Chương 16: Sensational Motivation

Crimson stands poised with the bowling ball in hand; his gaze locked onto the lane ahead. Willow leans forward, perched on the edge of her seat. She begins to rise, then settles back down again. But soon, she can't resist the urge.

"Crimson." She rushes over to him while Larcj nearly tumbles from his seat, fidgeting with impatience.

"You're overthinking this."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm messing this up." Her eyes go wide before she shakes her head.

"No, not at all. But I wouldn't mind silencing him. Just empty your mind. Focus on something else."

"Like what?"

"Anything. Think of me. Without clothes. In your bed, with no one else around" Then, almost as an afterthought. She dashes back to her seat as Crimson nearly drops the ball from his hands. He glances back to see her flashing him a perfectly innocent smile. When he faces the lane again, his eyes flicker yellow for a fleeting moment as his anxiety melts away and his enhanced senses kick in. Crimson's focus sharpens intensely on the alley's markings. He winds up and releases the ball.

The ball speeds down the lane with startling velocity. Pins scatter everywhere. A flawless strike. He turns to the others, looking utterly amazed. Willow cheers, clapping enthusiastically.

"What did you tell him?" Scara asked.

"I just gave him something to ponder." Larch reluctantly enters the new score as...

At the fuel station, the digits on the gas pump keep climbing higher and higher. Noting the two men behind him and Ash ahead with almost casual interest, Autzee remains silent. He simply waits. He does observe one of the Hunters behind him, gripping a shotgun tightly against his leg. Clunk. The gas pump ceases its operation. Moving slowly yet deliberately, he returns the pump to its place and twists the cap back onto his tank.

"Nice ride." Ash remarks as he approaches, admiring the Dodge.

"However, black cars, though. They're quite difficult to keep clean. I'd definitely recommend a bit more upkeep." He grabs a squeegee from the hanging bucket. Then coats the windshield with water. Actually, cleaning it for him.

"If you have something this nice, you want to look after it, right?" Ash methodically wipes the water off the windshield while Autzee just watches the odd spectacle.

"Personally, I'm very protective of the things I cherish. But that's something I picked up from my family. And you don't have much of that these days, do you?" Ash pulls the squeegee back one final time. There we go. Now you can actually see through the windshield. See how that makes everything so much clearer? Ash sets the squeegee down, noticing Autzee's hands have clenched into fists. Exactly what he wanted. But he slowly unclenches his hands, refusing to be provoked.

"You forgot to check the oil." Ash looks back. And grins. Appreciating his boldness.

"Check the man's oil." Ash instructs one of his men. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. The 1st Hunter takes the butt of his shotgun and smashes it through the side window, glass shattering over the seat. Autzee doesn't even blink.

"Looks good to me."

"Drive safely." They climb back into their SUVs, quickly pulling away while he watches.

A bowling ball rockets down the lane, sending every pin scattering in a wild tumble. Now with a grin, Crimson spins around, hopping down to the seats by their lane.

"That's seriously incredible. Larch, how many strikes is that?"

"Six. In a row." He said, clenching his teeth.

"Something just clicked, I guess."

"Maybe it's natural talent." Scara watches Crimson with a fresh spark of interest. Larch reaches for her, but she waves him off.

"I could use a bit of natural talent. You mind giving me a hand this time, Crimson?"

"No, you're fine. Go for it." Holding the pink ball, Scara presses her lips together.

"Thanks for the confidence boost."

"I'll help..." She glanced back before adding, "How about I try one on my own." Larch steps back as Scara winds up and releases the ball... And knocking down a perfect strike.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this." Willow leans down toward Scara.

"That was almost flawless form."

"Was it?"

"Maybe you should quit pretending to be bad just for his sake."

"Believe me, I do plenty of pretending to be bad for his sake." Slumped in his seat, Larch looks completely miserable.

"Larch."

"What?" Scara comes over, sitting beside him as Willow takes her turn.

"I don't like your expression."

"I don't care."

"Can you try to have a good time, please?" She asked, but his look doesn't budge.

"Can you not drag me out with your boring friends?" Scara smirks, replying "Alright then. Try not to hurt your wrist out there. You're going to need it tonight."

"At least I've got a firm grip." Clenching her teeth in anger, she steps up to the monitor.

"Let's start a new game. I'll go first." A moment later she sends every pin flying with another strike. Willow, Crimson, and Larch stare in awe.

"Seems like some of that natural talent wore off on you." A few minutes later Crimson and Larch pull off their bowling shoes side by side to slip on their own sneakers.

"Listen. I know we both didn't want to be here. But the thing is, we don't have to hate each other."

"I don't hate you. I just don't trust you. You've got everyone thinking everything's fine and normal about you. But I know there's something wrong. You cheated tonight." How do you cheat at bowling?

"I don't know. But you did. And I don't know if it's steroids or something stranger. I'm guessing stranger since it's pretty clear you're a weirdo. So don't think for a second I've given up on figuring out what your little secret is."

"I don't have any secrets."

"Yeah, you do. And here's the other thing. I don't know why, but I think whatever it is you're hiding, you don't want her to know about it either." Returning her bowling shoes, Willow glances back at Crimson with a smile.

"Especially her."

Within the hospital chamber, a soft glow flickers amid the surrounding darkness. To be precise, the one tracking a heartbeat across the monitor's screen. Gliding from the cluster of screens, past the IV stand, toward Gary Meyers stretched out in his bed. His breaths come in faint, steady waves; under this faint illumination, he appears unwell. A figure lurked in the shadows above the wounded man. The silhouette advances, revealing itself as Autzee. He offers no hostile gestures.

Instead, he simply gazes downward until Meyer's eyelids tremble. They part, aware of the unseen presence nearby. He scans the room until his gaze lands on Autzee hovering above. He blinks, trying to sharpen his vision.

"What do you recall? Fix your eyes on me. Does anything come back to you?" The injured man catches sight of Autzee's face... but unlike with Crimson, he doesn't panic. Yet, a glimmer of familiarity flickers in his gaze. He utters a lone phrase:"Tale... I recognize you..."

"How are you aware of my name?"

"Forgive me..."

"How do you know me?

"Forgive me."

At the nurses' station, Aqua Croft gathers her purse and sweater like someone collecting the scattered pieces of a fading evening. She's on the cusp of vanishing into the night when she pauses, offering a half-smile, half-sigh to the RN hunched over paperwork.

"Clocking out," she says, voice laced with wry warmth.

"Got a DVR at home bursting with shows that'll whisper how gloriously unclaimed my love life is. Catch you in the next lifetime." But fate has other plans. Her gaze snags on a bank of monitors, silent sentinels flickering with vital signs, and something in Room 137 stirs her blood before her mind even catches up. Her purse slips from her fingers, forgotten, as she leans in.

"Rose, code now. 137." Down the corridor she flies, shadows stretching like ink in water, the hospital's hollow bones echoing beneath her steps. Overhead, the PA crackles to life, summoning Dr. Blue, her name, her alias, her call to arms, repeating it like a spell into the sterile dark. She bursts into the room, tearing back the curtain like ripping open time itself. The bus driver lies still, eyes wide and unseeing, fixed on some invisible horizon.

The EKG bleeds a single, unbroken line, a flat, relentless hum across the screen. And Autzee? Gone. Not a trace. Not a breath. Just silence where a soul had been.