Ossy drew in a breath. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” I couldn’t take my eyes off Elliot.
“Touch him.” Ossy stepped back, widening his eyes. “Dude. Oh. Oh, shit. I think I know what’s going on.”
I ignored Ossy. My mind went back to his question. I didn’t know what compelled me. All I knew was that I had an instinct. I stepped back far enough to keep from giving in to the urge again.
“You’re right. Thank you for reminding me.”
“Why the fuck are you thanking me?”
“He’s unconscious, not dead. Touching him violates rule 665C.”
Ossy shook his head. “He, like, means something to you, right? Like, he’s your love or something.”
I shook my head. “We don’t get to have love, Os. That’s rule 666A.”
“That you have the handbook memorized is a little disturbing and a lot sad. Who fucking cares about the stupid handbook when he’s your beloved?”
I couldn’t wrap my head around what Ossy said. “How could that be possible?”
“I don’t fucking know. You’re the one who memorized the fucking handbook. Not me. Besides, he’s your beloved, not mine.I just know how I feel around him. Like he’s somehow important to us. He has to be fated. That’s the only reason I would feel anything.”
“Do you feel drawn to him?” I certainly did. I wanted to hold Elliot and reassure him that I was there, that he would never have to be alone again. It was all very odd to feel that way toward a stranger.
“I wouldn’t call it drawn to him. It’s more like knowing he’s family, even though I’ve never met him.”
“Could it be that he’s slated for a position in the Bureau?”
“Not with the way you look at him.” Ossy patted me on the back. “Dude, you are already gone for him. I can tell.”
I couldn’t do anything about Elliot Coyne, beloved or not. Doing so would violate so many rules. I had to ferry him into the afterlife tomorrow. Not doing so meant severe consequences.
Chapter Four
Elliot
My head pounded as I came to. I curled into the fetal position without realizing it. It was only when the doctor said something about my position that I became aware of my behavior. “He must be in pain. Get him Tylenol.”
My eyes were closed, so the doctor must not have realized I was awake. I just didn’t want to deal with the overhead lights.
“Head hurts,” I mumbled.
The doctor touched the wound. It felt like he was sticking a knife into it. It was the first indication I had of an open wound. I hissed and tried to move away, but I didn’t get very far while lying on the small hospital bed.
“Your headache will go away in a few days. You’ll need to see your primary care doctor. They will refer you to a sports doctor.” The doctor’s words fell short of soothing me.
Was sending Baby Jesus flying a sport? If so, I totally won the award.
I moved onto my back with no small amount of pain. “Why a sports doctor?”
“They’ll be able to assess your cognition. They’ll look for any lasting damage to your brain.”
And what exactly could doctors do if there was brain damage? It seemed there weren’t many options other than to let the brain heal. But I wasn’t a doctor. Obviously. If I were, I didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to ride a bike in the middle of the night while I was so high I could literally see the earth spin on its axis.
After that, the doctor didn’t tell me much I didn’t already know. He went on a little too long about the dangers of hitting my head again. It wasn’t as though I had planned it the first time. Why would I plan to hit my head at all, especially a second time? And besides, Baby Jesus needed a break.
After handing me discharge instructions and explaining them further, the doctor began to leave the room.
