Chapter 5! We're finally getting back on track.I have a better understanding of where I'm going with this and feel confident about moving forward. Whoo!

- Inky

Amy was an absolute angel, Joey decided as she read through her emails. Old documents, photos, diary entries as old as 400 years had been unearthed between the two of them, but this? This took the cake.

Kirsty was coming downstairs. Joey looked up from the computer just as she hit "send" on the email she'd been writing. The young woman looked much better than yesterday; the fear that had lingered over her in that hospital room seemed far away and forgotten. Kirsty looked up at Joey and gave a small smile.

"Hi."

"Hey. I made coffee, didn't know how you like it. There's milk and sugar." She was sitting at the small table with her own cup and her laptop, and Kirsty walked over with her arms folded over her chest.

"Thanks," she said, grabbing the little paper cup of milk and pouring it all into her mug. She took a sip and her shoulders relaxed. She gave a small hum. "I missed coffee."

"None at the hospital?"

"None," Kirsty said, and took another drink. She smiled wider, and for the first time since meeting the girl, Joey believed this was a teenager. She was… 18? That was what Joey remembered. Kirsty finally sat down. "What's the plan?"

"Well," Joey said, tapping her finger against the screen of her laptop, "I have a ton of documents I've been looking through - a friend of mine is looking for this puzzle box, too."

"Puzzle box?" She looked at Kirsty, and watched those dark eyes widen. She looked from her cup to Joey and used one hand to grab her shoulder. "That's right, it was a black and gold puzzle box! I remember!"

"Yeah, I had that moment last night." Kirsty looked back at her cup, gripping it like a lifeline, and Joey felt herself soften a bit. "It's okay, Kirsty. You just got home. If you want to talk about it, I'll be happy to, but if you don't, that's alright too."

Patience was something learned; she desperately hoped Kirsty might have some better recollection of what she'd seen, seen and couldn't remember, but Joey knew better by now than to push. Amy had called her on that more than once, on her habit to put the story before the people in it, and she was trying to be better.

Maybe she was, because Kirsty relaxed a bit. "Thank you," she said, taking another sip. "I think… I want to. I don't want to wait… I want my dad back."

"Yeah," Joey said, and turned her laptop so Kirsty could see. "So these are all stories from people who have encountered the box, diary entries and things like that. Now, I just emailed a woman who curates old artifacts around this thing - the Lament Configuration - to talk, and I'm hoping to hear back from her by the end of the day. With any luck, she'll at least have a clue what actually happens to the people that open it."

"What actually happens? What do people think will happen?"

"Well…"

"It is a portal to another dimension, of sensation and experience beyond human comprehension."

"You realize you sound like a madman." John struggled with the rope around his wrists. 'No, actually, you are a madman. Why would you want to make another of this thing?"

"Because it is our bloodright." Winter had scars in his face, small puncture wounds that looked uneven and painful and revolting. They were on his hands, too, as he held the sketches to John to see. They were old, unbelievably old. "Our ancestor built the door, but we can expand it, maintain it, control it."

"Do I need to say it again? Madman." The ropes were going to put blisters on his wrists, and he couldn't see them when they were behind his back on the chair he was seated in, because today wasn't already enough like a bad crime thriller, was it? "Why don't you just build it, then?"

"I inherited the vision, and the journals," Winter said, and he finally got those ratty sheets out of John's face and stepped back, "but you inherited the hands. You can create, breathe ideas to life. We need to work together to fulfill our fates." John wasn't comfortable looking at his cousin's scarred face, and glimpsed at his dim surroundings.

They were in a warehouse, all three of them. The girlfriend was leaning against a wall, watching with a rather bored expression when she wasn't typing on her phone. She had dark hair and a pretty face, and her dress must have cost more than Winter had ever owned in his life.

Clearly, John thought with some bitter amusement, she wasn't dating him for his money.

"What will you do if I say no? Will you keep me down here?" He could probably take out Winter f he got the drop on him; kick his legs out, knee to the jewels, something. The woman he could most likely outrun, largely because she was in heels. "Because nothing about this sounds like a good idea."

Winter looked at the woman, who kicked a box near her with a tarp over it. He heard something muffled, but it was clear the second time, and his veins turned cold.

"Daddy?"

"Jack?" He looked up at Winter. 'That's not Jack, is it? You wouldn't hurt him. You wouldn't."

"We need you, John," Winter said, and John looked at the box.

He didn't believe. He didn't believe because believing was too terrible to consider.

"...Okay," he said, shoulders sagging. 'I'll do it."

The woman smiled, and put her phone away as she started walking to Winter. She was by his side with a few clicks of her heels against concrete. "I'm going to head out," she said, kissing his cheek with dark lips, "shall I take care of this while I'm out?"

"Of course," Winter said, and she walked back to the box and lifted a small lever underneath. John watched as it was wheeled away, out of his sight.

"I love you, Jack!" He called, "Stay safe with Mom!" He would be at the next game when this didn't work and he got free, he promised himself. He would.

"Let's not waste any time waiting for her to get back, then."

"Where's she going? She's going to let go of Jack, right? What's she going out for?" Was his son going to be okay?

Winter said nothing at first. He simply walked around him, and a knife cut through John's binds, leaving a small mark on the back of his hand.

"Just getting one more piece."