The Red Hand of the 49

A gathering place in dreams, or a more amazing reality? Lincoln cannot remember how or why he is here in this fellowship, and the ancient faces looking at him appear to expect something singular from him, but he does not know if he is dreaming or asleep. But something incredible is happening, he knows it in every fiber of his being, a curtain is drawing back, and the loud metronome of a vast clock sounds the seconds, and a stained-glass window above him shines in the guise of a powerful red hand. Have you ever dreamed of an odd meeting in a strange place, a dream so real it might possibly be real? This is the forty-nine, and time is dwindling short. Reality is even at the door.