Chapter Seven

A singular sun, blazing and burnt orange as it crawled into the cloudless sky, threw such warm light on the fallow farmland at its feet that everything seemed to steam, making the air feel thick with humidity. Ezra winced at this sight, finding that its simplistic beauty still paled in comparison to the Outer Zone's sunrises, even after almost thirty annuals of living on this side. As he stared ahead, he let his mind wander aimlessly, letting the pieces fall where they would inside his head while he chewed absently at the unlit cigar resting in the crook of his mouth.

"You ever gonna light that thing, or what?" a deep voice rumbled behind him.

Ezra kicked a pebble with his boot as he turned from this sight to glance at his old partner. A smirk formed on his weathered face as he turned, and this could only be seen past his greying mustache for the cigar being removed from his lips at the same time. His blue eyes twinkled with mirth, and he raised the hand still holding the cheroot to his Stetson to tip it up, letting the sunlight cast its rays on his face while he studied his friend.

"Tryin' to stay young, Elijah," Ezra's guttural voice answered back sardonically, and he sighed as he leaned back on the hood of his suburban, "Can't go lettin' my old partner make me look like an ancient, ya know."

Agent Thomas scoffed and shook his head, letting his otherwise serious expression lighten while they were relatively alone. As his gaze fell on the ground, he glanced at the cell phone in his hand, and he stowed it away in his pocket before he rested his elbows on the vehicle next to his friend. "Called it in. Got permission to run the case."

Ezra nodded silently, and the pair both glanced down the line of the truck, parked alongside the road, to another vehicle parked just meters away. "Much obliged, Elijah. Twister aside, my department doesn't have the manpower for this kinda thing. Got my hands full as it is."

Elijah shrugged. "KBI would'a had to take it anyway. Registered owner of the vehicle wasn't from this county."

Thomas pushed away from the vehicle then and stretched out his back while he let go of a long, weary yawn. His crisp, white shirt seemed to strain with him while he pulled his body to its limit, at which point he dropped his arms at his sides, making them slap his pant legs loudly when he'd completed his yawn. The look on his face when he opened his eyes once more was both determined and resigned, for he'd stumbled on yet another missing person case, but unlike the others, this was one person he was almost certain he wouldn't find. Despite knowing this, Elijah ambled over to the seemingly abandoned car with a studied expression all the same. Ezra followed, his eyes reading with a similar, seasoned expression, and the pair cautiously approached the vehicle as if they were afraid to spook it.

The golden toned, late model foreign compact was worn like a favorite pair of shoes. Although there were several nicks in its old paint, the surface was clean, and the tires were new. Apart from this, although the driver's side door had been left open, the interior itself showed no real signs of abandonment, for within, the interior itself was clean and free of debris, and the driver's cellular phone was still plugged into the charger as if he'd intended to return. Really, if it hadn't been for the appearance of a travel storm no more than a few hundred yards away, this vehicle and its driver might have gone unnoticed, and neither Thomas nor Ezra would have found anything suspicious about it. It had to have been extremely late when the driver pulled off the road, and given the remote location, he might not have had a more convenient place to rest if the need arose quickly. A fallow field in the middle of nowhere was as good a place as any, really, except he'd apparently walked into a travel storm on the way to the bathroom, it seemed.

"You find out anything else 'bout this owner?" Ezra asked curiously while he rubbed his chin.

Thomas crouched down on the ground before the open door and peered around the gravel at the base of the car, looking for anything out of the ordinary. "Yeah, he's just a college kid, mama lives over in Hoxie. Probably headed home for the weekend or somethin'. No priors or nuthin'. Kid's as clean as a whistle."

Ezra's puzzled frown deepened. "Don't think I'd like callin' his ma, myself. Whatcha gonna tell her?"

Thomas pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, and while he opened it, he replied in a grumble. "Not much I can say. Sure ain't gonna tell her that her son hopped a ride to the OZ." He paused while he extracted the phone and its charger from the vehicle and spoke only after dropping the items into the bag. "Gonna have to tell her that we don't know where he is, and we're workin' the case, same as any other."

Thomas raised himself up to full height and pulled his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket. As he worked to open them and slide them on his face while still holding the bag, he looked around, noting the extreme lack of civilization around them. No streetlights, no houses, and the town of Hilltop was at least ten miles away.

"How did you see the travel storm, Ezra? It musta been dark as death out here a few hours ago." Thomas asked curiously.

Ezra didn't miss a beat when he answered, "Lightning. Lit up the sky. Made it hard to miss."

Thomas frowned. Something wasn't adding up and he couldn't wrap his head around it. "You said it came and went twice?"

Ezra hummed an affirmative while he nodded his head. "Seems like whoever it was brought that storm didn't want to stay for the welcoming committee."

Then it hit Thomas square in the face; it wasn't that the boy didn't see the twister. It was more likely that the twister appeared after he'd pulled over. He returned then to his study of the car, and he searched the interior for any more clues about the driver. The interior was too neat for such a young man – most young men lived in a rat's nest of debris on a good day – it was almost certain that they weren't seeing the whole picture. He huffed to himself, knowing that there was one place they hadn't checked, and he depressed the trunk latch before he swung around again to face Ezra. He was already marching to the back of the car when he replied, sounding a bit like Sherlock for the excited manner of his tone, "It's more like the committee was already here."

Ezra followed Thomas around to the back of the vehicle and watched with interest as the trunk was pushed open by his partner. Thomas kept a hand on the trunk lid while he gazed down into the compartment, smirking with a small sense of grim satisfaction at finally discovering the truth about their missing motorist. Within the cramped space, littered among the usual trunk inhabitants; jack stand, spare tire, and jumper cables, were numerous empty bottles. Soda cans, water bottles, and more than a few beer bottles all told a story of a standard American kid, hiding his habits so the world wouldn't see. Front and center was a half empty bottle of vodka, which told him what he needed to know about the motorist's possible mental state at the time he'd pulled the car off the road.

Thomas held the bottle up in the light, and he huffed at it while he continued to study it. "For all we know, this kid had been sittin' here for a little while when that storm came up. Sure as shit didn't get here during or after it. Probably woulda gone the other way if he'd seen it, and he definitely wouldn't have pulled over for it."

Ezra studied that bottle too, and he swung back around to the front of the car suddenly, as if he didn't want to miss the picture playing out in his head. His face was focused so closely on that open driver's door, and he pointed a weathered finger at it when he spoke slowly and thoughtfully. "I think he tried to. I mean, look. He didn't get a chance to get his phone, but he grabbed his keys at least, and booked it outta this car as quick as he could. Didn't even try to shut his door. Probably runnin' like his life depended on it."

Thomas joined his friend in his study at the side of the car, focusing his attention on the gravel beneath it. The ground was too rough and packed, and too disturbed by a combination of their footprints and the driver's to distinguish anything real, and so he carefully walked past Ezra and the car, studying the ground as he went. While the gravel continued to yield next to nothing, it wasn't long before he'd reached the edge of the field where the twister had appeared. The ground here was soft and wet from the numerous summer storms that had been pushing through these parts lately and was much more telling than the ground now behind him.

Ezra watched with passive interest as his former trainee edged carefully into the high grass, hardly minding the dress shoes and pressed suit slacks he was wearing. The man seemed more wary of something on the ground and was so cautious about disturbing whatever it was that when he reappeared a few minutes later, his feet were caked in thick, dark mud. There was a nearly eager look on his face when he reappeared at the edge of the high grass, and he paused to kick some of the dirt away from his feet when he came out to stand on the gravel again.

"Only one set of prints. They weren't comin' either. They were goin,' and straight to that travel storm by the looks of it." Thomas puffed out.

Ezra ambled over to him; his own expression puzzled. When he was within steps of his partner, he rumbled quietly as if someone might hear them, "You mean to tell me that he simply walked into a travel storm?"

Thomas shook his head. "I don't know, Ezra. Don't make no sense, but I didn't see nuthin' other than one pair of feet on that ground back there. Like something drew him out into that field."

Ezra winced at the sun still rising while he considered the potential scenarios, but none seemed to add up. What was worse, knowing what he knew about the state of the Zone now, he couldn't imagine many other people besides the Gales themselves being able to call a storm like that in the first place. This wasn't their way, and no matter how hard he tried as a result, he just couldn't make the scenarios work inside his head.

It was in that moment, while the men stood puzzling on the gravel beside the dark asphalt that a tow truck finally pulled up, and they were both forced to table their conversation about the Zone. The old flatbed creaked as it pulled off the asphalt and onto the gravel just ahead of the compact car, and the driver's door groaned when its driver got out.

"Mornin' Sheriff," the old tow truck driver hollered out in a friendly manner, pulling on a pair of work gloves as he shuffled over to them.

"Hey Jimmy," Ezra rumbled back, and he put his thumbs in the belt loops of his brown uniform when the man came near, expecting a friendly conversation to ensue.

Thomas stood by and let Ezra handle their newcomer, passively watching the scene unfold, and knowing instinctively that the men had a long rapport with the other. It wasn't just their familiar forms of address that gave away the long years of knowing each other; it was the manner in which the old driver came up on the conversation, like he was a natural part of it. What was more, the man had a salty manner about him, as if he came up from the ground beneath their feet, very much like Ezra himself. From here, the similarities ended; the man was older than Ezra by at least fifteen years, and he looked to have at least a few days' worth of shadow on his face, while his coveralls were stained with motor oil as if he'd just come out from underneath a vehicle to get there.

Jimmy only barely noted Thomas by tilting the brim of his baseball cap down in greeting, and he returned his attention to Ezra and asked leisurely, "Welp, did ya' find your driver?"

Ezra shook his head and sighed, "No, 'fraid not. Agent Thomas here's gonna have to take over. No sign of the owner. Must'a abandoned the car."

Jimmy withdrew a toothpick from his pocket, and placed it in his mouth, answering back while he chewed on it, "Huh, that's odd." He paused to huff thoughtfully, and then turned to Thomas, "You want me to take the car inta town, Agent Thomas?"

Thomas nodded, answering kindly, "I'd be obliged, Jimmy."

With that, the old man tilted his hat again and turned to the vehicle in question, not stopping at all now while he worked on getting the car secured on the flatbed. The other men sat by in utter silence while he worked, watching the small car as it was easily pulled up into the bed of the truck. When Jimmy had finished, he turned and waved to the men, and was gone just as quickly as he'd come. With the car and its tow truck driver gone, it hardly seemed that the men had any other reason to stand out on the side of the road, and they both expelled tired sighs as they turned in parting.

Ezra jutted his hand out when he turned, and his voice was gravely when he spoke. "Well, I'll let ya know if I see any more rogue storms."

Thomas took Ezra's hand and shook it firmly. "I'll keep my phone on." Ezra nodded then and began to walk towards the driver's side of his car. Thomas too had begun to walk back to his own car, and he paused, still feeling instinctively that something was off. "Be careful, Ezra. I don't think we're dealin' with one of the Gales."

"No, don't suppose we are, none of these storms are really their speed, and not a single one has touched down anywhere near the old homestead." Ezra called back, and they waved to each other as the man called out in closing, "See ya down the old road, partner."

"Likewise, old timer," Thomas called back before climbing in his own car.

With that, Ezra's suburban, plastered with the word "Sheriff" in gold letters along its side, swung around his sedan and climbed out onto the road, following in the same direction that Jimmy had gone just a few minutes ago. From his rear-view mirror, Thomas watched as the back of Ezra's vehicle got smaller and smaller, until it was finally just a dot on the road behind him. As he allowed this time to pass, he was passively aware of the hairs on the back of his arms tingling, as if warning him that something wasn't right. He allowed his memory to replay the entire sequence of events for a moment longer, until he suddenly reached forward to grasp his phone, and hit speed-dial before he dropped it down on the cradle and pulled the car into drive. The car's speakers only announced the ring of the phone once while Thomas was pulling the car onto the asphalt, and by the time he'd begun driving away, Ezra had already picked up, sounding almost unsurprised by Elijah's call.

"Took you a little longer to come up with somethin' this time. You're gettin' slower in your old age," Ezra answered with little fanfare and a great deal of humor.

Thomas ignored Ezra's ribbing and replied instead, "You talked about the travel storms like there had been more than one recently. What did you mean?"

Ezra audibly yawned before he answered easily, "There's been a few twisters already this summer, and only one has had anything to do with the weather. Didn't have any visitors on account of them though, so I just chalked them up to rogue storms. Didn't think much about it until today."

Thomas frowned deeply, and in his mind, he considered that small town sheriffing had dulled his friend's instincts somewhat. "Well, I don't think we can assume anything anymore, partner."

There was an incoherent grumble on the other end of the line, and Thomas considered that his friend might have come to the same conclusion, and he answered shortly, "Don't reckon so either."

It was enough, and Thomas replied in closing, "keep me posted, Ezra, I'll do the same."

"Yup, be safe old friend," Ezra replied.

"Yeah," Thomas replied shortly, letting the phone go dead when Ezra hung up on the other end.

Thomas continued to let his mind wander on the topic of the travel storms, and his prior conclusion as to Ezra's dulled senses seemed to widen somewhat to include himself the longer he considered. Instead of replaying only the last twelve hours, his mind went further back, and the image of the weathervane, resting silently on his bookcase came to mind. He had just about stopped looking at that hunk of metal years ago, when it went conspicuously quiet. He had thought his friends had given up on him, and so he had moved on with his own life, and silently nursed a pain that he was reluctant to address aloud. Even if he had no intention of returning to the OZ, he still considered the people he left behind as family, and not hearing a single word from them had felt like a betrayal. Even knowing what Matthew had foretold, he still couldn't accept that things had probably gone very wrong in the OZ. If he recognized that very real probability, he would have to accept that he'd been absent during his family's greatest time of need. This opinion so prevailed that he almost intentionally ignored the weathervane, and the feelings of guilt it brought up within him.

Now knowing that his logic had been flawed, necessity overruled his prior insistence to ignore the signals, and he labored internally to recall the times his sister had called him, frantic with worry over the haunted old farm implement squeaking away in his office. He had demonstrated a stubborn unwillingness to address Lesedi's concerns on this matter in the past, like an overtired kid refusing to go to bed when he was clearly exhausted. Now that he was willing to listen, this prior obstinance haunted him, and he frowned deeply while he continued to pilot the vehicle back south to Wichita.

Ordinarily, after being in the field, Thomas would return to the office, where he would put in at least a few hours of desk time. This was a special case though, and despite the lack of evidence that he could put on paper, a certain urgent instinct cried out within him, telling him to forgo his usual patterns. So instead of pulling into the station, his car soon swung into the drive of his own house. It was unsurprising to find Lesedi sitting on the porch when he arrived; this was something she did frequently in the warm months, claiming that the heat did a great deal for her old bones. Besides this, there was a look of appraisal on her face, as if she was expecting him. She'd dressed when he was gone, forgoing her usual house coat and hair wrap for the uniform of her profession. Her tight black curls were crowned with a silk scarf of royal purple, tied neatly around the circumference of her head, and she accentuated this with a pair of golden hoops that were nearly the size of his hands and glistened in the sunlight like beacons. A matching shawl was wrapped around her shoulders and obscured most of her azure blue dress while she sat rocking on the porch, and she pulled this tightly like she was cold, despite it being nearly ninety degrees already.

Thomas huffed to himself as he shifted the car into park, his eyes downcast and avoiding his sister's gaze. This look of hers was so akin to their mother's, reminding him of all the laser-sighted grannies of their lineage, and it never failed to unnerve him. Lesedi and their mother were only a sampling of the long line of seers in the family, of course, and when he was young, his grandmother and aunties had been equal in their ability to read him like book. Since he seldom saw them, living with the circus, the times he had come into contact with his extended family had been both magical and unsettling. For there was little he could get past these women, and they were among the few people he knew that could shake him with a no more than a look. Since Lesdi's face read with a similarly patented "I told you so" expression, he was certain he wouldn't be getting off easy when he asked her about the weathervane, but it hardly mattered: he needed to know. Thomas sighed, and his body felt heavier than usual when he climbed out of the car, knowing Lesedi's accusatory voice would ring out the moment his head popped out from the driver's side of the vehicle.

"You come to eat crow, little brother?" She called out, her voice nearly as deep as his, but hoarse from prolonged bouts of coughing.

Thomas shook his head and smiled while he strolled slowly around the front of the car, and he sighed in resignation as he climbed the steps to sit next to her in the matching rocking chair. "You gonna say it now, or after I ask?"

Thomas' chocolate brown eyes glimmered at his sister, daring her not to smile. Lesedi was just as tough as Thomas though, and for most people, her look of sternness would remain despite any effort to relax her. This was her beloved little brother though, and in truth, she was really only poking at him. "Shoot," Lesedi answered with false indignity, and she paused to chuckle while she smacked his knee playfully. "Don't do much tellin' these days. Least you could do is let a woman have it, every so often. Let her know she hasn't lost her touch yet."

Thomas leaned back in the chair, and he pushed it backwards while he stared up at the planked roof above them. "It's not you that's lost your touch, Lesi, that would be me." Lesedi was quiet now, and he glanced at her to see her eyes warm and understanding on him while he spoke. It made it easier for the man to talk to her, knowing she wouldn't find fault with him, so with another heavy sigh, he explained. "I should'a listened to you, and I'm sorry."

"I guess I don't gotta say it then, huh?" Lesedi noted gently.

Thomas shook his head. "No," he replied in a deep rumble, "no you don't."

The pair rocked in unison, and a comfortable silence passed between them, all while they gazed passively out at the street beyond their little yard. Anyone else would have found it uncanny that Lesedi would somehow know what Elijah was going to ask, but this was so common to him that he rarely even flinched or acknowledged her gift outright. He merely accepted her as she was, in much the same way that she did him. She'd never once asked about where he'd been for all those years – or why he'd finally returned for good, carrying that odd weathervane with him like a precious babe.

This being the case, Thomas could not let time pass much longer before he finally spit it out, and he stopped rocking suddenly when he'd decided to ask, turning to face his sister as he did. "Lesi, can you recall the times that weathervane has gone haywire in the last few months?"

Lesedi kept rocking and her eyes remained shut all the while as she considered her answer. "Uh huh, sho can," she finally replied, and she stopped then to produce a slip of paper from within the folds of her shawl. She held it out for Elijah to take, and she held onto it for a moment when he tried to take it, her eyes open and focused on his while she spoke. "This ain't like a few years past when that dark-haired girl came walkin' into my dreams, Elijah. Somethin' been settin' that thing off lately that ain't made of light like her. This one's dark, brother, and he gotta eye for trouble. You watch ya self."

Elijah held her focused gaze for a moment, testing her resolve with his own similar intensity. Predictably, Lesedi's sincerity did not appear to falter, and he nodded silently to signal his understanding. Knowing that Lesedi was completely in earnest, and that her visions were seldom wrong, a chill passed over Elijah, and he worried internally about his friends on the other side. Ahamo and Lavender weren't practiced at this kind of thing anymore, he was certain, and his most recent knowledge of DG and Cain began and ended with whatever Ezra had been able to tell him, and the sparse details he'd picked up during his own brief encounters with the younger Tin Man. Beyond the few stories he'd heard, he had no way of knowing if they could handle whatever this new threat was, and he worried that they'd get crossways with it before he could help. It was a hard thing, feeling fear course through him as if he were a kid again, and this too heightened his survival instinct to such a point that he felt as if he was being toyed with. This unsettling feeling forced him to break eye contact with his sister then, and instead, he focused on the slip of paper she'd released to him. The small scrap had a set of dates scrawled out neatly in different colors of ink, like Lesedi had written them down on the day they'd occurred; and she had just been waiting for him to ask for it. This gave the man a sense of purpose that overruled his apprehension, and he soon left his sister to return to work, his own laser sights now focused on figuring out what kind of wicked creature was behind the travel storms.

There wasn't much for Thomas to go on, apart from those dates that Lesedi provided, and the only other link he might use drew him back to his missing person. "If there are other missing persons, maybe I can link them together somehow, get a bead on this," he muttered to himself as he drove back to the station.

The sun was high overhead when he pulled into the parking lot, and the sparse number of cars here told him that many were still either out for lunch or in the field. This was fortunate, for he had little use for chatting on a good day, and even less reason to do so now, when his case was one so secretive that he doubted he'd be able to report anything he found at all, save to Ezra. The lack of people gave him an easy path to his desk, and when he sat down, he quickly turned on the computer, eager to hunt down any other missing person cases that coincided with the dates his sister had provided.

It didn't take long, and although he experienced a brief wave of satisfaction for confirming his suspicion, the knowledge that there were several more missing persons potentially linked to these travel storms gave him an increased sense of purpose. Thomas made a brief outline of each missing person: they were all young men of varying races and backgrounds. Really, the only link between them was their gender and age range, giving Elijah not much more than the sense of foreboding that had already followed him into the building. This was hardly enough to go on and couldn't tell him very much about the traveler's motives, he thought in frustration, and he frantically pulled at the threads of the case, hoping something would break loose and strike him.

In a fit of exasperation, Elijah widened his search, including not only missing persons in his date cross-reference, but any persons of interest found near a twister. "If I could just get one witness," he muttered to himself, hoping for some break.

This was a wide search, and it caused the computer to chew longer, only increasing the man's sense of impatience. The results it did pull up were less than helpful, however, and he groaned in frustration. Most of the people on this list didn't fit the established pattern; they were either too young or too old, and frequently, they were the ones who called in the storm in the first place, acting as a concerned citizen in the event that someone got hurt on account of the twister's unexpected arrival. The one exception to this rule was a solitary dementia patient, who was found not far from a travel storm, wandering and confused. The man barely even knew his name, much less where he was, and so when he couldn't be readily identified, he had been institutionalized as a means of protecting him. Although Elijah took note of the man, it was only a formality to him, since this man hardly fit his pattern. He was staying in a hospital on Elijah's route to Hilltop, however, so it wouldn't be an inconvenience if he was to decide to stop and follow up on it in person.

Elijah sighed with this thought, not relishing the phone call he knew he'd have to make next. His jaw hardened then as he stretched out to grasp the telephone handset, and he punched in the numbers he'd left flashing on his computer screen, preparing himself mentally for what he knew would be a difficult call. The phone seemed to ring indefinitely, and Elijah's discomfort only grew with each innocuous ring. Then finally, a voice cut through the drone of rings, and Elijah visibly straightened.

"Hello?" A feminine voice answered, sounding somewhat worried.

Elijah cleared his voice in an involuntary manner before he spoke. "Is this Jennifer Hansen?" He asked with extra formality.

"Yes," the woman replied, implied question in her voice.

"Ma'am, this is Agent Thomas of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation. I wanted to speak with you about your son, James."

"My son?" she fired back in increasing concern, "Is something wrong? Was there an accident at the school?"

"No ma'am. We found your son's car abandoned last night, outside the town of Hilltop." Thomas answered back.

There was a brief pause while the woman undoubtedly considered the information he'd provided, and she answered back in uncertainty. "Hilltop? Why would he stop there? He doesn't know anyone there. I just don't understand. Are you sure it's him? I can give you his cell phone number if you want to call him. Maybe someone stole his car."

Thomas held a sigh. He'd thought of all of this, of course, and he knew better, but telling this woman wouldn't help. Not now. "No ma'am. I don't need his cell phone number, but if you hear from him, could you have him reach out to me?"

"Yes, of course. I have your number here on my caller id. Is this the number he should call?" She replied.

"Yes ma'am." Thomas answered, "This is my direct line."

"Agent," Mrs. Hansen exclaimed, afraid he was hanging up, and "Do you think something happened to him?"

Thomas didn't hold a sigh this time, and he answered in as much earnestness as he could. "I'll tell it to you straight, ma'am. We don't know. Your son's cell phone was in the car when it was found, and whoever abandoned the car did it in a hurry. The car itself isn't in bad shape, and we didn't find any evidence that it had either been stolen or anyone had been hurt. We just can't find the driver. It's possible that your son, or whoever was driving his car, hitched a ride, but I don't think he'd leave his cell phone behind if that's the case."

"James wouldn't hitchhike, and he's never let anyone borrow his car either. Worked too hard to get it." Mrs. Hansen offered kindly, and with each word, her voice carried more and more sobriety and sadness. "It just about had to be Jimmy driving that car. Could you let me know if you find him?"

"Yes ma'am," Thomas answered back, his voice sounding somewhat softened in response to the woman's implied understanding of the situation.

"Thank you, Agent Thomas," Mrs. Hansen replied.

"You're welcome, ma'am," Thomas answered back before he hung up, feeling no more relieved for having had the conversation when he released the handset to the cradle.

Thomas thought about that cell phone, sitting before him on the desktop, and he considered calling some of the numbers in the contact list. Knowing that Jimmy Hansen was most likely somewhere in the OZ right now made this entire process seem like a charade. The superfluous investigation was really only for show, and he knew without a doubt that he would get no satisfaction from anyone he contacted regarding the missing young man. It was unavoidable though, and at least it might yield valuable information in the event that he did somehow manage to get word to the otherside.

Thomas paused in his thought process to glance out the window. As hard as it was to believe, it had been several hours since he'd sat down, and the sun was now drooping on the horizon, its rays looking as stretched and tired as he felt. Whatever he did next, it would have to wait another day, he considered, for the work day was just about over for most, and he would have difficulty obtaining records when no one was on hand to accept his request. It was all so unsatisfying, and with so few results, it hardly seemed appropriate for him to leave for the day. Being such a results-driven person, frustration bubbled up within him, making him feel as if he might explode, and he shut his eyes, hoping that the lack of visual input might assist in stilling his brain, if only for a moment.

It was moments like this that a map would splay itself out within his mind's eye, showing him where he'd been, where he wanted to go, and every point in between. Often, as an investigation progressed over time, branches and sub-branches would split that once-straight line, created by individuals and places that helped Thomas reach the end-goal. Jimmy Hansen's line was still so straight, however, and its only branch worth noting was a weak one at best. Since it was all he had though, it would have to do. Thomas glanced at the watch on his wrist, considering whether or not to call the state hospital in Larned, and deciding rather quickly to table it for tomorrow. It would be a two hour trip to get there in any case, so it hardly seemed worth the bother today.

"Tomorrow then," he muttered to himself while he penned a quick email to his boss, explaining away his need to visit the facility. A displeased frown was on his face all the while, as he ticked off yet another omission that he was forced to make on this case.

Neither time nor rest could ease the displeasure in Thomas' mind, and by the next morning, he was just as cantankerous as he had been the day before. This was, perhaps, due in part to the email flashing across his screen when he arose, informing him that his boss had approved his request to visit Larned. Had Thomas not been anything less than impeccable in the performance of his duties all those years, he might not have been given so much levity now, but as it was, his superiors generally gave him carte blanche. Ordinarily, this would have been a source of pride, but today, it only increased his unease. The cards seemed to be stacking in a certain way, pointing to an old foe that he and Ezra had come across years ago. The age of the missing; the travel storms; Lesedi's warning. It all seemed to indicate the impossible; that Ardat Lilith was on the loose once more. It was chilling thought, and one that he was not prepared to handle yet, especially since he had no way of getting to Ahamo and Lavender, who would need this information, perhaps more than him. His last link in the case was an old, confused man, and he held on to a small hope that he was not confused about one thing; the identity of the person who conjured the twister that he'd been found wandering near.

The hospital staff was not able to tell him much more about the old man than he'd garnered reading case reports at his desk mere days before. He was a John Doe and had neither personal identification nor next of kin looking for anyone fitting his description. Worse still, the man was near catatonic, and what words he did say were a jumbled mess of incoherent statements, or so the hospital staff had claimed as they led Thomas to the sunroom where the man like to spend his time. After the orderly pointed out the old man, he left Thomas alone, standing in the doorway of the great room, where several other patients languished. Thomas took his time approaching, wanting to absorb the image of the man before he became aware of Thomas' presence. Many of the residents either wandered aimlessly about the sunroom or languished on the various pieces of furniture while their vacant eyes roamed in search of something familiar. Thomas' John Doe was part of the former group, and he occupied a seat a table by himself, bathed in bright mid-morning light. Like most of the residents, he appeared elderly, and his pale, wrinkled skin was nearly translucent in the sunlight. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he'd slept in them, and both the sweatpants and t-shirt hung from him as if they belonged to someone much larger than him. Despite his sad state, his vacant expression wasn't quite like his counterparts around him. When the sun was in full force, his expression was relaxed and passive, but when another resident passed in front of his window, the man's eyes would become clear and frightened, like he was afraid of the dark. It was only a momentary flash, since the other resident was already shuffling past, and most people would not have noticed the change in the man, for apart from his eyes, he hardly moved at all. He still hadn't noticed Thomas, or anyone else, in fact, and so the agent decided to approach finally, and hopefully put his mind to rest.

"Hey there," Thomas greeted the man, "you mind if I sit with ya' a spell?"

The man barely noted Thomas' arrival and nodded minutely when Thomas' hand fell on the chair sitting across from him at the small table. Thomas took the man's approval with an air of relief, and he acted as if his feet were in need of a rest. When Thomas sat down then, his stance was equally casual, and he gazed about nonchalantly before he finally returned to his study of the man, who hadn't even glanced at him after his first acknowledgement.

"How'd you get here, old man? You got family comin' ta visit ya soon?" Thomas asked innocently.

The old man's eyes wandered the room in response to Thomas' question, and he mumbled faintly as he did. Thomas thought he heard the man utter the phrase "not old," but since the man could hardly be heard over the din of the room, he could not be certain.

Thomas was generally a patient man, but seeing the old man as he was, he knew he'd have to up the ante if he wanted more clues. If they went on talking like this, they could go a whole day and Thomas would probably get no more than a few words out of the man. He felt almost guilty for doing what he did next, except he knew the result would probably be enough to engage the man where he seemed otherwise unable. He let out another false sigh as he stood, and when he crossed to the window behind the man, he explained casually, "I hope ya' don't mind, but I can't see much with this sun in my face. Think I'll just close these blinds while we chat."

The man became instantly animated and moved so fast that Thomas was himself unprepared. When he'd reached for the blinds, the man's hand was suddenly on his, and his eyes were again completely clear and frightened. He'd stood and turned so fast when he did that, that he'd even surprised the orderlies, who had moved very quickly in Thomas' direction, in order to provide assistance. Thomas waved them off and returned the man's earnest attention, his interest peaked and his face eager.

"You don't want me to close these, do you?" He asked the man quietly.

The man shook his head profusely, and he answered in a firm and almost youthful way, "He'll come like he did before."

Thomas' brow furrowed with concern, and he removed his hand from the blinds then, showing the man that he would comply with both hands raised so he could seem them. "Alright, I get it. We don't want him comin' back, do we?"

The man shook his head and shuffled back to his seat, letting out a relieved breath as he sat. Meanwhile, Thomas continued to stand a minute more, and he wore a puzzled expression on his face while he worked out how to talk to the man. Deciding that there was no other method available, since he'd already played his most obvious card, Thomas took a deep, steadying breath before he crossed back to the table, his face now stern and prepared. He eased himself back into his chair and leaned forward with his elbows on the table when he whispered to the man. "It was night-time when they found you wandering onto the highway. You got away from him, didn't you?"

The fog clouding the man's vision seemed to clear momentarily, and his eyes darted to Thomas' while he nodded slowly. "Couldn't move at first. Didn't want to. Wanted to. Mind twisted like that storm, but I could always run good. Ran track in school. Ran away from home too. Ran from him when he was busy workin' magic," the man explained disjointedly, his eyes darting around him suspiciously all the while.

The man's eyes stopped then and held Thomas' in a way that conveyed his utmost seriousness. It was the kind of look that spoke volumes where words would otherwise fail, and the man held it until Thomas nodded in understanding, at which point he looked away and returned to his passive vacancy. The ancient man seemed to forget that Thomas was there then and began muttered incoherently to himself as he stared off into space, and Thomas watched him closely, wondering whether or not the man's clarity would suddenly return.

"You remember anything else, like your name? Maybe his? Did you get a good look at the fella?" Thomas asked, knowing instinctively that the man would not answer him any longer.

He was right, and the man continued to stare off into space. Thomas wasted no more time, and left shortly thereafter, feeling no more certain than when he'd first arrived at the state hospital. The man had only confirmed what he'd already surmised; that someone from the OZ, a mage, was preying on lone men from the Kansas prairie. Beyond this, there was no way to truly confirm his suspicions, and he suspected that he'd have to do a little more digging once he finally got back to Witchita. Even though it was a long drive, and Thomas found his mind wandering as he piloted across the grasslands, this occupied his attention so wholly that he hardly noticed the passage of time. When he finally sat down at the desk in his quiet little house, he'd cemented in his mind what he had to do next.

His laptop soon made it onto that desktop, and Thomas worked as if possessed, searching for a link between who he now knew to be the first known twister victim, his John Doe, and the latest, Jimmy Hansen. "Guess we're lookin' for a runner," Thomas muttered to himself while he typed words and dates into the search bar on his screen.

It didn't take long, and with the search results, he finally found the link that proved his suspicion. A cold chill ran down his back, the likes of which he hadn't felt since just before that first twister had transported him and Ahamo across worlds all those years ago, and he had to read the headline twice before he was certain. There was no mistaking it, however, for under a recent picture of a healthy-looking young man in a track uniform read the words, "Falling Star: Troubled Family Life for Local Track Star Ends Olympic Dreams." The young man in the picture looked strikingly like the old man, apart from the age differences, and everything in the short article had lined up with the sparse details he'd provided: A young man with an alcoholic father had recently run away from home, and a concerned coach had called the authorities when he didn't return after days without any communication. His disappearance had been a blow to the small town he hailed from, that had little claim to fame beyond the young athletic hopeful who'd been quoted in a local paper as saying that he'd like to go to the Olympics one day. He had been a popular kid overall, but like so many other young kids from small towns, it had been easy for him to fall through the cracks, and he'd disappeared without a trace.

Thomas scanned the article again while a sense of cold dread washed over him, and he paused on the face of that young man, so healthy and young no more than a year ago. Then he compared this youthful image to the old man he'd met today, looking so vacant and lost. As hard as it might have been to believe that this was the same person, his own experience informed his knowledge. Warning bells seemed to be going off in his head as he sat pondering, and one by one, memories came to the surface. He considered that this boy had run despite having been brutally attacked, and like those who'd escaped before him, the manner of his escape had necessitated a change in the hunting pattern of his attacker. Instead of attacking his victims here on this side, he started taking them with him, meaning that there could be several othersiders trapped in the OZ. This thought brought on his most dormant and troubling memories of the OZ, and he shuddered involuntarily.

It could be said that, when someone's mind is in a state of agitation, their bodies often appear just so, and this was certainly the case with Agent Thomas. He stood rather suddenly and crossed to the window then when this old, dormant memory untethered itself from his psyche. So, although he appeared to gaze out the window, apparently studying the dropping summer sun, his mind had become like a time traveler, and he saw a very different sight.

"Willoby," Thomas murmured in remembrance of the last such soul he'd met that had survived such a malady.

Thomas' past knowledge informed him that this wasn't a natural sort of ailment, this rapid aging, and it meant that only one thing was calling those travel storms. He might have confirmed then that this old foe had indeed escaped the unique prison he and Ezra had placed him in so long ago. As it was, this was frustratingly impossible, and he'd have to trust his instinct alone. This only left calling Ezra, who was closer to ground zero, and in more immediate need of Elijah's information. Thomas's jaw hardened as he rapidly came to this conclusion, and he turned to study the weathervane, still silent and unmoving on the bookcase behind him. This was a small consolation, and it only meant that the need was not immediate – but he'd need to call him right away despite this.

Thomas took a steadying breath then, stilling the ever-present impulse to jump into action. He need not rush to Hilltop, he reminded himself; he need only reach for the phone sitting on the desktop and call his partner. The small cellular phone felt like a brick in his hand when he punched in the number, and he imagined it shattering the peace that had been his ordinary existence for the past two plus decades. The phone seemed to ring perpetually, making his prior armistice with his agitation brake irreparably. His free fist curled tightly, and he pressed it into the desktop while he waited for Ezra to pick up, trying with all his might to remain calm. When the man finally did answer, it was difficult not to express a relieved sigh, and his body simultaneously battled between diametrically opposed feelings of relief and urgency.

"Yeap," Ezra answered easily, sounding breathless and distracted.

"Ezra," Thomas exclaimed impatiently, "where you at?"

There was a pause in which Thomas could hear muffled voices, and Ezra finally answered in a strained voice, "Just helpin' a stranded kid change his tire, be on the road in a sec. You alright?"

"Not really, old man, I got some news for you. We need to talk." Thomas replied darkly. He began to say more, except there was a sudden clattering behind him, and he turned abruptly to face the sound.

It was the weathervane, and it spun wildly on its horizontal axis, causing its gears to whistle and whine loudly. Thomas' face grew instantly alarmed, for concurrent with this metallic whirring and clanking, there was a thunderous roar sounding in receiver still in his hand, and he could barely hear Ezra shouting over the din.

"Great Ozma, that son of bitch! It's him, Thomas, you gotta get -" he heard Ezra holler before there was a sudden boom, and the phone went dead.

"EZRA!" Thomas yelled, his eyes wide with fear.

He stared at that phone with eyes still wide in shock a moment more, his mind racing as it flooded with adrenaline. He almost dialed the number again, hoping frantically that the worst had not just happened, except a burst of electricity suddenly burst out of the phone and wrapped itself around the unit, causing Thomas to drop it when it became instantly scalding to the touch. His eyes remained glued to that phone, now smoking on the floor at his feet, and he knew without a doubt that he had to move, for something wicked had indeed come calling, and he was probably now the only Tin Man left standing on this side of the rainbow to answer its challenge.