When Faye’s shift ended, she left the hospital by one of the side doors, near the loading dock. The sun was only just coming up, but the shadows were still thick, so she didn’t notice the creature crouched low beside one of the dumpsters. She walked right past Henry where he slept in those shadows. Only Milo noticed her, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He could try waking Henry, attempt again to make a physical connection – at least enough to wake him. He could also just let Faye walk by, go home, carry on with her life, and deal later with Henry’s anger and disappointment at missing her.
Even if he did wake Henry, he reasoned, his friend would probably just get up and stumble after her like a deranged beast. She would be terrified, run from him, likely scream, and people would see him. What was the point in that? There was really no way this was going to end well. But he aimed to stand by Henry, no matter what.
So Milo concentrated as hard as he could, tried to make his fingers – or at least the tips of his fingers – substantial enough to brush against Henry’s face. He raised his hand, swiped it across Henry’s cheek. Nothing. He did it again. And again. On the fourth try, whether Milo had actually succeeded or not in making his fingertips substantial, Henry roused a little, grunted. Metal flakes shivered in the wind and sprinkled at his feet as his neck lifted his giant skull from his chest.
Come on, Henry, she’s here. She’s walking away right now. Wake up. Wake up.
Henry stirred again, still partially asleep, but beginning to come around. One of his feet involuntarily kicked out, crashing against the bottom of the dumpster.
Twenty feet away, just as she was nearing the edge of the sidewalk, Faye jumped at the sound, turned around sharply, wide-eyed. She saw nothing but deep shadows, though something like dread crawled up inside her and nestled in.
She turned around slowly again, carried on walking. Reached the sidewalk.
Then she heard a voice like cracking rocks. It said her name.
She froze.
Nothing in that moment could have made her turn around again.
“Faye,” the voice said again. So much pain, like it physically hurt the speaker to form the word.
Her heart thudded in her chest; her legs felt like jelly. The sidewalk upon which she stood suddenly felt like a sponge. Blood pumped in her ears – so much so that she wasn’t sure she heard the next words from the voice correctly at all.
“It’s me,” it said.
The gloom was still thick, and the snow still falling hard enough that the few figures she spotted in the storm looked like nothing more than silhouettes from where she stood. She thought briefly of calling out to them, but something made her stop. Something connected to the dread that’d made its home in her belly. Something warmer this time, though. The voice now somehow familiar. Her mind raced to make the connection.
“It’s me,” the voice came again. Then: “Please, come… here.”
The voice sounded inhuman, and she knew it was insanity to respond to it, to turn around and look – to even entertain the idea of heading in its direction.
But wasn’t it someone she knew? Wasn’t it–
“Henry,” the jumble of rocks in the shadows croaked. “Henry…”
The connection made – as crazy and impossible as it was – she somehow felt a tiny bit settled. The first thought to come to her was: I knew you weren’t dead. I knew it.
Snowflakes melting onto her flushed cheeks, she turned around slowly, then stared down at her feet, marveling as they brought her toward the source of the voice. The dumpster. The shadows. Perhaps death. Somehow it didn’t matter. On some deep level, she was powerless to stop it.
Snow crunched under her feet, she slipped on some ice, righted herself. Tottered uncertainly to a stop about five feet away from the darkness near the bin. Breath coming quickly, puffing into the crisp early morning air, she whispered, “Henry?”
The darkness shifted, something caught the dim sunlight briefly and gleamed.
“I don’t think,” Henry growled, “you should see me … like this.”
Speech was becoming a little easier for Henry, and the words came a bit more naturally from his mouth now. He was slowly learning how to use his new body.
“I went to check on you,” Faye said, “but you–”
“–were dead. I know,” Henry finished for her.
“You were so… hot. Burning up.”
Henry said nothing. He moved slightly again, and Faye caught sight of something steel. Metallic. Fear knotted her guts. “What are you holding, Henry? What’s in your hand?”
She took a step back. Two more before he answered.
“Nothing. Nothing.”
Milo floated a few feet away, just watching, fascinated, curious how this would turn out. Feeling terrible for Henry. Anxious for Faye.
“Listen, I … something has happened to me, Faye. Don’t know what to do. Where to go.”