A branch of the story

In his mind, she always had to die.

That's what gave him focus. It was sad, but that's what the Bible says, better the day of ones death, than the day of their birth.

She could still be alive though, living that last year over and over again. Rescued, returned, running, in danger again, rescued. Eventually in time catching and caching enough of the pattern to break free. To meet herself and give the proper warning. Or to jump ahead and see herself already gone.

Taken away to a time beyond time. Cruising along, far away from Earth but in settings familiar.

To wait in a safe yet shelled soundstage, to experience a war that never happens, but to be more than ready for the things that will happen.

To see the final act and come back to tell the tale. For the plot had already been written. Of what consequence is it if some eyes do see it sooner?

He would wait. Wait for the days promised and sit. Not wishing to give up control, but at the same time wishing for something to come along and take control from him.

He was afraid, but he could not name his fear. Mostly it was fear for others he felt. Not knowing if they were ready for anything. So against his own wishes he wished the world held still.

He would wait at the lowest and slowest point. Dragging out each second so others would have an easier walk. He would catch up. He was ahead of the game.

Playing out the scenarios in his mind again he refined further. Pointing this way and that. Relaxing the reigns of doubt.

He waited for the times appointed. Not knowing what to do but put his thoughts to letters once again. Looking for some sign that the players were ahead. Paving the way. Rehearsing the parts. First in hazy outline, then dream, then lucid, then radio, then play, then on cameras, then as film.

Then to send back the footage of sleepwalking performing as though awake. To show that it can be done.

To her, he is dead. The first casualty of the war. One who does still echo at times in dream, appearing and disappearing. Back, but not for long. Long enough to speak a few words of encouragement at darkest hour if the play nay life does need it.