 Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. Welcome Weirdos, I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore, the strange and bizarre, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. Coming up in this episode, we return one final time to the Neverglades. I'm bringing you the last two chapters together, Devour and Fallen Night. This has been one of the most popular series I've narrated here on Weird Darkness and I'm kind of sad to know it's coming to a close in this episode. At least four Weird Darkness. On the plus side, this only concludes the first book of the series. At this moment, there are three other full books of stories taking place in the Neverglades for you to read, which you can find on the author's website at DavidFaroRights.com. I'll place a link to that in the show notes for you. Devour and Fallen Night is the eighth and final entry of this series and if you're new to the Neverglades, you don't want to listen to this episode without listening to the previous entries first, otherwise you are going to be completely lost. So I'll also place a link in the show notes where you can find the entire series on the Weird Darkness website. Also, as this is from a novel, the language and imagery from the original book remain intact for this episode, meaning it'll be a bit coarser language-wise than you are used to hearing from me. If you're new here, welcome to the show. While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, my newsletter, to enter contests, to connect with me on social media. Plus, you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression or dark thoughts. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me to the Neverglades. Two weeks after our great escape from their facility, Marconi and I were investigating Capra at the station when the whole fucking world fell apart. We dug into the organization as far as we could go, and our efforts had turned up zilch, nothing to incriminate them at any rate. For all intents and purposes, the Climate Association for the Pacific Regional Area was a government agency founded in 1985 that regulated water levels and maintained our public parks and forests. That was it. There was nothing anywhere to indicate that they were tearing giant holes in the universe to let in all sorts of beasties. Take a look at this, Marconi said, passing me a newspaper clipping. It was a blurry photograph of a bunch of scientists gathered outside the front gates of Capra headquarters. At the front of the pack was a young Valentina Copel. Her face was smooth and wrinkle-free, her eyes bright behind her glasses. I had to dig this one out of the archives, Marconi said. For some reason, Uncle Sam's climate brigade coming to town didn't exactly make headlines. That's her, isn't it? Yeah, I replied. I wonder if… But a loud, sudden rumble cut me off. A tremor shook the station and almost knocked the two of us off our feet. I grabbed the corner of my desk as a filing cabinet toppled over and went sliding across the room. A computer monitor flipped backward and shattered. Everything had gone slanted, turning the floor of my office into a carnival slide. Marconi reached out and grabbed my arm to keep him slipping. Earthquake! I shouted over the rumble. No shit! She shouted back. But I've never seen one this bad. We clutched to the desk and stayed low as we waited for the quaking stop. It took about five minutes for the tremors to subside completely. Marconi and I shared an uneasy look. The floor was still tilted at an awkward angle, so we had to clamour upward to reach the door and climb into the main lobby. The station was in shambles. There was an enormous crack running through the floor, with desks and chairs sticking up from inside. Dust floated through the air and people were stumbling through the haze, coughing loudly. I heard a choked gasp of pain from up front and hurried toward the source of the noise. Abigail Shannon was lying on the ground, her leg pinned by a fallen rafter. There was a blood-soaked patch on the shin of her pants and a tiny protrusion that could have been a broken bone. Nino Sanchez ran by me and I grabbed him by the arm, get that thing off of her and split her leg, I ordered. I'm going to see if anyone else is injured. His face was pale, but Sanchez nodded and knelt down to lift a piece of tangled metal. I looked around and waved a hand through the air to try and clear the dust. I spotted a few people on the floor and stumbled toward them, but they weren't hurt, only shaken, so I helped them to their feet and continued making the rounds. Most of them were okay. Abigail had suffered a severe injury and even that wasn't life-threatening. I went back and helped Sanchez load her onto a makeshift stretcher. The phone lines were down, along with our cell phones, so we couldn't call for an ambulance. Sanchez and I looked at each other, then picked up the stretcher and pushed through the front doors of the station. We had a few bigger cruisers specifically designed to carry injured passengers. One of those would have to do. Abigail hissed in pain as we carried her outside. We were ten steps into the parking lot when Sanchez stopped dead. I almost tripped and spilled Abigail onto the pavement. What the fuck! I shouted to him, but he wasn't listening. His eyes returned to the sky. The color had utterly drained from his face. I looked up and I understood. There was an enormous tear in the sky, a jagged gash across the clouds that cut off the bottom half of the sun. The edges of the gash glowed a faint purple. Inside was nothing but void. I stared into the emptiness and saw something large and dark, stirring in its depths, and a familiar icy dread rushed through my entire body. Shit! Marconi breathed. She had joined us in the parking lot, and she wasn't staring at the rip in the sky. I looked downward and drew in a sharp intake of breath. The neverglades had turned into a disaster zone. The streets had heaved upward like a ripple in water and frozen and lurching lumpy formations. Trees had fallen on cars and power lines. Houses had collapsed on themselves. Now that I was focused on the world below the rift, I could hear the distant glare of car alarms and people shouting for help. My stomach churned. Ruth, I uttered. At the same second, Marconi said, Genine! I got my shit together long enough to help Sanchez load Abigail into the back of the emergency cruiser. Then I turned to Marconi and yanked the inspector's calling card out of my pocket. I'm going to find my family, I said, handing her the card. I'm sure the inspector already knows what's going on, but if you don't run into him, light that card on fire and he'll come running. I have a feeling we're going to need him soon enough. Marconi took the card and stared at it for a moment. Be careful, Hanigan, she said. This might not be the only quake we get today. If it's even half as bad as the last one, I'll be fine, I said. I could take care of myself, just make sure Genine's okay. She nodded and we both set off to our separate cruisers. Sanchez had already left with a wounded Abigail, so I revved the engine and rolled out of the parking lot. On my right, Marconi's car took a sharp turn and headed down the road toward her house. I pulled into the street and immediately found myself faced with a bump two feet high. The road beyond it didn't look much better. I planted my foot on the gas and flew over the first bump, then the next, my body rattling back and forth inside the vehicle. It was going to be a shaky ride. There was a ton of debris blocking the road, and I had to swerve dangerously to avoid it. At one point I came to a screeching halt when the pavement in front of me suddenly dropped away into a narrow chasm that hadn't been there the day before. I spun the wheel and turned around, searching for a detour. All the while, I had to keep my eyes low, since looking up at the rift made a familiar throbbing pulse behind my eyelids. I wasn't going to be any help to anyone with a splitting migraine, so I focused on the here and now, on Pacific Glade, my town, and shambles. People were emerging from their battered houses, some clutching wounded limbs, others staring in fear up at the void. The ground let out another ominous rumble as something dark and unknowable shifted in all that nothing. Time was running out, I thought. My heart sank when I turned onto my streets and caught the first glimpse of my house or what was left of it. The entire second floor had collapsed in on itself, leaving a mess of broken rafters and chunks of roofing. There was a jagged gash in our front lawn where the ground had split apart. I urged the car to go faster. As I pulled into the driveway, I saw a solitary figure standing in the front yard. Ruth, her deep blue summer dress, whipped around her in the wind. I brought the car to a hasty halt and leaped out of the front seat. Ruth rushed toward me at once, throwing her arms around me. There was a cut on her cheek, but it was barely more than a sliver, and otherwise she seemed to be unhurt. You're safe, she gasped. Oh, thank God you're safe. What about the boys? I asked, letting go reluctantly. Are they okay? Ruth hesitated. Her eyes didn't give away what she was thinking, but the longer the silence went on, the deeper my stomach dropped. Finally, she turned and began walking toward the front steps. She looked back to make sure I was following. Just come inside, honey, was all she said. I climbed the steps after her, feeling a little numb. The inside of our house was just as destroyed as the outside. The refrigerator had toppled over and unleashed a splatter of broken eggs and soupy leftovers. Our kitchen counter had been cleaved straight down the middle. In the living room, the TV lay in a pile of splintered glass. Every picture frame had fallen from the walls and shattered. Stephen was standing by the couch, apparently unharmed, and the sight of him sent such a surge of relief through me that I almost didn't notice Rory. My younger son was laid out on the cushions, his messy hair strewn with pebbly bits of rubble. One hand rested on his chest, the other dangled limply over the edge of the couch. He's sleeping, I told myself. He's just sleeping. But when I reached down to touch Rory's hand, I saw the dent in his forehead, a bloody wound of matted hair and brain matter. His skin was cold. I gripped his hand and felt a heaving sensation in my stomach. Someone was sobbing, and it took a second to realize it was me. We were just playing video games in my room, Stephen said, as if in a days. I went downstairs to grab a snack. If I waited an extra minute or two, I could have… I mean… He couldn't bring himself to finish. His fingers clutched at the arm of the couch, knuckles white. I couldn't see any more. My eyes were too blurred with tears. I tried to wipe them away, but they kept on spilling. Why shouldn't they? My son was gone. Just a few weeks ago, he'd been sitting on that same couch, reading a comic book way past his bedtime. I remembered how world-weary he had looked then. Now he didn't look weary at all, just… small. Footsteps crunched across the rubble. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his roof. She drew close and cupped my face in her hands. Mark, she said. Mark, look at me. I turned my teary eyes to her. The wind from the broken windows caught her hair and sent dust billowing around us. Ruth looked into my eyes and I saw myself reflected in that hardened hazel. Her cheeks were dry, barring the blood from that sliver of a cut. My wife wasn't crying. I had no idea how she managed to hold in so much pain. There's nothing we can do for Rory, she said gently, but there are others who need help right now. Friends, family, neighbors. That earthquake was a big one and people are bound to be hurt. When I said nothing, she leaned forward and placed her forehead against mine. We'll mourn later, she whispered, but for now we have to help where we can. I clutched at her arm. How, I briefed. How could you be so calm when he's… when he's… I couldn't finish the thought. Another sob escaped from my throat. Ruth lifted her head from mine, then looked to Stephen. Her son was staring down at his brother with a profound hollowness in his eyes. One of his hands rested on the couch cushion inches from Rory's blood matted hair. When my father died, Ruth said, I realized that death doesn't pull punches. It could come out of nowhere and knock you clean off your feet. And it's so, so easy to stay knocked down, to give in to loss and anguish. Getting up again is the hardest thing in the world. She turned back to face me. I love our son, she said, and her voice hitched. God, Mark, I love him so much. And I'm absolutely devastated that he's gone, but this isn't the time to stay knocked down. There are people out there who need me more than Rory does. There are other families with kids who can be saved, so I'm going to do whatever I can to save them. I'm not letting death get the last word today. She left me, standing in our blasted living room and retreated to the side hallway. When she returned, she was holding the first aid kit we always kept stashed in the hall closet. Stephen watched her silently as she crossed the room and planted a dry kiss on my lips. I kissed her back. It was deeply sorry when she backed away. I saw what's in the sky, she said. I know this is the kind of thing you and the inspector handle, so I'll leave you to do what you have to do. She reached out and grasped my hand. But Mark, please stay safe. I will, I said. That was the last thing I ever said to my wife, and it was a bald-faced lie. How shitty is that? But it was a lie we'd built our lives around from the beginning. This wasn't a safe world, not even close. If this job had taught us anything, it's that tomorrow was a gift, not a guarantee. So in this crazy, dangerous world, why wouldn't I want to come home to a safe house, a safe family, and nestle safely into bed with the woman I loved? It may have been a lie, but at least it had been a beautiful one. Hey, weirdos, have you signed up for the Weird Darkness email newsletter? It'll keep you up to date on what's happening with the podcast, when our next Weirdo Watch party will take place. You can see when the next sale in the Weird Darkness store is scheduled, and more. Plus, every month I draw one name at random to win free stuff like Weird Darkness merchandise, Weird Dark Roast coffee, or even cold hard cash. Sign up for the Weird Darkness email newsletter for free at WeirdDarkness.com and you'll automatically be in the next drawing. No purchase necessary, see details on what our next giveaway is going to be on the contest page at WeirdDarkness.com and that Marconi outside the Hanging Rock 20 minutes later. The inspector trailed behind her, cigar whispering into the sky in clouds of light blue smoke. I don't think I'd ever seen him so pale, not even when we were working the Wendigo case. His eyes seemed glued to the massive rip above us. It was early, but even at this time of day, the Hanging Rock should have been bustling with mid-afternoon customers. Work weary employees enjoying a drink or two away from their jobs. Not anymore. The Rock had caved in on itself, leaving two sloping halves and a whole ton of splintered rubble. If anyone was left inside, they'd probably been crushed by the debris. Rory's bashed-in forehead floated behind my eyelids and blinked it away furiously. How's Jeanine? I asked. My voice, horse. You'll never believe it, Marconi replied. When the shaking started, she got knocked off her feet and sprained her wrist, breaking her fall. That's it. The house didn't even get too damaged except for a few broken plates. We were lucky. Lucky, I repeated. Yeah. I knew what was coming, and I should have been ready, but it still hurt when Marconi said it. How about you? Is your family okay? I swallowed a painful lump, tried to clear my throat. I looked off toward the wreckage of the Rock, the mounds of wood and stone. I tried to remember what Ruth had said. I'm not letting death be the last word today. Ruth and Stephen are fine, I said quietly. Rory... Rory didn't make it. It took Marconi a moment. She said, Oh, Jesus. Your son, Christ-Mark, are you saying, Rory? He's dead, the inspector said curtly. The words stabbed into me like shards of glass, and I recoiled. God, what a time for the inspector to remind me he wasn't human. He's dead, and he won't be the only one, the inspector went on. The earthquake is bound to have taken a few others. The rift will take the rest. He stared at us with those cold, purple eyes, his cigar tip burning. There's no time to be delicate officers. We're not talking about a few dead bodies here. We're not even talking about a genocide. This is extinction. He lifted his hand and stuck one thin finger into the sky. We looked up, up into the void, and I felt a twinge of pain bloom in my temple. The void wasn't empty. That looming shadow from before was there, and it was bigger now. It's shape vast and dark and unmistakable. It opened its jaws and let out a low moan that sent another tremble through the ground. It's the Leviathan, the inspector said in a hollow voice. The star eater, the all-consuming beast. It only exists to devour. It doesn't care that your world is covered with specks of life. It doesn't care about the Rory's or Janine's. It just plows through the cosmos and swallows world's whole. If it gets through that rift, everything is over. Everything. I saw that thing before, I said, in the purple world. How did it open the rift? It didn't, the inspector said darkly. The Leviathan can't cross universes on its own, which means it had outside help. I cast a sharp look at Marconi. You don't think, I said. She nodded. Capra. I can't fathom why any humans would be so colossally stupid as to welcome in the Leviathan, the inspector said. But I agree with you both. I have a feeling our friends at the facility are responsible for this mess. Something in the wind turned. The sadness inside me shifted through hot and roiling, and suddenly I realized I was angry. Before I had been directionless, I couldn't blame Rory's death on an earthquake or a falling rafter or even a monster from outer space, but I could blame an arrogant scientist who had already proven that she saw human beings as expendable. I could blame Valentina Coupel. I turned abruptly and walked to my cruiser. The ruins of the hanging rock cast a long shadow over me. As I pulled open the driver's door, I ran a hand along the holster on my hip. My thumb brushed the dented metal handle of my pistol. Hanigan? Marconi said. It was a touch of worry in her voice. Come on! I replied, sounding calmer than I felt. We've got a gate to crash. The gate, as it turned out, was already bent into pieces of twisted metal when we arrived. The earthquake had really done a number on Capra HQ. Most of the pavement out front had been split into shards, and the roof of the compound seemed to have heaved in on one side, making the building look like a large creature trying to lop its way out of the lake. Still, there were lights on in the windows. Somebody had apparently thought ahead and built a backup generator. Look, the inspector said, pointing through my windshield. A narrow structure stood on the roof's highest point like a tiny radio tower. A single red beam issued from the tip and ran all the way up the rip above. I picked up the radio and called Marconi's cruiser. You seeing this? I think we found our guys! She crackled back. We parked our cars under the cover of the trees and approached the entrance, weapons drawn. The forest was dark, but the purple glow of the rift revealed the outline of two armed men standing by the mangled remains of the gate. Marconi signaled to me, and we circled around them, keeping our pistols raised. They hadn't seen us yet. For once in my goddamn life, the element of surprise was on our side. One of them shouted, and both looked at their assault rifles. The inspector had appeared in the road in front of them. His eyes were burning like dots of cold fire, and his coat whipped behind him in a sudden gust of wind. The guards prepared to fire, but Marconi and I leapt out of the tree line and got them each in a headlock, making them sputter. One of them pulled the trigger and set a volley of bullets into the air that missed the inspector by miles. It took a bit of flailing, but eventually the man went quiet, their eyes rolling back in their heads. Marconi and I dragged them into the forest and stuffed them behind a fallen log. Do you think anybody inside heard that gunfire? She asked me. Probably, I said. We'd better move fast. The inspector had already strolled over the tangled gate and was approaching the front doors. I noticed a tiny camera on the roof, swivel in its perch, and follow his movements. Angry blood rushed through me, and I placed a bullet in the center of the lens. The camera whipped around with a spray of shattered glass. They got eyes on us, I said. Move! Move! Move! The inspector lifted a hand, and the doors crumpled inward like they'd been turned into cardboard. Another gesture, and they blasted across the inside of the lobby. They struck the golden sea in climate, with a clang that echoed throughout the room. The ensuing crash as they fell to the floor was loud enough to wake the dead. If they didn't know we were coming, they know now, Marconi muttered to me. We followed the inspector indoors. Sure enough, a keening alarm split our eardrums as soon as we crossed the threshold. Red warning lights flashed across the walls. I could hear the sounds of distant yelling and the clomping of heavy boots. Into the labs, I said, We have to find Koppel. To get her to close the rift, Marconi asked. I stared down at the pistol in my hand. The metal felt cold under my fingers. Yeah, I said, something like that. Footsteps were approaching, so we ducked down the same hallways before, and hurried past the locked laboratory doors. The water had washed away, but the aquarium was still empty. Yellow caution tape stretched across the gap in the glass. At one point, we had to stop abruptly and dart down another hall as a swarm of armed guards ran past. The inspector waited for them to disappear, then gestured for us to move. I wasn't sure how we were going to find Valentina, exactly, but then I heard a familiar, breathy laugh, and I skidded to a halt outside another laboratory door. The sign on the front read Quantum Particle Research Lab. Behind the door, a crowd of happy voices laughed and cheered and applauded as somebody gave a victory speech. My blood began to boil. The scientists didn't care that my son had died. They made a major fucking breakthrough, and that was all that mattered. Someone popped a goddamn champagne. I kicked open the door. The scientist, standing at the nearest desk, looked up at me, surprised, but I didn't give him the time to shout for help. I raised my pistol and squeezed the trigger. The powder lit. The bullet rocketed out of the chamber, and the man's head whipped backwards. A puckered red hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He seemed to sway. His lab coat billowing out before his whole body just went limp and collapsed onto the floor. Blood pooled, slow, and sticky onto the tiles. Someone at the back of the room led out a cry of outrage, but the cry turned to a burbled sputter when I turned and plated another bullet in their throat. Chaos erupted. It was a flurry of white lab coats as the scientists ducked behind desks, tables, chairs, wherever they could find cover. I strode around the room and picked them off one by one. They cowered. They screamed. They held up their hands in pitiful protest, but I ignored their pleas. I could feel something dark surging inside of me, something not altogether alien, and I didn't fight it. I let the cold anger fill my veins. There was a ringing in my ears, and it wasn't until I felt a sharp tugging on my arm that I realized Barconi was screaming my name. I continued to unload my gun into the corpse of my feet until the barrel clicked and I was firing empty air. I kept pulling the trigger until a sharp blow on my cheek knocked me against the wall. Barconi had slugged me in the face. Jesus, Hanigan! She shouted, Are you a cough or a fucking psychopath? I dabbed at the blood on my lip, my fingers coming away of vivid red. For a second, Barconi's words started to sink in. Then I heard a clatter from behind me, and I turned to see another figure in a lab coat slipping out the door, her long blond ponytail whipping behind her. Cropal, I seathed. I dodged around Barconi and chased the fleeing scientist who had just enough of a head start. I fumbled for some extra ammo as I ran, slipping it clumsily into the gun. Then I fired three shots at Valentina's retreating back. All three missed, but the last one was only by inches. I saw it rip through the folds of her lab coat before she ducked around the corner and disappeared. I followed her down another hallway just in time to see a door closing about halfway down the corridor. My shoes pounded on the tiles as I ran over to it and yanked it open. It was the same room where she had taken me the last time I was here, or at least it looked awfully similar. All the little details were the same, down to the glass beakers and the microscopes in the large shape in the corner, hidden under a gray blanket. Valentina spun around as she heard me enter. I fired another shot into the wall just above her head. She ducked down and huddled against the blanket in shape. Her tablet clutched in one pale hand. Call for help and I'll put a bullet in your brain. I said, now put the device down and slide it over to me. Valentina did, slowly, keeping her other hand raised. She pushed the tablet across the tiles. I lifted my leg and stomped on the transparent screen. The glass crunched and shattered as I drove my foot into the floor, leaving little piles of glassy dust. Do you have any kids, Dr. Kopel? I asked. She hesitated. A daughter, she said at last. Vanessa. She left the glade at 18 and went to study physics in Chicago. No idea where she went from there. I haven't heard from her in years. This morning, I had two sons. I said, now I only have one. Your little earthquake knocked down our house and bashed his head open. Valentina didn't say a word, which saved her life. If she had offered some insincere apology or started yammering about collateral damage and the greater good, I'd have plugged her between the eyes. She stared up at me, inscrutable as ever behind her glasses. Her hands still lifted intense to surrender. I tightened my grip on my gun. You're thinking I'm going to go on some revenge crusade? I said. Then I'm going to track down your daughter and make you feel what it's like to lose a kid. But you got it all wrong. I'm not going to kill Vanessa. You did that yourself. The second you opened that rift and let in the Leviathan. I curled my finger around the trigger. Thanks to you, we're all going to die. If you happen to die sooner rather than later, well, it's no skin off my back. There was a click as a gun cocked somewhere behind me. I turned my head slightly to see Marconi standing there. Her pistol raised and pointed straight at my back. The inspector hovered behind her. His expression was flat, but there was something disapproving in his eyes. I laughed. You're going to shoot me, Sheriff? I said. A giant space whale is about to eat the entire world. You think a couple more dead bodies is going to make a damn bit of difference? I don't care if the world is ending, she said in a surprisingly quiet voice. Drop your gun, Hennigan. I looked at the cowering scientist with loathing. Give me one reason why I should let her live. Because we need her, Marconi said, and because this isn't you, Hennigan, I know you. You're a stubborn son of a bitch, but you're not a killer. You're letting yourself be controlled by grief and anger, and when you finally cool the fuck down, you're going to see that. Now drop your fucking gun. I'd listen to her, Mark, the inspector said in a low voice. A figure twitched on the trigger. It would be so, so easy to just squeeze the damn thing and send her brain splattering against the wall. Strangest feeling of deja vu came over me. I'd been here before or somewhere like here. A dark anger surged inside me, but I gritted my teeth, trying to swallow it down. With immense effort, I reached out and placed my gun on the counter beside me. The inspector darted forward and grabbed it. My heart was thudding like a jackhammer, and I could barely look at Valentina without seeing red. Make yourself useful then, I said. Close the fucking hole in the sky. Valentina jumped up at once and yanked at the massive gray blanket. It slid off the circular shape and hit the floor with a thwump. Underneath was a large control panel with a mirror-like object jutting from the top. Inside the frame, reflected on a strange metallic surface, I could see a reddish bird's eye view of the rift. Even on the screen, the sight of the void sent a dull thrumming through my brain. Valentina's fingers danced across the panel, pressing the buttons at speeds I couldn't even begin to follow. Window after window popped open, asking for confirmation, authorization, password, finger recognition. Valentina bypassed them all with the dexterity of someone who's worked with computers all her life. Eventually, the device grew dim, the red light faded, and the beam retracted from the rift. We stood and watched, waiting for the rip to seal. But the seconds passed, and the gash in the sky remained as stark and present as ever. I don't understand, Valentina said with a trace of panic. The splicer is powered down. I swear, I don't know why the rift is still open. Turning off the device won't work, the inspector said. That beam was like a butter knife sawing at human skin. Scrape at it enough, and yes, you'll break through. But if you remove the knife, it doesn't heal the wound. It just stops the sawing. Makoni and I exchanged an uneasy look. So how do we close it? She asked. The same way you'd close any deep wound, the inspector said. He cauterized it. If we could channel enough energy, we might be able to seal the rift, but it required an immense amount of explosive force, and he paused. It would have to be done from the other side. Throwing energy at the rift from down here would only make it bigger. So we're going to need some sort of bomb I'm used, and a way to get it inside the rift. I paused. The inspector and I looked at each other and, bam, the puzzle pieces fell right into place. For a moment, I forgot about my rage toward Valentina. The helicopter, I said, just as the inspector said, the explosives. Excuse me? Makoni said. Is anyone going to tell me what's going on here? She lowered her gun, that usual disgruntled tone coming into her voice. Right here in the facility, we have a source of energy and a way to move it, the inspector said. But we have to move quickly. There's no telling how close the Leviathan may have gotten by now. I grabbed Valentina by the arm, she made a brief effort to wriggle away, then gave up and marched her out of the lab. The inspector swooped by me and glided down the hall as if he knew exactly where we were going. Makoni eyed me skeptically, but she followed me as I led Valentina after the inspector and into the heart of Capra. I kept expecting guards to show up and open fire, but the halls were eerily empty and no one disturbed us as we made our way down the corridor. When we finally reached our destination, I let Valentina go and pushed her toward the door. There was a keypad and eye scanner on the side that hadn't been there the last time we'd broken in. Valentina tapped in the code, scanned her eyeball and opened the door. We found ourselves staring at those same big blocky letters from before. Caution. Explosives. We stepped inside, drifting carefully among the cartons. Makoni whistled. The boxes stretched off into the dark corners of the room, each emblazoned with that same black warning. There's a hundred sticks of dynamite to each container, Valentina said, and this is specialty stuff. One stick alone could destroy an entire city block. She eyed the inspector warily and said, would that provide the amount of energy you need? And then some, the inspector muttered. I bent down and peered between the cracks on the closest box, making out a stack of chalky red tubes. I withdrew it quickly and took a hasty step back. Why does Capra need so many fucking explosives anyway? I asked Valentina. She stared into the sea of boxes. Backup plan, she said, tersely, in case things go wrong. Like now, Makoni asked. Valentina nodded. Like now. She assured us that the containers were safe to move, so we reluctantly got to work dragging them out of storage. The inspector lifted a few boxes like they were made of tissue paper, but I was barely able to lug one of them on my own. Makoni and Valentina grabbed one each, and together we followed the inspector out into the hull. He seemed to remember the way better than I did, so I let him lead us through the winding passages. The doors flew open at his approach, as if they'd been triggered by motion sensors. It didn't take long for us to find the door leading out to the helipad. The helicopter still sat there, all sleek and black finish, its massive blades hovering like dragonfly wings at rest. I was beginning to think we were actually going to get away with this, when the clomping footsteps of guards echoed around the corner. Freeze! A voice sparked from behind us. The inspector didn't even turn around. He swung his hand back, and a sudden wall of stone sprouted from the floor of the corridor thudding into the ceiling. Another swarm came barreling around the corner, but the inspector waved his hand and set a second wall shooting upward. There was a chorus of gunfire, as the guards unloaded on the inspector's makeshift barriers. I tightened my grip on the box and hurried toward the helipad. We're surrounded, I panted. How the hell are we going to get out of here? One step at a time, Hanigan, Marconi said. Let's close that rift before we worry about anything else. We burst into the cool morning air, and were immediately hit by a blast of wind from above. A leviathan had stirred in the void, sending ripples through the sky. Every step we took was on rumbling ground. We lugged our boxes to the helicopter, as carefully as we dared, and deposited them in the back. When Valentina placed down hers, she reached inside and withdrew a long, sneaky fuse. She placed it on the floor of the cockpit and backed away gingerly. I'm not sure you've thought this through, Valentina said. Once we'd all gotten clear of the explosives, we can't just fly this thing via remote control. Someone's going to have to be on the inside to light the fuse. You wanted to see behind the rift, didn't you, Dr. Copel? I said. Well, congrats. Here's your fucking chance. What? She asked, startled. You're going to take that helicopter, and you're going to fly it into that tear. I said. It'll be easy. The autopilot will take care of the tough stuff. Then, once you get inside, you're going to light that fuse and blow this baby to kingdom come. Boom! One big explosion, and the rift will be sealed. For a second, I thought Valentina was about to run, but she must have realized she wouldn't get far. Strange heaviness came over her face. She turned her eyes up to the rift, where the Leviathan was letting out another great yawn in the distance. The ground rumbled again, a few seconds longer than the last time. I suppose I don't have much of a choice, she said. This is really it, isn't it? If I don't go up there and detonate enough energy to close the rift, we're doomed. We're all doomed. There was a rustle as the inspector stepped forward. His fedora was tilted up, revealing those piercing purple eyes, and the smoke from a cigar curled in lilac spirals. I came to Pacific Glade to serve humanity, you said to Valentina, as did you in your own way. Everything you did, you did in the name of progress of understanding. You wanted to know more so you could do more, so you could improve the human existence, but your curiosity pushed you too far. And that, that being up there, he gestured with a slender finger, that hungry beast will undo all the hard work you've ever done. Your life will have amounted to nothing, but if you do this, your life will mean everything. You will single-handedly save the human race, all that work you put in to make the world a better, safer place. That work goes on. Isn't that what matters? Valentina looked at him, then at Marconi, then at me. The wind grabbed her hair and sent it billowing around her face. I stared into her eyes and wondered what she was thinking, but she didn't say a word, she only nodded. The ground gave another rumble and she began walking toward the cockpit. The three of us watched as Valentina climbed aboard and headed for the dashboard. She stared at the controls for a moment, then took a seat and flicked a switch. The blades whipped to life, picking up speed until they were a circular gray blur. Then the helicopter began to rise. Guards pounded against the wall somewhere in the distance, but I could barely hear them over the word of the blades and the animal roar of the engine. The inspector, Marconi and I stood and watched as the last hope for humanity lifted off the helipad. The wind whipped around us and blew pebbles into my face. For a minute, I actually dared to believe this crazy idea would work, but as the helicopter swung around, giving me one last look at Valentina's face, a worrying sensation twisted my gut. Something's wrong. It was the gleam in her eye, the tiniest of smirks. Not at all the expression of someone embarking on a suicide mission. And I knew in a split second that Valentina had no intentions of flying up into that rift. She was taking this helicopter full of explosives and piloting it far, far away from here, probably to find her daughter one last time. She was going to leave the whole world to be devoured. I acted before I could stop myself. Bounding forward, I leapt off the rubbery surface of the helipad and heaved myself into the cockpit. Marconi's cry alerted Valentina, who glanced back at me, taken off guard. I took advantage of her confusion to scramble to my feet and charge her. She reached into her lab coat, probably to draw some unseen weapon, but I grabbed her skull and bashed it into the dashboard. Her hand fell. She dropped to the floor moaning. The helicopter had started to tilt, so I leapt at the cyclic stick and yanked it back. The cockpit steadied and righted itself. I hadn't flown since those long ago days with Peter, but the instincts came rushing back, and I settled into the controls with a surprising sense of ease. We were still rising. I took a seat and adjusted the collective lever to increase our ascent. Valentina had slumped against the side of the cockpit, apparently unconscious. I let myself look down. Marconi got a stunned expression on her face, like someone had wound back and punched her in the chest, but I could barely see her from here. The body was shrinking beneath the shadow of the helicopter. The inspector stared up at me from beside her. His eyes were hidden beneath the shade of his fedora, and his mouth was drawn in an expressionless line, but there was something solemn about his cigar smoke. It was a dark, billowy maroon, and it floated up after me like a hand waving goodbye. I swallowed and forced myself to look away. We were getting closer to the rifts now, purple light spilling from the gash in the sky. I scanned the control panel and pressed a promising-looking button. Two reinforced doors slid shut on both sides of the helicopter, muting all sounds from outside and sealing us into the cockpit. My heart thudded as we rose higher and higher, then a shudder, a tearing sound like someone whipping a piece of paper, and we were past the barrier. The world outside the windshield turned into a mind-splitting void, and I heard a creak as the glass adjusted to the sudden vacuum. If it shattered, then we were fucking doomed. But the windshield held, and my migraine lessened, and I was able to stare out into the nothingness. Except it wasn't totally nothing. The leviathan filled most of the void above us, its mouth gradually opening like a whale preparing to inhale krill. This close, I saw that its body extended farther than I'd originally thought. It rippled back into the abyss, huge, yet snake-like, its tail drifting lazily through the starless sky. The sheer size of it said they trembled through my body. What chance did we stand against this thing? If we didn't seal the rift, I had no doubt those jaws could open wide and swallow the entire world. The air behind me seemed to contract, and when I dared a look backward, I saw a familiar starship shape folding into existence. Its solid red eye opened wide, and its tentacles curled up on the ends like tiny muscles flexing. Hello, purple man. I have come to end. What the hell is that thing? Valentina shrieked. I hadn't realized she'd woken up. While I'd been distracted by the leviathan, she crawled toward the pile of explosives and pulled a tiny blaster out of the folds in her coat. She aimed it at the ender with shaky hands. I felt a surge of fear rush through me. Don't! I shouted. If you break the windshield, we're done for! Valentina ignored me and fired off a single shot. It was a spark of brilliant light like the atom blaster in miniature, and I had no doubt it would vaporize the glass in a heartbeat. But it had been a good shot. The light bullet struck the ender dead on and sent a splatter of black liquid across the cockpit. The creature didn't fall though, and when it turned to face Valentina, I could see livid veins popping across its starfish skin. Purple bitch dares to attack I, the ender this will not do. The beastie moved faster than I would have thought, flinging itself on Valentina's face and wrapping its tentacles around her head. She shrieked. For a second I was afraid she'd let off another shot and kill us all, but the blaster fell from her hand and clattered across the floor. She flailed for a bit, then went quiet, as if the ender had injected her with some sort of sedative. A horrible gnashing filled the air, like a set of sharp teeth grinding together, and a sudden spurt of blood splashed across the doors. I nearly screamed myself as the ender nodded at Valentina's neck, its body inflating in and out like a puffer fish. She didn't make a noise as it drained her dry. Then it turned to me, blood dripping from its tentacles, leaving Valentina's pale corpse behind it. I'd like to say my last thoughts were about Ruth, or Rory, or Steven. I'd like to say my whole life flashed before my eyes. That's what happens in the movies, right? The hero gets one moment of peace before the big finale. But I was no hero. Sure, I had saved a few folks and stopped plenty more from dying painful deaths, but a lot of that boiled down to the inspector. He was the real hero here. And truth was, the neverglades needed him a hell of a lot more than they needed me. At least I could go out saving the people I loved. In the end, all I thought was, I hope it doesn't hurt. The ender's sticky tentacles slapped against my face, and I could feel its suckers sinking into my skin. I fought the incoming wave of wooziness and pulled my lighter out of my pocket. For a second I was afraid it wouldn't light up here, but the helicopter was airtight, and the little flame burst into light. I leaned down and touched it gently to the fuse. The thin rope burned away, the spark crawling across the ground toward the pile of wooden boxes. I looked away and stared into the maw of the Leviathan. Those great jaws were open wide now, so impossibly wide that they blocked out all view of the void. Tiny specks glimmered inside the creature's cosmic gullet. Despite the hissing of the fuse, despite the suckers digging into my skull, I found myself smiling. What do you know, I said? It's full of stars. The ender's teeth suddenly stabbed into my neck, and it hurt all right. Oh, God did it hurt! I staggered against the window and left a spatter of blood on the glass. That fucking starfish bit like a mini shark. I could feel my consciousness draining, but I forced my eyes open and stared blearily out of the cockpit. I stumbled forward until I was practically slumped against the control panel. The fuse behind me went quiet, and in that fraction of a second, the world turned kaleidoscopic. I gazed into the Leviathan's glittering universe and thought I saw a tiny speck of purple amid all those stars. The cockpit was as silent as the glade on a cold winter night. Then the explosives lit, fire blossomed around me, and I was gone. If you or someone you know struggles with depression or dark thoughts, I'd like to recommend the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com. There, I've gathered resources to help fight depression with the Seven Cups app, connecting you with people who've also struggled with depression and are there to lift you up, even professional listeners there to listen at all hours of the day. If you're having dark thoughts of harming yourself or worse, there's the suicide prevention lifeline that you can either call or chat online with anytime 24-7. The folks at ifred.org are doing what they can with research and education on depression to give us the tools we need to fight against it in the days ahead. These resources are absolutely free and there when you need them on the Hope in the Darkness page at WeirdDarkness.com. Picture, if you will, a quiet day in the neverglades. The morning sun floats behind a thick cover of clouds, barely visible as a disc of glowing white. What little light it spreads washes over mountains, forests, roads that cut through stretches of country broken by wandering animals and the occasional run-down house. Follow the roads and no matter the direction, you'll find yourself winding back into town. Folks with beat-up jeeps journey to the supermarket. Mothers push strollers down overgrown sidewalks. Police men sit in windowless offices and imagine the world outside. A single siren might cut through the air under the distant crashing of a waterfall. Everything smells of pine and the dampness that follows each rainfall. On this day, like so many others, the glade is defined by absence. Empty desks at work, empty chairs at home, empty tables in diners. Some of them missing are at the hospital just outside of town. They suffered injuries in the Great Quake, but they'll be back to the grind before long. The others are never coming back. Swoop down from your bird's eye view, down into the center of town and peer into the window of the Hanscom House. Vera Hanscom stands at the kitchen table in a faded apron, trying to dole out oatmeal to a pair of whining children. Her hair falls loose in sweaty strands across her forehead. There are two empty chairs at her table. One for a grown man, another for a small infant. Neither will sit there anymore. In a matter of months, Vera has gone from a bustling housewife to a single mother of two. She sits through a breakfast of complaints and arguments that excuses herself to wash the dishes. The suds are hot and they scald her hands as she works. She stares out the window at the pale morning sun and waits for the children to leave for the school bus. Then she dries her hands on a dish rag and heads upstairs. Her house survived the quake unscathed, but there's one room on the second floor that might as well be quarantined. Nobody dares to go inside. Some days Vera can't help herself though. Today is one of those days. She opens the door, slips inside and closes it quietly behind her as if afraid to wake whoever sleeps here. But no one sleeps here anymore. There's a rickety wooden crib in the corner, surrounded by blocks and toys and an assortment of stuffed animals that Vera can't bring herself to pack away. She approaches the crib and rocks it gently. There's still a small dent in the blankets as if a ghostly child lies there asleep and dreaming. Vera doesn't speak or sing or do anything but rock the crib. She wishes she had never hit that poor old man with her car. Her life already hard enough had been nothing but misery since then. She closes her eyes and kisses the headboard and wishes to go back to before everything changed. In that regard, she is not alone. Enough. Let's leave her some privacy. Turn away from her window and continue down the streets of town, past the collapsed remains of Vivian Tracy's house, past the shuttered repair shop of the late Mike Schneider, past a cottage on the forest's edge where a forgotten woman used to live. There's a life on these streets, yes, but everywhere you go there are also vacancies, little holes in the bustle that you feel more than you see. A rebuilding has begun in earnest and in many places life is returned to the normalcy of before the quake. In others it's struggled to regain its standing. Families have been displaced, homes have been reduced to a few standing walls and a pile of rubble. Many find refuge with friends and family in town. Others leave town entirely. Pacific Glade is home, but it is a home in ruins and for many it now holds scars and painful memories. The loyal will stay, but when winter comes the Glade will be smaller than it's ever been. For now the air is cool with the crisp wind of a North Pacific summer. Follow the breeze along those winding roads until you reach the edge of Locklear Cemetery. There's a slow procession moving through the gravestones today. Two rows of mourners clad in black, carrying a pair of coffins. One is empty, the other is barely weighted down by the small body inside it. Ruth Hannigan stands at the edge of the pit as the coffin bearer is lower each casket into the ground. She rests her hand on her son Stephen's shoulder. Neither of them moves as the preacher recites the eulogy and describes what wonderful lives the deceased had lived. There are tears and snipples from the crowd, but Ruth's eyes are dry. They have been dry since the day of the quake. When the ceremony is over and the grave diggers have started filling in the holes, Stephen comes forward and places a small object in the dirt around Rory's headstone. It's a collectible action figure, a character from the games they used to enjoy. A drop of water splats on the figure's colored uniform from above. Stephen wipes his eyes and leaves the toy beside his brother's grave. The crowd of mourners has dispersed, wandering back to their cars. Olivia Marconi leaves the cluster and approaches Ruth at the graveside. The sheriff has dressed her best for this somber occasion. Grisp blew uniform, neatly pressed with a distinctive curved brim hat. She tips this hat at Ruth as she grows near. How are you doing? The sheriff asks quietly. Ruth twists the wedding ring on her finger, says nothing for a good minute. I'm alive, she says at last, which is more than I can say for them. He was a hero, you know, Marconi says. He was the one who saved us all in the end. Things would have been much, much worse if he hadn't done what he did. Ruth tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. I know, I know, and I'm grateful that Stephen and I are still here. It's just... She lets her hand fall. You worry, as a wife and a mother. You worry about your family's safety, and I know I'm not to blame for any of this, but I keep thinking, only I could have done something if only I could have protected them. It was out of your control, Marconi reassures her. It was out of everyone's control. Ruth shivers. I keep waiting for him to show up, like he's going to stride in and tell us everything's okay, that he's got Mark hidden under that enormous coat of his. But I haven't seen him since the quake. Marconi says nothing. She glances around the cemetery as if Ruth's words are an invocation and this cloaked figure will magically appear among the tombstones. But no figure does. There are only the retreating backs of the mourners as they disappear back into the misty morning. Take as long as you need, Marconi says. Janine's preparing a lunch at the house when you get back, chopped salad with raspberry dressing. I won't be long, Ruth says. Her voice is distant. She doesn't look at the sheriff as Marconi walks away. She doesn't look at Stephen when he mutters that he's going back to sit in the car. She only nods and tugs at the sleeves of her black dress and stares down at Rory's small casket at her husband's empty grave. Rain plunks on her skin, first one drop, then another. Then the clouds open up and begin to pour. She clutches her arms and shivers, but doesn't seek shelter from the storm. The ground turns to muck beneath her feet, and the grave diggers abandon their project for the day, grumbling under their breath. Ruth stands alone, above a pair of rain-soaked coffins. She has held in her pain for so, so long. But there's no one around, and streams of water are already running down her face, and she can't escape how much this moment feels like the last goodbye. So her veneer breaks, and under this cold summer rain, damp and alone, Ruth Hannigan finally lets herself cry. Let's linger in this place for just a bit longer. The road is a rumble with passing cars and bicycles, but Locklear Cemetery has its own sort of quiet as if the wind itself knows to whisper here. The hours pass, and the graves remain silent and solid. A bird nesting in the shadows of the mausoleum emerges to grab worms after the fresh rainfall. Look, the clouds are parting, and the setting sun is visible, resting on the crest of Mount Palmer in that curious way it has. It casts a long shadow. Look closer, and you'll see a single figure walking through that shadow, striding down the path between the gravestones. She leaves the path and approaches a pair of graves, swollen with freshly turned earth. A lighter clicks in the dark, and the flame illuminates the face of Olivia Marconi. The sheriff had curbed her urge to smoke for almost a year, but the quake had brought that craving back in full force, and she'd finally swapped her chewing gum for a pack of cigarettes. She touches the flame to her cigarette tip and takes a long drag. Then she blows a thin cloud of smoke toward the gravestones. I don't care what happened at the end, she says. You were a damn good cop, Hannigan. The smoke swirls and grows, takes on a light purple tinge, and Marconi realizes that most of it is coming from behind her. She turns to see an impossibly tall figure in a trench coat and gray fedora. The smoke billows from the softly burning cigar clenched between his teeth. Inspector, Marconi says. Inspector tips his hat toward her. I came to pay my respects. He steps up to join her by the side of the grave. Neither speaks for a very long time. Then Marconi makes a small noise, almost like a sigh. She plects the cigarette from her mouth and stares into the burning tip. You can't… I don't know, bring him back to life? She peers at the inspector through the setting sunlight. Do you have that kind of mojo? If there was a body, maybe, he says, but it would just be a walking shell. No memories, no thoughts, no motivations. It wouldn't be the mark you knew. He looks off toward the mountains. This way is better. Marconi places the cigarette between her lips, her teeth gnawing on the end. This isn't over, is it? No, the inspector says. Mark closed the larger rift, but reality is still thin and pacific glade, and more entities will get through. That's not even taking Capra into account. I doubt it died with Valentina Copel. These sorts of corporations always have someone higher pulling the strings, and they're not going to stop just because of one setback. Marconi blows out another funnel of smoke. So we've got all the eldritch monsters and the multiverse on one side and a shadowy government organization on the other. She lets out a forced laugh. Sounds like a real fucking walk in the park. It won't be easy, the inspector says, staring down at the bumps in the soil. You've seen where this road can end up. I know I may be asking too much, but will you fight with me, sheriff? Marconi lowers her cigarette and taps a mash onto the grass. Of course I will. If only they could see what we do. This unusual pair. Two dots of defiant brightness among the darkness of the dead. The sun frames them from behind in brilliant orange. In a short while they will leave this place, back to the hustle of town, but for now, they stand in the quiet and mourn their fallen friend. A bright blue bird flutters down and rests on top of Mark's headstone. It tilts its head and studies the strange duo. Then the smoke drifts towards it, and it flies off with a chirp, wings fluttering as it disappears into the orange sky. Here's how it is. Despite the absence, despite the empty chairs, Pacific Glade is still brimming with life. It is a place that glistens with invisible connections, those threads that connect person to person in the web of community. Teenagers sneak out of their homes for secret trists with their sweethearts. Neighbors share gossip with each other at the supermarket. Drivers turn up the radio and listen to Joe and Alan crewing their dirty jokes. The threads stretch and sparkle across town. Everything, everybody is connected, and on some level they know this. Gladers look out for their own after all. See for yourself. On the edge of town in that yawning dusk, Nico Sanchez pulls up to Abigail Shannon's house and helps her hobble down the front steps. Despite the bulky cast on her leg and against her doctor's orders, Abigail is already returned to work at the station, spending her whole day working the front desk. She doesn't mind. The night shift tends to be on the quiet side, and besides, she spends most of it chatting with Nico. They're on a first-name basis now, and their conversation is easy, natural. She likes him. Maybe not on a workplace romance level, but enough to be friends, and sometimes friendship is perfect. Their cruiser passes Marconi's on the way to work, and they wave through the steam-frosted windows. The setting sign glares in such a way that they miss the shadowy figure in the passenger seat. Slip out of that crack in the window, why don't you, and follow Marconi home. The radio is on, and nature sounds burble through the car's ancient speakers. She likes the white noise. It soothes her, like a warm bath or a cigarette after a 12-hour shift. Her passenger sits silently beside her, and stares out at the twilight streets. Janine is already setting the table when Marconi opens the front door. Ruth and Steven, the last of the Hannigans, emerge from upstairs and take their places at the table. This house has become their makeshift residence during the months following the quake. And even though it's not quite the same, even though the bathroom soap is all wrong and there are too many empty beds, they are welcome here. They have a home. In the aftermath of a crisis like theirs, sometimes that's all you can ask for. Marconi places her keys on the hook, then fishes her wedding ring out of the dish on the counter. She slips it on her finger and gives Janine a kiss. Marconi's wife beams, frizz bouncing around her flushed cheeks. I brought a friend, Marconi says. I hope that's okay. There's no objection from anyone in the kitchen, so she approaches the front door and lets her visit her in. The inspector ducks through the doorway and rises to his full seven feet, casting a thin shadow across the tiles. He looks sheepish, out of his element for once. But Ruth invites him to take a seat, and Janine doles out a handful of green beans and Marconi smiles. She hangs up her coat and joins her family at the table. Somewhere in the midst of all this, that stubborn sun finally sinks below the mountains. Night brings a closing of doors as the jeeps pull into driveways, and the mothers tuck their children under the covers. A few stragglers wander through the darkness to the hanging rock, now rebuilt and proceed to get spectacularly drunk. Otherwise, the night belongs to the chattering of unknown animals, the rustle of the pines, the ever-present rush of distant water. Follow the river, no matter the direction, and eventually you'll spill back out into Lake Lucid. Water skimmers dart across lily pads, fish swim in slow circles under the surface, wind whistles by and sends ripples through the reflection of the moon. Now look up, up past the trees, up past the lurking mountains, up to the circle of bright whiteness hovering in the night sky. It isn't hard to imagine the moon as a wide, gleaming eye in the face of some massive being, an eye staring down at the town, at the forest, at the neverglades, and marveling at the strange wonders of this quiet little world. I'd like you to meet the newest member of our Weirdo family. Meet Psyjack, a female arctic wolf. While visiting the Wild Animal Sanctuary in Kingsburg, Colorado, Robin and I felt in love with the place and their mission to save the lives of animals from abuse and neglect. I immediately felt drawn to Psyjack upon seeing her and decided to adopt her in the name of Weird Darkness. Psyjack was born in a safari park that couldn't care for her, but the Wild Animal Sanctuary steps in to save Psyjack and other wild animals from private owners and less than ideal living conditions. Psyjack now has a lifelong home in a large acreage, natural habitat near other wolves. Wild Animal Sanctuary has saved numerous other wild animals from abuse and neglect, lions, grizzlies, tigers, panthers and more. Visit wildanimalsanctuary.org to learn more, donate to the sanctuary, and maybe adopt an animal of your own, like we have with Psyjack at wildanimalsanctuary.org. Last year, my good friend Mark Hannigan gave up his own life to save the lives of his friends, family and neighbors. Indeed, the entire world as he knew it. Mark was perhaps the bravest and humblest man I ever met. He knew every case could be his last, and yet he never wavered, pressing on with that selfless, headstrong attitude I eventually came to admire. Even in that last moment as I watched him ascend into the rift, he didn't hesitate. He was a fighter to the very end. It's been a year since he left us, and I confess I wasn't handling the anniversary well. I kept wondering if Olivia had been right, if it would be better to bring Mark back. Empty, blank, utterly hollowed out, but alive. I knew it would devastate his family. I knew it would open old wounds and set them bleeding afresh, but I was in pain. I was wounded too, and in my pain I made a hasty decision. I opened the rift and began searching for my lost partner. I'll spare you the details of the journey. I am large. I contain multitudes, as one of your eminent poets once said. But even in my vastness, I couldn't find a trace of Mark in all that empty space. The explosion had vaporized his body. If there was anything left of him to find, it was atoms on the breeze, molecular specks too small to reassemble. My long search ended in vain, with me returning, head in hands to the rift between our worlds. That was where I found it, the parasitic being who calls itself the Ender, who feeds on humans beyond the veil, who snuffs out light and brings death in the world next door. And suddenly I was overwhelmed with a thought that if the Ender had taken Mark in his death throws, spark in my friend might still exist. Not his entire essence, no, I could never be so lucky, but a spark. To make a long story short, I managed to extract what remained of Mark from within the Elder. It's a stubborn beast, but at the end of the day it knows who it obeys. Looked like a tiny sphere of pulsing light, dripping with black tendrils. When I gripped it, I could hear his voice. I could see flashes of his memories, glistening and vibrant. And I knew this little orb couldn't bring his body back to life, but it could keep my friend alive in the way only the truest of words can. I held that orb and I recorded his story, word for word, exactly as his voice described to me. These are the stories I've shared with you. You never knew Mark Hanigan, but I hope that through his words you understand what a remarkable man he was. You wouldn't have wanted me to call him a hero. Maybe he would have found the title corny. Maybe it would have just embarrassed him. But you've read his tale now. You can decide for yourself. There isn't much left of Mark. Taking him from the Ender was like unplugging a machine from a socket, and now he's running out of charge. The orb is smaller than it's ever been. Shreds of light tear from it every so often and disappear. I know that eventually, even this much will be gone. From here on, he lives through these words and through all of you reading here. Whatever you do, don't forget him. Don't let that spark go out. I think he's earned that much. Thanks for listening. If you liked the show, please share it with someone you know who loves the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do. And please leave a rating and review of the show and the podcast app you listen from. Doing so helps the show to get noticed. You can also email me anytime with your questions or comments through the website at WeirdDarkness.com. That's also where you can find all of my social media, listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, shop the Weird Darkness store, sign up for the email newsletter to win monthly prizes, find other podcasts that I host, and find the Hope in the Darkness page if you or someone you know is struggling with depression or dark thoughts. Plus, if you have a true paranormal or creepy tale to tell, you can click on Tell Your Story or call the dark line toll-free at 1-877-277-5944. That's 1-877-277-5944. The Neverglades Mysteries were written by David Farrow. You can find more stories in this series on the author's website at DavidFaroRights.com. I'll place a link to his website and social media in the show notes. Weird Darkness is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright, Weird Darkness. And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Proverbs 21 verse 2, All a man's ways seem right to him, but the Lord weighs the heart. And a final thought from Dr. Seuss, and I'll do it in the inspector's voice since we are ending the series here. Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Neverglades and in Weird Darkness. Bonus audio. 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