Yesterday's Gone (Season 5): Episodes 25-30 by Sean Platt, David Wright Page B

4 — MARY OLSON
     
    As Paola continued to scribble on the paper, Desmond finally arrived at the house, nearly ten minutes after Mary had called.
    He ran into the kitchen, fell to his knees beside Mary, and held one of Paola’s hands.
    “How long?” 
    “Twelve minutes,” Mary said.
    He looked down at the pages spread on the floor beneath her. Paola had gone through six sheets so far, writing in giant, messy letters.
    He picked up the papers and started sorting through them. “Who is Peter Williams?”
    “No idea,” Mary said. 
    Paola started writing faster, bigger letters.
    “No, no, no, no.”
    “Kill yourself Mr. Williams. It’s the right thing to do.”
    Mary swallowed, wondering what sort of horrible thing her daughter was seeing.
    The seizures, they had deduced from Paola’s vague recollections and the things she’d written matching news reports of recent atrocities, had somehow allowed her to connect with people infected by The Darkness, reporting the things these people were seeing and presumably feeling.
    “We need to wake her up.”
    “No,” Desmond said sharply. “We have no idea what harm that might cause her.”
    Mary looked down at her daughter’s shaking, furrowed, sweat-beaded brow, eyes closed tight, tears pouring from them as her hands scribbled something indecipherable, big giant letters, all on the same page.
    D
    I
    E
    And then it was over.
    The seizures quit in a flicker, just like they started.
    The girl’s brow relaxed, her hand went limp, dropping the pen. Her head rolled to the side, asleep. Likely exhausted.
     Mary exhaled deeply, glad it was over.
    Desmond picked up Paola and carried her to the couch. Mary ran ahead to move her tablet out of the way.
    Desmond laid her down, then turned to Mary.
    “You OK?” He came over and took her into his arms.
    It felt so good to have Desmond back. Things weren’t quite as cozy and normal as before, but their relationship had been forged in a dead world’s chaos. There really hadn’t ever been a normal . 
    Mary wondered if there would ever be any sort of normal again.
    The Darkness had followed them back to this world, was wreaking havoc daily, and yet it seemed like nobody outside of their tiny circle knew what was happening. Nobody, save for the Black Island Guardsmen and presumably a few other government agencies, seemed to be aware of an alien presence. 
    Mary was shocked that no one had let the information leak, that no civilian had managed to capture any cell phone footage of the black, stringy aliens. They had managed to hide well within humans this time. She wondered if that was a good sign or a bad one. Was the aliens’ seeming invisibility a sign of their strength and improved organization or one of vulnerability?
    Whatever the case, Mary would do her damnedest to keep Paola safe, and it felt good to have company. While Boricio was God knows where, she could never truly count on him anyway. He had his life to live; she had hers. But Desmond was back, and Mary finally had faith that even if they had to march through fire they’d make it out of hell alive.
    He’d always been a confident, if not somewhat mysterious man. He was now more so, and smarter, for his experiences on the dead world. It was as if The Light had prepared him for true leadership. If there was one thing the world needed now, it was someone to guide them, someone who knew how to fight The Darkness.
    She just wished Paola didn’t have to be part of the fight.
    Mary looked down at her daughter, sleeping on the couch, seeming more like a child in slumber than the young woman she’d been forced to become. Mary wasn’t ready to let go of her little girl, ready for her daughter’s exposure to such horrible things. She couldn’t help but fear that while Paola was peeking into the minds of those infected by The Darkness, that the aliens were staring back into hers. She could be in greater danger than even Desmond could appreciate.
    As if reading her thoughts,