“I said three!!!” she shrieked, then could only watch.
Like the proverbial Timmy who fell down that well, our Timmy didn’t make it. He stopped believing in The Magic at a bad spot and tumbled to his untimely death.
Ruby would have to enter Meat City alone.
“Multicolorville, eh? hehe,” tittered Timmy from the top of the cloud tree at Ruby’s graphic descriptions — remote viewing of course. They were at the “front door” of the 4000 meter skybox of that peculiar warehouse property now, contemplating the next step and just chatting in general.
“Well. It’s like that old John Lennon song said: make love not war. My daddy use to play that before bedtime. He so loved my momma.” Timmy tittered again, then became quiet, hearing the track in his head once more. “‘Mind City’, I believe it was called,” he proclaimed after a moment, then pointed east again, although Ruby couldn’t see the gesture from her perspective. He had a habit of pointing in that direction every time he talked about his family. The direction of the mountain lake where he came from. Timmy was always properly oriented, an internal compass probably part and parcel of his true doll nature he was still oblivious to.
“Mind Games?” corrected the swinging Ruby below. She’d somehow heard this conversation before. But where?
“That might be it.”
And the flip side, she realized, was…
She continued to stare in the direction she instinctively knew to be west. The direction stupid Gwin came from. Suddenly Ruby had decided on their next step. “How would you like to take a leap of faith with me, Young Timmy? As in: across that plywood gap we saw earlier.”
“The one to the west?”
“Removing me even one step further from my family?”
“I suppose.” Ruby had already realized that Timmy’s family had been killed in the war between the Trojans and Durexians she’d read about in her sex ed history class during grade school. No mountaineer was protected from the consequences. Poor Timmy!