note: April break starts Friday, and you know what that means... lots and lots of Epic. Woo.

eighteen: portent

I allowed myself that panic for a full five seconds before I snapped out of it and ran to Dutchy's side. He was still jerking around, saliva frothing at his mouth, and it scared me shitless but still I knelt down at his head. Boots took his cues from me and joined me and his eyes were so wide, his mouth partly open. I didn't know what to do. I tried to hold down Dutchy's shoulders but he just kept shaking and his head was hitting the floor harshly. I looked around wildly, not fully understanding what was going on.

"Take his legs," I told Boots, pinning Dutchy's arms at his side. "Come on, on the couch…" We half lifted him with great effort and kind of threw him onto the cushions. He was so drained of color that he was almost gray. I saw now that most – but not all – of the blood everywhere had come from the leeches; they had burst when he'd fallen and rolled, and there were little bits of the worms mixed with the gore.

"What do we do what do we do??"

"Uhh get some water! Get a glass, fill it with water," I said, still holding Dutch down as best I could. Boots nodded and ran into the kitchen, and then I remembered Swifty. He was still standing near the stair door, one hand on its frame, frozen like I had been only a minute earlier. He was staring at me and Dutchy but his gaze – his mind – was somewhere else entirely. I didn't have the time to help him, too – I needed his help.

"Swifty!" I hollered, gritting my teeth as one of Dutchy's elbows shot out and hit my chest. Swifty blinked once and didn't move a muscle, but he was back with us. "Sheets," I said, hoping to at least stop some of the bleeding. "Towels, anything." He continued to stare as if he could see me but not hear me. "NOW," I added forcefully. He still didn't acknowledge me but turned and pounded up the stairs. Boots returned running with the cup of water, spilling some of its contents with each step.

Dutchy's body had calmed down for the moment, but his breathing was shallow and raspy. I held his forehead down with my arm and pried open his jaw with the other hand and Boots tipped the glass forward, in his anxiousness pouring a little too much into Dutchy's mouth. It dripped down his chin and Dutchy coughed, his body heaving so that I was afraid he would start shaking again. I cursed myself for being stupid and jumped on the couch and maneuvered myself under his head so that it was higher than his body and then signaled for Boots to try again with water. He did so and I think Dutch swallowed it, but I don't know if it helped any, so I let his head down and Swifty reappeared with an armful of sheets and blankets.

I hadn't been sure before but now I knew that not all the bleeding was coming from the squished leeches. For some reason he had tiny bite marks that were seeping more blood than should have been possible. Boots set the glass on the table and made another run for the kitchen, while Swifty dropped the sheets next to me and crouched at Dutchy's feet, completely at a loss.

"What the fuck happened?!" he exclaimed, finding his voice again.

"Fuck do I know!? Where the fuck did you get these leeches?"

He didn't answer, maybe he didn't know. We were both breathing hard, but not harder than Dutchy, whose hands I saw were clenched into fists. Boots returned, carrying a big pot in front of him, and set it between Swifty and I. He then dragged the table out of the way.

"Put the leeches in there," he suggested, then grabbed one on Dutchy's chest and pulled it off and threw it in to demonstrate. Immediately a perfect drop of blood formed at the spot, then swelled too large and broke and ran down his side and kept running. Boots just ignored it and pulled off another. I grabbed his wrist when he went for a third.

"Stop, stop!" I shouted. "He's bleeding, Christ!" But Boots ripped it off anyway.

"We can't leave them on him!" Swifty argued.

"We need the blood," Boots agreed. I just shook my head but didn't say anything and instead started tearing some of the sheets into strips. Boots finished with one arm and so I concentrated on wrapping it, trying to put as much pressure on as possible. I was worried about cutting off all the blood flow, though. What was worse?

"Fuck where's Sofia?!" Swifty cried, jumping to his feet. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that it was covered in blood. The same blood had already soaked through two of the impromptu bandages I'd tied. All the leeches were off now, and squirming all over each other in the big pot. It was absolutely disgusting; I told Boots to put it back in the kitchen and cover it with something heavy.

"Swifty, stay with me," I warned. "We need something else to put under the bandages, do you have anything, anything… I don't know a salve or something?" He just looked back at me with that blank look again. "Swifty."

"I'll check the kitchen."

"You too, Dutch," I told the prone form on the couch. "Stay with us, please, stay with us." His breath was rattling again and his lips were dry to the point of cracking, so I tried giving him a little water, this time making sure to lift his head up a little, and I think he swallowed some.

I sat back on my heels and let myself breathe, if only for a few seconds. I could hear Swifty turning the kitchen upside down behind me. "Pull through, pull through… come on…" I didn't know what had happened, but I did know that if we came this far and were ruined by one mistake… what would I do with myself?

Some of the bleeding was finally slowing, so when Swifty came back with a small clay pot of some strange, gray substance, I was able to start covering his bites without having to rush too much. Boots helped, but Swifty was putting on a jacket and stalking toward the door.

"I'm going to find her," he said, and disappeared outside without another word. He hadn't expected, and wouldn't have tolerated an argument, so I didn't bother with one. Our clear day was gone; it was cloudy now, and would rain soon. Neither Boots nor I commented on his departure, we just continued our work, smearing globs of the stuff on Dutchy and then wrapping and tying fresh strips of cotton around them. The salve was working really well so far and if it turned out to be poisonous… well, we would find out pretty soon.

When we were finished, we got right to cleaning up the mess that had been left behind. I think we were just trying to distract ourselves, trying to find things to do so we wouldn't have to talk about any of it.

"Come back, come back," Dutch said in a voice so faint and so desperate that at first I thought I'd imagined it. But Boots stopped what he was doing and looked at Dutch, then at me, and I knew it had been real. "No…" he said, and cried out a little. I felt helpless, but there wasn't anything more I could do, so I just continued to clean. When we were finished, I sat in the chair near Dutchy's feet and Boots leaned against the fireplace, and we both just watched him. By now it was raining, pouring, actually, and the only sounds in the room were the raindrops against the roof and the street and the windows… and Dutchy's deep, even breathing.

I was exhausted. I felt as though I'd run for miles without stopping. I hoped Dutch was all better, if only because I didn't think I could move from the chair I was in if he started having problems again. My eyelids were heavy and when I wasn't paying attention they slipped down and I fell into a light and grateful sleep.

It was dark when I woke, and still raining. Dutchy was awake and propped up into a half-sitting position. He had a big mug of something that he was taking small sips from. I looked around, still half asleep, but Swifty was nowhere to be found. I saw that a similar mug had been placed a few feet away from me on the table. It had some sort of thin soup in it. I smiled, then, half out of relief and half out of amusement. Boots was becoming quite the housekeeper. Swifty would be proud.

Boots himself was still sitting against the fireplace, watching Dutchy with interest. Dutchy was refusing to meet either of our eyes, he seemed withdrawn – shy, or embarrassed, maybe. I let my curiosity get the best of me.

"Dutch," I said gently, "what happened?"

He looked at me and gave a slow shake of his head. He cast his gaze downward again. His shirt was back on, so I assumed the bite marks were okay and the bandages were still working.

"Are you okay?" I ventured. He nodded.

"I'm just… tired," he said. His voice was scratchy. It reminded me of his breathing earlier, and I felt a little chill.

"I think we're all tired," I agreed. We sat in silence, Boots dozing off a little, and finally Dutchy finished his soup and realized he didn't really have anything else with which to distract him. I tried not to force the issue, but kept my gaze steady on his face.

"You saw him again, didn't you," I said. He hesitated, drawing a breath in. Then he just nodded. I sat back a little. "You talked… when you were out, I mean. Delirious. You said a few things." He looked quickly to me. "Nothing bad. Just… it just seemed like… like you weren't with us. You were off somewhere else, Dutch. Where were you?"

"I saw his face," Dutchy said, seeming to ignore my question. "I've… I've seen him before. He's talked to me… or at me. But I've never seen his face." I noticed for the first time how bloodshot his eyes were, and now they were a little wet, too. I ducked my head, embarrassed for him. "I miss his face," Dutchy mumbled miserably. "These aren't dreams. This wasn't a dream," he added quickly. I'd never said it was, but I stayed quiet.

"So what was it?" Boots asked quietly. I guess he'd woken up, or maybe he'd been awake the whole time.

"I… don't know. Anything I say will sound dumb."

Boots shrugged. "Try me."

"I… I don't know! Visions? I feel like he's trying to tell me something, or maybe I just want him to tell me something, but he doesn't. Or he can't. It's always the same. Help… he just wants help. But when I try to… I can't speak. I try to tell him that we are helping. But maybe he can't hear me. I don't know." I said nothing. Communicating through visions? Was this some ability of Specs'? Or of Dutchy's?

"I see him in my dreams," he continued dismally, his face in his hands and his voice muffled and broken. "In a crowd or all alone but I can never get to him and when I do I can't see his face. I can't touch him. I can get close enough to touch but when I just reach, when I reach forward… it's all lost."

I looked up at the ceiling as if it would hold the answers we both needed. I felt that I had to say something but Dutchy would not be comforted by empty words. Instead, Boots asked the questions I didn't think I could get away with.

"What is his face like?"

Dutchy thought about this for a minute and closed his eyes. "…Sad. It's… tired. He looked at me, but he was looking through me. It's like he knew I was there but he couldn't actually see me. But he knew… and he spoke. And he searched. But he couldn't find me, and… so he left."

Come back, come back, I remembered. It was the kind of thing I wouldn't forget for awhile.

"I'm not going to see him again, am I?" Dutchy asked thickly, raising his face from his hands. He straightened and winced, still sore. "Maybe he's already dead, and I just… for the rest of my life, and these dreams…"

"You'd never be apart," I said dumbly, trying my best (and failing miserably) to be reassuring.

"And never quite together," he reminded me after a beat. This time we both looked away. He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes again and I stood and gathered the mugs, if only to have something to do with my hands. I left them in the kitchen and then went back out to the main room and made my way over to one of the windows. It was dark, and it was pouring, and as a result I couldn't really see anything, but I looked out just the same. Dutchy had fallen back asleep and I was relieved to see that he seemed much more restful. Boots dragged himself up the stairs to find somewhere more comfortable than the fireplace. I stood quietly, not quite sure what to do with myself.

I was so focused on the nonexistent landscape outside that I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door slammed closed to announce Swifty's return home. He came through the hallway, and upon hearing only one set of footsteps, my heart tightened.

He stopped at the threshold, dripping wet and wild eyed. He looked out into the room but didn't seem to actually see any of us. I remained at the window, a little spooked by his appearance and that look in his eyes. I'd seen that look before. Not often. Not happily.

"She's gone," he said in a voice that was heavy with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "She's gone."