Scratch Vol.1
Based on the characters created by Len Wein, George Perez, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby
Part.2 - Act 1
The room seemed clearer this time. As if the flames were somehow brighter. Or perhaps the fire was less intense. Either way, this time Nicky could make out new details like the wallpaper pattern and the texture of the curtains. The scene felt eerily familiar. Above the din of the fire was a new sound echoing in the distance. As the flames grew higher, the sound became louder. It almost had the cadence of someone talking underwater, the words muted and garbled. Louder and louder it became until, suddenly, a woman's scream cut through all the noise.
Nicky jerked awake. Laying there quietly, she waited for her breathing to settle. She had begun to rub her eyes when she noticed that her cheeks were wet; tears ran down her face. She sat up then reached for her phone which lit her face once she unlocked it. 3:45 am. Grabbing her bed shirt, she raised it to her face to wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks. With her phone lighting her face, she opened the messenger app and scrolled until she found the last thread with Shannon's name on it. Her thumb hovered over the name for a second before it tapped on it.
Pausing in thought, Nicky grabbed the gem of her necklace, turning it in her fingers anxiously. She bit her lip and then started typing. Once done, she inspected the message. "Hi, woke up sick this morning. Can't make it today. Sorry." She hit the send button before she had time to change her mind. Once it was sent, she let herself slump back on the bed and pulled up the covers.
It felt impossible to fall back asleep, so she just lay there in silence. Under the covers she watched the light fill the room as the sun slowly came up. A couple of hours later, she heard Chester's padded feet plod down the hallway and into the bathroom. She listened as the shower was turned on, then off, and then heard footsteps disappear down the stairs. She waited until she heard the front door close and lock before she began to roll out of bed.
Slowly, she started to get dressed for the day. Donning a white fresh shirt and navy linen pants, which she fetched from her drawers, she then grabbed the hoodie that had been hung from her desk chair. The hoodie was also white and sported the Baltimore Ravens logo across the chest; her favourite hoodie. She pulled it on, making sure to adjust her necklace so it sat outside her clothes. Lastly, she sat on her bed to put on thick tube socks, her toes nestling in the warm, clean, fabric. Pausing for a moment, she looked and her injured hand. The thin cut had just about healed and was barely visible.
Suddenly, she remembered her dirty clothes from the night before. She sighed and got up to go to the bathroom. There, her dirty clothes were still on the floor by the shower; right where she had left them. Usually, she would have put them in the hamper in her room, but she had been so exhausted last night that it completely slipped her mind. She scooped the clothes up and carried them downstairs. Their washing machine was located in a little alcove just off of the kitchen. It was hardly big enough to be called a laundry, with just enough space for the machine and a place to stash a broom and dustpan. She dumped the clothes inside the machine drum before slamming the lid shut and switching the machine on. It rumbled into life, aggressively churning the clothes inside, the drum turning white with suds.
Back in her room, Nicky lifted her bag off the floor, set it on her desk, and unzipped it. From within, she retrieved her wallet, a lanyard with a fob that opened her locker at college, and a culinary textbook, which she placed on her desk beside the bag. Next, she took her knife roll out and set that on her bed. Reaching inside the bag once more, she found herself searching in vain. Her notebook was missing. Frowning, Nicky put her bag back on the ground and turned her attention to the knife roll. Standing over her bed, she unfurled the roll and checked her set, counting the gyuto, boning knife, sashimi knife, and nakiri.
"Shit!" Nicky exclaimed. She ran her hand over the roll, settling on the empty slot at the end. Her paring knife was missing too. Her hands flung to her head, combing her hair back. "Shit!"
The street outside the Inferno Club looked very different during the day. The lack of neon lights, music, and crowds made the street appear very unassuming and ordinary. The club was one of a few older buildings scattered along the street. Newer, more contemporary buildings filled the spaces between them creating an odd pattern. She regarded the old building for a moment. Without the bold posters plastered at the front, promoting a rotation of Halloween-themed parties, you wouldn't have guessed it was a club. A hotel or government building perhaps.
Behind her stood a sign which read Druid Hill Park in a yellow, serif font. It was a well-weathered sign, the sun and wind having faded and chipped away at the green and yellow paint, but still completely legible. Like the club, the park also looked very different during the day. Bright, spacious and green, it had quite a calming atmosphere, particularly on this sunny, fall day. Nicky followed the path for a little while before recognising the hill she had climbed the night before. She descended the hill carefully, wary it was steep. Once at the bottom of the hill, she walked alongside the bushes until she spotted the broken garden hedge she had tripped over.
Nicky didn't have to wander far into the brush to find the sight where she had woken up hours earlier. A half dozen steps in, the smell of rot hit her nose. Coughing, she put a sleeved hand over her mouth and nose in a vain attempt to avoid the stench. The clearing was barely six feet wide on either side, rays of sunlight poked through gaps in the thick cover of the perennial trees. Looking at her feet, she could see that the ground had been disturbed. She knelt to see what looked like strange symbols carved deep into the dirt. Ahead of her was the source of the smell. Pelt scraps, broken half-chewed bones, and chunks of entrails, presumably, of a large opossum, were scattered around the clearing. Nicky gagged a little at the sight.
Inspecting the area further, she soon spotted her notebook, which looked to have been tossed under a bush. Pages were torn out but otherwise, the book was still intact. As she put the book in her bag, Nicky circled the clearing, now searching for her knife. A moment later something shiny caught her eye. Half buried in freshly fallen leaves, the tip of her paring knife poked out, reflecting some sunlight. Nicky knelt to retrieve it, carefully brushing the leaves away. The short blade was smeared with dirt and crusted in another thin, dark substance. She picked it up by its hilt and then scratched at the blade, chipping at the dirt with her fingernails. The iron blade was beginning to rust. Seeing her knife in this state made her grimace. She pulled out a plastic blade guard from her coat pocket and slid it over the knife's edge. Storing the knife in her bag with her notebook, she then stood up and kicked at one of the strange symbols on the ground. Dust flew up into the air and the symbol was now smudged. For some reason, this made her feel a little better. Once out of the clearing, she trudged her way back up the hill. At the top, she took one last look down the hill at where she came from before she stepped back onto the pathway, ready to go home.
Back home, Nicky took the knife out from her backpack, removed the guard, and set it down on the kitchen counter. The dirt and rust started turning the blade a horrible orange-brown colour. She looked at it sadly for a second.
Sifting through the cabinets, she collected a pair of whetstones, dish towels, paper towels, bi-carb soda, a bottle of blade oil, and some paper towels, which she assembled neatly on the kitchen counter. Next, she grabbed two bowls from the drawer below; one large, one small. In the small one, she mixed bi-carb and vinegar, creating a white, foamy concoction. The larger one was filled with tap water and set next to the whetstones.
Standing over the sink, she uses the now-wet tea towel to wipe the excess dirt and rust away from the blade. It took a couple of towels to get all the dirt off, as much of it had crusted on stubbornly. She quickly runs the knife under water to get the remaining gunk off, before trying thoroughly with a dish towel. She then used a thick wad of paper towel to scoop out some of the mixture and smeared it on the knife. The mixture began reacting to the rust and she began to rub the blade with the paper towel. Repeating the process three or four times, the knife soon appeared shiny and rust-free.
With the knife now clean, she switched over to the counter and began sharpening the blade using the first whetstone, taking her time to ensure the blade was angled just right. At regular intervals, she paused to wet the stone, using the water from the larger bowl. After every five strokes on either side, she raised the knife to eye level to check the edge. Sharpening the blade sent her mind back to when she was given the knife; the scene was clear in her mind.
Her high school home-ed room materialised before her, and it was as if she was back in that after-school program. A younger Tony stood at the front of the room and smiled the same mischievous smile. He had told her his partner was the one who convinced him to join the program, teaching high schoolers basic cooking skills. Nicky couldn't quite remember why she joined, though, other than the fact she didn't want to go "home" after school.
Their first class wasn't particularly riveting. Tony was raw in his teaching ability and lacked experience handling teenagers. Here was a guy in his mid-twenties trying to wrangle rowdy high schoolers, who were probably only there as an alternative to detention, and teach them how to make bolognese. But what he lacked in experience, he made up for in charisma and the natural ability to get down to these kids' level. Never did he ever talk down to any of them or make them feel unwelcome. From early on, he managed to foster this mutual respect: he was there to give them something better to do than detention, boredom, or vagrancy, and give them some real-life skills. Nicky appreciated that from afar. At first, she hung out at the back of the class, desperately trying to blend into the background. But as the weeks went by, she came to genuinely enjoy the program. So much so, that it became the highlight of her week. She became fascinated with the recipes, techniques and glad to go home with something delicious to eat. It didn't take long for Tony to notice her enthusiasm and it spurred him on to further encourage his class to make more complicated dishes. One thing he loved to do was foster the class's fascination. And, for many kids like Nicky, the food in class was better than anything they ate at home.
Months went by and a rapport grew between Tony and Nicky. No longer hiding at the back of the class, Nicky was the first one at the door and her seat, sitting at the front of the class. Her confidence grew and soon she was more vocal in class and eager to learn more. For the first time, Nicky had found her niche. And Tony recognised that. But it wasn't to last and soon funding for the class ran out. It was a public school that struggled to fund most extra-curricular activities, and even though Tony donated his time, it still couldn't afford the resources to keep the class running. The class ended with the semester and Nicky was so devastated she almost didn't turn up for the last class. It was at the end of that class when Tony pulled her aside and gifted her the knife telling her she was welcome to come cook at his van if she wanted to keep learning and earn some cash along the way. Having never had her own money before, she jumped at the opportunity.
She couldn't recall ever having received such a nice gift like that before. Its dark blue hue and iridescent patina took her breath away and its walnut and green resin hilt felt like it fit perfectly in her hand. It was a magical moment for her, and the memory burned in her mind. Nicky sniffed at the memory, her eyes welling up slightly.
Once she was satisfied with the sharpness, she moved on to the next whetstone to refine and polish the edge further. She gave it one last run under the sink before drying it thoroughly and then grabbing yet another towel to oil it. Finally, she was satisfied. Carefully placing the knife down, she looked through the fridge for something to test the edge on. She settled on a tomato, which she set on the counter. With caution, she guided the knife across the top of the tomato. A paper-thin, transparent slice of the fruit glided off the top. Nicky grinned at the result and then eagerly went into her bedroom. She returned with her knife roll, which she unfurled on the counter. Over the next hour, Nicky sharpened and oiled each knife in her kit, making sure to test their edges.
Once all the knives had been attended to, she packed the stones away, tidied the counter space, and then turned her attention to the pantry. Aside from the neatly labelled and arranged containers of staples and a bag of corn chips, the cupboard was fairly sparse. Nicky fished around further, searching for inspiration. She emerged from the pantry a moment later with the flour jar, which she slid onto the kitchen counter, and then turned her attention to the fridge. The thick, white door of the Kelvinator squeaked loudly when opened. Much like the pantry, the fridge was well organised, with various jars and containers that were well-labelled and some fresh vegetables sitting in the crisper. After grabbing a medley of cabbage, chilli, spring onions, and a container labelled "bone broth 09/23," she finished her search by chiselling out a tray of pork belly from the freezer. Setting up a prep station on the counter, Nicky soon lost herself in cooking for the rest of the afternoon.
Her head over the stove, Nicky was so engrossed in pan-frying handmade dumplings she hadn't noticed Chester walk through the front door. He hung his jacket on the coat rack by the door and haphazardly kicked off his boots, one of them hitting the wall with a loud thud. All the while, he eyed off Nicky, continuing to do so as he strolled up to the kitchen counter.
"What's all this then?" His voice sang out followed by the jangle of keys tossed on the counter. The noise caught her attention and Nicky turned to greet him.
"Pork dumplings," she gestured at the steaming hot pan, a dozen dumplings sizzling away excitedly. Behind the pan, the broth from earlier bubbled away and on the following burner was a smaller pot of noodles, freshly drained."You in the mood for some noods?" She grinned.
"Always," Chester flashed a bright smile back. He wandered around the counter to take a closer look at her work. "Did they cancel class today? This must have taken you all afternoon." Nicky froze. Shit. She got so caught up in what happened she forgot to email the school.
"Yeah." She quickly turned back towards the stove to hide her grimace.
"Works for me, luv. Saves me ordering take-out," he laughed as he left the kitchen and headed up the stairs. "I'm just gonna have a quick shower. Had a patient puke all over the examination room today. I can still smell it."
His footsteps disappeared upstairs. Second later, she heard the bathroom door closed followed by the groan from the house's old water pipes. She shut off all the burners and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Checking her inbox, there was an email from the school regarding attendance. Sighing, she put her phone back in her pocket and looked out the kitchen window. An orange-purple sky had just begun turning dark. A pretty sunset, she thought. And then it occurred to her. She hadn't blacked out all day. A smile crept across her face and she began dishing up two bowls of steaming hot ramen.
"Fuck, this is delicious," Chester mumbled through a mouthful of ramen noodles. "You're a god-damn kitchen witch." Nicky blushed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. "No. For real," he slurped. "Whatever you make, it's just mental."
"It's no big deal," she finished her last bite of ramen noodles and placed her bowl on the coffee table.
"Seriously, I love it. Like I wanna adopt you and take you everywhere so you can cook for me forever," he laughed. Nicky stayed quiet. Chester gulped. "Sorry, I meant, a marriage of convenience or something." He shook his head. "Nevermind. I don't know what I meant."
"It's fine," she reassured him, drawing her knees to her chest. The pair went quiet, letting the football game playing on the TV fill the room.
"I thought the Ravens were supposed to be good this season," Chester teased Nicky between bites of his last dumpling. Nicky groaned and sunk into the couch, its squishy cushions appearing to swallow her. The game had been pretty average. She covered her eyes. Through her fingers, she could see the glow from the TV. The umpire's whistle squealed again.
"Shh! Dude. You're jinxing us!" She peeked at the TV, saw the umpire's decision, and then threw her hands up in protest, moaning loudly. Chester laughed at her.
"Whatever, I don't even get this sport," He got up with his empty bowl, stepped over Nicky's legs, which were now dangling over the side of the sofa, and motioned towards the kitchen. "You done with your bowl?"
"I've got it," Nicky said grabbing the bowl off the coffee table and following Chester into the kitchen. The pair washed the remaining dishes, occasionally leaning over the counter to see the scores. Once everything was clean, Chester stuck his head into the fridge while Nicky returned to the couch.
"Brewski?" His voice was muffled slightly by the hum of the fridge.
"Sure" Nicky replied, slumping back onto the couch. The fridge door closed heavily, its contents rattling noisily. Chester collapsed next to Nicky, sinking into the couch, and handed her a beer. The cold glass was wet with condensation.
"Thanks," Nicky nodded, placing the beer down and wiping her hands dry on her pants. She reached for the remote. "This is over," she sighed frustratedly. "We're not coming back from this." She looked over at Chester. "Can we see what else is on?"
"Of course. I don't care." He shrugged and sipped on his beer. As Nicky flipped through the channels, he suddenly sat up. "Oh my god, Evil Dead is on." Nicky let her thumb hover over the channel button.
"You like Sam Raimi?" She smirked.
"I bloody love this movie," Chester taking another sip. "Can't believe they've got it on free TV!" He set the beer on the coffee table and ran his fingers through his short-cropped, platinum-blonde hair. "It was my first R movie." He smiled to himself, appearing to get lost in the memory. "Me and my mates snuck into this theatre that used to do special screenings back home." Sitting upright, he turned his body to speak more directly at Nicky, visibly eager to share his story with her. She couldn't help but smile back at him, his energy infectious. "They had the whole trilogy playing at the time." He grabbed his bottle, took a swig, and smacked his lips. "It was my birthday. My sixteenth, actually. We spent the rest of the night at the pub afterwards. Good night."
"Sounds like it." Nicky took a sip of beer, her eyes trained on the TV. On it, the film's protagonist was tossed around a dark forest by evil spirits. The two housemates watched the rest of the scene wordlessly until an ad for The Avengers on Broadway came on, which was when Chester finished his beer and got up.
"Round two?" he gestured at Nicky's bottle. She took a closer look at the bottle. A mouthful of beer swirled at the bottom.
"Yeah, why not?" She knocked the last of it back and lifted her legs onto the couch to give Chester room to get past. He reached out for the empty bottle as he passed her on his way to the kitchen.
"What about you?" Chester asked, swinging the fridge door open, its contents jangling at the motion.
"What about me?" She asked still staring at the screen, watching a possessed woman crawling out of a trap door.
"What was your sixteenth like?" He returned to the couch, two fresh bottles in hand.
"I don't remember," she mused, reaching for her bottle. She twisted the bottle cap off and tossed it onto the coffee table.
"That fucked up were you," Chester grinned wickedly, resettling into his spot on the couch. He followed her lead, twisting the cap off and flinging it onto the table. It skidded across the table and collided with hers with a small tink.
"Nah, I mean it was ages ago," She shook her head. "I don't remember doing anything," she paused, trying to recall anything memorable from that year. Not much of it had been committed to memory. "It would have been around when I moved in with Tony and Viola. I think we went trick or treating, maybe. God, I really don't remember much. High school was a blur, save for a few things." She rubbed her eyes, fatigue starting to set in.
"Huh. I can't believe you never had a sixteenth." Chester shook his head in disbelief.
"Well, I had an eighteenth. That was nice," she yawned. "Tony and his friends back from when he first started the truck did a BBQ. They got Tony pretty drunk that night. Viola wasn't impressed." She checked her watch. It had gotten late and she had hardly noticed the movie had ended. She yawned again. "Man. I better call it," she said getting up from the couch. "I've got work tomorrow." Chester pouted a little, before looking at the time on his phone.
"You're right," he groaned, sinking further into the couch. "This was nice by the way." Nicky looked back at her housemate, slightly confused.
"What was?" She asked as she grabbed the empty bottles from the counter and placed them in the recycling bin beside the fridge.
"This," he gestured between the two of them. "Dinner, beers, chats. It was nice to hang out for once. It's been forever."
"Oh," Nicky blushed a little. "Yeah, it was." Chester was right. She could hardly recall the last time she took a night off like this.
"Maybe, when you've finished your course, we could do this again," he said, half yawning, stretching out on the couch. "Or better yet, you could come out with me and the gang. Now there is something you haven't done in forever."
"Yeah…" Nicky trailed off as she impulsively fiddled with her necklace. "I just dunno with work, you know." Chester gave her a sad look and shook his head.
"I don't know how you manage," he said breathlessly as he stood up from the couch.
"Manage what?" Nicky replied, frowning slightly.
"All of it," Chester responded. "Three jobs, college, no social life. I mean…I feel like I struggle with the work-life balance thing but I at least go out." Nicky shrugged, fighting the urge to get defensive with him."You know… if it is a money thing, I'm happy to pitch in a bit more," He continued, his voice turning soft and sincere like he was wary he may be causing some offence and wanted to soften the blow. Nicky involuntarily rolled her eyes and shook her head. He is just trying to be nice, she told herself. Don't get mad.
"It's fine," she said, a touch of defiance rang in her voice. "Sure. Work and college seem chaotic. Especially now. But it's all under control. Everything's fine. I like work. I like working." Without thinking she placed her hands on her hips and nodded, like she was agreeing with herself. Chester just blinked back at her, his face expressionless.
"If you say so," he shrugged and shuffled up the stairs. "Night," he called out and she heard his bedroom door close. She waited a little while before climbing up after him. Collapsing into bed as soon as she changed into her pyjamas, she let out a long yawn, her head was still buzzing slightly from the alcohol. It wasn't long, though, before she drifted to sleep.
Part.2 - Act 2
When Nicky woke up the next morning, she rolled over to see the clock blinking 4:28 am at her. Right before the alarm, she thought. She lay back momentarily when she realised she had just had a dreamless sleep. A smile crept across her face.
The morning shift with Shannon was as uneventful as it usually was, running smoothly and without incident. College had been just the same. She got there on time and left with no worries. On her walk from campus to Fells Point, she couldn't help but smile. It was a gorgeous fall day; the sun was shining, golden leaves were falling, and she hadn't been bothered by nightmares, blackouts, or any feelings of dread.
That evening, she stayed with Tony at the truck serving meatball subs until late and, once the crowd had gone, the pair packed down the truck's kitchen together before he drove her home.
As she walked in the door, her phone buzzed with a text from Chester asking if she wanted to join him and the gang at one of the Halloween parties they were attending. Underlined at the bottom of the text was a link. It sent her to an events page for the Inferno Club. What a coincidence, she thought as she texted back saying she was heading to bed. A sad face emoji popped up on her screen a split second after she had hit send.
After having a shower, relief washed over her. Her entire day was just about perfect. Not a single mishap. Lying back on her bed, she smiled and finally closed her eyes.
A violent wrench ripped Nicky from her sleep, her nerves on fire from the sensation. She opened her eyes to find the floor rushing up to meet her and barely raised her arms in time to break her fall. She crashed onto the linoleum surface, pain shooting up her arms. Somewhere behind her, laughter erupted. Gingerly, she sat up. The ground below her jolted again, causing her to sway involuntarily. The sound of train wheels screeching filled her ears.
The carriage was old, with out-dated chairs and linoleum but brightly lit. Warmly dressed, commuters were spread out amongst the plastic seats save for a pack of young men in black puffer jackets and baseball caps standing by a door, giggling. She quickly scrambled upright and grabbed hold of a nearby handrail. The young men stared directly at her, grinning cruelly. Looking down at herself, she realised she was still in her pyjamas, which were now dirty having fallen on the carriage floor. She gripped the rail tightly, nauseous and confused. Her breath came raggedly as she looked around the carriage for a sign telling her where she was or, better yet, where she was going.
Maps plastered above the windows gave her a clue and her eyes widened when it dawned on her. She had somehow travelled several stops up the LightRail heading North; heading back towards Druid Park. No, not again. She gripped the rail tighter, choking on a suppressed scream. Looking around the carriage once more, she wondered how far the next stop was. Feeling the eyes of the other commuters on her, embarrassment flushed her cheeks red. Why did this have to happen while in my pyjamas?
The lights of the carriage flickered violently for a moment and a chill snaked up Nicky's spine. As the lights returned to normal she was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that someone was standing close behind her. The presence set her on edge, her breath catching in her throat and sweat starting to dot her brow. Slowly, she turned around and there, right beside her, a dark figure stood.
The train lurched along the track, rocking the carriage. The rough motion jerked her backwards. Her hands now slick with sweat, her grip on the rail slipped and she was sent hurtling downwards. A yelp escaped her lips as she found herself back on the floor, this time, scrambling backwards to evade the figure. She hadn't gotten far when she blinked and realised it was gone. Her head darted around the carriage, searching for the figure. All she saw were the other commuters staring, clearly uncomfortable with her behaviour. Some whispered to their companions, others simply glared with disgust. Once again, she could hear the young men by the door snicker loudly. She didn't have to turn around to see them looking at her; she could feel their eyes on her.
"Next Stop: Baltimore Penn Station," the garbled voice over the speaker announced. The train shuddered to a halt, its wheels squealing underneath it. As soon as the doors slid open, Nicky launched herself off the floor and ran off the train narrowly dodging others. Laughter from the boys on the train erupted again only to be cut out once the doors closed behind her.
Cold air enveloped her, creating goosebumps up her arms and legs. Standing on the platform, her breath fogged up in front of her as she panted quietly. Unfamiliar with the station, she followed the signs that pointed towards the service desk. All the while, she vigorously rubbed her arms, fruitlessly trying to warm them up. Her bare feet padded across the dirty tiled floors of the train station, each step echoing around its cavernous halls.
Rounding a corner into the main atrium, she spied the service desk ahead of her, a lonely attendant sitting behind the desk. As she got closer, the attendant looked up, alerted by her encroaching footsteps, and grimaced slightly, clearly put off by the chaotic sight of her. Catching her reflection in the glass window of the service desk, Nicky could see why. Her feet were filthy, her shirt sweat-stained, and her hair a wild mass of curls.
"Hi," Nicky greeted the attendant, smiling awkwardly, unsure how to approach the situation. She had no money, no ID, and no phone. On top of that, she looked like a completely unhinged.
"What happened to you?" The attendant replied, looking at her bewilderedly. Standing up from the now, they looked down their nose, through the rectangle-shaped glasses perched low on its bridge, to better look at her.
"Uh…" she trailed off. "I was robbed." The words just came out of their own volition. Nicky was surprised at herself at how quickly and easily she came up with a lie. However, she wasn't confident she had been convincing in her delivery, so she gave the attendant with another awkward smile.
"Christ!" They blurted out, clutching at their chest. Their eyes darted around as if searching for the culprit. Nicky glanced behind her. The station's hall was just about deserted, save for her and a janitor wheeling his cart in the distance.
"Um, it was a couple of stations ago," she lied again, just as effortlessly as before.
"Are you ok? Did you want to call the cops?" The attendant gestured to a landline phone sitting on the desk behind them.
"No!" Nicky sputtered. The thought of involving the police sent alarm bells ringing in her head. She eyed the phone and thought for a moment. "But could I call someone to give me a ride home?"
Inside the station attendant's office was nice and warm, thanks to the aircon unit blaring, exhaustedly, in the corner. Nicky stood with her back to the attendant, who was now sitting back down by the desk window alternating between looking at their phone and then at Nicky, unsure of what to do with themselves. Nicky gripped the phone's plastic receiver tightly. She brought it to her ear and could hear the tone of the dead phone line droning from the speaker.
It had been some time since she had used a landline like this. Reflexively, she almost started punching Tony's number into the old dial pad. It was one of the few numbers she knew by heart, and probably the one she had used the most. But she stopped herself, her index finger hovering tentatively over the first digit. If I call Tony, I'll never hear the end of it. Her finger curled back and she joined the others in a fist. She wracked her brain, searching for another number she knew. Soon, one came and she punched in the number, crossing her fingers they would pick up.
"Sleepwalked?" Chester blurted out, wildly gesticulating around the backseat of the Uber as Nicky got in the car, closing the door behind her. "You slept walked onto the LightRail, rode several stops… you even did a change over! How?" Nicky bit her lip. Her eyes were glued to the floor, unable to bring herself to look at him. Chester sensed her embarrassment and sat back. "Sorry," he continued, his tone softer now,"I've just never known you to sleepwalk." In the car's review mirror, Nicky spied the driver looking back at her, his face wrinkled in discomfort. Despite now wearing Chester's overcoat, she still looked worse for wear. She let her head full into her hands, exhaustion beginning to wrack her body.
"I'm not sure I've ever sleepwalked before," she admitted, her voice now garbled by her hands. "But I seriously have no idea how I got on the train. I don't even have a pass." She let out a long sigh and rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry." She felt a hand touch her shoulder, so she raised her head.
"Don't apologise," Chester squeezed her shoulder. "Besides, the night was wrapping up anyway and I was right around the corner. Pretty convenient actually." He paused for a beat. 'You hate the LightRail." A confused smile crept across Chester's face.
"I know!" Nicky blurted out, caught between laughter and crying.
"I'm more impressed you remembered my number by heart," he chuckled.
They sat in silence the rest of the car ride home, which was thankfully for Nicky, short. On the porch of their townhouse, she waited patiently behind Chester as he unlocked their front door, his key prone to getting jammed. Once unlocked, he let the door swing open and reached inside to switch on the living room light. They had both just stepped inside when they spotted something odd. Sitting at the foot of the stairs was the black cat. Once spotted it darted towards the front door.
"AH!" They shouted in unison as the feline scurried out the door, skidding to a halt at the fence line. It turned its head and glared at the pair standing in the doorway, mouths open in shock.
"Get outta here, you detty thing," Chester cussed, shooing the cat away from afar. Green eyes blinked at them before the cat turned around and disappeared into the night. "How the hell did that thing get inside?" Chester exclaimed, stomping into the kitchen to check the windows. Nicky stared into the darkness for a moment before closing the front door.
While Chester checked the back door, Nicky mindlessly meandered across the living room and up the stairs. She considered taking a shower, for a moment but felt too exhausted. Instead, she shuffled into her room. With whatever effort she had left, she peeled off her clothes, hung them on her desk chair, grabbed a fresh nightshirt, which she slipped on, and finally collapsed on her unmade bed. Her fingers curled around her duvet and she pulled it over her before rolling over to face the wall. A knock at her bedroom door prompted her to roll back over. There in the doorway, Chester stood.
"Is it ok for me to come in?" He said, his voice barely above a whisper. Nicky reached out for her lamp and switched it on.
"Mmm-hmm." She sat up in the bed and waited for her eyes to adjust. Once her vision was clearer she could see Chester holding a mug close to his chest. She could barely make out the J.H.U anagram printed on its surface, the image poking out through his fingers.
"I thought maybe you'd like something to help you get back to sleep" he holds up the mug with a weak smile.
"Thanks," she mumbled, leaning back onto the wall. "But I don't really want a Sleep Tea right now."
"Um, actually it's Nyquill," he chuckled nervously. "I sometimes have some after long shifts and I'm too tired to sleep. It helps."
"Oh," she said, surprised at this admission. Their eyes met and Chester gave her an unconvincing smile. Dragging her knees to her chest, Nicky shrugged in response. "Thanks for helping me out."
"All good," Chester replied, bashfully. "I'll leave it here in case you change your mind," he awkwardly stepped forward, placed the mug on her bedside table, before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Peering out from behind her knees, Nicky spied the mug. It wasn't like her to take cough medicine to make her sleep. Also, she wasn't sure if it was going to help. She had just sleepwalked after all. But then again, the idea of knocking herself out with Nyquill wasn't unappealing. She weighed up her options before grabbing the mug and knocking it back. Looking down at the mug, she laughed, realising how little of the liquid was in the mug. There must have been barely 60mls in that big mug, she thought. Placing the mug back down on the table, she laid back and let the drug do its thing. It wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep.
Part.2 - Act 3
Another nightmare. The same nightmare. The room, the fire, the figure. It was all the same. The only difference this time was the screaming, which grew louder, quickly becoming deafening.
"STOP!" Nicky's voice reverberated off the walls of her room. It was bright when her eyes sprang open. Sunlight streamed in from the window, directly onto her bed. Her ears rang a little as she sat up. She squinted, the sun getting in her eyes, and it dawned on her. It was late. Reaching for the clock, her hand settled on her phone instead, and she brought it to her face. The screen brightened up and there was the time: 10:00 am. "No!" She shouted as she scrambled out of bed, slipping on the floorboard and landing on her hands and knees. The floor rattled underneath her.
Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. They grew louder until her bedroom door swung open wildly and Chester burst in, wearing his scrubs.
"Woah!" Chester skidded to a halt, clinging to the doorway. "What's going on? Are you ok?" He huffed, out of breath from running up the stairs.
"I'm supposed to be at the cafe," she stumbles as she goes to her drawer. "I'm so fucking late." Chester's shoulders slumped and he looked down at her with pity.
"Nicky, calm down. It's Saturday," Chester pleaded, exasperated. He took a step closer, his arms out in front of him as if he were trying to calm down a rowdy pet. "The cafe is closed." Nicky stopped mid-action, a pair of pants swinging in her hands. Still breathing heavily, she looked at Chester in disbelief. Turning back to her bed, she picked up her phone, unlocked it, and looked at the date. He was right. It was Saturday. Nicky rubbed her head and fell back onto the bed, bouncing softly against the mattress. Chester took a long breath, deflating his chest, and placed his hands on his hips. "Maybe I'm overstepping here but you need to relax. Seriously. It's like you're having a nervous breakdown or something." He shook his head and checked his watch. "I'm sorry. I have a placement in half an hour. I gotta go. Just, take the day. Stay in bed." He gave her one last concerned look and left the room, his footsteps fading down the staircase. Blowing strands of hair off her face, Nicky got up from the bed, leaving her phone behind, and briskly walked over to the door. "Go back to bed," she heard Chester yell from the living room followed by the front door opening and closing. Silence settled in the house.
Nicky returned to bed and sat there quietly, her mind racing while her stomach was gnawed by a hideous feeling of dread. Something was wrong. What made it worse was the feeling had become familiar, like a strange memory that she couldn't quite capture in her mind. Like something that sat on the fringes of her memory. She raised her trembling hands to her mouth and held them there tightly, fighting the urge to hyperventilate. What do I do? The question echoed on repeat in her mind.
In her chest, she could feel her heart thump against her sternum. Every other thump brought with it a slightly sharp pain. Christ, she thought, am I having a heart attack now too? The rational part of her brain quickly stepped in and forced her to take a deep, steadying breath. This can't go on. She grabbed her phone. After finding the number she was after, she took several deep breaths to psych herself up before hitting dial.
Nicky sighed as the pre-recorded prompts played through. Crackly, elevator music played over the phone as she sat biting her nails, waiting. Five minutes had dragged by when the music abruptly stopped and the line went quiet. A woman's voice came through the speaker now, telling her that her name was Karen and asking if she was fine to record the call. Nicky sat up and gripped the phone tightly, fighting the anxiety.
"Yes, that's fine," she exhaled.
"And you're aware that if this is an emergency we need you to hang up and contact 9-1-1?" Karen continued.
"Yes," Nicky replied, rubbing her forehead, noticing her hands still shook.
"Alright," the nurse breathed calmly into the phone. "Can you tell me what's going on?"
"Uh," Nicky stumbled. "I've, um, I've been having blackouts. And last night I sleepwalked and woke up outside the house…" She cringed at herself. Should have figured out what you were going to say before Nicky, she thought.
"Oh," Karen replied. "Ok. Can you tell me a bit more? How long has this been going on?"
"A few days now."
"And how long are the blackouts? A few seconds, minutes?"
"Well, the first couple were like a minute or two," Nicky's voice quivered. "But the last one has closer to an hour."
"That's… concerning. And the sleepwalking. Do you usually sleepwalk?"
"No."
"Hmm…" Karen drifted off and Nicky could hear the nurse's keyboard clicking and clacking away. "Do you have any family history of epilepsy, mental health conditions, or sleep disorders?"
Nicky hung up and threw the phone on the bed. Why did I do that? she thought. Why did I panic like that? She let her head fall into her hands and aggressively rubbed her head, messing her hair up. She glanced at the phone, the thought of calling the nurse back crossing her mind. But then, the idea of talking about her symptoms and "family history" made her feel sick in her stomach. Breathing deeply, she switched to biting her nails and tapping her foot as she sat in contemplation. After a moment or two, she stood up and walked over to her desk. There she opened the drawer beneath the desk top and reached inside.
The manilla folder was bursting, its edges frayed. Undoing the cooking string that bound the folder shut, Nicky gingerly placed it on the desk and opened it. Atop the stack of paperwork, was a crinkled, grey, business card, which she picked up and inspected. The ink was faded, she could barely make out the name, the last digits of their phone number, and the seal of the Department of Social Services.
Putting the card to the side, she began thumbing through the paperwork. Each stapled set of papers was a different form. And each had a different set of names, addresses, and dates printed on them. The only constant was Nicky's name, which was present on every form. Looking at the first, she grabbed her phone and tried the number listed. The disengaged tone rang. Good start, she thought, drumming her fingers on the desk, building up the nerve to try the next number.
Instead, she grabbed a notebook from across the desk, she opened it to a fresh page, picked up a pen and began jotting down the names and addresses from the form. As she did so she'd look up the addresses on her phone, making notes on how to get from place to place. Once she was done, she stared at the page. Five addresses, another two crossed out as those houses had since been demolished.
Nicky bit her lip, unsure about her next move. She tried ringing another number, only to hear another disengaged tone. She let out a long sigh. That settled it. She resolved to get changed and leave the house. And so she did.
Her old boarding house wasn't quite how she remembered it. When she read the address earlier, she had pictured a larger, front garden and porch. The red-bricked townhouse was the last in its row, gifting it a yard following its border around the left side. She had also pictured the weatherboards on the second floor differently. In her mind, they had been a grey-blue instead of the eggshell white they were today. Then again, her memory of that time was quite fuzzy. Or perhaps, it had been painted since. When she tried to think back to that time, it only came back in minute glimpses; like grainy, singular frames from an old bit of film. Nicky never considered herself to be forgetful but she had to admit there was very little she could recall about her time at the house on Butcher's Hill. It had been years, she had rationed, however, and she was quite young at the time.
What felt most familiar was the rusty, screen door at the house's entrance. That was just as she had remembered it. Somehow the flaking black paint from the metal frame stood out most vividly. The porch's wooden floorboards creaked underfoot and suddenly she felt like a small child again, waiting to be let inside. She almost felt the hands of faceless social workers on her shoulders as stood outside. Nicky knocked on the door with a clenched fist, rattling loudly. While she waited, she nervously played with the loose threads that hung from the frayed cuff of her black plaid shacket. A minute passed and the door opened revealing the house's small and wiry occupant, whose eyes widened in surprise when she saw who was standing on her porch.
"Nicole?" A fragile voice spoke. Its owner was Mildred; a widow with wispy reddish hair and small, brown eyes. From behind the screen door, she looked as fragile as she sounded, leaving Nicky feeling a weird sense of whiplash; it wasn't quite the Mildred she remembered from her youth. When Nicky had lived here, Mildred would have been in her late forties. Now she had to be in her sixties. After receiving a lukewarm reception, Nicky found herself in the lounge room, looking at the photographs on the walls and atop a wooden cabinet. She could hear her former guardian in the next room, preparing a cup of coffee. Eventually, she spotted a photo featuring a younger version of herself, standing beside two other children.
"Oh, I remember them," she blurted out. "Kind of." She raised a finger and pointed to the tall boy on the right. "Ned and…" her finger hovered over the smaller boy.
"Ned and Bart," Mildred interjected as she walked in from the kitchen.
"Bart. Right. Like the Simpsons." Nicky muttered, looking back at the wall. Across it, time flowed via each photograph, her former foster parents growing older from frame to frame. She was no longer in the photos and some featured new faces. Her eyes settled on the photo furthest from her. It appeared to be a recent photo. In it, Mildred stood beside two men who resembled older versions of Ned and Bart.
"Oh, they still visit," Nicky remarked.
"We adopted them in 99," Mildred replied, setting her coffee down atop a cork coaster on the coffee table in front of her. Steam rose in the air from the cup as she sat down on her lounge.
"Oh." A pang of resentment hit Nicky square in the chest. "That's nice," she forced a smile. Mildred nodded, turning on her side to adjust the cushions behind her.
"They were such good boys. Still are." She looked up to see Nicky's sombre complexion and grimaced a little. "Not that you weren't any good," she spluttered, trying to correct herself. "They just, how do you say it, ingratiated themselves on Marty and I. By the end of the nineties we simply couldn't afford to foster multiple kids all at once, especially with Marty's medical bills, so we cut back. But letting Ned and Bart go didn't seem right. We'd really become a family." She smiled awkwardly before reaching for her coffee. "Besides, we were assured you were on your way to another good home when it came time for you to leave." She took a delicate sip from her cup.
"Yeah," Nicky scoffed slightly, "make that six other good homes." Mildred's eyes widened leaving Nicky feeling slightly guilty at how scornful her comment might of sounded. She bit her lip nervously before changing the subject. "Anyway. I'm not here to, like, reminisce." She took a seat across from her former guardian and clasped her hands. "I don't have much in the way of medical records. Well, in fact, I don't have any medical records from my childhood. And well, some stuff has come up and I'd kind of like to have them handy."
"What kind of stuff?" Mildred asked, frowning. "Is there something wrong?"
"Oh! No, no," Nicky shook her head, wishing she had used a better choice of words. "I mean like, I'm at that age now, you know, I should have all my paperwork and whatnot available. You know. Should something come up." She forced a smile which was left unreciprocated. "Anyway, I tried DSS but you know what the department is like. And my previous guardians had hardly any information given to them when they took me in." Mildred nodded knowingly. "So anyway, I've been calling around a few of the houses I was at. Trying to piece things together."
"And?" Mildred asked, raising an eyebrow. Nicky clasped her hands and laid them in her lap.
"Well, of the people whose houses haven't been turned into complexes and so are long gone… one of them died so no luck there, and the other barely remembered me let alone whether I ever got sick so…" Nicky shrugged.
"I can't recall you ever being sick under our care," Mildred shook her head, looking down at the coffee she held in both hands. Feeling frustrated, Nicky's grip tightened. She frowned a little.
"Never," she asked, leaning closer towards Mildred. "I never had a cold or a fever? Chickenpox? No trips to the hospital? Nothing?"
"Nope, not even runny nose as far as I can remember," the older woman replied, shaking her head once more. "I mean, besides the day you came to us, you'd never needed a hospital visit."
"The day I came to you?" She furrowed her brow deeper as she tried to remember that day. What she could recall was very hazy. It was dark, late at night, that she knew. What was vivid, though, was the rusty screen door.
"Oh yeah," Mildred nodded. She took another sip of coffee and smacked her lips. "You were such a little thing when they bought you here. Still had a bit of soot on you, they'd bought you here straight from the hospital. Which one was it?" She sat back in thought. "God, no I can't remember. It wasn't John Hopkins…" she trailed off.
"Soot?" Nicky pondered out loud. Mildred nodded animately in response.
"Yes, yes," she waved her finger at her. "You'd been in a house fire. No! A building fire. One of the old hotels uptown. I don't think it's around anymore." She paused to take another sip. "You were fine though. At least the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with you."
"Right," Nicky muttered. "But you thought there was something…wrong?" Mildred sat upright and shook her head.
"No, no," she said defensively. "I didn't mean it like that." She then cocked her head slightly. "But you were… a little odd."
"Oh," Nicky raised an eyebrow, unsure if she should feel offended or intrigued. The woman bristled somewhat at this reaction.
"Well, now, look," she continued. "I don't know how else to say it but you were!" She paused, exhaling out her nose loudly. "You'd…talk to yourself. Making little hand gestures and saying god knows what kind of gobbledegook. The other kids… Well, they were kind of scared of you." She sighed, staring into her coffee. "And then there was the running away."
"I'd run away?" Nicky asked softly.
"Oh, multiple times. My god," Mildred chuckled, shaking her head. "We couldn't understand how you'd do it. It was like you could walk through walls or something. We had deadlocks on the doors and windows and yet off you go in the dead of night. It was embarrassing having the cops knocking on our door well past midnight having caught you wandering off wherever it was you were trying to go. Don't you remember that?"
"No." Nicky shook her head. "I'm sorry about that."
"You were six," Mildred shrugged. "And we'd dealt with worse children. We'd just figured whatever happened before you came to us left an impression and hoped you'd grow out of it at some point." She sighed and put her cup down. "Kids who came to us typically came from rough households. They'd have baggage; abusive parents or something like that. But you? You were an enigma. Weren't sure where you'd come from or who your parents were, if they were even still alive. All we had was a name. Nicole Scratch."
Nicky took the long way home hoping the fresh air and long walk would help process what had been said earlier. It certainly hadn't made anything clearer for her. However, one thing Mildred said had stuck out. The building fire. A hotel. But which one, she wondered. I have to look it up later, she told herself. Light rain started to fall, creating a fine mist. Nicky raised her hood and adjusted her coat.
Completely lost in thought, she made her way through Fells Point. Suddenly, she jolted to a stop. The hair on the back of her neck pricked up and she was overcome with the feeling of being watched. Slowly, she turned around to look behind her. The street was empty save for the black cat which was standing a yard away. Turning further to face the cat, Nicky stared it down. It stared back, its deep green eyes unblinking while its tail flicked back and forth in sharp whipping motions.
The atmosphere seemed to change and a wave of anxiety washed over Nicky. She clenched her fists, trying to ignore it, but it crashed into her stomach, turning her insides cold.
"Get out of here!" She exclaimed, waving an arm at the cat. The cat stepped closer causing Nicky to flinch. Suddenly, it curled up on its hunches, its tail no longer wagging. Nicky noticed its eyes go dark and its hair stand on end. It opened its mouth, baring its fangs, and let out a sharp hiss.
Blood pulsed loudly in her ears as she began to register the sounds of a panicked crowd in the distance. With shaky hands, she removed her hood and looked around. The cat was gone and she wasn't on the street anymore. Thick plumes of dust swirled wildly in the air, obscuring her vision. Blacked out, again, she realised. As some of the dust settled, Nicky began to see some landmarks around her. Red-bricked buildings lined either side of her, adorned with neon signage that glowed weakly in the daylight. Ahead of her was a staircase leading down into a court with restaurants on either side and seating areas scattered throughout. Behind her, she spotted two smoke towers. That's when she realised where she was. The entertainment strip behind the Pratt Street Power Plant. She was at least still in Fells Point, a sardonic voice spoke in her head.
I must have blacked out for at least 20 minutes, she rationalised. A large crash sounded beside her as one of the neon signs fell to the ground, causing it to shake. Many of the buildings around her had been damaged, with debris scattered everywhere.
"Had enough?" A voice called out from the bottom of the stairs. The cold, menacing tone chilled Nicky's insides. She peered down the stairs to make out a dark figure emerging through the dust. Nicky gasped, every nerve in her body urging her to flee. Whoever that was, intuition told her they were bad news. Aware she had nowhere to go, she back-pedalled away from the stairs and into the venue behind her through a broken glass door. Inside was in shambles, as if the place was rocked by an earthquake. Parts of the roof appeared unstable, with some rafters hanging precariously from the ceiling. Ahead of her, a large rectangular bar stood in the middle of the room. Across from that were multiple booths and a stage complete with a DJ podium. She weighed up her options. Gotta find the back door, her mind raced. "Hiding now, are we?" The voice called out coyly, its volume suggesting they were now closer than before. Alarm bells rang in her head. Nicky checked behind her quickly before running around the far side of the bar. There, she crouched down as close to the floor as she could.
The sound of glass crunching underfoot reached her ears. Whoever it was, they were getting close. She raised a hand to her mouth to stifle any sounds of her breathing, which felt ragged. As the footsteps came closer, Nicky began to quietly edge her way around the bar, creeping on her tippy toes. Perhaps I could evade them and leave the way I came, she thought. Sneaking further around the bar she managed to get into a position where she could spot the entrance. She peered around the corner. The doorway was clear.
Suddenly the room shook. Part of the ceiling fell with a tremendous crash, causing Nicky to fall forward. She slid across the ground a couple of feet towards the DJ podium, a scream caught in her throat. Grimacing, she got back to her feet and hugged the wall beside the podium, praying her pursuer hadn't noticed. Half kneeling now, her eyes darted across the room searching for any sign of the stranger. Movement from across the room gave Nicky the impression that whoever was after her was now on the far side of the bar, where she had been earlier. Squinting, she thought she could just make out the silhouette of someone lurking in the distance, wandering into the next room. The podium now stood in her way between the door. Sensing this was her opportunity to get away, she steeled herself and darted around the podium
As soon as she rounded the corner, however, her heart sank. There in the doorway stood a woman dressed in black and deep purple dress. Dark, curls cascaded past her shoulders while her long fringe framed her pale face. Her arms were raised slightly from her hips, bending at the elbow, and her blackened fingers appeared claw-like, curled slightly and facing upwards. What terrified Nicky the most were her eyes. They were the deepest blue, almost navy, giving them the appearance of small, bottomless, black holes. They were the eyes of a dangerous person, perhaps even an animal, looking at her with all the contempt in the world. All Nicky could do was freeze. She felt as if she had been winded, letting out a loud gasp as tears of fear welled in her eyes.
Within a second of looking at her, the woman's entire demeanour changed. The menace and contempt melted away, becoming instead shocked and somewhat astonished. Her lips parted in surprise while her hands dropped to her sides. She blinked and it was as if her features softened. "Nicole?" She croaked.
Nicky barely had time to react as the room shuddered once more sending more debris falling, this time atop of her.
Air surged into her lungs as she gasped involuntarily, desperately. Water poured down her face and saturated her clothes. Large hands clasped at her shoulders and arms tightly, pulling her upwards. She tried her best to see what was happening, but salty water stung her eyes, blurring her vision. Her ears seemed to be clogged, leaving the world sounding muffled. However, through them, she could hear what she thought were crowds of people all talking simultaneously and the sound of a hacking cough, which she immediately realised was her. Once her legs were raised out of the water, a chill started to seep through her skin and into her bones. An arm reached around her midriff and helped lift her further until she felt herself falling backwards, landing on something soft.
Blinking the water from her eyes, she soon could make out two men in overalls and waffled shirts standing above her. Whatever she had landed on moved out from under her and beside her appeared a third man dressed much the same as the other two, who crouched close to her. With one hand, he braced her back, his palm pressed firmly in between her shoulder blades. He took her hand in his other, squeezing it tightly before softening.
"Are you ok?" He asked in a deep, booming voice. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me." Without thinking, she squeezed the stranger's hand. Water tickled her lungs and she let out another hacking cough. The stranger's hand slapped her on the back, causing more water to swish around in her chest. She coughed harder. Once the coughing subsided, she began shivering violently. Suddenly a heavy, woollen blanket appeared, draped around her shoulders. Again without thinking, she let go of the man's hand and grasped at the blanket, pulling it close to her chest. The ground beneath her rocked slightly and it dawned on her that she had been pulled up onto a boat.
"Ambulance is on its way," a new voice sounded behind her. She presumed it belonged to whoever gave her the blanket. The man beside her nodded and placed his free hand on her shoulder.
"What's your name? Do you know where you are?" He inquired. He had to be in his fifties, with tan leather skin and a well-established beard, complete with grey flecks. Ignoring him, Nicky tried to get up but the hand firm on her shoulder prevented her from moving. "No, don't move," he warned her. "You have any idea how far you fell? You could be seriously injured. It's a miracle you're sitting upright."
"What?" Nicky exclaimed, flabbergasted.
"She's in shock," one of the men in overalls remarked matter of factly. Ambulance sirens began ringing out in the distance, growing louder and louder. Looking ahead of her now, she could see the boat was barely a few yards away from the closest dock. A little further away, she noticed people crowded around the edge of the waterway. Beyond them, blue and red lights flickered against the facade of the Pratt Power Plant, the hundred-year-old building now sporting a large hole near the fourth floor with smoke drifting out of it.