When Nathan had been young, perhaps no more than six or seven, his parents had insisted he learn to swim. At the time it had seemed egregious, and with time, that resentment had only grown. After all, what use was swimming in a world where the ocean could give you blisters if you went to the wrong beach? All the same, he’d been dragged out to a nu-crete pool one chilly spring morning in a set of trunks, his embarrassment warring with the cold for his attention while the teacher issued instructions. 

 

He’d never seen who pushed him in, and nobody else had either, given the fury his mother had expressed at the school’s administration for not finding someone to punish. At the time though he hadn’t cared. The water had been dark blue and deep; probably twelve feet at least. One minute, he’d been rounding the corner of the pool’s nu-crete lip along with everyone else, on his way to the shallow end where the instructor was waiting, and then next, he was thrashing about in a desperate attempt not to drown. Yet the harder his movements, and the more strength  he applied, the water seemed determined to drag him down. His world had turned into bluish darkness filled with bubbles, punctuated by flashes of desperate sound and light and he tried frantically to stay afloat or reach the edge where he could pull himself up. 

 

The memory of that horrible few seconds, which had felt like hours at the time, was omnipresent in Nathan’s mind now, given how well it mirrored his current situation. After blacking out in the wake of the...thing with Spencer, he’d expected to awaken in his own bed, with all of this lunacy having proved to be a horrible nightmare. Instead, he’d come to, standing upright (itself a horrible realization, given its implications) beneath the sharp white lights of a drugstore, with every joint blazing in pain and panicked cries assaulting his ears. He’d run, not bothering to look for the source of the noises, only for darkness to descend again as a wave of nausea swept through him. 

From there, it had become cyclical. He’d wavered in and out of the black, trapped in an interstitial nothingness whose existence he was made aware of only by its contrast with the abrupt surges of consciousness that punctuated it, each of which was accompanied by pain and startling sights. Most of them brought him to awareness in places he had never been, but in the midst of the terror he sometimes thought he spotted familiar faces, or landmarks he could almost name. Once, he’d opened his eyes to find himself standing in the lot behind the office where Natalie worked, staring up at a gray sky whose presence filled him with dread. At another point, he’d ‘awakened’ to discover he was standing with his face pressed to the front door of a cinema he’d never seen before, with some confused patrons and an uneasy counter-jockey staring at him through the photovoltaic glass of the entrance. Flash...flash...flash; it all went by like some twisted montage; a bevy of bad dreams where awakening was no escape from the terror. Everything ran together now; reality; his thoughts; his emotions; it was all a slurry and he was thrashing in it, trying to stay afloat.

 

Choking down a sob, he crouched down next to a large grey metal structure, which his tear-blurred eyes identified as a bio-waste mulcher of the sort usually used by restaurants to dissolve and reprocess their unconsumed leavings. He shuffled backwards, sinking into a fetal ball, looking over his knees and trying to count to ten. When he reached ten, he counted to twenty. Then thirty. Then sixty. 

 

He was still awake.

 

Unsteady, and aching from his follicles to his toenails, Nathan let out a shuddering, traumatised breath. He felt he should say something, but his tongue tasted of copper, which only scared him even more. He hugged himself tighter. 

 

He wanted to go home.

 

He wanted his friends.

 

He wanted his parents.

 

He wanted to wake up and find this was all a dream. 

 

How was this happening?

 

WHY was this happening?

 

-home~dwelling~safety~comfort-

 

Nathan twitched in place, as if he had been touched by a cattle prod. His head banged against the nu-crete side of the building, making stars flash in front of his eyes while his heart thudded in his chest. What had just happened? Had he...who had...what?

 

He recovered, hugging himself tightly again, trying to put his thoughts back together like bits of eggshell, ones that kept slipping through his fingers as he assembled them. Was he going crazy? His initial response was ‘no’, since he had always been of the opinion that one of the qualifiers for that condition was to never ask that question in the first place. If he could still ask it, ergo, he could not be crazy. But that assumption did nothing to assuage his concerns. After all, if HE wasn’t crazy, did that mean the world was going insane instead? It was an unhelpful question, and one with no answer to boot.

 

In an effort to divert from this unproductive line of inquiry, his mind veered sharply into even darker valleys of introspection, trained by years of social insecurity and miserable self-reductive reasoning. What if it wasn’t something mental, but physical? Or worse, what if he was dead? Maybe he had committed suicide like he’d briefly thought about doing two weeks ago. He knew he hadn’t really meant it then, even if he had been utterly down in the dumps because of his mom’s funeral, but what if something else had happened? Maybe his dying brain was playing out a final, nightmarish tribute to his short, pointless lif-

 

-anguish~sorrow~dissatisfaction~despair-

 

Nathan jerked again violently. This time though, his breathing was harder to get under control, because now he was certain of one thing:

 

These emotions were not his own. Not entirely, at least.

 

At first he hadn’t really noticed, being too concerned with the horrific lurches between waking and oblivion, but now, with enough stability and time to recuperate, memories were trickling back, bit by bit; sensations and concepts that felt...jagged; sweet and surprising...but also blurry. It was like...like…he didn’t know what it was like. No, that wasn’t right: he DID know what they were like, but they didn’t feel...right? 

 

But what did that even mean?

 

Pressing his hands to the sides of his skull, Nathan struggled to contextualize what was happening. His brain fought for understanding, seeking to place the odd jolts of memory/sensation/reaction into some kind of framework. Where were they coming from? Why was he feeling like this? Was...did his brain get damaged? Maybe there’d be an accident. He could’ve slipped on the stairs and this might all be a coma. Comas could feel real, right? And they could put you in touch with your ‘inner self’...right? Despite all his hopes, Nathan felt the confidence attached to that idea wither quickly under scrutiny. Fiction was unlikely to be a help here.

 

So what did that leave? He might be dead...but he didn’t FEEL dead. That might not mean anything in the long run, but for now, he let it lie. So he wasn’t dead; that meant this was all real. Was he suffering brain damage? 

 

...maybe? No. He shook his head reflexively. That was just as unhelpful. If his only means of confirming his own existence, as miserable as it might’ve made him over the years for it's failure to read other people, was experiencing technical difficulties, then he had nothing to work with. Fear coursed through him at the distant memory of stories told to him by his grandmother of a friend who had slowly gone into cognitive decline. He would rather die than live like that; slowly disintegrating into a drooling mess who couldn’t even recall the few bright moments that had once made his existence bearable. But how would he know? How would he-

 

-inquiry~self~inspection~deduction- 

 

Nathan spasmed, his head hitting the wall again. He yelled into his knees as his skull snapped forwards a-

 

-bridge~overlap~vessel~story-

 

He sucked in a breath, his heart beating so hard it felt like it would burst out of his r-

 

-conceptualize~form~purpose~unify-

 

“STOP IT!” Nathan screamed, “STOP IT! STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!!!”

 

And it did. For all of five seconds.

 

-empathy~query~overlap~contract-

 

Nathan shook uncontrollably. He could feel his own taste-buds, and hear his own eyes rolling in their sockets. He’d never taken drugs, but this was worse than every account he’d ever heard. His senses were heightened to an impossible degree, but also swirling together like paint on a tie-dye machine. And beyond the realm of the physical, in the space between his thoughts, behind the million-mile-an-hour carriage of screaming that was his train of thought, he FELT something reaching, fumbling, searching like a blind man in a library-

 

-bridge~overlap~learn~interface-

 

-̶͇̦͈̜̱̫͂̌̌͛I̷̫̮̓n̶̢̡̟̪̘̮̂͝t̵͉̤̜͆E̴̢̲̳͗̏͒͋͒ṟ̶̡̙̤̈́F̵̥͋a̴̢͖̠͝ç̷̯̥͕̠͈̕Ȩ̸̮̳̬͍̳́-̷̞͚̓

 

-̷̘̜̗̞͑̿͂͑̇͂͜͝͝͠Ì̶̡̘͚̥̟̉̐̋Ṇ̸̢͇̙̣̃Ţ̵̫̯̦̟̖̗͖͙̞̒̓̈́̔Ę̴̡̠̖͇̞͎͙̎̈́́̆́͘R̴͕̙̮̘̓͌F̵̳̹̠̖̬̋̓́̆̿͌̕̚̕A̷̜̹̝͓̔̋̆̽̇̏̌C̸̦̠͕͐̓͐̌͜Ȩ̴̱͖̈́̓̑͊͝ͅ-̵̻̝̌͋̄̈̋͘͝

 

-̸I̵N̴T̷E̷R̷F̸A̴C̷E̶-̵

 

---

 

Nathan woke up. For a moment, he looked around in panicked despair, expecting himself to have relocated yet again during what had to have been another blackout. Instead, he found he was still huddled against the wall of the restaurant. He was still dirty, with ruined clothes and more aches than he could count...but he was awake. He knew that, though how he knew he wasn’t totally sure. The idea seemed to float there in his skull like a rock, enticingly durable and inviting him to use it as a cornerstone for deciding his next actions.

 

Slowly, he looked around, taking in the full contents of his surroundings. He was in an alley behind...somewhere. Now that he looked at it, the waste-processor looked smaller than those he’d seen behind most restaurants. Maybe it was for a diner? He vaguely remembered Natalie telling him something about a diner, what felt like a million years ago now...ah, yes! He’d agreed to meet her for breakfast at...a diner? But which one? 

Patiently, he felt around on his person for his Pad, which was a smaller, older version of the one Beka used, though it had always served him well. It would know which diner. He wouldn’t trust his own memory, not to mention his terrible sense of attention, to remember such an important detail without help. He reached around his person for twenty seconds before it occurred to him that he was searching the same pockets over and over with no result, and that of his problems, making sure he met with Natalie was the least of his worries.

 

“Hos-pital…” he murmured to himself. Yes, he’d been hurt. The hospital would know what to do. But where was it? Dammit, he should at least know that! He worked there, didn’t he?! He should at least know how to find his way to his own damn workplace, stupid-

 

<Hell-o?>

 

Nathan paused, halfway through pushing himself up into a standing position, worried he’d been spotted by some unfortunate passer-by. He slowly scanned the alley, expecting to see some horrified watcher staring at him like something from another planet. But there was no one there; only him, and the gray, swirling mist, and his shadow.

 

<He-llo?>

 

I didn’t just hear that, Nathan told himself. Without meaning to, he repeated the words aloud. 

 

“I did not just hear that.” For a moment he frozen, embarrassed at his own behavior (something he had plenty of experience with), then hastily added: “I did not just hear a voice. There is nobody here.”

 

Silence.

 

Nathan pulled in a deep breath, then began to walk. His leg, particularly the one he remembered being broken, still ached like it had a horrible cramp, forcing him to limp while using the wall of the alley for support. I just need to get to the street, he told himself. Get to the street, and then find somewhere with a phone service. He could call nine-one-one. A flurry of emotions poured through him with that thought. Chief among them was a mild sense of shame. Broken bones had always been something that happened to other people. Now, here he was, unsure if he even had one, and he was planning to call emergency services.

 

Better safe than sorry, he told himself, pushing the irrational self-recrimination down. As he did, he reached the exit of the alley, just in time for a small e-cab to drive past, empty as the street it was traversing. Nathan looked after it, then around at the sidewalk, puzzled. 

 

“Where is everybody?” he muttered to himself. Could it be the fog? He’d noticed the chilly vapor as a constant theme in his nightmarish bouts of awakening, having persisted since he’d first come to in the basketball court. It seemed to wax and wane in severity from one location to the next, but it was always present; a gray pall draped over everything like dust sheets. Maybe it had something to do with the lack of people? But that made even less sense. If it was cold outside for once, people would be out in their hundreds to take advantage of it. The weather in Hobbs ranged from scorching to broiling, and very occasionally, soaking, but it had never been foggy…

 

Assuming this was still Hobbs of course.

 

The thought, as horrible as it was, should’ve brought him a fresh sense of panic. But all he could feel was pain and exhaustion. Fear was now a background noise, like the low-key jazz that he played constantly at home; a silent hiss of static that polluted his thoughts.

 

<Nay-than.>

 

The voice was...odd. For one thing, it wasn’t scary, though that didn’t stop Nathan from tensing every muscle in his body in shock. It was pleasant. Actually, no. That didn’t do it justice. It was as if it had been keyed and scaled to match that exact term; a soft, mellow tone that offered no judgement, no expectations, and no ill intent. For a moment, the weary and wounded secretary stood there, unable to proceed and dreading the next sound he would hear would be the cracking of his sanity as the assumption that he was actually, finally and truly awake fractured into a billion pieces.

 

“Hello?” 

 

<Nay-thaaaaan. Hello.>

 

I am hearing a voice in my head, Nathan thought to himself. Cool. Fucking awesome, no sarcasm intended, and no pressure either. This...is...fine. There’s room, right? Maybe this was a good thing. If it was his inner-self, then it was probably past time they had a chat, right?

 

<Self. Not-self. Am self...am...self?>

 

I wonder if it can hear me think, Nathan thought. If I have to have a voice in my head, then I’d rather not have to verbalize about it. 

 

<Hear self. Hear Nay-than. Sound...sound. See. Feel. Touch.>

 

Slowly, Nathan resumed his limping. He didn’t have time for this. He just wanted to get to a phone and call a fucking ambulance. He would figure everything else out later. But despite his determination, the voice in his head continued unabated. It continued speaking, most of its words just that: words, sometimes phrased as a question, though it never stopped for an answer, other times as a statement. Briefly, Nathan reached up to his head, tenderly feeling around. Maybe he had-

 

Wait.

 

Wait a minute.

 

Hadn’t he-...no. That was ridiculous...it was insane. And yet, in the dark recesses of his memory, as fuzzy as it had been for the past few hours, a horrible doubt began to blossom, rooted in an experience so brief he was no longer sure it had been real, even as the evidence continued to mount. In his mind’s eye, he was falling from the cliff of that strange gray coast once more, plunging into darkness as a sea of warmth engulfed him. And as he sank, struggling for air, he again felt the intrusion; a sense that something, somehow, had gotten inside him; something alien and strange. 

 

His every instinct fought to deny the idea, exhorting him to reject the very notion as absurd. After all, he couldn’t even be sure his time on the beach had been real, yes? But the shredded state of his garments and the persistent pain in his feet undercut the certainty of that assertion. In an odd, detached fashion, he realized that while the single, stony idea that he was awake had been a sturdy basis on which to rebuild his sanity, perhaps he should’ve checked to see how well it was tethered to the main body of his life’s experience. 

 

He was awake, yes...but not to the world as he had left it.

 

It was at this point that he noticed his shadow. Up until now, he’d ignored its presence, taking its constant companionship for granted as he always did. Now though, cresting above the tsunami of madness that was threatening to sweep away his sanity once and for all like some metaphysical surfer, there came the realization that with the combination of gray skies, thick fog and general lack of light, he shouldn’t have been casting much of a shadow to begin with. Yet there it was; dark as pitch and far sharper than it had any right to be. As he stared at it, he thought he heard the crashing of ocean waves in his head, like he had on that strange, half-real beach.

 

His shadow tentatively waved a hand.

 

<Hell-o, Nay-than Hell-o!>

 

Nathan fainted.

 

---

 

Nathan woke up. His head was REALLY hurting now. He blinked twice, then realized the reason his eye was itching was because there was blood in it.

 

<Hell-o?>

 

“Oh no...no-no-no-no-noooo…” he whined, “You’re not real. It’s not real! I’m real!”

 

<Am self! Am real?> There was a pause before the voice seemed to decide for itself: <Am real.>

 

“W-what’s going on!?” Nathan begged to no one in particular, “Why is this happening!? Why is this-” He stopped himself, clamping down on the cauldron of emotions inside with a practiced iron hand born of nearly two decades of the rejection and self-repression that seemed to be his lot in life. He would cry later. He needed a phone. He needed to control his breathing. Oh god, had he just fainted? He had, hadn’t he. Shame flowed through him as he recalled the snickering he himself had partaken in whenever reading about someone fainting in a horror story. It had always seemed so melodramatic...

 

<Me-lo-dram-attic?>

 

“No, no, no, no.” he chanted to himself, trying to push his way back to a standing position. The ground felt slippery. Oh god, did he have a concussion? It would be just his luck, wouldn’t it? Especially the way this day was going. As he got his knees under himself, the world swung sideways and he nearly fell backwards again, which would’ve been painful with his legs folded beneath. However, before he could, there was an abrupt pressure in his skull and-...and the world stopped sliding.

 

<Fixed? Fixed!> cheered the voice. 

 

“I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.” Nathan said in response. He was not going to deal with this right now. He needed a phone. He needed a phone so he could get some help. As he stood fully upright, he saw a small bloodstain on the ground where he’d been lying in his shadow…

 

His shadow.

 

Again, he clamped down with an iron fist as his lungs threatened to hyperventilate again. This was not the time. 

 

<Apology. Apology!> the voice declared, sounding downcast before then adding in a more inquisitorial tone: <...Sorry?> Again, it seemed to self-affirm with a further: <Am sorry.>

 

Nathan felt his grip on his lungs slipping, but discovered that it wasn’t because he was panicking. Instead, hissing, choking giggles began to flow up through his windpipe. Oh god. It was too much. He clutched his head, unable to stop laughing, continuing until the laughter became sobs. It was too much. Too much!

He was still like that when help finally arrived.

 

---

 

“What a day…” Natalie muttered, “At least it’s a weekend.” Idly, she leaned her elbow against the edge of the passenger-seat window of the auto-cab, the cold seeping in from outside making her feel stiff.

 

“Count yourself lucky.” Beka replied gloomily from the seat next to her, “I hate to say it, but I might need to head back to our place in an hour or so. There’s a project I need to work on for next Monday.”

 

“I thought you said you were free?” Natalie asked, looking away from the window of the passenger’s seat in confusion. Beka shook her head, frowning. 

 

“I said I was free for breakfast. I was going to head home and do this later, after we’d finished visiting with Nate.”

 

“Oh. Damn.” sighed Natalie, returning her gaze to the foggy space beyond. For a moment, she felt a spark of irritation at her girlfriend for not being more specific, but quickly put it out of her mind. Trivial issues like that were nothing to get riled over, not when more obvious problems were present. They had searched high and low over the course of an hour and a half, but found no trace of Nathan at the library. A brief stop at the hospital had followed, though Natalie’s hopes had been low for results from that front. She wasn’t sure what she’d hoped to accomplish by that, given it had been one of the first places Kyle had called apparently, which meant that her arrival asking for Nathan by name had garnered only annoyed or suspicious responses from the people she’d asked.

 

Now, out of ideas, they were on their way back to the diner, where they’d agreed to meet Mark, before heading back to the station in the hopes of regrouping with Kyle. Briefly, she considered calling the detective to let him know they would be coming, but decided against it. There was no real point, not right now. Perhaps in a few minutes... 

 

Natalie shook her head, squinting into the gray murk. It was making her nervy in ways it hadn’t earlier that morning. Something about it felt unnatural beyond the fact that it was simply here, in a region where airborne moisture simply never got cold enough to allow this sort of thing, nevermind the land was too low to allow for heavy clouds to skirt the landscape. It simply should not be...and yet here it was. According to the news, which she had briefly skimmed before leaving the hospital, the city’s authorities had issued a recommendation to stay inside as much as possible, without really giving a reason as to why. The official statement was ‘inclement weather’, but nine times out of ten that meant withering heat. The other ‘one’ was torrential rain, which hadn’t happened for months now, and was unlikely to do so for the rest of the year.

 

“You know...sometimes, I think I can see things out there.”

 

Natalie turned back to her girlfriend, whom she now saw was mimicking her behavior, staring out of the opposite window with a blank gaze that bespoke rattled nerves. When she caught Natalie’s look of confusion, she turned away from the glassy aperture, though just enough that she could still keep it in her field of vision. 

 

“I mean, weird things. I’ve seen plenty of cars and buildings but...it’s like…” She held up her hands and made motions as if trying to shape invisible dough. “I swear earlier on, we passed by this old telephone pole, just before we got to the library. It looked normal, but the further away we got, the more it seemed to bend, like it was under a high wind.”

 

“Yyyyeah…” Natalie replied, unsure how to respond, “Trick of the light?” Beka held up her hands.

 

“I’m just saying; there’s something up with this stuff.” I know everywhere has weird weather these days, but that usually means freak hailstorms or crap. Far as I know, there’s just no precedent for this.”

 

“Well, hopefully it’s not a permanent thing.” Natalie replied, hoping things would stop there. And they did, starting with the car. There was a chime followed by a smug-sounding announcement from the automated cab’s interior speakers.

 

“You have arrived at your destination. Thank you-”

 

Natalie didn’t bother to listen to the rest, instead choosing to swing open the door while pulling out her own small Pad, which she then used to transfer the necessary money to the vehicle so it would shut up and stop bothering her with the way it made the device buzz. Annoyed, frustrated and more uneasy than ever, she exited the vehicle and stretched while Beka did the same across from her.

 

“Thank you for your payment!” the car said abruptly, before closing the doors automatically, nearly hitting Beka as they did.

“Hey! Stupid machine!” she snarled, but the car was already gone, moving away and picking up speed as it pursued it's next programmed passengers.

 

“I swear, they get worse by the year.” Natalie said, looking away from the vanishing vehicle, “It’s like they’re slowly going crazy.” Her phone buzzed again, and for a moment she thought it was to tell her that her payment had been processed. However, a quick check showed it was in fact to signal the receival of a text from Mark, which said simply: “Three minutes out. BRT.” She sighed again and looked in at the brightly-lit windows of the establishment.

 

“Guess we’d better wait inside-” she began, when she noticed the sounds of sobbing. It was muffled, almost muted, but in the encroaching silence of the largely-inactive town, it was unmistakable. 

 

“The fuck?” Beka quipped, looking around. Natalie caught her eye, a sense of relief washing over her.

 

“You hear it too?”

 

“Yeah, I-” she began, before something moved in the corner of Natalie’s vision. She swung her head to the right, squinting into the mist. It took her a moment to home in on the dark shape of someone balled up by the wall of the diner, near the place where it's front bent around to an alley where it hid it's necessary external bits in the space between buildings.

 

“Who-” she started to wonder aloud, already moving forward when she heard her girlfriends gasp.

 

“Oh Jesus Christ!” she swore, then hurried past Natalie, flailing at her as she did, “Call the hospital! Now!” Nat was staggered by the abruptness of her outburst, but once she saw what had triggered it, she was quick to comply. There was a bloodstain on the sidewalk near the person, dark against the gloomy gray pavement and almost hidden by the contrasting lights of the street-poles, the building, and the shadows between. She now saw the person in question also had stains of the same substance on his clothing, which was ragged and worn. 

 

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency please?” chirped the phone in her ear as she held it up, eyes still fixed on the mystery person and trying to make out further d-

 

It was Nathan. The realization came to her in a flash as her thoughts crashed into her perceptions and she realized that despite the blood-stains, she knew that red and white Hawaiian shirt anywhere. It had been a gift for his fourteenth birthday, a relic of an earlier time when things like tropical resorts still existed. For a moment she froze up, the horror of seeing her oldest friend in such a ruined condition chilling her movements like ice water.

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” the phone chirped, breaking the spell.

 

“Y-yes!” she stammered, “I’m...my-my name is Natalie Jade. I’m near the Hobbs Classical Diner off Ethan-Allan Street and Tenth. I just found a friend of mine. He’s hurt. Th-there’s been an all-points bulletin out since this morning on him after he went missing. I need you to send someone.”

 

“How do you-?” the man on the other end began, but Natalie cut him short, even as she felt her throat tightening in fear and grief.

 

“I know Detective Kyle. We’re friends. It’s not important right now. I need you to SEND someone!”

 

“Calm down please.” the operator replied carefully. He sounded caught off guard, perhaps unused to situations of such importance given how quiet Hobbs usually was. Natalie tried to still her breathing, but found little success. The compounded strangeness and stress of the day was spilling out of her like water from a cracked dam. 

 

“I am calm.” she said, her voice noticeably trembling, “Just get someone here.” Then she hung up, unwilling to put up with further questions. She knew she’d probably catch hell for it from somebody, and it would likely lead to complications down the line. But right then, she didn’t care. Nathan needed help. She hurried forwards, dialing Kyle’s number as she did.

 

“Nate! Nathan!” she cried, “Are you okay?! Jesus what happened!?” Beka was already crouched next to the young man, who she could see now was rocking back and forth in place. The fog made it hard to see details that were already obscure thanks to the low light, but she thought that, despite having most of his face obscured, he was mouthing something to himself.

 

“Nate? Nate, look at me.” Beka tried, tentatively reaching out to touch him. The response was immediate as he cringed away without meeting her gaze and the silent mantra he’d been chanting suddenly became somewhat audible, thereby revealing that it was less a repetition and more a stream of consciousness...albeit a damaged one.

“-not real, too real. I’m me, not you! Not real, I’m f-fine-”

 

“Nate?” Natalie tried, crouching down next to him and reaching out, “Nate it's me, Natalie. Are you okay?”

 

The mantra petered off. Slowly, Nathan tilted his head to the right so his face was no longer buried against his knees. She saw his eyes were read and his cheeks stained with tears. There was some snot too, suggesting that whatever had happened to him, it had been a lot. It was one of Nathan’s defining characteristics in Natalie’s knowledge of him that he had multiple faces, of which she’d only ever really seen two. One was the bright, creative and empathetic person she’d come to know over years of friendship. The other was the iron wall he showed everyone else, especially people he didn’t know well. Now she was seeing a third: the scared little boy sitting in the wreckage of his mind’s castle; the face of someone whose defenses were not equipped to handle whatever they were facing.

 

She reached out to grab hold of a shoulder, deciding to risk contact. Usually he hated it when people touched him without his permission, implicit or otherwise. It was an extension of his social anxiety, but she had the distinct feeling that, in this instance, with the trauma (whatever it was) still fresh, he needed the support. To her great relief he stopped shaking, but was careful to go no further. She just let her hand rest there, her grip firm but not tight.

 

“Nate...Nate, what happened?”

 

“I-I...I...no, not...I don’t…” he stammered out, obviously fighting against his own instincts and fear as he spoke. His eyes kept flicking down, as if he were looking at something, or maybe for something. In Natalie’s hand, her Pad buzzed, it's screen declaring it was unable to complete the call.

 

“Just...stay calm.” she said as he trailed off, jaw shaking. She looked him over looking for injuries. She glanced briefly at Beka, whose expression said very clearly that the ball was in her court. She nodded, then switched back. “I called the hospital. There should be an ambulance coming. We’ll get you checked out. Then we-”

 

There was a...noise. A noise which Natalie had never heard before, and which upon hearing, she wished immediately never to hear again. There was no specific way to describe it. She delved into the well of her life experiences, but quickly found that despite her efforts, there was no comparison to be found. Just a word:

 

Discordance.

 

And with the discordance, there came something worse:

 

Disjunction.