3:34pm

Under a cloudless sky, with the April heat baking unusual warmth into the pavement underfoot, Sheriff Truman felt more unsettled than ever. Clear skies over his town had that effect on him these days. Sunlight brightened dark corners but didn't disinfect them; it showed the cracks and offered no balm to soothe. But above all else, the heavenly blue above mocked them all. He wished for rain, for clouds, for fog and wind through the pines. At least then the environment would match the timbre he felt as he walked the streets.

For the last hour, the only thing running through his mind were Audrey's words. Her offer to help that morning over coffee on the back porch of the Hayward home had come from such a place of purity and had been a relief to him, but when she echoed those sentiments in the department basement it had blindsided him. What had he expected? That he could solicit assistance and then revoke access just like that? From Audrey Horne?

It wasn't that he didn't believe she was capable; that was Albert's stance. Rather, he believed that she might be right, and it terrified him.

Can I allow Audrey to do this? To risk her life on something that could wind up with her possessed like Cooper, or catatonic and sent to a psych ward in another state like Annie?

Do I even have a choice?

Statements from Cooper and Gerard had been taken and compiled on legal pads, one in Hawk's impeccable penmanship, one in Albert's chicken scratch, and Truman held them in his hands, along with a piece of paper on which he'd written every scrap of information known to them as fact since the events of the night before had unfolded in such dramatic fashion.

Now it was time for reinforcements. Without telling them over the phone why he needed them there—Are you not trusting the telephone company now too, Harry? he'd chastised himself before realizing it was probably just prudent not to frighten potential allies with news he could deliver face-to-face, and then he chastised himself for his newfound neuroticism instead—Sheriff Truman had placed four calls in the intervening hours between Audrey's departure and the late afternoon window of time in which he found himself now. Here, in the clearing behind the Sheriff's Department, flanked by Albert and Hawk, the cavalry arrived.

Major Briggs got there first, ambling up the side path with his hat tucked under his arm, admiring the spring air and without a care in the world. He greeted the sheriff and found a tree big enough to support his weight—not a difficult task, considering the forest in which they lived—and leaned against it, eyes cast in wonder at the sky above.

Margaret Lanterman's heavy clogs could be heard on the sidewalk long before she rounded the corner into the clearing. She chewed an unwieldy wad of pitch gum, clutching her log to her chest as she always did. When she saw who had already assembled, she slowed her walk, a mix of suspicion, scorn, and sadness in her eyes. She nodded her hellos and sat at the picnic table.

Doc Hayward clutched his medical bag in one hand, his other arm linked with Sarah Palmer's at his side as he helped her step over the crooked paving stones and onto the uneven grassy field. Will set the bag down on the picnic table and helped Sarah to sit. She seemed unsteady and unwell, paler than usual, and had clearly been crying. Margaret regarded her curiously, but the two women eventually reached across the table to hold hands in greeting. They were the last to arrive.

It was up to them in that moment; this was his team. Hawk with his intellect and wisdom, Albert with his tenacity; Briggs with his knowledge of the White Lodge, and Margaret with her knowledge of the Black. Doctor Hayward had his medical expertise, and Sarah had her visions. And now, with the old chalkboard wheeled out into the fresh air as it had been all those weeks ago, when Tibet and dreams had been the topic of inquiry, he had to be ready to dive in.

Truman stood up, and everyone fell silent.

"Thank you for coming," he said, sounding scratchy and weak. He coughed and tried again. "As you may be aware by now, we're here because something has happened to Agent Cooper."

The expressions they held didn't fade but they were not surprised. It could have been that they didn't understand him; it could have been that they already knew. Truman couldn't tell. He didn't want to know. He just needed their answers.

"He's trapped, isn't he?" Margaret asked.

"I'm afraid so," Truman nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face as he lifted a piece of chalk from the ledge and began transcribing his words from the page onto the blackboard:

Agent Cooper is possessed by BOB

Philip Gerard is possessed by MIKE

Gerard/MIKE are desperate to stop BOB

Audrey Horne has a ring from the Black Lodge.

Audrey and Cooper have been communicating in dreams

Cooper is trapped in the Black Lodge

Audrey is the "chosen one"

"Fear and love open the doors"

Then he wrote down five questions, answering the ones he could and leaving the rest tantalizingly blank:

Who? Agent Cooper-possessed by BOB

What? Need to get him out

Where? The Black Lodge/Glastonbury Grove

When?

How?

"This is what we know," he said, pointing to each bulleted entry on the list; the sharp crack of the chalk on the board echoed into the trees with each strike he made. He stopped at When and How, underlining each word. "These are what we need to figure out."

Every last one of them stared at the board, studying it in silence.

Sarah spoke first, raising her voice only barely; it was as soft as a whisper against the relative loudness of nature and that damned sunshine, and Truman struggled to hear her. "A-Agent Cooper is possessed?"

"Yes," Truman replied. "Yesterday, when we visited, I think you could sense that, couldn't you?"

Her expression was tortured. "I didn't know that's what it meant," she said. "I'm sorry, Sheriff Truman. I could have told you."

He shook his head. "Sarah, it's okay. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. And we're here now, together, to try and fix this. Let's focus on that, okay?" he said.

"Why Audrey?" Major Briggs asked.

Truman turned to face the major; his brows knit together as he searched for the words that could explain the situation delicately and diplomatically. "Agent Cooper and Audrey have a…special bond. They—"

"They were lovers," Margaret announced, with all the tact and elegance of a stampede.

Truman nodded. "In secret."

"I thought everyone knew," Hawk said, and Truman grinned. Of course Hawk would be the one to figure that out…

"My log told me that they love each other very deeply," Margaret replied, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "My log can sense these things."

"He hurt her," Sarah said, pressing two fingers to her forehead, right around the spot where Audrey had been injured. The hair on the back of Truman's neck stood on end. Sarah looked him in the eye. "He hurt her but she is the only one to help him…oh, the poor girl…"

"How do you know she's the only one?" Truman asked.

Sarah's pained expression softened. "I don't know," she admitted. "I just…have a feeling."

Albert scoffed. "This is officially Cloud Cuckoo Land," he whispered with a slow shake of his head. Truman was fairly certain no one heard him, and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for that.

"We need to figure out how to get in," Hawk said. "The last time we could enter the Lodge it was because of the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter. Is there any such event happening in the next few days?"

"That, I don't know," Truman said, turning his attention to the board again. "I was going to have the reference librarian look into it, but—"

Major Briggs cleared his throat. "I may be able to shed some light on this particular area," he said.

Truman yielded the floor. "Go ahead, Major."

The major fixed his stance, rooting himself to the earth before delivering his pronouncement. "A planetary conjunction is the kind of celestial event that is thought to affect tidal forces around the planet," Briggs said. "The oceans rise and fall. Our molten core may go into flux, causing shifts in the mantle and crust that allow forces deep within the earth to expand and come forth. Opening gateways, if you will."

"I can't believe I'm asking this but: are there any planetary conjunctions occurring in the next week?" Albert asked.

Major Briggs nodded. "In a sense, yes there is," he said. "This very night, the moon will pass completely into shadow as the sun, our planet, and our lunar satellite come into perfect alignment with one another." He splayed his fingers and fit them together in front of him. "Into a kind of conjunction."

"The new moon," Margaret said, her voice reverent, turning to address her log. "We know about the new moon."

Truman stood up a little straighter. He didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

Margaret grew silent and morose; Hawk took up the mantle. "It is traditionally a time of dark magic and demonic possessions."

"Well we've got a few of those," Albert said.

Hawk continued. "Fate and fortunes are said to be set depending on the way one views the new moon—whether with your clear eye or through a window, for instance, can change the outcome. It can be a time of powerful new beginnings. Or it can be a harbinger of terrible hardship. It all depends on the variables."

Albert turned around towards the sheriff. "Harry, you can't possibly be considering this for tonight?"

"Our next shot won't be until the full moon, two weeks from now," Briggs said. "That's the next reliable planetary conjunction, anyway. There are more powerful ones, between other planets in our solar system, but they are less frequent. We may end up waiting a long time if we don't seize this opportunity."

"Cooper won't last that long," Truman said. "The haloperidol is wearing fast. Pretty soon, who knows? Maybe it won't even work at all."

Albert jumped in. "There is a gigantic section of the pharmaceutical industry devoted to anti-psychotics, and whole classes of drugs we could try," he said. "Phenothiazines, butyrophenones, tricylic dibenzodiazepines, and those are just the ones that are already patented. There's a slew more in development, and I can have them synthesized in a lab, tailored to his physiology—"

"You cannot keep the Lodge spirits at bay with earthly medicine and expect it to not take a tremendous toll," Margaret said. The weariness in her voice told Truman that she knew what she was talking about; he didn't want to know how.

"Whaddya mean?" Albert asked.

She continued. "The man with one arm will not survive if the spirit he is hosting decides to vacate his body. They have spent too many years together, the demon suppressed. I feel his weakness. There is little left of the man after so long under this spell."

Truman felt his panic rising; Cooper had been suppressing BOB for less than a day, but the power with which BOB was asserting himself could mean anything. Perhaps they didn't have as much time as they thought. "No," he said. "I think all this activity, leading up to the new moon…I think it means something," he said, looking down at his feet. "And I think Audrey has something to do with it, I really do."

"I just told you she does. So did Sarah Palmer," Margaret said, annoyance clipping the edge of her words. "Audrey is the only one."

"No," Albert held up his hands. "Audrey Horne in eighteen years old. She's been targeted and attacked by a demonic…something. If we send her in there, on his turf, what's stopping BOB from overtaking her?" he huffed. "The only place we oughta be sending her is study hall."

"I hear you, Albert," Truman said. "But really—have you got any better ideas?"

The FBI Agent folded his arms across his chest. "One of us goes in instead. With our training, our skillset, we're far better suited to handle whatever comes up than she is."

"Because that helped Agent Cooper so much?" Hawk asked.

"So that's a reason to send an innocent girl into the Twilight Zone? Hm?" Albert grumbled. "Our best-prepared law enforcement agent couldn't do it, so let's send in the cheer team next?"

"Don't do that," Truman scolded with a slow shake of his head. "Audrey's proven she has more mettle in her than any of us thought possible." He added: "Besides, it wasn't that long ago you were prepared to send her in to talk to MIKE, ready to exploit whatever connection she had to this for our own benefit."

"Yeah, with us in the room," Albert said. "Who else is gonna be in the Lodge with her?"

"Agent Cooper will be," Hawk said.

Albert scoffed. "Right. Yeah, the guy who tied her up and left her to die on the side of a mountain. That makes me feel so much better."

"His body, inhabited by an evil Lodge dweller, was the one who did that," Hawk said. "His soul—his true soul—is trying to protect her. It has been all along."

Truman nodded. "The good part of him, the part trapped in the Lodge, is sending her messages in her dreams," he said. "He's doing what he can to shield her from danger across the divide. Can't we assume that he'll do everything he can to help once she's in there with him?"

"I don't think we can assume anything at this point," Albert said. "Look, as the only representative here from the Federal Bureau of Investigations—which, might I remind you, is the government institution ultimately responsible for his well-being—I need to be quite clear that there is no path forward from this juncture without my approval, which you should take as approval from my supervisor Gordon Cole, and from his supervisor, and his, on up the chain of command, right to the very top."

Truman recognized Albert's attempt to pull rank for what it was: the desperate act of a man who'd lost control of the situation he was in and would stop at nothing to reel it back. But the waver in his voice was something new. Albert knew there was no other plan. He may have been skeptical of what was happening, but all that he had seen since arriving in town, and especially over the last twenty-four hours, had begun to chip away at his no-nonsense resolve. He knew this was the only way.

Major Briggs cleared his throat. "If I may interject, as the only other federal employee currently in this discussion."

"By all means," Albert said, less than sincerely.

Major Briggs continued undaunted. "I am told that, on the night of the pageant, I muttered the same words Audrey heard in her dream: Fear and love open the doors. Now, I don't believe the universe is so lazy as to allow for this to be a simple coincidence. We are supposed to pay attention to this."

Truman snapped his fingers. "That's the word—coincidence. Cooper used to talk about coincidence all the time. How it was like…like…"

"'Coincidence is when fate takes over the wheel and points you in the direction you're supposed to go,'" Hawk nodded. "I'm paraphrasing, but that's the gist of it."

Major Briggs took the chalk from Sheriff Truman's hand and circled the phrase Truman had written on the board. "Fear and love open the doors? What better time than to open them under the restorative and cleansing power of a new moon?"

"I can't believe we're seriously discussing this," Albert said. "If this is a time of change and flux, couldn't the pendulum swing the other way? Towards darkness and danger?"

Briggs shook his head. "I do not believe that will be the case. Windom Earle used the fear he planted in Annie's heart to open the door to the Black Lodge. I believe Agent Cooper's own fear—for her safety, for his past and the very real danger in front of him—that fear opened the door for him and it may be what is keeping him there. Fear is not necessarily weakness, but it alone can never lead you on a path to righteousness or safety," he said.

Margaret leaned forward over her log. "Audrey's love for Agent Cooper is wholesome."

Truman shrugged. "How can you know?"

She ran her hand over her log, not at all unlike the way a mother might stroke her child's face. "My log has seen it," she said. "It is pure and virtuous, crystal clear. It is new love, first love, untainted by darkness. If it lights her path, it is the perfect safeguard for the evil that lurks in that shadow place beyond the sycamores."

Albert seemed unimpressed. "'No offense, Log Lady, but this Ouija board wisdom of yours isn't giving me a lot of confidence."

"I cannot offer what I do not have," she replied.

Major Briggs nodded. "I agree with Mrs. Lanterman," he said. "I think the best path forward is to allow Audrey Horne the opportunity to cross the threshold. Armed with the virtue in her soul, the love in her heart, backed by the premonition of one of the Dwellers themselves…"

"And it has to be tonight?" Doc Hayward asked. His sudden intrusion into the conversation was startling; he'd been standing quietly and pensive, not moving, not daring to utter a sound, since the start of their conversation.

Major Briggs nodded. "The moon crosses completely between us and the sun at exactly oh-two-fourteen hours tomorrow morning," he said. "That is when I would prepare to be up there."

Sarah cleared her throat. "The thing I saw yesterday—he is near to us even now? In Agent Cooper?"

Harry nodded. "He's dormant. Hidden behind the haloperidol. He can't hurt anyone."

"Except Agent Cooper," she said. "He's fading. That's why the drugs aren't working, Sheriff Truman. Agent Cooper is giving up."

Fear gripped Truman's heart. He looked around the assembled team, and saw each pair of eyes mirroring his own emotion. Even Albert, for all his bravado, looked genuinely scared at the prospect of stalwart Special Agent Dale Cooper giving in and becoming lost to them in one fell swoop.

None of us can go.

It had to be Audrey. He had never once seen that fear cross her eyes. They had burned with courage and compassion that afternoon as she tended so gently to Agent Cooper; they hadn't clouded with distress; sadness, yes, and anger and frustration, but never her own fear.

This is why she's the one

As if reading his mind, the good doctor stood up straight and tried to collect himself, looking at the board and then back at Truman. "Have you asked Audrey what her plan is? If she's willing to do this?"

Albert cleared his throat. "It was her idea to go in there in the first place," he said.

Doc Hayward allowed himself a small, sad chuckle. "She is stubborn, that one," he said. "Ever since the day she was born. It took us forty-four hours to get her out. Forty-four! Can you imagine?" he asked, his faint laughter trailing off as his shoulders slumped. He was quiet, staring at the ground for a long while before looking back up. "I don't want to bury another child that I brought into this world, Harry. I'm sure you can understand that. But it's not my choice, and neither is it yours. We shouldn't be deciding this here. Not now. Not without her present. It's not fair to her."

Major Briggs nodded in agreement. "We should present the best set of facts we can and let her decide what to do."

"Agreed," Truman offered, while Hawk nodded his assent.

"She will go," Margaret said. "I have no doubt."

Sarah nodded as well. "The poor dear," she whispered.

Albert was less enthused, but still softened his approach with a quiet: "Agreed."

Truman felt the most cautious optimism he'd felt in weeks. He turned to Doc Hayward again. "I suppose Audrey is resting now?"

"She is," Hayward said. "How much time do we have?"

Truman sensed where the doctor was going. "Let her rest. We won't wake her," he said before repeating: "Let her rest."

No one argued against the sound judgment.

Doc Hayward lifted his medical bag from the ground in front of him where he'd put it. "If you don't mind, I'd like to examine both Mr. Gerard and Agent Cooper now before I go."

Truman briefly considered being the one to escort the doctor down to the cells where each man was being quarantined. He lifted his head and opened his mouth to speak but across the lawn, Albert shook his head and silenced him; Hawk, watching the whole interaction, stepped up instead with his own offer of escort.

A weight lifted from Truman's shoulders. For all his gruff posturing, Albert was a remarkably observant individual. Whether he'd known that Truman was exhausted and afraid or whether he had simply guessed that it was true, the sheriff was suddenly and overwhelmingly glad that the FBI had set up camp in his corner Washington State if only for the fact that when he needed someone in his corner over the last six weeks, invariably it had been a J. Edgar he found there.

He'd have to send Gordon a pie, or twelve, in thanks when this was all over.

The crowd began to break up. Truman thanked them for coming and promised to brief them when more information became available, but asked them to stay close by in case they were needed.

Then he stood there, looking at the blackboard, hands on his belt. He didn't hear Albert approaching from behind, or feel him come to stand next to him; only when he spoke did the sheriff's attention turn from the scattered bits of information in front of him.

"I don't like this."

"You think I do?"

"No."

Truman sighed. "It's a damn mess we've got here."

"I suppose we'll have to let the haloperidol wear off first before we try anything," Albert said. "Of course I don't know how long that will be. A regular dose should last hours, and right now we're getting maybe an hour, hour and a half at most. We'll have to keep an eye on him. I don't want BOB taking over until we absolutely need him to."

Truman had to give Albert credit. For a man so dead set against the plan, once it was decided that this was the way forward he had fallen in line quickly.

"I don't know what we're gonna do when we get up there," Truman admitted. "If the curtains appear…" he sighed and looked at his chalkboard and then down at his watch. "We'll need backup for tonight then."

"Want me to call in a few favours?" Albert asked. "Gordon has given me carte blanche to get Coop back. I could have two dozen of the best field agents in the country here in six hours."

Truman scratched his chin as he scanned the board again. "That's mighty generous of you, Albert, and if this were more straightforward, then I'd definitely take you up on it, but this—"

"Yeah," Albert said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I forgot, you've got your own little thing going on up here to deal with this stuff, right?"

Truman turned to the FBI Agent. "I don't follow."

Albert shot the sheriff a look. "Come on, Harry," he said, before drawing his finger down from the corner of his right eyebrow, much to the sheriff's surprise. "Doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

Truman grinned and sighed, arching his eyebrows. "Albert it's not like that, it's—I mean…the Bookhouse Boys were all we had before you and Coop showed up, and it'll be all we have once you fellas roll out of here again. It's—"

Albert raised his hands in defense. "Hey, far be it from me to deny the Mickey Mouse Club their chance to dance naked by the light of the full moon," he said, only half-seriously, before shrugging and folding his arms across his chest. "Or the new moon, whatever."

Truman regarded his friend in astonishment. "If I didn't know any better, Albert, I'd say you were a little put out right now."

Albert's perfectly sardonic reply was tempered by the slight smile at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "Well I didn't exactly mail in all the boxtops either."

Truman's worries eased. "I've got extra decoder rings in the supply room," he said. "It wasn't my intention to be exclusionary, Albert. You're a vital part of this team."

Albert nodded as he looked down at his shoes. "This is your wheelhouse, Harry. I want to help. I want to get Coop back—not just because it's my job but because he's an honest-to-goodness decent guy and there are very few people I can say that about so I'm not gonna sit by to let some demon spirit from the seventh circle of hell take that away from the world," he said. "But I'm not here to get in your way. Honest. And what I said back there, about the FBI and needing my approval—"

Truman sighed. "We're all just a little out of our depth here. Grasping at straws, trying to make sense of all this…"

The two men grew silent. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped as still-cheery but large and imposing cumulus clouds began to drift across the face of the sun high in the sky above their heads. Blessedly, from Truman's perspective at least, a low roll of dark storm clouds had begun pushing in from the west. From the way they'd moved in and from where they were on the horizon, Truman figured they were an hour away still, thundering down over the Columbia River as they made their way over the Okanagan Highlands from the base of the Cascades. He glanced at his watch again. It felt like time was spread over him thick as honey and moving about as fast. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, either.

"You know that's not true, right?" Albert said, breaking his contemplation. "About what'll happen when this is all over?"

"What's that?"

"I mean…whatever this is, whatever lives in those woods…" Albert trailed off, briefly, as he cast his eyes to the treetops. "Whatever it is, you'll never have to face it alone again. You know that, right?"

Truman sighed and nodded, grateful for the support. That's if we succeed tonight. If we can get Cooper back. If there's a way out for any of us anyway.

But he didn't say those things. Instead, he kept his eyes soft as he smiled. "We'll keep a standing reservation for you in the back booth at the Double R."

"Just build me a proper morgue, and we'll talk."

Truman laughed. "Will do, Agent Rosenfield. Will do."