Leslie and Science: it was an ill-fated love affair. Yes, they flirted for a while, she developed a sort of fascination and even respect… yet they were doomed to failure. If only she was smarter. They could have been so much.

Now here she was, crouched in a sixth-floor hotel closet and literally making out with a Petri dish - for the greatest chance of contracting the mysterious disease growing on it. It was a relational development she never would've foreseen. Got to first base with a viral culture, she thought. Way to go, Les.

Two things had to happen by morning. Leslie had to be sick, and whatever vengeance Rosie had planned for Alastor, she should have dealt it out. It wasn't much of a plan, but…

Leslie didn't even know how to finish that thought.

o - o - o - o - o

Hours later, sunlight pierced the gap between the closet doors, and she squinted awake. There was a moment of self-examination, both outside and in. Leslie knew little about how the virus would present, but right now, she seemed to be… healthy.

No, no, no.

Yes.

She passed an hour, half-numb, half-horrified, curled in her nest of coats on the closet floor. Well, Leslie reasoned at last, the key part of her plan was self-isolation anyway. She could fake being ill, at least until Baxter hooked her up with something that worked.

She checked her phone. Low battery.

As Leslie trudged downstairs to recharge, Vaggie appeared on the fourth-floor hallway. She waved Leslie down, arms full of papers, and jogged to meet her. Leslie panicked and tried to look ill, wondering if she could affect a fluey-sounding voice.

"Les, hi!" said Vaggie, a little breathless. "I want to check-in, just real quick! Sorry for- uh, rushing! Char's organizing something next week, like a dance, so I'm run off my feet… It's just a- casual thing by the way! No expertise needed! ...Although if you feel like volunteering, you're very welcome. But enough of that. How are you? How are classes going?"

Leslie nodded. "Fine," she croaked.

"Good. No trouble-makers? Spirits up or down from last week?"

"Uh… about the same."

"Super," Vaggie said, giving her a friendly slap on the shoulder. "I'll call later, OK?" She was about to leave, then gave Leslie a double-take. "Sure you're fine? Sounds like you have a cold."

Leslie sagged. "Yeah… wish I was dead, to be honest."

"Shit. I'm sorry. You're still doing your class in an hour?"

"Uh."

"No, I just mean… lemme check my email," Vaggie said. Juggling the papers to find her phone, a cardboard folder dropped to the floor. "Carajo! Hang on-"

"I didn't cancel," Leslie said. "I would've done, but it came on so soon."

"Oh… I see…"

Do the class, said a voice in Leslie's head: a tiny, yet insistent grizzled voice. Dance while you still can.

What did that mean? Leslie wanted to snap back, ask where such a nasty idea came from. Then she jumped, sensing movement to her left. Nothing. Her imagination.

"Jesus, Les, maybe sit this one out."

"No no no, I'll do it, I have to. It's er, just a thing! Sorry." She looked unhappily into Vaggie's concerned eye. "I'm fine. Just let me do it, and it'll be fine, it'll all be fine, good, goody-good, fine good." And she walked towards the staircase.

o - o - o - o - o

The first student found Leslie alone in the studio, blindfolded and shaking loose. His bemused scoff made her tear off the eye covering. It was only Amscray.

"Sorry," she said. "Come in, come in."

The others purled in gradually, and every turn of the door handle shook Leslie's nerves, as she prepared to see Alastor or Rosie burst in. It never happened, but there was one unexpected face. After a months-long absence, Ginerva was back, terrible leggings and all. She ignored Leslie's gaze, heading straight to the water cooler, and Leslie let her. It was best not to make a big deal, and certainly it didn't make them friends again.

"OK," Leslie said when all were assembled and warmed up. "So… my plan was putting together those three sets of moves. Ginny," she said, motioning to her, "you could sit and watch, get the hang, and then I'd come help you. Or…" Leslie dipped down to get her phone. "We could do something a bit different."

"Twerking?" Charcoal quipped.

"Maybe more… freeform?" Leslie said, struggling today to sound like an authority on anything. "I mean, we're here for redemption, right? So if you, uh… feel like offering some creative expression to the Man Upstairs-"

Incredulous chuckles.

"What? Sounds lame?" Leslie snapped, suddenly short. "The cleanse is in two weeks. At this point, go hard or go home, right? You're free to dance whatever fucking way you want," Leslie told them, "just make it mean something… and don't grind on each other, or I'll dump that cooler over your heads." She gestured again to Ginerva, who kept a too-neutral expression. "This way, Ginny can join in no problem."

"Can we dim the light at least?" asked Crymini.

Leslie only nodded and staggered to the light-switch. This was it: her last opportunity to dance for two weeks. The words Rosie had spoken, her speech about persuasive motion, was only an abstract idea in her head, but maybe it meant something. All Leslie wanted was to be herself, and to be left alone. She wanted to be safe. Safe, safe, safe. God, it was warm in here.

For the students, she found a playlist called Get-Up-And-Go. This, she hoped, would give them some much-needed energy, maybe inspiration.

"Alright, let's-!" said Leslie, beginning to two-step before she finished speaking. The first song - Genesis, nu-disco, fittingly named for a heavenly offering - began with a brief atmospheric build. She led by example, steadily at first, slowly involving her arms, traveling with the song. The others followed suit.

Here was the percussion. She was at home here.

Then the voice was back. That's it. Let go.

Leslie skidded to a halt. That voice pressed at her inner forehead, like a headache. Alastor? She checked her corners. No shadowy figures to speak of. Invisastor? Nonsense… this was only paranoia. Leslie would have to dance a lot harder to block it out.

Some students stuck to the moves from previous rehearsals. Charcoal and Crymini were headbanging. Ginerva had little trouble with the freeform assignment, hip-swinging and gesturing with abandon. Some things didn't change. "Good," Leslie praised, "doing great, guys!"

Before anyone could feel self-conscious, Leslie launched back into it. Contrary movements. Instinctual movements. Nobody can touch us. Soon, she felt a familiar hard-exercise time dilation, slowing the music in her head.

She seized her phone. "Next song! Let's go faster!"

This one matched her pulse better. The air came in cold now as she craned her neck to the ceiling and knew, just knew she was being watched by imperceptible beings. All this time, still stuck down here. She just had to try harder. She had to try. Swinging with enough force to injure the walls, Leslie gave it up - her strength, her soul, her need for redemption - for anyone who wanted it, and she reached for celestial benevolence.

"Uh, lady? What's her name?"

Now the air was chill, and black. Her students almost disappeared. If only she reached that point of exhaustion, there might be something just past it, something that could help her. Come on, come on! There might be-

Leslie screamed when the mirror shattered, and she backed away, still screaming. "NO! No, stop it! STOP IT!" she cried. Looking for shadows. No shadows. "I know you're fucking there! Leave me ALONE! STOP IT!"

"Yo, what the fuck?"

She fell to the floor. Light gushed in as two students bustled through the studio door. Click! More light from above, making her groan. Ginerva and Charcoal loomed overhead, casting shadows from their hands like palm fronds.

Leslie burst into tears.

"Woah, woah, Les! Calm your tits! What happened?" said Ginny.

But she couldn't answer. Charcoal spoke over her: "Anyone see who broke the mirror?"

"How the fuck could we? It was dark!"

Someone gave Leslie her phone, but she only buried her face in her ears. There were hands scouring her back - attempts to soothe. She shrugged them away.

"Fuck me, look at this," Chargoal said, pointing to her face. "Go get somebody."

"Crymini's looking. Les, hey, look at me! It's Ginny. Are you OK?"

Leslie shook her head like a caged polar bear. "No. I'm very sick. And there's… th-the Disney guy is- is- fuck!" she spluttered, trying to picture the right character in her head. "The cute one. Dumbo, I think?" She hit her forehead; think, think! "Happy, Dopey... Watching me. Some s-stupid name, I don't remember, but he's going to- eat me!"

That was the last thing she remembered saying before Vaggie got to her.

o - o - o - o - o

This fever was worse than the last one. It was more virulent, full of foreboding, and the air in her bedroom changed from thin chewy mist, to a waspishly crunchy haze and back again. Leslie could only lie in place, shivering, sweating.

At least the virus had kicked in. That was what she wanted.

In the afternoon, two figures in protective headgear (astronauts?) unlocked her door and entered. Leslie blenched at the sight of them.

"It's alright!" the taller one assured, muffled, keeping her distance. "We just want to see what you have." She spoke with uncertainty to her colleague. "It doesn't look like pox, does it? But…"

"Yes, but that rougice of the eyes is a red flag," said the male astronaut, and opened a bag he was carrying. "Let's get some answers!"

"R-rougice?" Leslie asked.

"Like jaundice, only hot pink. Lie down, that's a good girl!"

He gave Leslie a conspiratorial look as he approached, then placed a thermometer in her mouth. 105°. Next he took blood and saliva samples. "Here's my theory on this," he remarked, "it's either a strain of hellpox, which I doubt, or something completely new. Which case, we should name it after me! Baxter's abyssavirus! How's that sound?"

The woman slapped his arm. "Less excitement, OK? We have to get those students tested. I don't want another outbreak this close to… fucking everything else."

Soon, they were gone, and Leslie wondered if they'd even been there at all. But her eyes reflected in the phone were pink. They must have been real.

Or your eyes are lying to you as well.

There followed a stretch of time; Leslie didn't know how long. She didn't want to know, in case it was only minutes. The state of the air remained in flux. Things flashed in the corners of her eyes. People knocked her door, but never entered. She felt restlessness spreading from her legs to her entire body, and she'd convulse, roll around or kick off the covers. There was no way to relax when so many centipedes were marching along her nervous fibers.

Eventually, daylight left the room… and then she heard that noise, the soft phwumph! of smoke rushing in. She didn't even look up. Too dangerous, too difficult.

He came a step closer.

"Nooo, not you," she whined, shielding her face, "not you, not you."

"Dear, dear," he tutted. "Leslie, broken at last. You got my letter?"

"Go away. Not safe."

"We'll be perfectly safe! I just need something from you. Walk with me. That ought to lift your spirits!"

Leslie felt unpleasant tension in her legs before the kick. "I can't," she said, struggling to sit up. What she managed was pathetic, only an acute angle. Alastor turned on the light, and his eyes flashed at the sight of her.

"What happened to you?"

"Sick," Leslie answered, and tried to scrub the sweat off her face. He took another step. "No, don't-! If you're real, don't come closer. I'm in quarantine."

"Quarantine?"

"Too risky…" She sank back down. "And you tend to… Remember your hellpox?" she mumbled. "Shadow brought me in. You were miserable." Her arm jerked and flapped uncontrollably, and Alastor stood there, thinking, trying to recall.

"I thought I dreamed that," he said.

Her cautions became an unfocused wittering. "Oh no," she said. "No, no, no. Bad things. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. No, no."

It was hard to see now she was slumped again, but Alastor stepped back. Perhaps he realized the repercussions of catching a fever. It would be like handing out the key to his office. Maybe. Was Leslie thinking this out loud? He just stood there like a sculpture of himself. Go away, go away, go away, Leslie silently begged. Why didn't he leave? What was he waiting for?

Finally she heard a deep, dark exhalation. Instead of teleporting out, he took the door, slamming it behind him.