Another short chapter, but I felt this really needed a break between it and the introduction of the next character. Let me be clear right now. This is a time travel story following along the same physics as Donnie Darko, but with obvious changes. I've gotten a few nice reviews, and I appreciate them deeply, but I wanna be sure that people know what they're signing up for.

Chapter Two: Midnight Lullaby

Dream of West Virginia, or of the British Isles

'Cause when you are dreaming, you see for miles and miles.

When you are much older, remember when we sat

At midnight on the windowsill, and had this little chat

And dream,

Come on and dream,

Come on and dream,

And dream, and dream...

He was standing in a library. He could not see where the expansive building ended; the forest shelves extended into shadows. A heavy, old silence filled the space, and Erik feared he would breathe too loudly and disturb the secrets kept here.

Drip.

He froze. The quiet drip came again, and he realized that it was very close to him. On the third drop, Erik looked down. He was mildly surprised to see that his hands were still bleeding, leaving sparkling spots of crimson against the stark white marble of the library floor. I was looking for a book, he realized suddenly. Ignoring the state of his hands, he began to walk down the rows of hundreds of leather-bound tomes. What was it?

He passed through row after row listening to the rhythmic 'drip, drip, drip' of his bleeding hands leaving a trail behind him. He scanned the titles as he strode, hopeing that one of them would jog his memory.

Erik was about to turn another corner when a hooded figure stepped out in front of him; he stopped suddenly in surprise and regarded him or her warily. Face hidden in shadow, the specter held out its pale hand to him.

"You're hurt," it said softly; its inhuman voice coming from every where and no where in the same instant. "Give me your hands," it ordered. Bewildered by the crackling energy that simmered in the creature's almost feminine voice, Erik did not move.

"Are you a demon?" he asked after a moment.

It didn't move, "Do you know what the difference is between an angel and a demon?"

"One is good and the other is evil," Erik answered simply.

"And what are those concepts, but a matter of perspective?"

He had no answer for that. The figure remained motionless, its hand still held out waiting for his. Erik took a deep breath and held out his bleeding hands to the spector.

Its arms became a blur of motion as it began to bandage his wounds. The pain was replaced with the figure's cool, feather light touches. "You are owed an apology," it said suddenly.

He frowned, "Why?"

"Your involvement was not," Erik could have sworn that the spector hesitated, "calculated; the original equation is no longer valid."

"What do you mean?"

The figure released his hands and raised its head slightly, giving Erik the impression that it was looking him in the eyes. "Do you believe in...time travel?"

"Do I believe in what?"

The spector ignored him, "Trust her." It turned and pointed to the figure of a woman moving through the shadowy aisles about a hundred yards away; Erik tried to see her features, but could not. The figure was gone when he looked back.

None of this makes sense, he thought staring at his neatly bandaged hands. The mysterious woman was steadily moving further away, and Erik did not want to lose her.

He had only walked a few steps when he heard a voice speak nearby, "I still don't believe that I'm not dreaming." It was clearly a woman's, and she was speaking in the most atrocious English Erik had ever heard. He glanced around but could not find the owner.

"I think the fact that we've both got bruises, proves that neither of us is dreaming. We need to figure out what to do about him; I still think we should've gone to the hospital." Another woman answered in the same ugly, flat accent.

A throbbing began behind Erik's temples; the shadows of the dark room pressed in against him. What's going on? He glanced up suddenly and realized that the woman he had been trying to pursue had disappeared.

The first woman spoke again; this time next to his ear. She was speaking quickly and a deep measure of sarcasm to her voice.

"Right, good plan because the hospital loves it when you show up with a bloody mess of a man and tell them that he spontaneously appeared in front of us, but we're pretty sure that he's The Phantom of the Opera. Jessie, go home."

Erik pressed his hands to his face in an effort to keep the strange, disturbing words away. Everything's so dark, what's going on? I don't understand!

Darkness overwhelmed him.

Nobody likes you. Everybody left you. They're all out without you, having fun!

To be continued...

Constructive criticism is exceptionally helpful, and very much appreciated. I hope, Gentle Reader, that you stick with me on this.