Shit. I think it's pretty damned bad that that's all I have to say anymore, when this happens. I'm dreaming again, in case you're wondering. I woke up in a bed again, but this one larger and softer than the other, and the blankets actually covered me. I guessed maybe that was a plus, sort of. And the gown offered more coverage than the other one had, too. Maybe whoever was doing this shit to me had finally taken pity on me. I was proven wrong very quickly when Mab wandered into my room, her lips curled in a frozen smile.
"Harriet. The roses need pruning. Awaken and do so, would thee, oh lazy child." Goddamn it. I had an evil stepmother, didn't I? Mab was my evil stepmother. Fuck. When I didn't move right away she came over to me and wrapper her hand around my bicep, her nails digging into the skin bitterly as she yanked me to my feet and shoved me into the wardrobe in the corner of the room. "Dress thou self, and be quick about it." I glared at her silently because you aren't supposed to slap your evil stepmother when you're in a fairy tale as I pulled the wardrobe open to reveal a sunny yellow skirt with a bright blue and red top with a high, pale collar. Son of a bitch. I was in Snow White, wasn't I? Of course I was. And here I was hoping for Cinderella. Hell's Bells, is there any way this could get more stupid? I stumbled into the dress and made it all the way outside before I realized that I'd just put on a dress after being called Harriet again and hadn't thought a damned thing about it. Something might just be wrong here, I think.
I moved over to the tall, creeping roses, a set of shears Mab had shoved at me (almost through me) clutched in my hands. I think that I should probably mention that I've never pruned roses in my life. I figured I was just supposed to stab them a lot with the shears since that's what usually works for me. Nothing much eventful happened while I was doing that, beyond the sight of Mab sitting in front of a mirror in one of the high towers of the castle I'd been in, yelling at the thing when it seemed to say something that displeased her. I had an idea of what that thing that upset her was, and felt that yes, this stuff really was ridiculous. Who out there was dumb enough to suggest that I was prettier than Mab? I shrugged and kept working at the roses. I thought, for a second, that I saw John Marcone, resident mobster and recurring character in my dreams, riding a horse just outside the castle's gate. I tried to forget about that, though, because no one could possibly be heartless enough to make John Marcone my Prince Charming as well as my Big Bad Wolf and my Mad Hatter.
The real story didn't actually start until Murphy came stomping out of the castle again, dressed in her hunting gear, her eyes shifting with a sort of nervous energy I didn't ever associate with her. She was decked out in similar hunting regalia to that which she'd been wearing in my Little Red Riding Hood dream, but this was marked with the insignia of the Winter Queen. My huntsman, then, I supposed. I stared at her blankly when she neared me.
"Shall we go for a walk in the woods, Harriet? The weather is sweet and the breeze cool; I'm certain you'd like to see the animals as well." I sighed.
"Sure. Why not? It's not like anything bad could possibly happen to me if I wandered out into the woods with someone who works for the step mother who absolutely despises me because I'm prettier than her." Murphy the Huntsman opened her mouth as if to respond, perhaps to convince me that she meant me no harm, but then she realized that I was heading off towards the woods on my own. What can I say? If you know what's going to happen already, it's sort of hard to be scared. Murphy shook her head, apparently assuming that I was all beauty and no brains (sure fooled her; I'm not beauty of brains. I'm pure boldness with a dash of insanity, to spice things up a bit), followed after me.
We walked deep into the woods, deep enough that no one could hear us or, honestly, find us, before she landed a hard hit to the back of my legs and sent me sprawling to the earth.
I grunted, doing my best to fall properly so I didn't bruise my chest and ribs and elbows and everything else. Hey, that's a pretty good question! If your best friend knocks you harshly and in a bruising manner to the ground in a dream, do you wake up feeling like your best friend knocked you harshly and in a bruising manner to the ground in real life? I say yes. But only if you're me. Yeah. Anyway, after I ended up with a nice, intimate encounter with the dirt, she rolled me over and pressed her knees into my hips, a knife held up over her head and poised to be brought down on my heart. Fuck. I know I said earlier that when you know what's going to happen you don't really get scared, but there's a difference between saying that and seeing a knife that's in a position to kill you.
She stayed like that for at least five minutes, her hand wavering and swaying as she fought with herself to bring the knife down. I could see it in her face the moment her resolve crumbled and the knife tumbled from her grasp.
"I cannot kill thee," she said, "no matter the wishes of my queen. Your heart, oh Harriet, is too pure and clean, your face too fair. Such a death is not befitting of thee." You know, I never thought I'd hate having my life spared, but this stupid dream was managing to make me feel like that. I tried valiantly to avoid rolling my eyes and it only sort of worked. She jumped away from me theatrically. "You must flee, little Harriet, and never return the castle of your birth! The wicked queen is desperate to see thee die, to hold thou heart in her frozen hands. I shall give her a heart, indeed; the heart of a boar, and in doing so, your life shall be spared so long as she continues to think thee dead." Murphy, her pixie face serious and strong, gestured for me to leave. I scrambled to my feet and did so, realizing suddenly that yeah, without my magic, Murphy really could kill me, if she put her mind to it. Probably could even with it, so long as she could get a good enough shot at me. It was sort of humbling, really. Anyway, that isn't important to the story, so I should probably just dwell on it later, the next time Murphy grinds my face into the Aikido mat.
I ran as quickly as I could through the forest, my hair catching on brambles and branches, the dress tearing, and damn it, if I have to wear a dress can't it at least stay whole? I mean, Hell's Bells, I really don't think that's asking for much, oh malevolent being who controls my dreams! I stumbled on a tree root and nearly fell, but I kept going, on and on. As it got dark, I entered a wide, open clearing. Forest sounds surrounded me, deadly and dangerous, and I huddled against a tree. That was when deer and birds and other such things surrounding me shortly after, cooing and twittering at me. I know it's weird, but I was actually grateful, this time, for the girly bullshit of fairy tales. The deer helped me to my feet and a fox nudged my ankles to get me to walk.
The intelligent creatures, all of whom were probably related to Mouse and Mister in some distant way, since they were smarter than me on my best day, walked with me until after dawn in order to lead me to a small thatched cottage with a door so low that I had to nearly bend entirely at my waist to get inside. The place was filthy, like, worse than my apartment before the Brownies started helping me out. I climbed up the stairs and found a set of seven beds, as expected. I shoved them together to create a regular sized one and fell on top of it. I was asleep in minutes, which was kind of weird since I was sleeping anyway. Dream logic, everybody.
I received a kick in the ribs upon my waking. I did not appreciate it. My eyes stuttered open and my sleep-blurred vision cleared to reveal… a short version of Kincaid with his arms crossed and a pout on his face. You really can't blame me for laughing, okay? I was tired, and it was just… he's a Hellhound. I mean, that should be enough to excuse laughing, right? Not to him, obviously, because I got another kick in the ribs for that. I coughed, and he yelled that he'd found the intruder. How they'd known there was an intruder before they got up there, I don't know, but whatever. Footsteps pattered up the stairs, and then the room was suddenly full of short versions of people I knew. Michael led the way, his face solid and strong, but upon seeing me, he kind of melted. Molly stood beside him, sneezing pathetically, her eyes wide and watery, and just behind her stood Ivy. She was grinning and actually looked like a little girl, and maybe sometimes these dreams were pretty okay. Behind her was Gard, her mouth wide in a yawn, and beside her stood Hendricks, who actually looked normal, except for the fact that he was short. Thomas brought up the rear, and he didn't quite look like himself, because instead of his usual overly fashionable clothing, he had on a baggy shirt and brown pants and a droopy hat. I choked. Thomas was Dopey. Stars. Which also meant that Hendricks had to be Bashful. This is so stupid. I just… Hell's Bells. Can't I just eat the apple and go home now?
"Uh. Hey there, everybody. I'm Harry. I was about to get murdered in the deep dark dangerous forest, so some adorable forest creatures led me here. Oh, and I'll clean your house if you let me stay here." I maybe should've mentioned that first. Kincaid looked unimpressed. Molly's sneezing finally stopped for a second, and I recalled her terrible allergies. They probably didn't have Allegra in fairy tale land, did they? Ivy suddenly grabbed my hand.
"She's so pretty! Might we keep her, Michael? I would enjoy playing dress up with her." Despite her smile, her voice and her mannerisms hadn't really changed, beyond now being some kind of weird conglomeration of a child and a grown woman. Still. It was welcome, to see her act a little more childish. Michael smiled calmly and settled one big hand on her tiny blonde head.
"I suppose so; it wouldn't be right to turn her away anyway, really. The forest is quite dangerous, and will soon be more so, once dusk passes. Besides, it'd be rather nice to have a clean house for a change, at least for a while. You said your name was Harry, Miss? That's rather odd." I sighed. And glared. Stupid dreams. Stupid malevolent entity. Stupid blindness of everyone here to mistake me for a girl. And then I decided to just go along with it. To be honest, it was easier. Besides, if anything this would give me a thicker skin when I was awake.
"It's Harriet, actually, but I like Harry better if you don't mind." Michael nodded.
"Alright, Harry. Now, would you like something to eat? I picked up a bit to eat on our way home from work, and there ought to be enough for you." It was nice to get away from castle speech, at the least. I realized suddenly how weird it had been to hear Murphy talk like that, and then had a sudden image of her in a Shakespeare play that made me snicker wildly for a second or two.
"Sorry," I paused for more snickers, "Sorry. Yeah. I'm pretty hungry. I'll get this place cleaned up after I eat." And so Michael mythically made food appear for all of us downstairs. It was sort of weird. Maybe Charity had taught him a thing or two. Besides, this all allowed me to see Hendricks blush, because he stumbled on the stairs and then flamed red. I don't think I need to emphasize how horribly ridiculous that looked. I also don't think I need to tell you how amazingly off it is to see a sleepy, lazy Valkyrie. I mean, shouldn't Marcone have been Sleepy? Maybe? Or Grumpy? Doc, perhaps? I was getting the sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't meet John until the kissing bits. Again. Ivy insisted on holding my hand all through dinner, even though that seemed to annoy the ever-protective Kincaid.
Anyway, after dinner that night I did do the cleaning. I hadn't ever imagined that dirt could cake onto anything that deeply. Also, the friendly forest animals from the Disney movie are entirely unhelpful during this part. Like, completely worthless. Maybe even a hindrance, sometimes, like when the thrice damned rabbit keeps trying to knock me over. Which is always. It was always doing that. For forever. I don't like rabbits anymore. Still, they all seemed to appreciate it, even Kincaid, so I was happy. Plus they had beer, and they were willing to share it, meaning by the time I was done, I was a little passed buzz and well on my way to pleasantly drunk. Thus the reason why I started singing when they brought the instruments out. And so blame them for my voice scaring all the little forest critters. Not me.
Not to say my voice is the worst one around or anything, but it's not exactly amazing. I sound sort of like a weird mixture of a screeching cat and a crooning dog when I attempt to sing. The tiny versions of my friends and my brother seemed to enjoy it, though, for some reason. Maybe they were all drunk too, I didn't know. Still, after about five minutes, I had them all dancing along, and Thomas yanked me clumsily up to my feet to dance with him. He also grabbed my ass a few times. I attributed it to him being about waist high to me now and proceeded to ignore it and please, please don't mention it to me again, ever. The shit that happened in Wonderland was bad enough. At least he kept to Dopey's original theme and didn't talk, I guess. Still, it was a fun night, and it felt almost normal, to me. As weird as that sounds. It was just a night with my friends, except for I was in a dress and they were all way too short. So maybe a really drunk night with my friends after I'd done drugs and lost a game of Truth or Dare. Details, details. Oh, and do not fucking ask me why I didn't do what the real Snow White did and attempt to force them to take a bath. Kincaid had a butter knife and I think that's all you need to know.
That night, after all the merriment was done and the beer was gone, they made up a pallet for me on the floor and went upstairs to their own beds. I think it's kind of funny, how much better I sleep when I'm already asleep. I can't help but wonder if that says something about my stupid brain. Probably, but I'm no psychologist. Maybe I'll ask the voice in my head, the next time I see him. Unless he's being a dick, in which case I will figure it out myself, thanks.
They got up early, and Michael's heavy boots on the ground woke me up relatively easily, as well as earlier than I'd have liked. I stumbled to my feet with a groan and stumbled on my dress, which had gotten wrinkled and sort of disgusting, at this point. I wondered if I could find another one lying around somewhere. Or pants. Pants would always be good. Hint hint nudge nudge, oh Entity of mine.
Ivy grabbed my hand suddenly and started swinging it back and forth, her face curled up in a happy grin.
"I would like a kiss goodbye," she said, clear and easy to understand in ways few little girls could or should have been. I laughed and bent down to peck her forehead. And that was when the kissing line started. I even had to peck Kincaid's cheek. And Thomas came through the line three extra times. I put up with it the first time, when he was wearing a fake mustache. I even put up with it the second time, when he had the same mustache except for it was upside down. When he tried it with the mustache sideways, though, I put a stop to it. Also, he'd attempted to put his tongue in my mouth when the mustache was upside down, so I was upset. Still, Hendricks blushed again when I pecked his nose, even brighter than before, and I took great pleasure in kissing both of his cheeks afterwards because of that. Look, I can't do anything to him in real life because he's seriously made of rock and has no emotions beyond blank faced disapproval. I mean, really, it's like he can project 'you disappoint me for reasons' onto everyone within a five mile radius of that annoying, flat look. Give me my small pleasures. It seemed like hours passed before they left, and I munched on a yeast roll lazily as I waited for the next part of the story.
It came relatively quickly, in the form of a quiet, weak knock at the door. I climbed to my feet as best I could and opened it up, my body leaning awkwardly against the too-short doorframe, my arms crossed, and I might've gotten too used to the dresses, maybe, but probably not, because that would mean I was getting used to these dreams, and that was just ridiculous. A haggard old woman stood on the other side of the threshold, her hair scraggly and straw-like, her skin gray and loose around her, her eyes dark charcoal smudges, her lips thin and wavering. I yawned at her and the motion caused me to smack my head on the ceiling a little. The world isn't built for guys my height, in case you were wondering. She raised one arm, weak and thin, the arm with a basket of shiny red apples on it. I blinked at her, and did my best to pretend she wasn't Mab, even though I'd seen books of her using this exact disguise before, so I'd have known it was her even if I knew nothing at all about Snow White.
"Hello, Miss," she said, her voice sandpaper scratchy and desert dry. I saw this little home, and thought perhaps that you might like to try one of my apples. You're such a large girl, but so thin. You need to eat a bit more, don't you?" I shrugged.
"Yeah, okay. I see no way in which accepting food from a stranger could possibly be any danger to me whatsoever, because this is a fairy tale, la de da da da." She gave me that same look Murphy did, and also opened her mouth, possibly to inform me that she was just a harmless old woman so eat the apple goddamn it or she would shove it down my throat. In nicer terms, of course. Still, I plucked an apple from the top of the basket, the shiniest, prettiest of them all, the one that was probably filled with the most poison, and wondered for a second if maybe this was how whoever was putting me into these dreams would finally take me out. It was a good plan, I could admit it; get me used to the routine of following the story until its end, and then change one little thing. Make the poison in the apple kill me instead of have me go to sleep. I wondered. And then I took a bite of the thing, because anything that has to think that hard to kill me is obviously trying too hard, and nothing around me tries too hard. The woman cackled and my vision swam and maybe I was wrong and wasn't the ceiling so pretty and where was John anyway? Shouldn't he have come to save me by now? Stupid bastard. Couldn't even do this right.
The funny thing was, I remained sort of aware the entire time I was 'asleep'. I could feel the floor under me, I could hear, I could feel my body, but my thoughts were always a little fuzzier than they should've been and I couldn't move anything, couldn't even twitch an eyelid. If not for the feeling of my heart continuing its steady pitter patter in my chest, I might've even mistaken my own self for dead. Hours passed until I couldn't detect the light piercing my eyelids anymore, and then I heard the door open and my own personal seven dwarves wandering inside.
Ivy screamed when she saw me. She screamed, and the sound made me sick. It had been a long time since I felt that bad, and I couldn't do anything, couldn't move. I wanted to reach out and wrap her in a hug, but my stupid body refused to obey. I felt Thomas' hands on my shoulders shaking me desperately, until they curled into claws and I heard him start to cry. I could feel that Michael was the one who pulled him away, because it was too hard of a pull to have been anyone else, and then Molly was whispering something but I couldn't hear her and Gard and Hendricks were whispering together softly and Kincaid was trying to hush Ivy but it wasn't working. I wondered how they all could've gotten so attached to me in just a day, because it wasn't like they knew me here already. These were just images, caricatures of the people I knew, not the real deal. I wondered if whoever was making these dreams was modeling these reactions off what would really happen if they thought I was dead. I hoped not; I didn't want to think about my friends ever being this way, not for me.
When they picked me up it was with more care than I would've imagined possible, and they lay me gently on my pallet in the floor. Ivy, Thomas, and Molly stayed with me and the two girls whispered nonsense at me, silly, comforting things that didn't make much sense but felt nice to hear all the same, little things that would be more fitting for a parent to mumble to their child. I felt my chest rise and fall, tried to move my lips, and accomplished absolutely nothing. It felt as if all of me were paralyzed, as if even my vocal cords had been petrified. I lay there for a while, a few days at least, feeling little more than warm weights on my chest that I couldn't always pick out the identity of. It was on the third day that I felt two sets of tiny hands, one Ivy's, I knew, and the other Molly's, peel the dress away from me and scrub my body clean of the random grime that had coated it. They dressed me in something soft, and then five other sets of hands joined them to pick me up and carry me outside, which I knew by the warmth of the sun on my face, and it was welcome until they settled me down onto something thick, fluffy, beautiful, soft. Then the heat of the sun was gone, yet I could still feel the light attempting to pierce my closed eyelids. The glass box. Michael must have built it. It felt sturdy around me. I felt my consciousness drift off into what could only be called sleep, for a while, but I still occasionally heard snippets of conversations as the miniaturized versions of my friends came out to visit me.
Time continued to pass, and one day I heard Kincaid come out and say he'd caught the Wicked Woman who made me this way and pushed her off a cliff in a mine cart. I wouldn't have asked even if I could have, but I did want to laugh. I could have almost sworn that I at least got my lips to twitch, but maybe I was going insane from being stuck here so long. I mean, Stones, this had to be the longest dream ever. It was getting sort of stupid. Why couldn't I wake up on my own again? Oh, yeah, because pinching myself wasn't an option, because I couldn't fucking move. Yay. And also because people and beings who fuck with dreams are dicks, I think. I still need to find out just exactly who's doing this to me. And kill them. Brutally. With fire. Ahem.
Kincaid stayed and talked a lot, mostly about Ivy, about how she and Molly had grown much closer, but then he left. It was about an hour after that that I felt the sun again, blazing hot on my face, and then there was a hand there too.
"Skin like snow and lips like blood," a familiar voice whispered. "I never thought I'd see you again. I never hoped to see you, like this. A doll in a box, hidden on a shelf to gather dust, cold. You are fire; ice doesn't suit you, you know. A callused thumb brushed over my lips. John Marcone's thumb. I tried to move my arms, my legs, even just my head, but still nothing happened. I wished I could thrash around, do something, maybe even yell at him, but nothing would work, nothing would happen. "I used to watch you, outside the castle, watch the wicked woman who tortured you so. Is she who did this to you? Ah, but you cannot answer me, can you? Snow White was your name, was it not? Snow White, or little Harry Dresden, as you always preferred. Malcolm's joy, Margaret's pride, until her untimely death. I wonder, might I take one simple kiss, the one kiss I've always desired, the kiss from the lips of the one who I so love?" His breath was warm and clean against my lips. My own breath stayed even and deep, steady as a stone even though my heart was speeding up.
There was something about this, something strange and different and off, something that wasn't like what had happened in the other dreams. All of that had been playful, almost fun, if I stood on my head and squinted just right. This wasn't. This was serious. This was… he was talking about love. This was suddenly not a game anymore, was suddenly not some random being out there that wanted to fuck with me. His lips landed on mine, feather light, and then I felt something in me that had been coiled up tight snap and release. Maybe this wasn't all so bad. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. There was nothing sexual in the touch of his lips, nothing wild and unrestrained like what had happened in Little Red Riding Hood. Instead it was sweet, sweet with a touch of desperation, and then I felt something wet fall on my cheeks. He was crying. Why was he crying? His lips fell away from mine. My eyes fluttered open. My mouth fell open and I sucked in air as if I'd been drowning. All my muscles seized up at once. I might've yelped. The dwarf-versions of my friends came running out. John swept me up into his arms and somehow swung me around, even though I was at least five inches taller than him. Something felt right, just then. I couldn't name it and didn't want to.
John and I got married in that dream, and not the weird, innocent hand-holding marriage that had happened in Wonderland, real life marriage, like with a priest and a church and a wedding dress (I didn't like that part, goddamn it) and everything else. All of my little dwarf friends were there, and Thomas and Ivy insisted on walking me down the aisle, even though Thomas only did it so he could kick John in the back of the knees when we got up there. Murphy was there too, and kept a random crossbow trained on John. I didn't question it. I've learned, see? We even kissed to seal the deal. After that, though, a lot of stuff is a blur. I remember he dragged me up to his bedroom, opulent and soft and blue and beautiful, and I remember things proceeded quite a lot like they had in Little Red Land.
I remember he stripped me with maddening efficiency, like, Hell's Bells man, how much practice have you had removing corsets efficiency. I remember his touch was gentle and his kisses were rough. I remember he grabbed parts of me that not many people had ever grabbed and that it felt good. I remembered that I did the same for him. I remembered that he told me he loved me, loved me more than anyone, remembered his hand trailing down to my ass and I remembered knowing that something important was about to happen. And then I woke up. I woke up hard, covered in sweat, and uncomfortable as hell, especially since Molly was sleeping on the couch in just the next room after coming over for lessons earlier in the day. I was panting hard, and I could hardly breathe. My Mickey Mouse clock told me it was about three in the morning. Stars and Stones, what the hell was wrong with me? I'd been… I'd been happy, during that. I'd enjoyed it. I'd… I'd almost wished it was real for a second. I stumbled up to my feet and climbed into my frozen shower, which killed any thoughts I might've had about doing something I'd regret later, and I stayed there until the water went from frigid to arctic ocean full of polar bears and ice floes. I couldn't sleep anymore that night.
I saw the real John the next week, and I couldn't look him in the eye even though we were just discussing some business with some demons that had a particular desire to fuck his shit up for some reason. He had wanted a consult. I hadn't been able to think of an excuse. I wished I was a better liar as I sat there staring at my hands. He seemed confused.
"Harry, have I done something to upset you?"
"Don't call me that, John," I snapped, all on reflex. "And no. You just piss me off by being in the same room as me. You don't have to do anything." He sighed.
"And here I'd thought we'd gotten passed childishness like this. Harry, please, we are both adults. Can we not be civil with one another?" No, no we can't, because I want something I shouldn't want and you'd be disgusted with me if you knew and I'm already disgusted with me and what if the dreams aren't from anyone else, they're from my subconscious? What if they're just trying to tell me what I really want? I'd almost rather find out I had a massive crush on Brad Pitt or something. At least that would be easier to deal with. And possibly more understandable. I was supposed to be the good guy; the good guys do not fall for the villain, unless they're Batman and the villain is Catwoman. I swallowed thickly.
"Nope. I like being childish, and you're a scumbag, so deal with it. Scumbag." He sighed and rolled his eyes, and then his hand reached out to touch my arm. Flashes of the dream, of his breath on my neck, his voice whispering things I'd never heard before in my ear, his hands on bare flesh instead of my jacket, money eyes gazing at my face, overflowing with endless love for me, me, shot through my mind, and I reeled drunkenly up to my feet. "I've got to go. But, uh, you're Catholic, right?" I paused, and continued at his nod. "Start carrying a crucifix or a rosary or something with you. A lot of demons are like the Black Court and don't like articles of faith. Salt might work too, so I'd start carrying some, and holy water. Also, start looking into why they're following you. Someone might've put a beacon spell on you, or they might just be attracted to something you've gotten into recently. Have Gard look into it." And then I left, even as he tried to call me back. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, not then. Probably not for a while.
Marcone's POV
I wondered what had happened to Harry to cause him to act so strangely. As a matter of fact, I'd have called him embarrassed, had I not known him better. He hadn't been able to look me in the eye, which was, I supposed, the truly strange part. Ever since the Soul Gaze we'd shared, he'd always, always looked me in the eye, usually with more defiance than anyone his size should've been capable of holding. And the way he'd reacted when I touched him… I wondered if those lovely dreams I'd been having would truly end up being the closest I ever got to having him. The one from the week before had stopped, yet again, at the best part. I swallowed and shook my head because now wasn't the time to be revisiting anything.
He'd been afraid, when my hand landed on him, I had seen it in those beautiful eyes of his. Something had happened. It had to have. Someone had to have done something to him, something had to be wrong. I'd find whoever had done it, I swore, find whoever it was that had made him fear and cringe and hide, and I'd kill them. I gazed at the empty chair where Harry had been sitting, and wished he'd come back. Hendricks settled a baseball mitt hand on my shoulder in order to inform me that it was time to get back to business. I was little more than a robot for the remainder of the day.