Pacifica heard the distant footsteps and perked up. The anomalies were over, she was sure — and someone had come back to headquarters. Who? Could it be Gideon? Lincoln? Would they come and tell her that the terror was over, that she was safe?

The footsteps faded. Pacifica wondered if she should go after them. It wasn't too long, though, before she could hear more footsteps. And these ones were headed straight for her.

Frantically, she grabbed the mirror on her dresser and checked to see if she was presentable. Not even close: She was still in her nightgown; her hair was wild; her face was splotchy with crying. At least there was no makeup on her face to get ruined by her tears. Pacifica tried in vain to pat down her hair and wipe her face, waiting anxiously to see who was coming to her door.

A soft knock. "Pacifica?"

Her heart leapt: It was Lincoln's voice. Pacifica ran to the door and threw it open. "Lincoln! You're back!"

Instead of looking happy to see her, as she hoped, Lincoln's face held an expression of pained shock. "Lincoln?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm glad to see you safe," he said slowly. It sounded like he meant it — but there was definitely something else on his mind. "May I come in?"

Pacifica moved out of the way, and Lincoln stepped into her room. His movements were limp and disjointed, as if he were a child's toy being dragged on the floor behind its owner. He stumbled to Pacifica's bed and dropped onto the mattress.

"What is it?" Pacifica said. He was scaring her.

With an effort, he met her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

She frowned, not sure what he meant.

"Stanford," he said. It was like he wanted to sound urgent, but his voice couldn't quite catch up to the pace of his emotions. "Stanford Pines. Why didn't you tell me?"

Pacifica's eyes widened.

Oh.

Oh, no.

She took a steadying breath. "Bill told me not to," she said simply. Why, she wondered, hadn't Bill appeared and told her that Lincoln had found out their biggest secret? She hadn't seen Bill for hours. He hadn't been there to comfort her at all during last night's gravitational anomalies.

A sudden spurt of air, like a laugh — or a sob — burst from Lincoln's throat. "Of course he did," he said. "It's all a big conspiracy, isn't it? Thirty years, and Bill successfully kept me from my brother for all this time."

Pacifica didn't know what to say. It wasn't fair, she thought. Why did this have to come now? She'd been looking forward to Lincoln's return; she never thought he'd find out about Stanford.

"You're better off without him," she finally said. "I think he might be the one behind Mabel's evil deeds."

The incredulous look that Lincoln gave her was so stark that she almost flinched. Then his gaze slipped silently away from hers. "You didn't see him," he whispered. "You didn't see his face when he found me."

No, she didn't. But she could imagine the triumph in his eyes when he finally found Lincoln. She could see his malicious joy when he knew he could steal him away from Pacifica.

With labored movements, Lincoln pushed himself off the bed. "Stay here," he instructed. "Or go to the kitchen. I don't care. But stay away from my room."

"Why?" Was he shutting her out because she didn't tell him about Ford?

Lincoln weighed his answer before giving it. "Stanford's there," he finally said. "I don't want you anywhere near him, understood?"

This was it. Ford was stealing him away. Lincoln had just gotten back, and now he was going to spend time with Stanford instead of her.

Lincoln saw her defiant expression. "Understood?" he repeated.

Pacifica pursed her lips, forcing herself not to tremble. "Fine," she said.

Lincoln watched her, and he must have seen that she was trying not to cry. His expression softened, ever so slightly, and he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. He didn't say anything, and Pacifica couldn't think of anything that she could say, either. Then, too soon, he moved away. He paused at the doorway, looking like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Pacifica watched him walk away. She wanted to call out to him.

But, like him, she had no words to say.

~~~~~

"The sky! Look at the sky!"

Janice looked up from where she swept glass and metal shards from the car crash. (Earlier, she'd helped push the car to the grandfather's nearby house; she hadn't seen either of the women from the crash, but she hoped they were resting and recovering.) The crowd was as large as ever, but it had dispersed around the barrier, so it was less concentrated. At the shouting, Janice peered through the people to see Yingtai Chiu, a fellow Order member, hurrying down the street.

This was a surprise, to say the least. Yingtai, usually a very quiet woman, was now shouting at the top of her lungs ("The sky!") as she weaved her way through the crowd and pointed frantically above her head. With her other hand, she clutched her daughter's arm, pulling Candy behind her.

"Yingtai!" called Janice. "Yingtai, what's wrong?"

Yingtai skidded to a stop in front of Janice, and Candy almost ran into her. "Look at the sky," Yingtai said breathlessly. "Look at the position of the sun."

The rest of the crowd, having heard Yingtai's cries, peered up at the sky in confusion. Janice joined them, wondering what on earth could have possessed Yingtai to make this much racket. "I don't understand," she said. The sky looked normal to her. It was mostly overcast, with wispy grey clouds blanketing the heavens. It looked like it might snow soon. Overhead, oriented partway towards the western horizon, a bright splotch of sun peered through the clouds.

"The sun," Yingtai said, pointing her finger. "It's in the west."

It took Janice a moment to understand. The west? So what? The sun always went to the west in the afternoon.

Wait. . . afternoon?

"What time is it?" she said. "I thought it was still morning."

"So did we," said Yingtai. She tugged on her daughter's hand. "Candy's the one who noticed it. Tell her what you saw."

Janice knew Candy to be a fierce, headstrong young girl; yet, right now, she looked tense and afraid. "I was looking out our front window this morning," Candy said, "the one that faces east. When gravity went back to normal, the sun was right there." She pointed to a spot about midway down the eastern hemisphere. "I — I didn't realize until now, but. . . that was only an hour ago, maybe two. Right? Later, when I went to our back windows. . . the sun was shining in my eyes. It was somehow behind the house."

"It jumped," Yingtai finished. "The sun jumped through the sky."

A group of about ten people had been listening to Candy's description; when Yingtai added to it, they erupted in a chaos of sound. Jumped? How could the sun jump through the sky? First the gravitational anomalies, then the invisible wall, and now this? What was going on?

Janice tuned them out as best she could. "So time moved forward," she realized aloud. She suddenly felt disoriented, as if she were experiencing jet lag. "We lost time. How much time did we lose?"

She could hear people debating the answer to this question before she even asked it. The locals of Gravity Rises were no strangers to nature; after all, they practically lived in it. Many people knew how to tell time by the position of the sun. After some arguing, the crowd generally agreed: The gravitational anomalies had ended at about ten A.M.; it had been about ninety minutes since then; and with the way the sun was now, it appeared to be close to three P.M. Time had jumped forward more than three hours.

The thought made Janice feel dizzy.

"Janice," Yingtai said quietly, as a buzz of confused panic ran through the crowd, "do you have any idea what's going on?"

Janice pursed her lips. "I need to get down to the library," she said. "The prophecies mention something about a separation — a barrier — and I guess they mean this. I need to see if there are more details."

"What about the sun?" asked Yingtai. She wasn't one to read the prophecies — Janice wasn't sure how well she could read English, though she spoke it almost impeccably. "Do the prophecies say anything about the sun jumping through the sky?"

"What prophecies?" asked Candy. Yingtai jumped as if someone had slapped her and shot a guilty look down at her daughter.

"They don't talk about the sun moving," Janice said slowly. "The only thing they mention about time. . ." Her eyes widened. "The time bubble," she whispered.

"What?"

Janice put a hand to her head. She needed to go down to the Order library and find the references, so that she could remember for sure. But she couldn't exactly leave now, not while people were still congregated around the barrier. From what Janice had heard before Yingtai's arrival, some people wanted to ram the wall with heavy equipment, hoping to break through. Janice had to stay here and make sure something like that didn't happen, for surely it would end in worse damage to people and property than the original car crash had. She may be a mortician by trade, but Janice certainly didn't enjoy it when people died.

"Janice? Are you all right?"

"Oh, sure, Mom," said Candy. "She's just fine. It's not like gravity and time are messed up!"

Yingtai shushed her daughter. Janice took a steadying breath. "A lot is happening right now," she said. "I know where to find more information, but I can't leave here. Yingtai, can you help me? I'm almost done cleaning up, and then we just have to make sure no one does anything rash. My son is out in the forest with Danny Valentino and his children; they're trying to find someone who might know more about what's going on."

At this, Yingtai simply looked at Janice with a wide-eyed expression. Janice knew how she felt: All the secrets of the Order — the secrets that ensured the safety of humans and supernatural creatures alike — were suddenly crashing down with nothing to stop the tsunami.

"Please, Yingtai," said Janice. "Help me keep the peace."

"I don't know about you," Candy piped up, "but I sure don't feel very peaceful. Or did you miss the invisible wall?"

Yingtai shot her a look, then turned back to Janice. "All right," she said. "What do I need to do?"

The two women finished cleaning up the mess from the car crash; once that was done, they set about convincing people that ramming Danny Valentino's logger truck into the barrier was not a good idea. Arguments broke out, and people shouted out their worry and their panic.

All the while, the impossible afternoon sun shone down on them.

~~~~~

Ford sat up straight when Lincoln opened the door. "Stanley." He sounded relieved and pained and exhausted all at once. His handcuffs went taut as he surged forward.

Lincoln carefully closed the door behind him. "I'll get those off," he said quietly, crossing to Ford and holding up a key to the cuffs. Stanford sat rigidly as Lincoln took the cuff from his wrist, leaving the other cuff dangling from the lantern sconce. Then, as soon as he was free, Ford shot towards Lincoln. It took half a second of mild panic — should he have left the cuffs on? — before Lincoln realized that Ford was hugging him, not attacking him.

Ford didn't say anything, but Lincoln could feel him shaking. This was a man that Lincoln had thought was dangerous — a man he had imagined as composed and removed. But the man in front of him was anything but that. Lincoln could feel the tears leaking through his shirt.

Neither of them had the best balance, given the force with which Ford had leapt from the bed; so Lincoln carefully sat back down, guiding Ford to sit with him. Ford kept crying into Lincoln's shoulder, and Lincoln — awkwardly — put his arms around the man.

After some time of quiet crying, Ford shifted, moving back so he could look into Lincoln's face. "Do you really not remember me?" he whispered. Even after hearing from Greg about the amnesia, Lincoln could still see some hope in his eyes.

Hope that Lincoln had to crush with the truth.

"No," he said. His eyes focused on Ford's shoulder, unable to move up to his face. "I. . . I had no idea that I had any family around here."

"How could you fight against me like you did and not know who I was?"

Lincoln shrugged uncomfortably. "No one ever told me," he said. "I never saw you, only talked about you." He closed his eyes briefly. "No one told me who you really were."

"Not for thirty years?"

Lincoln shook his head.

Ford sat back, a dull understanding in his eyes. "That's why," he said. He glanced to Lincoln. "Gideon Northwest is the one who told me about you. He said that he wipes the memories of anyone who can't hide you from me. Or. . . or me from you, I suppose."

Though this information shouldn't be surprising, it still hit Lincoln with a pang to the heart to hear how deep this deception ran. "Gideon told you?" he asked.

"Yes." A clear determination entered Ford's eyes. "I'm keeping him safe, Lee," he said. "I. . . I don't know what it means, that you're. . . that you lead the Order, but I will keep Gideon safe."

Lincoln sighed. "I don't want to hurt him," he said, "though I imagine Gaston has other plans. It's him you need to worry about." And Bill, his mind added. But he didn't want to bring him up. He didn't want Stanford to discover the other terrible truth about him: that at any moment, Bill could take over Lincoln's body and wreak havoc.

Please, he pled silently to the demon. Please don't possess me. Not now. Not while Stanford is here. Please.

A few moments of silence passed before Ford moved on to another topic. "You don't go by Stanley anymore, right?" he said quietly.

Lincoln glanced to him. "No," he said. "I assume Stanley was my name?"

A faint, sad smile came to Ford's face. "Yes," he said. "Stanley and Stanford Pines. We're twins, can you tell?"

He could've guessed, though he hadn't thought about it in those terms. His eyes widened a little, and a question burst out of him — a question he hadn't known he wanted the answer to. "When's our birthday?" he said. "How old am I?" He knew that he was somewhere around sixty, but nothing more specific than that.

Ford didn't answer right away, dropping his eyes to his lap. "You don't even know your own birthday," he whispered. Then, with a deep breath, he looked up again and mustered a smile. "We were born on June 15th, 1949. We're sixty-three years old. You're the older twin, by fifteen minutes, and you would never let me forget it."

Lincoln smiled back. He could see himself doing that — or, at least, doing it in the past. His smile faded. Now, with all the isolation he'd experienced and with all the deals he'd made, he was a very different person than that snarky, angry man thirty years ago. This saddened him, and now it also scared him: Ford was expecting the brother he'd lost all those years ago, but Lincoln was not that man.

"So," he said. "Stanley. And you called me Lee a moment ago. That. . . that's the only thing I could remember. When I woke up."

Stanford watched him intently. "You could remember your name?" he asked slowly.

"No, I could remember my nickname. Lee. It grew into Lincoln, thanks to Percy." He shook his head. "He was the one who suggested that Lee was a nickname for something. But he never suggested the name Stanley." That was deliberate, he was sure.

"Who's Percy?"

"The leader of the Order. Before. . . before me. He was Pacifica's grandfather, but he died before she was born." Lincoln sighed. "He told me I had no family around here. That I was just a visitor when they found me unconscious." A glance to Ford. "Was I. . . kidnapped?"

Frustration raged in Ford's eyes as he lifted in his hands in a violent shrug. "I don't know," he said. "I have no idea what happened. I remember that you fell into the portal in my basement. I thought you've been in another dimension this entire time. But you've been here this whole time. I have no idea how that happened." His face darkened. "But I do know who wiped your memory," he growled.

Lincoln didn't dare ask who. He wondered how Ford's memory had been tampered with to make him think that his brother was trapped in another dimension. Had Lincoln ever gone to another dimension? Or was Ford's brain making something up entirely?

The brothers sat in silence again. Lincoln glanced to Ford, only to find him staring back, a pained expression on his face. He jumped guiltily when he saw Lincoln's eyes on him. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away.

"It's all right," said Lincoln, though it wasn't, really. "You've been through a lot. You. . . you've discovered things that you never imagined. We both have."

Ford looked up, but he didn't say anything. Lincoln could see the emotion in his eyes, though he didn't let it escape this time in the form of tears.

It made Lincoln uncomfortable to hold Ford's gaze. His brain still couldn't get used to the face, so similar to his own, that looked back at him. Still, the men — the brothers — watched each other, neither one knowing what to say.

Then Lincoln felt a tug on his soul.

He jumped to his feet, startling Ford. "No," he said. "No, please. Not yet."

"Lee?" Ford asked in alarm. "Lee, what's wrong?"

Lincoln stared sightlessly at the far wall. "Don't. Please. I — I'll explain to him, but leave me be." He couldn't see the demon to which he pled, but he pled all the same.

"Explain what? Lee?"

Bill yanked Lincoln from his body.

The world flipped a few times before Lincoln got his bearings. His sight cleared, and he saw Ford holding him — or, his body. The man had leapt from the bed to catch Lincoln when he fell (as bodies often do when they have no spirit to hold them up). Lincoln watched his own eyes open, with a yellow glow in place of the irises. Another spirit was inside his body now: the spirit of a demon.

"Lee, are you okay?" Ford helped Bill to his feet, searching his eyes. He couldn't see the yellow glow that Lincoln could. To Ford, his brother appeared to be the same.

Bill stepped away and brushed off Lincoln's robes. "I'm not Lee," he said.

Ford frowned in confusion. "What?"

Bill smiled at him. "Oh, Sixer," he said. "It's been so long. I've missed you."

Now Ford looked positively baffled. "Lee, what is going on?"

"I just said. I'm not Lee. I'm Bill."

Ford stared at him. Lincoln could imagine what he saw: the blue-grey eyes of his brother, bleeding away to reveal the yellow eyes of Bill Cipher. "I. . . I don't understand," said Ford, taking a step back.

Bill spoke slowly and clearly. "I am Bill Cipher, and I am possessing your brother's body. It's been thirty years since I've talked with you." He grinned again. "Did you miss me?"

Now the inevitable horror entered Ford's eyes. "Where's Lee?" he immediately asked.

Bill waved an unconcerned hand in the direction of Lee's ghost. "Over there. You can't see him, since he's currently a ghost and all. Say hi, Lincoln."

Lincoln shot Bill a flat look.

He shrugged. "Be that way."

"How?" demanded Ford. "How could you possess him like that? I thought you needed to make a deal."

The smile returned. "We did. Years ago. I gave Lincoln something he wanted, and he gave me permission to possess him." Bill looked positively gleeful. "Whenever I want."

Ford's confused expression set into stone, and he whipped out a gun that Lincoln hadn't noticed before. "Not while I'm here," he said, and he pointed the gun squarely at Bill.

"That's not a good idea," Bill said. "Knocking me unconscious won't kick me out of your brother's body."

"That's how it works, isn't it?" Ford's voice shook, but his hands were steady on the gun. "If the body falls asleep or unconscious, you have to leave."

"Normally, yes. But not now. Since I can take over this body whenever I want, I can stay inside when it's asleep. If you shoot me, you'll just have an unconscious brother on your hands; and, when the body wakes up, I'll still be inside. Besides," he added, "we're standing very close to each other. Shooting me at this close of a range would only hurt Lincoln."

Now Ford's hands shook. He let out a pained breath and put the gun away. "Is there any way to get you out, then?"

"Short of killing him, no," Bill replied. "I'm in control. I get to decide who's inhabiting this body at any given time. It's really a genius set-up, wouldn't you say?"

Lincoln was having a hard time focusing on the conversation at hand. Seeing the gun had completely scattered his thoughts, for at first he hadn't realized that it was only a stun gun. Now, as he tried to pick up the pieces of his panicked thoughts, he wished he was inside his own body. Feeling strong emotions like these was taxing when you didn't have a body to feel them with.

"So, I'm here now. Any questions for me?" Bill looked at Lincoln, not Ford, when he said this.

It was still Ford who answered. "Do you mean to tell me, Cipher, that you've been deliberately hiding my brother from me for all this time?"

Bill rolled his eyes (which was a strange phenomenon to watch, with his slitted pupils). "That's not a real question, Sixer. You already know the answer. But, since you asked: yes."

"What happened?" It was the first thing Lincoln had said since getting thrown from his body. "How did I go from being Stanford's brother to waking up down here with no memory?"

"Ah, now that's a real question." Bill glanced to Stanford, who looked confused, and explained, "Blind Eye — that is, Lincoln — just asked me how he got down here. Care to share your hypothesis, Stanford?"

Ford tensed, then said, "Point to Lee again." When Bill did, he turned in that direction and tried to meet Lincoln's eyes. Lincoln appreciated the gesture, even if he undershot by a couple inches. "My guess, Lee, is that Fiddleford — my assistant — wiped your memory with his memory gun, abducted you, and brought you down here." Ford looked to Bill. "Was Fidds an Order member?"

"Oh, yes, he was a fun pawn," Bill said. "I know I tried to stop you, Sixer, from bringing him back, but it was actually a good thing. I suppose I must thank you."

"Why?" asked Ford, a hostile glint in his eye.

Bill laughed shortly. "I'm not going to tell you why."

"That's who was on the other side of the portal?" Lincoln was putting pieces together, but he didn't like the picture he was getting. "The man who wiped my memory?"

"Yes," said Bill. "On my orders, of course."

Lincoln stared at him. Bill stared right back, waiting patiently as Lincoln processed what he just said.

"You?" It made a horrible sort of sense, but Lincoln didn't want to believe it. "You're behind my amnesia?"

"Oh, yes," Bill said with a smile. "Fiddleford pulled the trigger, of course, but I gave the order. It was a backup plan, you see. I sent Fiddleford through the portal, hoping I could go through as well. If that didn't work, then I would work on bringing you, the poor, helpless amnesiac, over to my side." He spread his hands, his smile widening. "And it worked, didn't it? Even if you become my enemy after today, it doesn't matter. I still have the power to possess you." Now he turned to Ford. "Tell me, Sixer: If I have one of my Symbols entirely under my control, can the rest of you ever fulfill the prophecy? Or am I unstoppable?"

Ford clenched and unclenched his hands but said nothing.

Lincoln felt himself shutting down. With no body to hold them in, his thoughts swirled around him in a suffocating whirlwind. All these years, Bill had been a confidant — a protector — and. . . and it had all been a scam? Even as Lincoln recognized, over the years, who Bill really was, he never considered him to be the mastermind behind his memory loss. He had known that the memory gun was responsible, but not who had used it or why. Now he faced the terrible truth: that his amnesia was caused by the same organization that had taken him in afterward.

"Now," said Bill, "I think that's enough Q and A time. Let's get back to the Museum, Stanford."

"What?"

"Well, see, you're holding something of mine there. A certain Northwest."

Ford stiffened. "You can't have him."

"Yes, how clever of you, hiding him in the basement," Bill said. "The thing is, I made a promise to that boy years ago: that if he ever gave up my little secret about you two brothers, then he would be severely punished. And I can't break my promises."

Ford folded his arms. "Well, you're going to have to break that one, because you're not getting to him."

Lincoln was barely paying attention (since he was trying to reign in his own thoughts), but he dimly appreciated Ford's tenacity in protecting Gideon. He certainly needed protecting; and if Stanford Pines could open an interdimensional portal against Bill's wishes, then he could guard Gideon from the demon's wrath.

"I was being literal, Sixer. I cannot break my promises. It's part of my inability to lie. Those ancients thought that if I had to follow through on my threats, then I would make them less often." Bill shrugged. "Whether or not they were right, I'm not sure. I do know, however, that this means I have to make Gideon's punishment my first priority." He put out an arm, like he was offering for Ford to take it. "So, let's go."

"We're leaving?" Lincoln blurted. He had thought. . . well, he'd thought that Bill would do something terrible to Ford, since he had him captive in the Order headquarters and all.

"Yes, Blind Eye, we're leaving. We're going to the Mystery Museum, where Fordsie lives. Won't that be fun?" He shot Lincoln a patronizing smile.

"I can't let you," Ford insisted. "I won't let you into my house, Cipher."

The patronizing smile turned to Ford, then became vindictive. "But surely you want to let Stanley into your house. You have to realize, Sixer, that he and I are a package deal."

Lincoln watched Ford's expression as it cycled through anger and pain and hatred. "Don't call him by that name," Ford finally said, his face red with rage. "You have no right to use the name that you stole from him."

Bill shrugged. "I usually use Blind Eye, anyway." He seemed unconcerned by Ford's anger. "Now, are you going to come with me, or should I leave you down here with Pacifica? She's been working herself into quite a temper over you."

With the mention of Pacifica, another flash of pain bolted through Lincoln's thoughts. He struggled with this pain as Ford glared at Bill. "Fine," Ford finally said, "but I won't hesitate to stun you." He reached into a pocket and held up a white patch in a clear wrapping.

Bill rolled his eyes. "You must think you're so threatening." He opened the door and gestured to Ford. "After you."

Ford regarded him warily. "You first."

Bill shrugged and stepped through the door; only then did Ford follow, with Lincoln floating next to him. After a minute of tense silence, "I've missed you, Sixer," Bill said over his shoulder. "Your thoughts were so entertaining to peek in on. Why did you ever block me out?"

Ford gave him an incredulous look, even though they weren't facing each other. "Does your inability to lie include asking questions you already know the answer to?" he asked in lieu of answering.

Another shrug. "No, or I wouldn't have been able to ask that."

"Well, then, you know why. To keep you from spying."

They came across the coat, snow pants, and duffel bag that Lincoln had left on the floor, and Bill bent down to pick up the coat. "Sometimes, Sixer," he said with a shake of his head, "it's fun to ask even when I know the answer."

Lincoln was silent as Bill and Ford bickered. He had so much to think about that he could hardly think at all. He wanted to be back in his body. He wanted to get into his warm bed and never leave.

Instead, he floated beside his newly discovered brother as he tried and failed to pick up the pieces of his shattered world.