“Do you want to know how you die?” whispered a childish voice, close in the darkness.
He was so tired, this horror-movie situation didn’t even make him scream. He blinked open his eyes and saw a dim, smiling face peering down at him.
After a couple seconds of confusion, he managed a flinch. This was the reaction of an old dog who’d just had a piece of bacon boink off his nose. What? Oh.
“Thank you for feeding Erik, Violet,” John said fuzzily. He drew the timer out of his shirt and wound the dial back ten minutes as he spoke. “I didn’t know he was hungry. I don’t want to know how I die.”
He had done all he needed to do, he thought. “Can I go back to sleep?”
The smiling face withdrew. Something nudged against the side of the bed, making it wobble. “Sure. If you feel safe.” There was a damp, repetitive crunching sound.
“Okay…”
“I mean, you don’t know. I could be feeding him broken glass right now.”
John gave a gasp and banged on the light. It fell off the table and bathed the scene in canted, Dr. Caligari-style shadows.
Erik was crouched ferally on the floor, holding a bowl in one hand and eating with a spoon in the other. John scrabbled forward so he could see inside the bowl.
Cornflakes, milk, and a sparkly dusting of sugar.
Erik cackled. Cousin Violet cackled, but she used Erik’s mouth to do it. “Oh, like I’m gonna pass up cereal just to mess with you. I haven’t had any in forever. You’re so dumb. I really hope people feel bad for you, otherwise they’re not gonna like you very much.”
“Okay,” John said weakly. He was never quick with a witty reply. It wasn’t a super great idea to mouth off to a god who’d yank on your marionette strings for fun, anyway.
Erik smiled at him, one eye narrowed, and his metal socket swathed in an absurdly cheerful striped scarf that hid almost half his face. “Wanna go back to sleep, Johnny-boy?”
“No,” John said.
Violet laughed, sniffled, and wiped under Erik’s eye with his hand. “You’re a beautiful butterfly. Go ahead and try. You’re way more fun exhausted and random.”
John sat up and stared at Erik eating cereal as long as he could, but eventually his chin hit his chest, and he found himself blinking up at a smiling face again.
Erik, or the thing in Erik, drew the blanket over him and tucked him in.
“Thank you,” John said.
“Nighty-night, my little chaos engine,” Violet said. She waved Erik’s hand. “See you after the significant line break. Round two…”
◆◇◆
Ding!
John felt inside of his shirt for the timer, found it blindly, and wound the dial back for another six hours. He searched for a pants pocket, then a coat pocket, and finally, wincing, found the felt tip pen in his pyjama shirt pocket. He pulled up his sleeve and drew another tally mark on the inside of his forearm.
He stared at his forearm with its small collection of tally marks, holding the pen cap in his teeth.
“Shit.”
He glanced at the figure beside him in the double bed. He craved a competent person who could tell him it didn’t matter, six hours more or less wasn’t a big deal, and it was all going to be okay. What he had was an injured friend who made him feel guilty and uncomfortable.
He did not want to share a bed with Erik, but the hotel didn’t know there were two people in the room. It would’ve looked weird asking for a rollaway. He tried sleeping in one of the chairs, but Erik woke up in the middle of the night, got confused, crawled out of bed, and tried to sleep in a chair too.
Erik slept under the blankets and sheet, and John slept under just the blankets. Usually. Erik had been up earlier. Erik was sleeping on top of the blankets, shivering and curled up small. He had covered himself with the folded scarf and a bath towel. Potato was sitting astride his upper arm, kneading the fuzzy scarf with both paws, because cats didn’t give a damn.
John sighed, got up, and padded over the cold floor to Erik’s side of the bed. “Hey. Come on. Get under the blankets. You’re cold. Shoo, Kitty.”
Potato leapt down, rubbed sideways against his leg, and wandered over to the radiator. It was warmest right under it.
“…goin’ on?” Erik said.
“Nothing, just let me get the blanket…”
Erik sobbed. He lifted his hands towards his head, but he was too afraid to touch. He put them down, and they popped up again. The right one had a curled finger that seemed ready to wipe his eye. He tucked it into a fist and hugged his shoulders, shivering. “What… What’s…”
“No, no. We’re okay. We’re okay.” John sat beside him and dragged over the blankets and sheet from the other side of the bed. The sheet was on top that way, but it had to be warmer than a towel. He tucked Erik in like an extra large spring roll, and tried to turn his head so the metal part was against the pillow. “There we go. It’s just cold. You’re…”
“Ow,” Erik whispered. He wept. His grey eye was squeezed shut and leaking from the fear and pain. “Ow, ow, ow…”
“No, it’s okay,” John said quickly. “I gotcha. Lemme see.” He huffed a warm breath on his cold hands, rubbed them together, breathed and rubbed again. “It’s okay, just a sec. I won’t hurt you. Shhh…” He pulled Erik’s head against the pillow, held it down, and cupped a warm hand over the patch and the metal socket. “That’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Ow,” Erik said. He shuddered.
“Shh, I know. It’s gonna be okay.”
Erik choked. “I hurt my head!”
John cringed, but he couldn’t pull back or let go. “No, no. I promise. It’s just cold.”
“I can’t remember! I can’t think! This is forever, this… this… this is…”
“No…”
“I wanna go home!”
John held Erik against the pillow, where the cold air wouldn’t hurt his metal socket. “This is just for right now. Erik?” He swallowed hard and forced all the tremor and uncertainty out of his voice. “Listen to me. You trust me. I’m here to take care of you. You are not hurt. You’re a little sick, I know you don’t feel well, but it is just for right now. No big deal. You’ll go home soon. I promise you’ll feel better and go home soon.”
Erik shivered, but he calmed. “…my birthday?” he said, muffled.
John smiled, painfully, and breathed a laugh. “Yeah!”
“…soon?”
“Yes. Yes. Super soon.” He considered, for only a moment. “One week!”
And now, if Erik remembered, he’d just put a time limit on how long Erik could be allowed to remain even close to coherent. A short one.
John clenched his teeth and shut his eyes. “One week from today, we are going home for your birthday, and your family will be so happy to see you, and we’ll all have cake. We’ll have the chocolate cake with the brown sugar frosting your uncle likes to make. It’s only cold because it’s snowing outside. That’s why your head hurts. But it only snows near your birthday, right?”
Erik blinked open his eye. “Yeah.”
John beamed at him. It felt hideous. Grotesque. “It’s snowing right now. Wanna see?”
Erik nodded against the pillow.
“Okay. Careful. It’s cold.” John kept a hand over the metal socket and helped Erik sit up. “There…”
Erik cringed and turned away from the window.
“Uh-uh.” John tugged him gently to the side. “It’s real life. I’m here with you. You’re safe. Go on and look.”
Erik blinked and peered out the window.
Heaped flakes and ice trickles had gathered in the corners and the mortared spaces between the bricks. Frost had crept its way over most of the glass, making a forest of crystalline blooms. The yellowish street lamps below threw the drifting flakes into sharp, shadowed contrast. Flecks of grey danced across Erik’s rapt expression like funeral confetti.
A gust of wind rattled the glass, and they both gave a little jump.
Erik laughed faintly. “Snow. You weren’t kidding, huh? Snow.”
John nodded. “Mm-hm.” He wrapped the scarf around Erik’s head again, tying and tucking in the ends. “So let’s be careful and keep you bundled up warm.”
“So I can get home safe for my birthday!” Erik said.
“Yeah,” John said. “You’ll have cake.”
Erik nodded. “You can have cake too. But just a little. Then you an’ me’ll come right back to our room with the ducks and keep savin’ the world!”
John shook his head. “Hey, kiddo, don’t you want to go home? It’s okay to just go home. I’ll be okay.”
“I miss everyone a lot,” Erik said. “I do. When I remember.” He sighed, smiled bravely and shrugged. “But the world’s not gonna save itself, John. I’d miss you too, and Potato, and our room with the ducks!”
“It’s not that I won’t miss you,” John said. “But this really isn’t your responsibility. We’ll get you home as soon as we can, Erik. Home to stay. You deserve a rest.”
“You too,” Erik said gravely. “Seriously. You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell, why shouldn’t I look it?” John said. “Come on. Back into bed. Cover up.”
“Kiss me goodnight?” Erik said with a grin.
John recoiled. “What? Ew! No! You mean a hug?” he offered hopefully. “I’m a great hugger!”
Erik frowned. “No, you… You kiss me sometimes, right? I don’t mind.” He looked down and away. “Am I mixed up?”
“You are mixed up,” John said flatly. “That’s David. And you do…”
Erik scowled. “Not David.”
“Well, whoever the hell it is, it’s not you,” John cried. “Please try to remember. I know you can’t and it’s not your fault, but I don’t want that and it scares me. Please.”
“Okay,” Erik said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean it. Ever.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry too. I’m so damn sorry…”
“Hug?” Erik said.
John hugged him, reluctantly.
“I don’t think this is up to your usual standard,” Erik complained.
“I’m just really tired. Can we go back to bed?”
“Yeah, okay.” Erik paused and pointed to the corner near the radiator. “Lame Anthony says that’s broken. The heater, not the kitty. Hi, Tater.”
“I’m not surprised,” John said. “I suppose he likes it that way?”
“Yes. And you. He says you did remember to make a mark on your arm, before, so it’s okay. Get some sleep.”
“For real?”
“Uh-huh.”
John smiled weakly. “Thanks, Erik.”
He let Erik have all the blankets and went to sleep under a bath towel.
◆◇◆
A familiar, velvety voice said, “How do you like your eggs, sweetheart?”
Now John screamed. The cat launched herself off of his chest, digging in her claws for extra traction. He fell out of bed and landed on the floor in a heap with his stocking foot in an empty plastic cereal bowl. “David?”
Erik sputtered laughter and doubled over, holding himself. “Oh, gods! Oh. I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist. No-no-no. I just know what he sounds like. It’s my voice. Aw. I can’t get anyone bigger than Violet without you helping, come on. You know that. I’m just being funny.”
Erik had managed to get himself halfway dressed, into his funny T-shirt with the VACANCY sign, a clean pair of underpants, and mismatched socks. He seemed to have wet his hair and combed his fingers through it. He’d found his eye in the bathroom, put it back in, and left the gauze patch on his pillow, along with a slight oil stain.
“Ha, ha,” John managed sickly. “Please don’t do that.” He meant, Please don’t get better. Please don’t remember. Please don’t be smart.
But he couldn’t say that. Erik just looked so proud of himself.
It was light outside, which meant it was either just before noon, or just after. John might’ve slept almost five hours in a row. A rare treat. “Hey, thanks for letting me sleep in. Let me help…”
“Yeah, I cranked that darn timer back for you when it got down to a half hour. Don’t worry, I put a mark on my arm.” Erik lifted his arm and showed it — ink from the pen that John had forgotten to cap and tuck back into his pocket. “I’ll let you copy it. I won’t tell. But, uh, how do you like your eggs?”
Erik nervously folded both hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his heels.
John leapt to his feet, steadying himself with one hand on the bed. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! No…” Erik looked away, towards the door. “I, uh, could not remember how you liked your eggs, so I may have ordered quite a large amount of eggs.” He laughed. “That’s…”
“‘Order eggs’?” John cried, tearing both hands in his hair. “Oh, my gods! How do you mean ‘order eggs’? You can’t ‘order eggs’!” His eyes darted frantically around the room, but of course he couldn’t see what he was looking for. “Is there a god bringing us eggs?” He peered suspiciously at Erik. “What kind of eggs?”
“Holy shit. Calm down.” Erik lifted both hands for quiet. “I got human eggs.”
“What?”
“Oh, my gods.” Erik covered his eyes with a hand, shaking his head. “No, no. Chicken. Chicken. I got chicken eggs, from a human being.” He put up his hands again. “Not like that! Human beings do not lay eggs. Stop assuming the worst!”
“What?”
Erik snapped his fingers a few times, then pointed. “Room service! Okay? It’s a hotel. I got room service. And I think…”
“Room service?” John howled. “On the phone? How?”
Erik frowned and swept a hand towards the weighty black hotel phone. “Hey, it says how to dial room service right on it, man. In big red letters. It’s just two numbers on the clicky-wheel, I’m not stupid.”
Erik regarded John’s expression for a moment
He snapped his fingers again, and nodded. “Oh, yes. And I plugged it in. The phone. You left the cord in your pants pocket, it was in the laundry bag.” He shook his head. “Violet told me where it was, and I rescued it. Phone cords do not need laundering. Do they?” He seemed uncertain, then he smiled. “Well, if they do, I’ll just put it back!”
It was as if Erik had casually slit him open with a sword. John clutched several vital organs in his hands, vital systems that had failed. Instead of, Oh, gods, I NEED my liver! he cried, “Please don’t plug in the phone!”
“I won’t,” Erik said meekly. “Sorry.” He pulled the coiled cord out of the body of the phone, and the receiver, and offered it back. “Um.” His fingers tightened only briefly, as if he were considering, just for a moment, that he might not let go of it. “Why?”
“You won’t remember!” John said.
Erik cringed. “You’re right. You’re right. Here.” He put the cord in John’s hand. “But…” He looked aside, reluctant even to consider it, then looked back. “Maybe I will this time? I’m getting better. Not all at once,” he added quickly. “Just a little better. Better enough to go home next week. Yeah?”
John opened his mouth, and closed it.
He was terrible at improvising. Reacting, yes. He reacted to things all the time, quickly, sometimes with the stupidest possible choices. But he did come up with things to do, and then do them.
But improvising? Coming up with a plausible way to connect point A to point B? “Yes, and”ing? Oh, gods, no. If Cousin Violet contrived a way to trap him in a comedy show, just for her own sick amusement, he’d end up saying something like, “Yes, and… Did you know my shirt fabric is extremely flammable? I have matches!” And then he’d have no choice but to smile at the audience and light himself on fire.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” John said weakly, truthfully. “If they knew you were here, they’d be checking up on you all the time, and we can’t let them do that. They think… Because they only see David, and only sometimes, they think you’re my boyfriend, or, like, a prostitute I like to hire. Or maybe I’m the prostitute. They’re not thrilled with me.”
He shook his head. He tried to access the front desk and other public spaces as rarely as possible, but it was obvious they weren’t thrilled with him. For lots of reasons. Miss Doubek, bless her, seemed to think he needed a mental health intervention; she kept the rest of them in line. But even she wasn’t thrilled with him, she just pitied him too.
“But they’d be even less thrilled with you,” John said. “They don’t know you stay, so they don’t check on you, and that’s much easier for me. Because I’m stupid. And… And if I screw up and make it so it’s not safe here for us, we can’t have the room with the ducks anymore, and you’ll…”
“Oh, gods no, not my ducks!” Erik cried. He scrambled over to the painting and clasped his hands, as if praying at a little shrine. “I’m sorry, you guys. I won’t do that again. It wasn’t on purpose…”
“It’s my fault,” John said. “This is me. This is all on me. I get really tired and I start letting things slide, but we need to do the list again. I gotta remember…” He didn’t have his pen. Erik must’ve put it somewhere.
John shook his head. He pasted on a smile and tugged Erik gently away from the ducks. “Listen, let’s have breakfast, or lunch…”
“I like the list,” Erik said smiling.
John frowned and scolded with a finger, “I did not say that out loud, and you have no idea what that is.”
“Nope!” Erik replied, happily. “But I like it anyway!”
John groaned and dropped his head into his hands. He began to nod. He didn’t even look up, he just kept nodding, assuring himself. “Okay. Okay. But, breakfast…”
“Is in the hall!” Erik said. He frowned. “I… I think. We’ve been talking about a lot of stuff and I’m not sure now. Maybe I dreamed it.” He glanced at the phone. “It’s not plugged in, I… It doesn’t make sense, but I think… I think I decided to order a lot of eggs, because I don’t know how you like your eggs…” He touched a hand to his head, rubbing the edge of the metal where it had been merged to his skin. “Maybe I imagined the phone… Am I making any sense?”
John nudged him back with a hand. “Stay there. I’ll check.”
He looked out of the peephole first. He didn’t see any people, but he could make out the edge of a drooping white tablecloth, and a covered silver tray. He opened the door, sliding the knife out of the way with one toe.
There was a two-tiered cart with a tablecloth, a newspaper, a carafe of orange juice, and multiple covered trays, waiting just outside the door.
“Erik,” John said numbly. “You seem to have managed to order room service, without letting anyone into our room. I am very confused, because they always want a tip, but if you let the bellboy in and gave him a tip, the cart would be on the inside. I think. Unless you told him to leave the cart out there to fool me. Do you… happen to remember what you did?”
Erik lifted a finger, begging a moment’s pause. He began to nod, as if picking up the beat to some faint music. “I said to the imaginary phone voice, because it’s not plugged in, ‘I don’t know how my friend likes his eggs, how many kinds of eggs do you have?’ And it was a lot of eggs, I could not keep track of that many eggs. Maybe, like, five or fifteen kinds. So I said, ‘okay, just do all the eggs, put them on my tab.’”
John shivered. “Okay, okay, yes, but… Did you… Do you remember if you opened the door?”
“That door looks really complicated, it’s too hard to open,” Erik said. He snapped his fingers and pointed triumphantly heavenwards. “Yes! I said that, because… because that’s how it is, that’s fine, and… I put money under the door!” he decided. “And a candy bar! A flat one!”
John leaned down and felt the space under the door. Yes. It was big enough. Erik could have done just what he said he did.
John stood and turned, ashen. “I don’t think I want any breakfast because I’m scared you didn’t do what you said and you plugged in the phone and called the police, or your family…”
“It’s not plugged in,” Erik said gently. “I must’ve said ‘eggs’ into a dead phone and Violet got us some eggs to be funny.” He pointed into the kitchen, near the fridge. “Look, she’s laughing at us right now. I can’t call my family, they don’t have a phone. Don’t freak out, she likes that. It’s okay. Can we just have breakfast and do the list again?”
John located his wallet on the counter. It was empty of money. He wandered into the kitchen, avoiding the spot where Erik said the god was standing, and counted the candy bars.
He had no idea if they were missing a candy bar. Or if he’d spent the money. Violet could’ve flushed the money down the toilet, if she wanted. Erik could have.
“John,” Erik said. “I remember what we’re doing. I’m not gonna fuck up saving the world. Not on purpose. Please, can we have breakfast? It’s gonna get cold.”
John shut his eyes and thought very plainly, Please don’t read my mind, Erik. I need my privacy.
Erik did not react. “John?” he said, after a moment. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah.” John made another smile and wandered back to the door. “You’re right. Let’s have breakfast.”
◆◇◆
It was an entire cart full of eggs and egg-centric cuisine. Over various ways, boiled to various consistencies, scrambled, sauced, filled, and as a topping. With orange juice and a newspaper.
John managed to eat a few eggs, to keep Erik happy. Erik tried everything, and decided he liked “the big flat one” best. John thought that was maybe a quiche, or a tart. It had a pastry crust underneath. He liked to keep track of Erik’s favourites, for distractions and treats, but he had no hope of remembering this one.
“We’ll save the rest of it,” he said. “There’s room in the fridge.”
“What eggs do you like best?” Erik asked. “We’ll save them too!”
“I guess scrambled,” John allowed.
Erik applauded. “I’ll never remember! Write it down?” He had John’s felt tip pen in his hand.
John obligingly wrote, John likes his eggs scrambled, on a piece of hotel stationary. Erik carefully folded it, and tried to tuck it into his shirt pocket. His shirt didn’t have a pocket. The folded paper tumbled to the floor, and he ignored it.
They pushed the cart with the leftovers they didn’t want back into the hall.
John plugged in the phone, with trepidation, and called the front desk to let them know they could collect their cart.
“No,” he said firmly. “No, it’s just me. I was very drunk and I didn’t want to clean up, I just wanted some eggs. Yes, I forgot how the door works. Look, you already know I drank the whole minibar once. Yes, I will look into that. Yes… Well maybe I don’t deserve better, you ever think of that?”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes with a hand. “I’m sorry, Miss Doubek. I have nothing but respect for druids, and I’m sure nature is very healing, but I’m a tragically gay alcoholic with multiple mental health issues, and I will remain so until they lower my skinny, brown ass into the grave. I also tip well, don’t I? Yes. You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
He plopped down the receiver and pulled the cord out of it, and the phone.
Erik regarded him with a pained, uncertain smile. “Okay?”
“I kinda wish they didn’t speak Anglais here, but maybe I’m lucky they do,” John muttered. “If they believe me. I dunno.” He wound up the phone cord and stuffed it into his pyjama shirt pocket. He didn’t have any other pockets.
John regarded Erik with a sigh. “You’re more dressed than I am.”
Erik beamed. “Really?” He looked down at himself and puzzled at his outfit for a few moments. He looked up at John and shared his observation proudly, “I don’t have pants!”
John nodded, dragging back to his feet. “Right, but don’t worry about it. Let me…”
“I’m going to have a nap!” Erik said.
John blew out another long sligh, a slow leak that deflated him somewhat. He paused with a hand on the bathroom door and didn’t look back. “Yeah. You’re right.” He shut it behind him.
“I can’t find the bed!” Erik called over. “Do you have it with you in there?”
“It pulls down,” John said. “We can’t have the bed and the table at…”
There was a thud, a crash, and a complaint from a disturbed cat.
“I found it!” Erik said.
“Thank you. Is the table okay?”
Too long a pause, and a frantic scrabbling sound. “It’s fine! Don’t… Don’t worry! Ha-ha! Don’t come out!”
The bathroom mirror had been defaced with a cloud of white toothpaste. John recognized Cousin Violet’s handwriting — jagged and childish, but with all the letters facing the right way.
You’re gonna die!
She had also drawn him a sad butterfly and a smiley face.
“You’ve got time,” John called back.
He wiped off the mirror with a washcloth. The result was smeary and beaded with water, but it would do.
It seemed to take a long while just to struggle out of his pyjamas. He knocked back his stubble with an electric razor, washed his face, frowned at the ever-increasing length of his dark hair and pulled it back with an elastic.
He leaned into the mirror and traced the bruised crescents under his eyes with two fingers. David was always offering to do his makeup.
Concealer, Johnny! You’d look perfectly presentable with some tinted moisturizer and a little concealer… Have you been conditioning?
He didn’t want any damn makeup.
However, there was a bottle of conditioner in the bath. Next to the pink soap with the moisturizer.
The underwear in the pile of clothes in the corner passed the sniff test. He hit the whole pile with a long spray of deodorant, then got dressed. He buttoned his shirt wrong three times in a row, but at last the mirror showed him a sloppy man in wrinkled clothes who would pass for functional.
Under the harsh bathroom bulb, the gold flecks in his face and neck were even more obvious than in full daylight. Rob had introduced him to Billie as “and he’s so gay he sparkles!” which had been cute and funny at the time. The general idea had survived as sort of a rumour, and it was getting less and less funny. He sparkled because he was a shitty human being who was going to keep doing damage until the day he died — which, mercifully, might be any moment now.
He kicked his pyjamas into the corner. He felt the phone cord with his foot, groaned and retrieved it. It went into his pants pocket, just in case someone called.
He cracked the bathroom door and peeked out, wondering if Erik was engaged in any clever sabotage while unobserved.
Erik had stayed on-task almost long enough to fix the table and chairs. One chair was set up beside the table, squished against the foot end of the bed. The table was standing, but one of its legs was still folded up. The other chair was collapsed under the bed, with two legs sticking out.
Erik was standing at the window, looking out. At the snow, John supposed. Maybe he was thinking of birthday cake.
John cleared his throat. “Just me. I was in the bathroom. You okay? Need anything?”
Erik turned with a pained, pale smile. “Just the list, John, right?”
Erik had been looking at the black bag on the windowsill. He wasn’t supposed to notice that, or remember what was in it, what it was for.
John felt he was falling. It always felt like that, at least a little. Falling out of the Chaos Tree and hitting every branch on the way down. He existed in a constant state of crisis that was difficult to quantify.
But this felt like a lot of decay, a lot of improvement, in a very short time. Erik had noticed the bag before, but only as a mysterious object he didn’t like the look of. Like one of those cymbal-banging devil monkeys. It didn’t seem like he remembered. Not consciously.
“What list?” John said cautiously.
Erik blinked. “I… Shopping list?” He shook his head. “Are you going shopping? Please don’t go shopping, I don’t… I think I’m having a bad day.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know.” Erik edged past the table and away from the window. “Feel sick.”
John nodded. “You kinda had a lot of eggs. You want a soda?” He pointed towards the kitchen.
“Yeah…” Erik rubbed a hand against his socket, and shook his head. “No. No.” He looked up. “A hug?”
John hugged him tightly. “That’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Yeah,” Erik said. “You’re not… gonna hurt me?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Yeah.” Erik drew back with a sigh, and smiled. “Okay.”
John nodded at him. “Sit down for a sec, yeah? I just need to grab something, but it won’t take long.”
“Yeah.” Erik sat at the table, folded his hands, shut his eye, and waited.
