An enormous man, the size of two linebackers, was suddenly in her line of vision, his round face and soothing eyes seeking Poppy’s. “Gimme your hand, Poppy. Give it here now,” he demanded, but it wasn’t with impatience or upset urgency. He said it with a calm that somehow pierced her anxiety.
She gave him her hand, his large palm enveloping her fingers. “I’mma need you to listen to my voice, Poppy.” He paused, making sure he had her attention before he said, “Name’s Darnell and I’m a demon. Thass right, you heard correct. Demon. But I ain’t a bad one. So you listen up. I’m here to help, but you gotta let me.”
Holding Darnell’s hand was like floating in a protective bubble of soothing bath water. Suddenly, everything stilled, and she nodded as though in a trance.
He bobbed his head of shortly cropped hair in approval, his smile kind. “Nice. Good girl. Now you just listen. We’re gonna fix this, but you cain’t go runnin’ off. You got to stay close, okay? Bad stuff happens tonight if you ain’t careful. You’re too new to be off on your own with all this other nonsense floatin’ about to boot. Now, promise ol’ Darnell you’ll stay close.”
“Pro…mise,” she stuttered, weak as relief eased her tension, massaged her muscles until they began to quiver.
It was then Darnell pulled her close to his barrel chest, rocking her in a light sway to ease her shakes. “I got ya now. You just breathe. Just close your eyes and breathe, Poppy. Fo’ this is through, we gonna be good friends. Promise you that.”
Friends. She liked friends, especially ones like this, who smelled like the woods and a warm, crackling fire. Mercifully, her face began to relax, the throb in her head eased.
Someone stroked her back. “That’s it, sweetie. Just relax. January will text soon.”
Marty. That was Marty being Marty. A mom.
As she drifted further, someone else draped a blanket over her, warming her to a pleasantly toasty state.
“Thank goodness for you, Master Darnell. She was growing quite frantic. Where would we be without you, fine fellow?”
Darnell’s chuckle rumbled in her ear, lulling her, and as her eyes closed and her body became calm, she drifted away.
She only vaguely heard the call of her name…a frenzied cry, if she were to label it. But she was too focused on how peaceful being tucked into Darnell’s embrace, a perfect stranger’s embrace, was probably the best thing since landing a gig in the chorus of The Lion King.
Her back hit the ground with a thwack, stealing the breath from her lungs. The ground beneath her soggy and cold. No longer was she drifting in calm waters.
Instead, that damn panic was back, gnawing her from the inside out. Her eyes flew open, adjusting to the enveloping darkness greeting and whooshing about her ears. Loud voices, rough and harsh, swelled around her then faded, and then she realized where she was.
Littleton.
In the garden by the front door, surrounded by the bonsai trees. The building was dark, clearly, everyone gone for the demolition. How the hell had she ended up here? Where was everyone? Darnell, the strangest dichotomy of a demon ever? Nina, Wanda, Marty, Carl, Calamity? How had she been zapped here?
What was happening and why? What was she looking for?
Get up, Poppy! Get up! Get Rick! some unknown force screamed in her brain. So, she did as it told her, using her arms to piston her upward. A wince of pain jabbed her just below her breasts, making the effort to sit up straight a painful one.
Get Rick!
But where is he? She wanted to scream, rising to her haunches and using the bench in the garden as leverage to pull herself up. All sorts of words from the space around her assaulted her then.
Death. Evil. Agony.
Throwing her hands up in the air, Poppy clenched her fists in frustration as her eyes surveyed the landscape of the building. She heard someone yell “twenty minutes” from what sounded like just outside the gates, reminding her this building was scheduled to blow.
The diner. Maybe Rick was at the diner with the rest of the tenants, waiting to watch the big demo? Hadn’t Arnie said they were going to make a party of it?
Running toward the gates, her hand had just reached out to open them when the voice screamed again, “Get Rick!”
Fighting that disturbing panic, Poppy stopped in the middle of everything. Simply stopped and looked up to the sky for guidance, attempting to sort her panic from reason.
“Okay, listen. I’m freaked out here. You keep yelling at me to get Rick, but I don’t know where Rick is or why I have to get him. Can I have a noun, please? Like a location? I’m happy to get Rick if you’ll just tell me how!”
She listened again for the voice, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing but the sound of her heartbeat crashing in her ears.
Raising her face to the sky, Poppy grimaced, still fighting a full-on panic attack. “Huge batch of help that was. Thanks for nothing,” she mumbled—and then she heard someone calling her name.
“Poppy! Up here!”
Cocking her head, she turned to look toward Littleton. Was that Rick? Had he suddenly found his voice? Squinting, she looked into the darkness of the building, desolation swarming her and landing square in her chest.