The holiday festivities are a little more than over bearing for these three. As they walk down the streets of Seattle Washington listening to the bells, the clicking of horse hooves, and the almost minor key versions of christmas songs seeping through town radios their eyes are burning with all the bright lights, spinning sparklers, and fondant sculptures.
Polo mindlessly trails the other two wishing so quietly that they were back at the Knight/Garcia house where it feels so warm and safe and Guzman isn't so reluctant to be sensual with him. Out in public it feels like Polo has to be in danger to exact any affection from his beloved Guzman. He knows it's anxiety talking. It all sounds very unhealthy so he stares into the mesh of clothing the strangers are wearing in the crowd they just walked into and tries not to get lost.
Only, it doesn't work. He winds up at the city square next to a giant tree with a purple star tree topper and he's all alone. Ander, Guzman, and even the ghosts of Carla and Christian are no where to be found as children laugh in their poofy jackets over there by the playground rolling around in snow and women in designer coats lined with fur walk their strollers down the cleared pathways of the park. He was just in the city, how is this possible? Isn't the park about three miles away from their latest location? Oh, this can't be right.
He spins on his heel and there, in the distance, standing in a purple hoodie is someone he recognizes. It's himself. The version of him he's looking at seems paler, somehow. More like a fish in the face than Polo usually looks. Polo's eyes trail down and this shadow/reflection version of Polo seems to be dripping in blood. It's messy and everywhere and the shadow is crying.
Polo feels his heart start to race, his body temperature rises, and he's thrown by the sudden spark of one of the many light fixtures in one of the many light displays popping from over exposure and exertion. When he looks back the shadow is gone. The purple hoodie is gone. All the blood is gone too. A hallucination.
This isn't good. Dr. Sheppard did scans on him. He should be fine. Why is he suddenly seeing things? Should he seek counseling?
What was it Guzman said, "We're only responsible for us."
It's the truth. So, he realizes he needs to find his friends and tell them whats wrong. Waiting for detective Garcia is a waste of time. He needs to handle what's wrong now before it gets worse and Ander should too. Yes, Guzman was correct for protecting them from the chaos of the crowds in Grey/Sloan Memorial hospital but that means nothing when paired with your life.
"Polo." The voice comes from behind him and he yelps but doesn't turn around.
He doesn't know if he even wants it to be true. A weird feeling enters his stomach as he thinks about what it might be like to be haunted right now. To deal with spirits rather than actual people. Part of him thinks it sounds easier. Most of him knows he needs Guzman and not the shadow creature. When he turns around to see the bloody, battered version of himself Polo doesn't run. He reaches out to the shadow and takes it into his arms, "You poor thing." He whispers in the cold watching his breath billow out in a cloud before him, "You must be worried sick."
When the shadow pulls back it's not a shadow anymore. It's a woman and she's not beaten but she is crying, "I haven't seen him in an hour. He was right there. I turned away for a moment, only a moment."
It took a moment for him to register what was happening. Her make-up is smeared, her eyes are puffy and red, and in her hand is a print out wallet sized photo of a little boy. She's lost her son. She came to him for advice? He's only sixteen. Why is he comforting a grown woman who was stupid enough to let her child out of her sight. God, she must be worried sick. The very idea of losing someone like that is agonizing. Having your child abducted is right up there with surviving a gunman as a minor in a school.
So, he decides helping her may just help him too.
"What was the last thing you said to him?" Asks Polo.
She draws in a shaky breath, "I promised we'd... we'd go see the horses. He loves horses."
"He may be there. He may be somewhere between here and there. We're you here the whole time?" Asks Polo.
She nods.
She slink her arms into his and the two of them start on the trail. He takes out his phone and dials 911. There's a click, then the dial tone, and finally the ringing starts. Flurries swirl before their faces and the lights in the distance show the street. The trees are so barren you can see through most of them. The walls of evergreens are few and far between but in the evening they're towering and seem to sing as heavy gales of wind rush through them.
"911, what's the location of your emergency?" The woman on the other line sounds kind.
He clears his throat, "My name is Polo Benavent, I'm located on the east end of the city park, I'm with a young woman who says she lost her son. We're headed in the direction she believes he may have gone. I don't have much information so I'm going to pass the phone over to her now okay."
He does as he says he was going to do and listens intently as the information is delivered; Young boy, age nine, hyper-fixation with horses, pine cones, and the color of silver, answers to the name 'Todd', last seen twenty minutes ago at the community tree.
There's a swirl of red and blue and just through the thicket there's a gentleman waiting on a patrol scooter. Dispatch works pretty fast here in the city, or he may have just been sitting here. With him is a little boy. A weights released from Polo's body the moment he hears the cry, "MOMMY!"
She's crying as she runs to him, "Toddy, my baby!"
The two slam into one another the way two icebergs do on the open arctic ocean and just like those bergs there's a shattering of the ice here. A warmth Polo can feel from where he stands on the outskirts of the park. To his left is the street he remembers, perhaps they weren't so far after all, he did just get lost in thought and wonder. Lights swirl all around and he takes in a deep breath. He's okay.