"The more I learn about the universe, the less convinced I am that there's any sort of benevolent force that has anything to do with it, at all."

- Neil deGrasse Tyson

3:12 p.m

5 days earlier

Without any transport, moving around the city became an unspeakable hassle. Even more so was the unexpected amount of people out on the streets that day, most of which were probably citizen bounty hunters, out looking for Tim on the basis of the wanted posters. That slowed his journey and made moving around more difficult than it should. Though it was not as if the streets were flooded with crowds, the number of roving bands of half dozens was a steep increase from the deserted dystopian-like city before.

Tim darted and slipped out from the alley, his hood up. The trek to the city library having taken a quarter of his day away. He kept his head low as another group of people on the opposite side of the street crossed him. A fowl stench had continued to waft from the drains as it had the whole day. He could have been considered the stench of fear if it was not physically scratching at his throat.

“Stupid detective...” he cursed under his breath, nearing the steps of the library. The pressure of the manhunt the latter placed on him was heavily impacting his ability to move around and investigate.

He walked up to the glass door, which on normal occasions, would automatically slide open. However, that day, it stayed shut. His translucent reflection staring back at him.

“Come on Galloway,” he muttered, pressing his face against the glass to peer inside. “I know you're in there.”

“Actually, I'm out here.”

Tim jumped in surprise as the voice came from behind, turning on his feet and nearly tumbling back into the door.

Just like the time in the prison cell, the man that stood in front of him seemed significantly younger. Howard Galloway looked to be in his early twenties, as if the previous years of his life had just vanished. Wearing a grey trench coat and white inner shirt with fitting blue jeans, he was all but unrecognisable, save for the slight similarity in facial bone structure.

“Mister...Galloway?” Tim greeted questioningly.

“Yes? Yes! That's right, that's me!” the librarian replied, initially confused. “Howard Galloway, librarian!” he struck a dramatic victory pose, as invigorated as his seeming age.

“I'm starting to think you're not just a librarian.”

“Very good, Tim my boy! What else are you getting with that amazing deduction skill of yours?”

“Nothing really, cause I have no idea what you could be. You are literally getting younger by the day and you just popped up behind me,” he said, sure that no one had followed him.

“Bah! Now that's just boring.”

“Listen, Mister Galloway?” he asked, unsure if the new youth the man had found meant their age was now closer and if the suffix would stick. But the older man seemed not to mind. “I need information on something.”

“Oh?” Galloway replied, though his tone gave away that he already somehow knew what Tim wanted to ask. “And what would that be?”

“I'm looking for a girl. Fifteen, maybe eighteen years old tops.”

“That's a very vague description you have there but can't say I've seen many teens round here lately,” he replied playfully. “Have you tried dating websites.”

“In case you haven't noticed, the internet is pretty much down for the count. And she's not from around here. She's dead. Probably for awhile now.”

“And how am I suppose to find a dead girl?” Howard replied sarcastically.

“I was hoping you'd, I don't know, look through the library archives or something. Her death had something to do with a white dress. Maybe she was buried with it. Maybe it was some sort of medical gown. I don't know, but I thought that would be a good place to start.”

“Geez, I'd love to help, but the library's closed.”

Tim cocked a brow at the man, who met his stare with a sly smile. “But you're the librarian. Can't you just, you know, open it?”

“I could. But I won't.”

“Why not?” Tim replied in frustration. He could feel his facial muscles tensing up as anger started to build. The older man's games were starting to annoy him. “And who the hell are you really? Why are you younger? And what's with all this appearing out of nowhere business? And-” a thought came to him that stunned him for a split moment. Intensely, he asked, “Are you the one causing all this?”

With a voice that neared disappointment, Howard replied, “Close kid. But not close enough. I will admit that I know quite a bit about what's happening here, but I am not the one behind it. That knowledge is a mystery, even to me.”

“But you can help me?”

“I can't. It's part of the rule.”

Tim sighed dejectedly, closing his eyes in a quick mediation between his temper and his control. Seething, he replied, “Fuck you, old man. Can you please stop being so fucking cryptic about this? Clay is dead and Stella's next. I really don't have the mood for all this deduction crap.”

“Sorry my boy. But I can't help you this time. You'll have to solve this puzzle yourself.”

Tim threw his hand up in frustration, “What the hell is up with all of you people? You, Oliver, Sister. Everyone thinks I'm some hero that's going to somehow figure all this crap out.”

“But you are. You just don't know it yet.”

“So what am I suppose to do now? You won't let me in. Do I have to break the door with a brick?”

“Please don't do that again,” the man waved off the notion flamboyantly. “Look, I will tell you one thing. I'm not the one who can help you with this. But you do have another ally here that can.”

“What? Stella?” Tim replied hesitantly. “I don't know. She just lost her brother and I don't think what I'm looking for is exactly at the top of her list. Can't you just do a search of the archives here?”

“Sure. Just give me a second,” he stopped moving, rolling his eyes around upwards in thought and replied stoutly, “Nope. Nothing.”

“Don't be a dick.”

“Look, there really isn't anything you're looking for in there. Go to Stella, and just ask her to help. She will be able to find it. I guarantee.”

“How do you know that?” Tim turned away from the man to point to the still closed glass doors of the library. “I mean, just open it up and let's take a look at-” he turned back, but as abruptly as he appeared, Howard Galloway was then nowhere to be seen.

XXX

7:34 p.m

5 days earlier

Stella focused entirely on the photograph she was cleaning. The process was therapeutic, gently cleaning off the soot of the pictures in the tray of cold water gave her a strange clarity and distraction from what had otherwise been days of hectic losses. The old discman she found amongst Joshua's belonging repeated the tracks of classical mix, fighting back the stale smell of the apartment with Beethovens 5th.

“You know, brother,” she said to her lonesome. “You never gave me a chance to say goodbye.”

Despite having skipped both lunch and dinner, she did not feel any hunger. Just a continued numbness throughout her body, as if she had been anaesthetized from physical discomfort.

“If you think about it, it's really my fault. If I didn't get shot by Joseph and forced the detectives to take me with them, you wouldn't have to make that sacrifice. You wouldn't have to save me,” her hands began to shake, beads of tears splashed into the tray of water in front of her. She sobbed, “I miss you so much...”

She felt her body start to ache, her stomach clenched tightly as she full on wept after the long afternoon of solitude. Her nose ran and her eyes held firmly shut in a futile attempt to hold back the tears.

“It hurts...it hurts...” she whimpered. “I'm sorry brother! I'm so sorry!”

Burying her face into her hands, she screamed, Beethoven drowning out her sorrow.