He'd been rummaging through the dumpster for the better half of an hour, cautiously at first, then impatient. Isaac winced as he took the moment to heave another cardboard box out of the way to get to what was below it, pausing to skim over the address on the side.

Saint Joseph's Walk-In-Clinic.

It took him awhile to find the place, and even longer to locate the dumpster- at the side and not the back- but he was on no time limit, at least not a fatal one… he didn't think. Isaac took a deep breath and stood a little taller, as much as his bruised knees would let him, and pressed deeper into the mess of used band-aids, vomit-covered tissues, and candy wrappers. Quite frankly, he was surprised he hadn't unintentionally run a needle straight through his skin, yet. He'd been overly aware of every little disgusting piece of used clinic equipment, but that was the one thing he was yet to find- that, and the bandages he was looking for.

The tips of his fingers brushed against something soft and firm, like a sturdy cloth; he gripped and pulled.

It was indeed a bandage, and- though it was covered in blood upon further inspection- it would do just fine. Isaac cringed, doing his best not to touch the contents directly as he stuffed it all into his pocket.

Each step he took to approach the front was small, and nervous, and he continually glanced around to be sure nobody had seen him snooping (as they would probably assume the worst of him, even if there apparently wasn't a single needle in there). He peeked around the corner and waited for whoever had just pulled in to cross the threshold of the clinic, then pressed on to his next location- a private sink.

Well, the next best thing was a water fountain in an otherwise abandoned park. There was a nicer one across the street, he'd noted, so he'd more than likely be left to his own devices. He pressed down on the button with his stomach and used both hands to run the bandages under the cold drinking water, rubbing his thumbs along the blood and watching as red caressed and floated into blue, becoming almost pink on its journey down the metal bowl and into the drain.

There was a lot of it, more than he'd counted on, but he was nothing if not stubborn. Pressing his lips together, Isaac leaned forward and rolled the bandages, squeezing the blood and cleaning them more forcefully, hands becoming rougher to rid them of as much as he could. He couldn't leave a drop behind or risk making his injuries worse. The last thing he wanted was to end up in an emergency room, trying to explain to a room full of cops and doctors just what had happened to him and why he was a handful of cities away from home. He took a breath. Relax, Isaac. We're not there yet. We're a month in and we've done a pretty good job looking after ourselves, right? Right.

And it had been just him; King C hadn't been much help since he left, hadn't spoken to him in a while, and when he had he'd tried to get Isaac to turn around- to go home. Why? Well, he hadn't much of a clue. King C hated Spender and hated the club and hated Doorman, so why he would possibly care that his "vessel" wasn't in the same town anymore was beyond him.

It wasn't like he was worried about him.

He pulled away from the faucet, holding the bandages to the side and wringing them as much as he could of the remaining water. Liquid came gushing out, mixed with whatever was left of the blood from before, and seeped into the grass and dirt at his feet. It wasn't until it was only hardly dripping that Isaac sighed and pulled the neck of his hoodie and his shirt down to take his injured arm out of its sleeve. Gross, but it's better than nothing, I guess. With a grunt, he began wrapping it around the abrasion on his upper arm, wincing as the soggy, sloppy bandage stuck to his skin like a freezing sticker and leaked what little water was left, wetting the rest of his limb and some of his torso. "Ugh… yuck." Yeah, that was a little harder to deal with than he'd anticipated, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

He had to keep moving. Isaac fixed his shirt and hoodie, then stuck his hands in his pockets, turning for the exit he'd mapped out on his way in. It'd happened to him before, in his time away from Mayview, that he'd gotten lost in an unfamiliar area- he'd been out of the city maybe once or twice before, and that had been by plane. If he was going to keep from dying alone in a dense wilderness, it was in his best interest to keep an eye on the entrance. Something snapped behind him, and he blinked; it was also, perhaps, in his best interest to stay aware of his surroundings- especially if he was being followed.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw nothing, and continued onward.

He was a man, yes, but she wouldn't have placed him any older than 19, 20. He certainly wasn't old enough to have a bottle of whiskey in his hand, or to be falling all over the place, hollering at innocent spirits doing nothing to him. He waved his bottle around, fumbling towards the small, helpless spirits as they floated along, no bigger than the size of his head, round with big beady black eyes and literal button noses. They moved away from him, but he grew closer each time they did. She hummed, and approached him cautiously. Smiling offhandedly to the spirits, she tapped him on the shoulder three times.

"If they wanted to hurt you, they'd have done it by now."

He whipped around to look at her, eyes wide, stumbling over himself because he'd lost a balance she wasn't sure he'd had to begin with. Broad-shouldered, she noted, lots of muscles, must have been an athlete. Football? Wrestling? It didn't matter, she was just curious.

"I-I'm n-not talkin' t' the trees."

"I know. You're talking to the spirits," she tilted her head "which I'm going to assume is the reason you're downing Captain Jack."

He dropped the bottle with a laughable start, eyes wide and mouth ajar. It hit his foot and popped to the dirt he'd made tracks in falling all over himself. He would be fine; she would make him fine. His lips wobbled, trying to get words out, failing, and his legs hobbled, trying to move away- move forward- she wasn't sure even he knew. "Wh… you can see-?" He cleared his groggy throat. "You can see 'em?"

"Yes, I can" she gave him her best smile, a familiar one, one she cringed to know she'd once used blindly, like a fool, to get ahead in a world she had yet to understand was full of evil "My name is Catriona, and if you'd like, I could help you with all of that fear you're harboring… if you help me"

She was waiting there at the bottom of the staircase for him, looking bored, umbrella in her backpack, sticking out, much like her. Max wished he could say he was surprised, but he never was. She glanced up at him as he started his trek down the stairs, and he nodded to her.

Zoey probably ignored their parting, but his dad waved and gave them a "hope you have a good day", which honestly never had an effect on anybody's day in the history of ever, but he and Isabel waved back like they always did.

It had been like this since Isaac left. Ed went off to go train, Dimitri was on the other side of town- and Max seemed to be the only one constantly seething about their missing club mascot and that whole situation- but anyway Isaac wasn't there, and so that left two, him and her. She was lonely (even though she wouldn't admit it for the life of her or her grandfather or, heck, Mister Spender), and he was in a never-ending state of concern, so they walked together, kept an eye on each other. Max was, after all, sure that Ed would literally slaughter him if he let Isabel go about being sad and mopey. Honestly, Dimitri did a better job at keeping her… distracted… than he did, but he figured the the long walk to school was the hardest hitter for her.

He knew what it was like to be alone in your thoughts for excrutiatingly long periods of time.

"How'd you sleep?"

Isabel laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck. "Umm, heh, uh…"

"Up late, then?" Max cocked an eyebrow, watching with some surmountable interest as her cheeks grew rosy.

"Oh, no… no… not really, no. Just talked to Ed for a little while and couldn't get to sleep after."

If he'd learned anything about Isabel, it was that she was an unreliable narrator, and that she absolutely, no question, stayed up all night talking to Ed.

He snorted and stuck his hands in his pockets, eyeing her in his peripheral, grin itching across his face- and if her glare was any indication, she could see it. "Oh I'm sure."

"Max."

"Isabel."

"Max" She grimaced, one hand hovering above her face as she inhaled, then running over it as she exhaled. "I was up for another reason."

"Why are you getting so defensive?" He chuckled and dodged the fist flying at his chest, ducking then sidestepping to get out of punching radius. She'd never hurt him, but he still didn't want to see how close she'd come to leave a bruise. "You were up late talking to your best friend! What's so hard to admit about that?"

"Because I'm telling the truth! He called me right before training started! We only had, like, an hour to talk! I was up late because- because-!"

He looked at her head-on, the best example of his irritating, mocking, maddeningly-sly grin to date on the brink of delivery, when he noticed her eyes had fallen elsewhere, and she didn't seem too preoccupied with him anymore. He dropped the smirk and looked over his shoulder, morbidly curious if one asked. It was rare to knock the fire out of Isabel so squarely, so cleanly, and he had to admit he was almost dreading whatever lied over his shoulder.

He swallowed hard when he saw it- Isaac's face. He'd forgotten that Suzy's posters were splayed all over the city, that she wasn't planning on letting anybody forget Isaac O'Connor, and all at once he was reminded that he did, indeed, have something to be distracted from, too.

He bit his tongue, then sighed, slowly, softly, low enough to not be heard. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Who cares?"

Max started; he hadn't been expecting quite that response.

He turned back to her, eyes wide, mouth open and not working, to see that she'd long since directed her gaze to the sidewalk ahead of them, or maybe the school in the distance. She was icy, and nonchalant, like she hadn't even known Isaac, like those darkened, narrowed eyes of hers had never even seen him before. "He betrayed us then left on his own to get attention. He made that choice," she shrugged, turning her head away so he couldn't see her face anymore "as far as I'm concerned, he can stay gone."

Right. Of course. They weren't close in the first place. Why should he expect her to worry about him? As it was, he had no idea why he was giving himself gray hairs- he was even less familiar with the kid. Still…

Max turned to the ground, eyes narrowing, hands clenching dangerously around the straps of his bag.

He'd been right. He was being followed. From the length of his trip from the park to the empty highways alongside dense forests- he was in a scope he didn't want to be in.

Isaac winced, landing roughly on the soles of his shoes, falling onto his rear so hard he could feel his tailbone nearly break. He covered his mouth before he could react- no sound. If somebody heard him, they'd find him; if they found him, they'd turn him in- but before that, they'd get hurt.

After all, Isaac turned his eyes from his torn up jeans and the equally as torn legs beneath them to the monster hovering over him.

Just like the others before, it was bloody, and it had teeth in its eyes the length of one of his arms, with one mouth that spanned nearly half of its lower horizontal length, filled with ectoplasm and disconnected sharp teeth, and skin that was perpetually melting somehow, like its body was made of slime. It moved forward on four claws on either side, each individual one the length of his upper body.

He pulled back with one hand, raising his other to spout off some electricity, something! Anything! But only a small ball of lightning sparked in his hand, dying just as quickly as it lived. He grunted. His powers were dying, and he had some idea why. Glancing down at his stomach between moments where he used his legs to propel his body backwards, he could catch a glimpse of the deep, open wound in his abdomen. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before, had his lower body sore and his exposed skin stinging, burning, flaring and dying the more he pressed on.

The monster swung at him, and he only just missed the impact of a claw at his face.

Isaac pressed back some more, and more, until his back was against a tree, and the only place left to go was right or left.

He set one hand, gently, at his open wound and grimaced.

Right or left? If he went right, he'd be running straight into the city, potentially leading the monster into innocent civilian territory. Not only would that lead to the potential deaths and injuries of dozens of people, but he had a feeling whatever organization Spender worked for would have to step in… and if he got caught in that…

Left. There was only open road for miles, and it would take him about fifteen minutes to get to a city, and therefore leave his wounds unattended to for a longer period of time, but he had a chance to lose the monster and get to safety and get to the next town.

Yeah. Left.

He should have made the decision quicker- just a second, just a moment, and he might have gotten out of the way in time.

He went to move just as the monster's claw came down on his head, on his face- on his eye. He was lucky enough to miss the brunt of it, but it still grazed him, left his eye bleeding, left him worse than before.

"Augh!" He fell forward, but caught himself on one hand, using it to push himself back on his feet again, and he bolted. The monster screamed after him, and he heard its claws digging into the ground, pulling grass apart and making hills and holes behind him as he ran. He choked on the air and pressed one arm to his abdomen, holding it there and keeping as much pressure on it as possible.

He had to get away.

Afternoon patrol had been uneventful, much like usual, and thus Max was quick to go for his backpack upon entering the clubroom with Isabel and Dimitri.

The three of them hadn't spoken much- er, Max hadn't spoken to the two of them much. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't still harboring some irritation at Isabel for earlier, for brushing Isaac off like that, for being so- so- he grimaced and swung his bag over his shoulder with malice, like it'd been the one that'd done him wrong.

"Why don't I walk you home today, Iz?" Iz, not Izzy, like Ed called her. Max had noticed the difference in Dimitri after the first week or so of him joining the club again. He was cool, sometimes unreasonably chill, and that was just another one of his quirks. He was yet to assign a cute short nickname to Max, but Max had the sneaking- call it crazy- suspicion that "Max" was too short a name to cut a pet name from. Not that he wanted one.

"Sure!" She smiled at Dimitri as they both came to a stand after bending down to grab their things, and both waved, said their goodbyes, and left before Max could even catch up with reality. His mind was elsewhere, and as it usually had been, it was difficult to pull that rope back from the edge of the very open sea. He felt distant, almost, like his mind was somewhere out there, outside the barrier, and his body was stuck in Mayview. He hadn't been able to get his mind off of it, off of the monsters or off of Isaac or much of anything. It was really too much stress for a twelve-year-old, but there wasn't exactly anybody to pin the blame on. There was nobody for a parent to go yell at, nobody to wag a finger at, because he wasn't stressing over homework, or about an unfair test grade, or even about an exam worth way more than was reasonable for for his grade- he was thinking about ectoplasm and blood in the halls, and the broken look in Isaac's eyes last time he'd seen him, and the how's and why's and the secrets he was keeping and-!

"Max?"

He snapped back to reality, to Mister Spender standing over him with a warm, awkward smile, and a hand waving in front of his face. He turned pink, and Spender stood up straight, hand dropping to his side. "Why haven't you left yet? Afternoon patrol is over, Max. You're free to go?"

"Oh, uh… yeah" He looked to the floor, one hand at the side of his neck, fingers nestling into the warmth of his hoodie. "I wanted to ask a question."

Spender seemed relieved, the furrows of his brow unfolding and the concern in his smile fading until it was just his regular happy-go-lucky grin. "Of course! I am a fruit tree of knowledge- both historical and paranatural! I am here for your picking!"

Max cleared his throat. "Well, one, I'm going to need you to never say that to anyone, ever again, that was really weird."

"Oh."

"Two," He glanced away. "Have you forgiven Isaac for what he did?"

Spender didn't move for a moment, and then he sighed.

Max watched him out of the corner of his eye as he slumped over to his desk, hoisting himself up onto it and plopping down with a heavy body, and maybe a heavy heart. Spender was the only one who would talk to him, for real, about Isaac, the only one who would openly discuss efforts to find him, to bring him home, and it was for that reason Max wished desperately he could tell him Isaac wasn't in the city anymore, that he was looking in the wrong place. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to cause trouble with Doorman and stab Isaac in the back while he was at it. He let himself look at Spender then, and see the man slumped over, elbows on his knees. He raised his head and smiled at Max, and even though he looked defeated, it was some comfort. "I knew Isaac would come around, I never had any doubt. Isaac is…" He ran a hand through his hair, which looked a little more unruly than usual. "Isaac is confused, but he's a good person at heart."

Max nodded silently; he didn't need to voice his agreement for Spender to know he felt the same.

Spender exhaled, and his voice dropped low. "I just hope that he's okay, wherever he is."

"- and I literally blew up the target!" Isabel ran a finger under her nose, beaming at the impressed, awed look on Dimitri's face. It was a rare sight to see; after all, Dimitri wasn't one to be surprised by much of anything. He always had an ongoing game of chess going on somewhere in the back of his mind, was constantly thinking and predicting and acting a certain way, so the rise of his brows and the smile sneaking up on him was especially gratifying for her to set her eyes on.

"Nice! Man, I used to be able to hold my own against you, but I'm not so sure I could now.."

She laughed and raised one hand, smacking Dimitri in the back harder than normal, but enough that she knew he could take it. He wasn't a wimp, never had been. "Hah, it would be interesting to see how rusty you are. Maybe we should test this theory?"

His smile turned sly. "I still bet you can't pin me."

"I bet you I could."

He snorted, and their arms brushed together. He was leaning into her, and she leaned back, but he just as quickly pulled away. She would have done the same, but he spoke, and his voice was deeper than usual, and slower, though it rang just as cool to the ear. "You're right, we should certainly test this hypothesis… say, after school tomorrow?"

She grinned. It'd been awhile since she'd had company over at the dojo, which had become glaringly apparent to her after Ed packed his bags and hauled them over to Master Hashimoto's. She supposed she'd never really had much of a need for other friends, not with him around, not when she had a practically built-in friend at her hip in school and right next door at home. She wondered, against her better judgement, whether or not Ed felt the same, if he missed her like that… if he'd already made some friends at the new dojo.

With a shake of her head, she straightened up, nose in the air. "I'd say that sounds like a fine time for a duel!"

"Great!" He took a few steps ahead of her "It's a date, then."

And that was where he cheeks decided, spontaneously, to combust and/or become cherries, she didn't care which. She couldn't see his face from the angle she was at, and even so, her heart gave her one heavy, forceful pound- or leap, she wasn't sure. It hadn't done that before. All because of the word "date"? Really? She shrugged it off and took a slow jog to catch up with him.

The sink was full of red, full of blood- his blood.

Isaac grinded his teeth and pressed his tongue as firmly as he could to the roof of his mouth as he pulled the bandages he'd earlier stolen from the walk-in clinic dumpster from his arm, hissing as he pulled each agonizing inch off of his skin. Every fiber of his being wanted him to huff, to whimper, to slam his head against the wall to ease the pain, but he couldn't. His eye had hurt, but it hadn't been deep; he took care of it by tossing water at it for a good minute, and though it still stung, it wasn't nearly as bad as the gash in his lower stomach.

He let out a gruff, feral grunt as he pulled the last of the bandage from his arm, lifting his shirt up for the first time since he'd cleaned the wound to put some pressure on it.

It hadn't stopped bleeding.

He exhaled and bent over the sink, glaring down at the stained drain with such disbelief in himself and his situation it was hard for him to even fathom that he was bleeding out in a gas station bathroom. Bandaging his wound would not be enough to take care of it- he had to do something else.

He pulled his head up to look at himself in the mirror, trying not to stare too long at the dark circles under his eyes or the pale, dead blue that used to be bright like his thunder. He eyed the toilet, then turned around to look at more than its reflection.

The handle on the side was old, and rusty, and tilted to the side when it should have been sturdy and straight, jutting out of the side. He had a feeling it wouldn't work if he tried to flush the toilet, looking at the handle the way it was, but it might have been some other use for him. It was, after all, the perfect length. Isaac, are you sure you want to do this? It's unsanitary. It's disgusting. He sighed.

It was the only choice he had.

Well, if he was really going to do this, he needed a few things. Isaac glanced at his hoodie, which he'd discarded to the floor after he cleared it of the blood that'd soaked through his shirt; it wouldn't have done him any good to walk around in a bloody jacket all the time- his shirt could get as covered as possible, it meant nothing, but the hoodie would catch attention. Careful not to disturb his abdomen any more than need be, he reached down and tugged it back on.

"I'm telling you, I can't handle so many students at once!" Spender gestured around the empty blackness that was his room, BL floating above him the way she always did, legs crossed like she wasn't placing the world on his shoulders- his world. He didn't usually lose his cool with her, in headquarters, but what she was suggesting was far too much to ask of him, far too much to ask of anyone. "I'd have to hold classes in the auditorium! I- I can't keep up with all the homework! All the tests!"

BL sighed, setting her chin on the back of her fingers, elbow on her thigh. "I wish I could tell you there was another way, Rick, but…" She looked at him, or he thought she did. "Perhaps Doctor Zarei will be willing to take some of those students off of your hands?"

"With all due respect, that's not the point!" He deflated, but he wasn't out of steam just yet. The entire situation was a mess, a complete and utter garbage dump of a mess, and it was too much for him to clean up on his own. "Couldn't we just get rid of their trauma? I am well aware there are more than a few agents with the ability to" he motioned flatly "make all of this go away."

"Are you suggesting we" she closed in on him fast, her bandaged, expressionless face within centimeters of his own "wipe their memories?"

Perhaps he'd spoken out of turn. He swallowed hard, fingers twitching at his sides as he did his best to not look away, because looking away meant backing down, and at this point he'd come too far. "...Yes."

BL watched him, examining him, and he felt like a small child, fresh and scared of the paranatural world, for the first time in a very long time. Then she pulled back.

"Hmm," her fingers tapped at her chin, and she might have been looking up at the void around them and not down at him "You raise an interesting point! Er, I mean, we can't… we can't do that… but interesting point!"

He sighed in relief, then realized he'd been denied and shook his head "Wait! Why not? If we could truly wipe their minds and reverse the effects on them-!"

"Agent Day needs those minds. Not to mention the ethical and moral concerns we would have…" She waved a hand "Either way, I don't think the Cousinhood weirdos would take too kindly to essentially wiping the slate clean before they had a chance to investigate themselves" She sighed "... though I'm doing my best to fend them off. I'm afraid that's all in Agent Day's hands, now."

"She's already interviewed everyone there is to interview!"

"And what if they just so happen to remember something else?" BL shook her head. "It's best for everyone if we negotiate with your principal and find a way to integrate paranatural lessons into the general curriculum. It'll be fun!" She clasped her hands together, visibly bouncing in the air. "It'll be like we have our very own Spectral Academy! Hoo hoo!"

He ran an exasperated hand through his hair, slicking the already-perfectly-groomed strands back. "And what will we do about their parents? Their families! They could- as it is they could already be spreading sensitive information to the outside world!"

"As much as I don't like it, we'll have to resort to" Her face split open, revealing teeth and the ever-so-watchful eye sitting between both sets "scare tactics!" Her face bandaged together again, and she continued unpertured. "We'll have to tell them the truth! Tell them what will happen to their children, and to their faithful mentors," she gave him a pointed look "if words gets out about their abilities" Experiments. Interrogations.

An all-out war between spectrals and non-spectrals.

Spender exhaled; he'd lost this fight, but maybe not the war. "There's still the issue of student-to-teacher ratio. Even with Zarei's help, we'd still be drastically outnumbered! It isn't even just the students we're dealing with here- we'd have my own peers in these classes. Those numbers are just too high!"

"And for the moment you'll have to deal with them, I'm afraid. We'll find agents to help you, I promise. All it will take is some time-"

"I don't have time!" He knew he was yelling, that she was his authoritative figure no matter how long they'd known each other, and he was out of line and disrespectful, but he was truly at his wit's end. "Isaac is still missing, my club and I have searched the entirety of Mayview, and the threat of the monsters returning places Isaac's disappearance in a very, very concerning place! Time is the one thing I don't have!"

BL watched him, silently, motionlessly, for a moment, and usually the realization, the reality of his outburst might have hit him, but all of his body was so wired, so filled with energy and fear that had no place to go, that he didn't care. Her body language slackened, her shoulders fell, and she sighed.

"While I… regret the situation with Isaac O'Connor, and I am deeply worried for him," her nonexistent eyes met his "this situation is more important, and it needs to be your highest priority" He deflated again, limbs going slack, and he was surprised he was still standing on his wobbling knees "I have other agents working to find the monsters. We haven't heard back from them yet, but we will. For the moment, I need you to focus on your day job."

"But-!"

"Richard."

His words died in his throat, and the way she was looking at him, how calm she was, told him that there was no room for dispute, no matter how he felt, no matter what he did or said to convince her to see his way of things.

They both fell silent, and his fists clenched.

He awoke with a start.

His hair was slick with sweat, and his glasses wouldn't stay on, no matter how many times he raised his trembling hands to keep them in place. He shivered; the room seemed colder than it had been when he first laid down. He stared down at his lap, hot hands running along freezing skin, even though it felt equally as warm to the touch.

"Richard." He raised his head. Lucifer peered at him from his reflection in the mirror, wings looking tight. "Are you all right?"

"... Yes."

Lucifer clicked his tongue. "Liar" though he sounded gruel, his face seemed soft, calm, kind.

Spender dug his head into his hands.

There was only one worker on duty. Isaac pulled the hood over his head, over his eye- over his face. That would make his job easier. All he had to do was hope no family on a road trip wandered into that particular gas station to make a beeline for the restroom; he'd been the only customer in there in the last hour, the mess of blood would definitely get him in a hospital at best, handcuffs as worst.

The employee was playing some crossword, presumably not allowed to use her phone during hours. She looked bored, occasionally fixing her ponytail even when there wasn't a problem with it. She popped the gum in her mouth, then sucked it back in and continued chewing, tilting her head to the side, hoop earrings swaying with the motion. The phone rang, and her brown eyes widened. She all but leaped at the line, picking it up, answering "Yes, this is Gas-Your-Way! How may I help you?" with the best cutesy customer service voice he'd heard in maybe ever. That was good. She was distracted.

Isaac made his way over to the front as she went to answer the phone, nabbing one butane lighter from the rack just below the register before sliding to the back where the probably-wildly-unhealthy gas station foods sat- coffee, slurpies, candy bars, hot dogs and other meats on a rolling grill, but his eyes fell upon the napkins stacked together by the tops and straws and condiments. He ripped a few away, enough to feel like he was holding an oven mitt, and sped his way back to the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him, walking to the toilet, setting the lid down, and plopping down atop it. It was flimsy as heck, and he was one-hundred percent sure it wouldn't break beneath his weight. He took his hoodie off, then discarded himself of his shirt. Yes, the floor of the bathroom was disgusting and covered in unidentifiable liquids, but at this point he'd already been through worse. With the stack of napkins in one hand, he placed the broken toilet lever, holding onto only one side of it. The other, he snapped open the butane lighter, using his thumb to ignite a small flame. Here we go.

He held the toilet lever over the flame, watching the metal heat.

It took some time, time he couldn't account for (could have been ten minutes, could have been fifteen, or maybe even thirty or an hour), but the metal finally glew red, bright, and so very hot. Isaac inhaled. He had no room for doubts. Without a second though, he pressed the metal to his open wound and held it there.

He screamed. It had been a month and more since he'd last thrown his head back like this, grinded his teeth and fought back a flood of tears like this, and the pain had never been physical. It was excrutiating, hot, heavy, bright, furious pain. It was a million times worse than the wound in his abdomen, a billion times worse than the pain in his eye, and it spread through him like wildfire. It was as though every inch of him was being burned alive by scorching metal, by fire, by blue, deathly pain. He screamed some more, and when he was out of breath those screams died and became whimpers, tiny sounds that had him bending over, shoulders shaking. He would not cry. He would not cry.

There was a knock at the door, and it might have startled him had he not been heaving.

"Sir? I'm sorry, are you okay?"

He tried to open his mouth, but it was dry. The employee paused on the other side of the door, but he could feel her anxiety from there.

"O-okay! I'm gonna go call 911! Please just sit tight, okay? Help will be here soon!" He heard her patting around in her pockets, then a muffled curse as her footsteps, hurried, drifted away.

Quickly picking up his shirt and his hoodie, Isaac unlatched the lock and pushed the bathroom door open just a smidge. The Employees Only door was shutting just before his eyes, and he took that as his cue to carry his weight out the door before she came back. He took one last glance at the blood-soaked bathroom, mumbled an apology- to who, he wasn't even sure- and took his exit out the front door of the gas station.