one we'd want to talk to," Brent said. He rolled his neck. His muscles throbbed.
     "Will you stay here?" Theresa asked.
     "What?"
     "I need someone to help me into the water closet and eat and that sort of thing. You need rest. What did you do, ride a bicycle?"
     "Walked," Brent said. Theresa gaped. "Electronics don't work. I had to pull the automatic doors open and go up the stairs just to get to you. I couldn't ride a bicycle with Margaret on my back."
     "Then stay here the night." Theresa looked out the window. "You know what I mean. It helps all of us."
     Brent nodded. "Okay."
     "But before you go, I need to tell you something."
     "About what?" Brent asked.
     “Old Lida.”

Grr woke up a few hours later screaming
     Brent had just fallen asleep, after locking every door and window he could and helping Theresa into the bathroom. He laid Margaret out on the couch in the sitting room, ate a little bit of food, and stretched himself from a stuffed armchair to its ottoman. He felt unprepared and undefended, and didn't feel like falling asleep. His body's clock was flipped and spun by the perpetually bright sky.
     He didn't like looking out the window and seeing the blue when there should have been black. It made him dizzy.
     Then, just as he drifted into sleep, Margaret fell off the couch and began to convulse. Brent jumped up too quickly and nearly blacked out trying to get to her. He grabbed her shoulders.
     With speed and fury she spun and lashed out, striking him with a balled fist on the nose. He cried out and dropped her, stumbling backward. She hit the ground and pushed herself against the wall with her feet, tearful eyes searching every dark corner. She rammed against the wall and smacked her head against it, making her yell in pain.
     Brent kneeled next to the couch, pinching his nose shut. He watched the girl bring herself under control and look around. She spotted him.
     "Mr. Johnson?" She asked weakly. He got up and went next to her.
     "Margaret, are you all right? How do you feel?"
     "Hungry," she answered. "And thirsty." She saw the window. The shades were closed but sunlight peeked through the cracks. "Where are we? What time is it?"
     "It's noon on Saturday," Brent answered. "Time hasn't moved since the bell came down. We're in the senior home that Theresa Grünhimmel lives in."
     "Who's she?" Margaret asked, looking around the small room.
     "She's the granddaughter of the man that brought Old Lida to America. I told you about her earlier. She's the only other person that isn't frozen right now." Brent sighed. "But she doesn't know anything about what's happening."
     Margaret didn't say anything. Brent brought out a sandwich fruit, and jello cups. Margaret ate them slowly. She was thinking about something.
     "Margaret." She looked up at him when he spoke. "What happened to you?"
     "I saw it," she said. "I still can't remember what it looks like, though. Even . . . " She trailed off. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. Curled against the wall, she looked like a broken object to Brent. "I dreamed about it."
     "You were in a coma. I couldn't wake you up no matter what I did."
     "Are we safe?" She asked.
     "What?"
     "Are we safe? Can it get in here? How far are we from the bell?"
     "Pretty far. About twenty miles. I don't know if we're safe but I haven't seen any of them since I pulled you into the church."
     Margaret stared at him. "Any of them?" Brent paused, then nodded. The girl put her head back against the wall. Brent saw tears. "I only saw the one."
     Brent didn't know what to do. Margaret rubbed her face up with her hands. Her hands kept moving, smoothing her bangs back. Brent saw the long scratch on her forehead that her sister had given her.
     The young girl was coming apart at the seems. Brent could see it even before Margaret bust into tears, wailing.
     "I can't see them again! I feel like it's going to eat me! It would have eaten me if you hadn't gotten me away from it! I'd rather kill myself then have to see it again!" She cried. Brent rocked back, shocked. "I think I'm going crazy!"
     "Margaret! No!" He knelt down next to her and took her shoulders. At first he thought she was going to hit him again but instead she recoiled, expecting the same thing from him. "Don't say things like that! I promise you, we'll figure out what's going on! One way or the other, we'll fix this!" He poured a cup of water for her and she gulped it down.
     "Margaret." She looked at him, and he looked her eyes with his own. "I want you to promise me that you won't think about doing anything like that. Can you do that?" The girl stayed still, then nodded. Her lip trembled. She wiped her eyes. Brent saw with clarity her youth, her frailty, and her fear. He took her hand. "Pray with me." She looked at him, and then nodded again.

Morning, as Grr's body told her, came. She woke up, still feeling deathly tired and unwilling to shift. The pastor was awake and preparing a breakfast. He was talking to the old woman in the other room. Grr hadn't met her yet.
     After the pastor had promised her, over and over, that he would make sure nothing sneaks in to get her, she'd gone to sleep. It came quickly even with the bright sky, and now her body hated her -- her bruises complained, her stomach shouted, and her brain cried in agony.
     She'd dreamed again, of the something that had nearly drawn her into its grasp. She still -- couldn't -- remember -- it. It was like a burn and sear in her brain. Every time she tried to remember it, she felt a headache drill into her head.
     But she had dreamed about something else, too. She'd dreamed about it when she was unconscious, but didn't realize it at the time. It only made sense after she slept, and . . . facts were presented to her.
     "So you're the one that was screaming last night?" Theresa Grünhimmel said to her when they were introduced.
     "Yeah," Grr said. What kind of woman would she be?
     The woman smiled with thin, bloodless lips. "Well, you've been through a lot. I'm just glad you're all right."
     Grr didn't know how to respond. They ate their jello in silence. When they finished, Grr looked at them. "I think I know what we need to do."

They listened first incredulous, then more accepting as Grr explained.
     "Are you sure?" Brent asked. Grr shrugged. She wasn't, but . . . well, he had spoken directly to her.
     "I can hardly believe it. Do you think we can trust him?" Theresa asked.
     "I think if what happened really did, there's no reason not to," Brent said. "How are you sure that's what he meant, Margaret?" He asked.
     "I didn't until last night when I said I'd rather kill myself, and that I thought I was going to go crazy." She looked at the two of them.
     "Yes. Yes!" Brent said. "Just like what happened to Peter!" Grr nodded. "You're right!
     "So you think that you'll be able to find him? But he's dead!" Theresa said.
     "I think we can," Grr said. "If it really was him that I dreamed about, then I think he'll be there."
     "But where's 'there'?" Theresa asked.
     "Where Peter was before he died. That would be the hospital, most likely, or his house," Brent said. "We'd have to go back to the town. I'm still worn out from yesterday."
     "Well, Margaret's awake now, why don't you take bicycles?" Theresa said. "I'm sure that you could find some around here."
     "That sound like a better idea. If we get backpacks we can take a lot more supplies with us. How does that sound?" Brent asked Grr.
     Grr had ridden a bike on only a few occasions, mostly just play dates with her friends. She remembered wobbling back and forth and crashing to the ground a few times, but brushing off attempts to help her. She wanted to do it for herself. She'd eventually been able to ride in a straight line, but not very quickly.
     "I don't have a bike but I know how to ride one," she said. "I want to do it."
     The pastor smiled. "Good." He looked over at Theresa. "Let's set you up with as much food as we can to make sure you make it through."
     They went down to the kitchens, got all the food they could, and brought it up for her. They also brought up jugs of water, buckets for her to relieve herself into, books, extra blankets and pillows, and propped her wheelchair next to her bed for emergencies.
     "Is there anything else we can do for you?" Brent asked, after they collected everything. Theresa shook her head.
     "This will keep me alive for the time. You two should get going, you have a long distance to go."
     "What if time starts working again?" Grr asked. "Won't people find you with all this stuff and wonder where it came from?"
     Theresa waved a hand and blew air out of her mouth. "I'll say I don't know where it came from and accuse the staff of playing a trick on me. I'll think of something."
     "Okay. Goodbye Mrs. Grünhimmel, pray for us," Brent said.
     "I certainly will. Good luck to you, Brent and Margaret."
     "Grr."
     The pastor and the old woman looked at her. "Excuse me?" Theresa asked.
     "Call me Grr. That's what my friends call me."
     "And why do they call you that, young lady?" Asked the old woman. She tilted her head.
     Grr's heart pounded. "I'm mad."

They found two bikes, a small white bike for Grr and a bigger black one for Brent. They took two backpacks from a pair of frozen people, after Brent wrote a note stating why the backpacks were suddenly missing and who to contact to get them back. He did the same thing for the bikes and the food.
     "I'd rather you wear a helmet," the pastor said as he swung his leg over the seat of his borrowed bike, "but I suppose we can do without. Do you need to practice?"
     Grr nodded. She balanced on her toes, keeping the bike upright. She squeezed her hands around the handlebars tightly. She put a foot on a pedal and pushed, making the bike scoot forward. Sweat sprang out of her forehead and stung the long cut on her forehead, but she kept pedaling. She knew that if she could keep moving she wouldn't fall. The bike swayed and she twisted the handles to keep herself on. It settled under her and she started to move faster. She put pressure on the handle's brakes and squealed to a stop. "I think I'm ready. I haven't done this for a while but I think I remember how."
     The pastor nodded. "Here we go then. Remember what we talked about."
     "Don't look at anything that's shining green. Turn away from it and go as fast as I can." She didn't need to be warned twice -- or even once -- about the creatures that had rendered her unconscious.
     "Right. Be sure to say something if you feel too tired. Right now-" Brent looked around them "-we have plenty of time."
     They started pedaling.
     The day that lasted forever had the same sun, the same clouds, the same windless sky and the same hot air. Brent had to slow down to let Grr catch up, but she started to get a hang of things after a little while. Soon both sweated in the relentless heat.
     They went six miles in the first hour and stopped for a break. Between the town of Green Valley and the area that senior home was in was little more than flat, dry plains, covered in rough, hardy grasses. There were few trees and fewer buildings. They biked along the road that Brent had taken north, and even with time frozen saw a bare few cars. They held people stuck looking forward, or back, or talking to a passenger, or drinking, or picking a nose.
     Sitting in the shade of an eighteen-wheeler they drank water and ate a few snacks. The pastor told Grr not to eat too much or she would get sick, and Grr considered eating a lot anyway -- something she would have done if her mom or dad had told her not to. She put the package of crackers she had in her fingers away, though, when she realized that the pastor had nothing but her interest in mind. They got back on their bikes and kept heading south.
     The next hour their progress slowed. Grr felt tired and hot, and had trouble keeping up with the pastor. Several times he had to slow down to let her catch up, and they stopped after just a few more miles to rest.
     This time they found a gas station off the road to rest at. They were cooling in the cool interior when Grr asked the question that she had been thinking about since starting off.
     "What if we can't get time to start again?" The pastor, chugging water from a bottle, looked down at her. "I mean, what if it's stuck like this?" Grr had to hold her breath. She thought she was going to cry, and the pastor saw it.
     "There will be a way. There must be. Every maze has an exit."
     "But what if there isn't?!" Grr asked forcefully.
     Brent paused and tried to imagine how she felt. All her life she'd been the odd child out, the forgotten, living with a family that didn't love her, none of them. She'd made it to age twelve by the skin of her teeth and who knew how many bruises dealt by her father, unable to get away. She'd spent her entire life convinced that there was no way away from it. Her maze had no exit.
     All she knew was darkness. How to describe the sun to a girl that had never seen light?
     "I'm sorry Grr. I don't know," he said. "I promise you we'll try. I don't want to be stuck like this either. I want to see my wife again. I'll keep trying until I can." He smiled at her. "Will you help me?"
     "Yeah," she said. "I don't have a choice."
     "You do, Grr. You always have a choice. You can decide to accept an injustice or fight against it."
     Yes, there was something. He watched her scowl deepen into -- he hoped -- resolve.
     "Okay," she said at last.

They looked in the hospital.
     The white halls, horror fodder since they'd first been built, echoed with each of their footsteps. They had to weave around the frozen doctors and patients, looking for Peter. They called out his name, feeling foolish and hating the way the name bounced off the walls around them without yielding returns. Brent asked Grr if she was sure they'd be able to find him. Grr was adamant, but didn't know where he would be.
     It was then that Brent remembered hearing Peter died while living with his parents, as they tried to keep him from tipping over the edge, into depthless insanity. He knew where they lived, too; he remembered since learning that Peter had the hidden hour. It was on the other side of town, a distance of a few miles.
     Still tired from the bike ride back to the town, they stopped and rested at Brent's home. His wife was in the middle of loading the dishwasher, and when he saw her he took in a deep breath. Grr thought he was going to say something but he just went to the refrigerator and pulled out food. They ate and left without saying much.
     Grr got better at riding her white bike on their way to town, but it was nothing compared to the skill someone gets after riding for years; she could stay upright and not much more. She took corners slowly and felt nervous about any motion more than going in a straight line.
     Within an hour they pulled up to Peter's house. Grr marveled at the size. It was at least twice as big as hers, with a large green lawn shaded by tall trees. They dropped their bikes on the grass and went to the front door.
     Brent laid light taps on the door. Grr looked around them. There weren't a lot of people on the streets.
     The footsteps on the other side of the door made both of their hearts leap.
     It opened, and there was a young man. He was lean and tall, with long white hair that cast vicious shadows on his face. He looked at Grr and Brent for a moment.
     "What the hell," he said after a moment. "Who the fuck are you people? How are you here?" He squinted his already thin eyes. "Wait. I know you!" He pointed at Brent. "You're the pastor from the baptist church that has the bell! But . . . you're so old!"
     "Brent," Grr said, tugging on his shirt. The pastor looked down at her. "I think that-"
     "Damn! Get inside!" Peter yelled, ushering them into the house. He slammed the door and locked it. It was dark and shaded inside. "Them! They're back for me! What else could I possibly give them?"
     "What did you see, Grr?" Brent asked.
     "I thought I saw green light on a tree," she said. She moved around the pastor. "You're Peter?"
     "Yeah! But who are you two? And why is it light out suddenly, after darkness for so long? Is it frozen time?" He peeked through venetian blinds for a second. "And what are you doing here?"
     "We came here because you appeared in my dreams!" Grr said. "I thought you'd be waiting for us!"
     "Why the hell would I be waiting for you? I don't even know who you are!" The young man shouted. His gaze shifted to Brent. "Pastor, why do you look so old? I saw you less than a year ago!"
     Brent frowned and shook his head. "Peter, you've been dead for twelve years!"
     Peter froze, balancing on his feet. It looked like he was going to fall over. "You're lying."
     Brent looked at Grr, who stood away from the windows. "Grr, what year is it?"
     "Two-thousand thirteen," she said. Peter released a small sound.
     "No! That can't be! I was born in eighty-one! I can't look like this and be thirty-two! I counted the days! It's been just about six months since . . ." he stopped. "Damn it! Damn it! Of course!" He slammed a fist in the wall. "I'm so stupid!"
     "Peter-"
     "I've been living in frozen time all this time! It's the only time I have!"
     "What are you saying?" Brent asked.
     "I know," Grr cut in. "He's only been here one hour of every day since he died!"
     "I didn't die! I never died! I'm only here during frozen time! It's only been six months for me! I can't believe I didn't notice it before!"
     "Peter, what did you think was happening?" Brent asked.
     "I thought I was dead. Or something. I thought that this was Hell. The sky always dark, because it was always midnight, everyone else always frozen, but moving -- they'd be able to move each hour  to me." He paused. "And suddenly, who knows how long ago, the sun's in the sky and it's always bright out!" He looked at them. Grr recognized something in his eyes. "It's been six months since I've seen the sun; now it burns me!"
     He was mad. Grr recognized her own emotions, the ones that threatened to take over her life as she felt the green beings getting closer and closer each night.
     "Peter . . . how did this happen to you?" Brent asked. Grr knew already; she thought that maybe he did too.
     "They got me," Peter whispered. "In the night. Old Lida rang, and frozen time took over, and they scooped out my soul!" He cried. "It took more than one night! In between, during the day, my parents found me whimpering and weak! They thought I'd finally gone over, they couldn't make any sense of what I said! Beings? Fear? Desperation?" He stopped. "They were all words from a mind that was lost to the world," he muttered.
     "The next night they came again, and I remember it." Grr gasped. "I disappeared to the world and became a creature of frozen time. My parents thought that I had escaped when they were asleep and run off, surely dead. I was worse than dead. Trapped!"
     "You remember them?" Grr asked.
     "It's all I can see when I close my eyes."
     Grr noticed, then, that the young man blinked far less than she did.
     "Are you going to tell me what's happened?" Peter asked suddenly. "Why are you here?"
     Brent explained how the petition was drawn to have Old Lida removed, and how it was decided that the bell would be brought down just before noon on a sunny Saturday. Grr explained how, a week before, the hidden hour had come to her for the first time, and how every night the green beings got closer and closer to her, until Friday night when it lurked just outside her closet, trying to find some way in. Peter listened with wide unblinking eyes that drilled down on her.
     Brent told him about the beings appearing around the church at noon, and his escape to Theresa with the catatonic Grr on his back. Grr then explained how someone had told her to find him, that he was awake, that he could help them.
     "I can't help you." Peter laughed. The sudden sound startled Grr. "Help you? I couldn't help myself! Your dreams were only dreams!"
     "I had them after I saw the beings. I was unconscious at the time. You don't have dreams when you're unconscious!"
     "How do you know? Had you ever been unconscious before?" Peter shouted, hunched over her. "How are you to know?"
     "You know what else I saw when I was unconscious?" Grr shouted back, louder. "I saw the green beings! I saw the green beings over and over, trying to get me! The only thing that kept them from getting to me was something that would appear in their way!" She jabbed a finger. "It was you! You kept stopping them! You protected me!" Brent stared. She hadn't told him this. "Every time they got close enough for me to see what they really were you pushed them away! Don't tell me that I could be wrong because I know it was you! And then, just before I woke up, you told me to find you!" Grr crossed her arms. "Here I am! I found you! Now you're telling me that you aren't going to help?! Fuck you! Do you want what happened to you to happen to me?"
     Focused, her fury cut across Peter. He stood firm. Smiling, even. "You've seen them. What could I do? They aren't from this world!"
     "You're already insane," Grr said. Peter twisted his lips. "They shouldn't be able to do anything to you."
     Peter rocked back, laughing, loud and thunderous. "Yes! Of course! I'm already insane so they can't do anything to me! Why didn't I think of it before! Fine! Yes! I am immune! What do you plan to do with that fact? Use me as a shield for the rest of your lives?"
     "Put Old Lida back."
     Grr had been thinking about it all the way back from the senior home; it made as much sense as she could gather. Taking the bell down caused the hidden hour to stretch forever, putting it back up could stop it. In fact Grr thought that-
     "But you wanted it down!" Brent said. "You begged and pleaded!"
     "I thought that it was what caused the hidden hour. Now I think that it was the only thing keeping it so short. When it came down it's gone on and could keep going on forever. If we put it back up maybe it will stop."
     Brent and Peter looked at her. Brent thought it sounded reasonable but Peter rubbed his tongue along his teeth over and over, spinning the facts in circles, through his twisted mind.
     "It doesn't help me," he said finally. "How does this get me my life back?"
     "I . . . " Grr didn't have an answer. There was none. Was this man doomed to the life of a hermit -- with nothing but himself? "I don't know."
     "And you, pastor?" Peter spat out the last word. "Are you going to try to convince me that God wants me to protect this little girl out of the goodness of my heart?" Under his white hair, his eyelids drew together. "The same God that left me in this purgatory. Yes, him."
     Brent's heart pounded. "I would have helped you, Peter. If you had come to me and told me what was happening I could have stayed with you. You knew that the hidden hour happened to me too."
     "And what could you have done?" Peter shouted. "Stuck them with a stake? They never came after you! You knew nothing, just like I did!"
     "You see Margaret?" Brent said, gesturing at the girl. "Her father beat her without mercy because she skipped school to talk to me about what was happening to her! She stands before you whole and alive, willing to work to repair the world when only a few of us have the opportunity!
     "Just the two of you saw the green beings before Old Lida was brought down. I think I know why. Old Lida's distinctive ring; nobody knows why that happens, right?" Peter nodded. "Wrong. Theresa Grünhimmel told me before Grr woke up. She's the granddaughter of the man that brought it from Germany. It's because it's made of iron from two different bells. Extra iron that wasn't used. She said that for some reason nobody can figure that out, but it's true."
     The pastor looked at the other two. "It's extra, cast off extra. Just like the two of you."
     "What does that mean, Pastor?"
     "Peter. You were adopted. Do you know why?"
     "My birth parents couldn't take care of me. My mother was just a girl."
     "Yes. Grr, your family considers you the lowest of them." Grr said nothing. "I can tell. The way they act, the way you act." Brent reached forward and brushed her bangs up, revealing the long scratch from her sister. "It's obvious."
     "They wanted to abort me, but it was dangerous. They had to keep me." Grr looked at the floor. "You're right. I'm extra." The fourth of three children.
     "The bell wasn't wanted," the pastor said. "It was given to Theresa's grandfather and he brought it here to start a new life. It's drawn to those like it. It's drawn to the extra. How many people, even in a little town like this, find themselves unwanted and put aside because of something out of their control?" The pastor shook his head. "Children unloved, women mistreated, men brought low." The light played over his face. "I have ignored them like everyone else."
     "You didn't ignore me!" Grr shouted. "You helped me! You saved my life after the bell was brought down and carried me into the church!" Blood rushed through her veins and she took a chance.
     She hugged the pastor, resting her head against his stomach. She felt his hand on her head, warm. She sniffed. She stepped away from him, feeling embarrassed and hot with emotions, trying not to cry but wanting to. She looked at Peter.
     This young man, twisted by insanity and long darkness, now saw the truth. That he could restore meaning to others' lives -- and so too his own. He clenched his teeth together and took a quick breath. For a brief moment the curtains of madness parted and light shone through. He smiled, and became the man he had been.
     He was not the same man anymore, though, and soon the darkness closed in again. But he remained resolved.
     "What is it we do?" He asked.
     "Old Lida needs to be put back up into the church's tower. It's still attached to the crane," Grr said. A fact occurred to her and the pastor at the same moment.
     "But the crane needs power!" Brent said. "We can't get it back up on its own!"
     "What? Oh, I can help with that." The girl and pastor looked at him. "I've been stuck like this for six months. I broke into the library and read all I could find on electric systems. I figured out how to hot wire things." The two others stared at him, stunned. "It's not really the way they're supposed to work, but I manage. Listen-" He held out his wrist. A watch ticked along defiantly, daring anybody to do something about it. "I've been electrocuted a few times, but I figured I was dead, so why should it matter?"
     Brent nodded, considering this stream of thought good enough. "Then we know what to do. The church is only a few miles from here. Peter . . . do you have a car?"
     The young man shook his head. "Cars are too complicated. Don't worry though, I'll be able to do the crane. I have a bicycle, though. I think that's what you two rolled up in . . ." He looked out the window. After a second he spun and pressed his back against the wall, mouthing get down at them. Brent and Grr knelt down quickly.
     "They're outside! All around the house! You brought them here!"
     "Are you able to do something about it?"
     Peter didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then: "Throw me those sunglasses and hat." Brent followed his pointing finger and found them on the counter. He tossed them to Peter, and the young man donned them. "I haven't seen the sun in months. When it appeared I nearly got fried. Pastor, come over here."
     Brent walked, bent low, over to him. "When I go out the door, shut it, lock it, and don't open it unless it's my voice giving the password."
     "What's the password going to be?"
     Peter thought for a second. "Contraseña."
     "Are you scared?" Grr asked from across the foyer.
     "No. Why would I be scared?"
     "They stole you soul!"
     "They can't exactly steal it again, can they?" Then he had reached up, unlocked the door, thrown it wide, and was gone. Brent slammed it shut and clicked the lock as soon as he was through.
     Immediately a bright green flash blasted through the windows, making Grr scream. They heard a shout. Another flash. A few dead seconds. A third flash. A long, rambling sentence that neither of them understood, with dips and peaks of volume.
     Finally they heard a knock on the door. "Contraseña," a voice from the other side said. Brent unlocked the door and peeked through. He opened it and let Peter in.
     "Okay, they're gone. They can steal a guy's soul but they can't take a fist to the face. The coast is clear. But! There might be more. We'd better go quickly. Let me get my bike."
     He ran into the attached garage and brought a mountain bike back into the foyer. He looked through the window again. "Still gone."
     "Do you know if you killed them?" Grr asked. Peter shook his head.
     "Go on out. If I see any I'll try to intercept them."
     They went onto the lawn and picked up their bikes. Brent pointed in the direction of the church and they started to head towards it. The pastor went first, with Grr trying to stay right behind him and Peter after her.
     Grr felt the pressure of time. They had eternity to get the bell back up, but the green beings wouldn't stay away forever. They needed to get there as quickly as they could.
     But she felt slow and tired; her motions stiff and weak. Pedaling the bike seemed more difficult than before. She thought maybe she was just tired.
     They took too long. Brent wheeled around a corner and stopped suddenly, making himself skid to the ground, arm covering his eyes. The motion surprised Grr and she lost control of her bike. It went around the corner and she fell. She got up with a scrape on her knee and stepped toward the pastor.
     She turned her head from Brent's body, distracted by a light. She saw one of the green beings and had no time to look away before the empty pits it had for eyes locked with her.
     The image burned itself forever into her brain. The being shifted and dribbled like goo but shined like a star. The caverns of its eyes became bottomless pits as she stared and they swallowed her, just as the gaping mouth under them grew to nightmare size over her head, and a wind of rushing terror blew over her body, freezing her cold. Her body moved with incredible speed toward the brightest light she could imagine and it overcame her, growing to become all that there was and all that there ever would be. Cacaphonic grinding filled her ears but she could not shut them, nor her eyes as the white light burned them out and turned them into the infinite pits of the green beings.
     Her body blurred and started to disappear.
     Her head hit something and then she looked up at the blue sky. Brent bent over her with his hands on her shoulders. He shouted something but she only saw his mouth move.
     Thunder cracked in her ears; sounds met there and she heard. "Okay? I tried to warn you-"
     "I'm okay." Grr sat up. Sparkles remained where the green being had been, and Peter stood near there, coming closer.
     She remembered with every chilling detail what had happened to her -- and every moment of her past that she had seen the green beings. The first time under the bell as it rang and the being disappeared, the second time as it rushed at her when she sat on her step, when she had looked into the window and found one staring into her mind, and after the bell was removed and failed to ring and they appeared, all of them, to feast on her -- she could not forget, for all her might.
     But she seemed alive and safe. The pastor picked her up and brushed her off and she got back on her bike, rattled but whole. "We aren't far from the church," he said.
     They reached the church ten minutes later; around it stood the frozen crowd that had gathered -- to them a mere ten minutes ago -- to watch Old Lida be brought down. The bell was still attached to the crane's end. Grr hadn't been able to see it before -- but now she could tell that the bell was not frozen in time as everything else was, but simply sat motionless on the ground. The distinction was as clear as night and day.
     "Peter, are you sure you're able to do this?" Brent asked the young man. Peter nodded small, rapid nods.
     "I can't wait. If only I were sane, then I would have been a dynamite electrical engineer. You two get up there-" he pointed at the bell's tower "-and get ready to attach this thing. Being up there should keep you safe from the green beings," he said to Grr. She nodded, and she and Brent went inside the church.
     Grr felt that the quiet, empty halls should have disturbed her, but they seemed as natural as her own body. Brent led her to the brick chimney that would lead them up to the bell.
     "Why isn't there a rope?" Grr asked. "Shouldn't there be a rope to pull it?"
     "No, it's automated. It goes off at the four scheduled times, and we can make it ring from a special control panel in the sanctuary if we need it to. Deaths and fires and such."
     "People won't like it that it's back up. What if they want to take it down again?"
     The pastor shook his head as they went up the narrow wooden stairs. "I don't know. I'll figure out some way. I won't let them take it down even if it means my life." He stopped for a breath. "If only there could be some way to convince them that this has happened to us. But I can't think of anything."
     "Me either," Grr said.
     "You're going to go home after everything goes back to normal. Your parents won't know what happened; I know they won't believe you if you tell them. I could get on my knees and tell my wife with crossed heart that what I was telling her is true and she might not believe me." They started going up the steps again. "There is one thing."
     "What?" Grr said behind him.
     "People will see that the bell is, without warning, back up where it belongs. Combined with me fighting against its removal . . . somebody has to realize that something's happened beyond their notice."
     Grr nodded silently.
     They got to the top of the tower, and Brent pulled himself into the open belfry. He reached down and helped Grr up.
     Only the four white corner pillars supported the slanted roof that protected the area from the elements. It was larger than Grr thought, about ten feet to a side. She kept her eyes covered until they heard Peter yell that it was safe, and then looked.
     Peter was in the cab of the crane, plunging his fingers into the electric guts of the machine. He had to work around the frozen body of the worker that was in the cab with him. A chorus of vile words floated up to them as he worked.
     It took some time. Peter shouted up that it wasn't the kind of thing he normally worked on; usually it was smaller electronics like his watch. Grr sat on the lip of the belfry, processing the pastor's warnings to be careful with nods.
     The green beings did not appear. It didn't matter. She remembered what it looked like. After seeing it it was like there was nothing else that mattered.
     Finally Peter yelled up that he got it working. To punctuate the statement, the crane's limb shifted, clanking, and hoisted the bell off the ground a foot. "You're going to have to direct me!" The young man yelled. "I can't mess with this thing and see where it's going at the same time!"
     Brent helped him raise the crane up until it was level with the belfry, but they realized that the crane had backed up a number of feet to gain space. Peter angrily got the bell closer and closer to its home by inches at a time, dropping it and extending it to keep it level.
     At long last the bell was in the right position. Brent yelled to keep it steady, and he started to attached it.
     "I think it's going to ring as soon as it's attached," the pastor said. "It's going to be really loud. It's also going to swing back and forth. It'll be safer if you go down." He looked at Grr and smiled. "We did it."
     Grr nodded.
     The pastor turned back to attaching it. He grumbled a string of -- compared to Peter -- mild words to himself.
     He stepped away. The bell hung on its support, tilting freely. The pastor could hear the mechanics starting to wind up. He plugged his ears and turned.
     Grr stood behind him. She hadn't moved.
     "Grr!" Brent shouted as the bell started moving. The arc of the bell drifted away from them. "It's not safe!"
     She shook her head and the bell started to drift toward them, blocking his vision from her just as she said "it doesn't matter." The first thunderous ring shook the air and forced Brent to close his eyes. It died, he opened his eyes, the bell drifted back.
     The second ring sounded and Grr was not there.

In the blink of an eye darkness fell. Old Lida swung, detonating Grr's ears with her call. To Grr no time had passed but she knew that twelve hours had gone by in front of her eyes.
     She went down the steps of the bell tower slowly, serene. Insanity -- as Peter called it -- took the edge away from dynamic change.
     She got to the front entrance of the church and tapped on the door. Brent was there, waiting, with the key. Peter stood behind him with arms crossed. With the door open Grr stepped into the only world she would ever know -- frozen, still, empty.
     Peter said it took the green beings two nights, for her it was just two looks. The first just after Old Lida came down, the second time in the street after crashing her bike. Just two moments – but it was enough. The green being's cavernous interior had swallowed her.
     The pastor bent down. He was sad. "I'm sorry, Grr. I failed."
     Grr didn't respond. Brent bent down until their eyes were level. "I . . . I didn't even think . . ."
     "You didn't have a chance. None of us did. They got me like they got Peter," Grr said. "And then they left."
     The pastor stared at the ground. "What are you going to do?"
     Grr looked at Peter, standing near where the crane had been, earlier that day. "Are they going to leave the bell up?"
     The pastor nodded. "Some people thought it was an act of God, other people thought it was a trick. I told them in no uncertain terms that taking the bell down would mean losing something important, as well as me. I guess I should be glad that people think highly enough of me to permit a bell to keep my around. Grr. What are you going to do?"
     "Peter can beat them, I can beat them," she said. "We can protect others, just like Peter protected me in my dream." Brent stared. "Tell people, Brent. Tell everyone who has problems, or is dealing with something that they can't handle, to come to you." She looked up at the bell, the thing that had drawn her the first night. "They'll come to you -- like I did. We can protect them."
     "Are you sure?" Brent asked. Grr nodded.
     "Nothing else matters now. I-" She continued to stare. The bell swayed. "I told you about the first night? How I felt, just for a moment, that I had worth? That I had meaning?" She brought her head down. "This is it. Maybe if we try we can help other people feel that too, and feel it enough to keep this from happening to them.
     "So, send them to us. Send the extra, the unwanted. Send those that are beyond the desired. We three will take care of our kind." She smiled. The pastor smiled back. "Can you do me a favor?" She asked, suddenly.
     "Of course, yes. What is it?"
     "You've seen what my family's done to me. See that they're punished. maybe it will make other people realize you mean business. They won't ever see me again -- it will be like I died."
     "You want them to feel responsible?" Brent asked, horrified.
     "Yes. I want them to know that if they had treated me fairly, I would be with them. Let everyone know."
     The pastor saw the tint of insanity -- not, perhaps, the same as Peter's, but there -- and nodded.

The pastor stayed with them, and they devised a way to pass the information of unwanted people to the two defenders, a hidden box on the church grounds with names and addresses. The pastor said goodbye, the bell rang, and he disappeared. Another day had passed.
     "Hey kid," Peter asked her. She regarded him. "Why did he call you Grr all the time?"
     "Because I'm mad."