Like full sprint, wild-eyed, leave-everyone-behind bolted.
Dizzy, who'd just finished unfolding his sacred throne of a chair, looked at the seat with a sigh of betrayal. Then shouted after me:
Go without us! I'll call He'll come grab you, and then swing back for us later.
I couldn't wait. I was burning. My bones were buzzing. That smile—his smile—was all I wanted. All I needed.
Faster. Faster!
If I'd had eyes in the back of my head, maybe I'd have noticed the silent stare coming from one of the bare trees behind me. Perched high on a branch sat a quiet observer. She studied the bark, the sap, the curves and veins of the trunk—design inspo for her next landscaping gig. She placed a hand under her chin and whispered to the breeze:
Told you Gotta let Dmitry know. They always come back.
But I didn't hear her. Couldn't hear anything over the drumbeat in my skull that screamed one word:
faster.
I was practically running now. Nearly mowed down a whole family taking their kids for a sketchy late-night walk. No other souls around. Just me and the echo of my steps.
I leapt into the car and slammed the door like I was trying to trap a ghost.
Partridge—greatest nickname of the century, or possibly his real name? Who even knows anymore—was deep in a text convo with his buddy Lucas. Apparently Lucas was showering him with confetti emojis for some holiday.
I didn't care. Not one bit.
To the clinic! — I ordered, like a girl who pays for the ride, even though I absolutely didn't. But he'd been briefed, so no complaints. He buckled up, and we were off—to the place where my -H- hour- was waiting.
Even in the lobby, filling out forms and getting visitor approval, I wasn't 100% convinced this was real life. Felt like the kind of plot twist Louise would dream up. Didn't matter though. Delusion or not, I had a plan. I even borrowed a pair of wired headphones from a nurse. My wireless ones wouldn't work for what I had in mind.
This time, when I barged into the room, I wasn't alone.
Turns out, a couple of volunteers had already jumped on the -save Erich- bandwagon. Only two people—but what a pair.
On either side of his bed stood Ardon and Gina. One minute, arms raised to the ceiling like druids at sunrise, the next, flipping into full-on handstands, legs pointed at the heavens like they were threatening the light fixtures.
And they were good. That's what you get from years of nature worship and physical labor. Still. It was time to interrupt this circus.
Ardon, what the hell are you guys doing?
Oh… Nib… — Ardon, face purple from all the blood rushing into it, tried to reply, but couldn't get the words out upside down. He flopped back into a regular human shape, dusted himself off, and—of course—proceeded to hug-squish me within an inch of my life.
Then, he explained their dizzying (literally) strategy: