I gasp myself awake, rocking onto my knees. The overwhelming urge to empty the contents of my stomach burns my throat.
Breathe, Addi, breathe. Count five things that are blue.
This skirt. This scratchy jumper. The cushioned seat of this chair. An emblazoned lectern. The sleeve of a blazer beside me.
Easing myself upright, I search left and right. Thomas, Johnny and Ebony are seated exactly as we'd been in the strange white room. But somehow, their medical gowns have been replaced with school uniforms.
I swallow hard, a sour taste on my dry tongue.
Johnny leaps up. "Where am I?"
After a moment, Ebony replies, "The DDT."
"What's that?"
"The Dancing Dog Theatre," I whisper. "We're at Porcupine Laughter Club."
"Impossible. How can we be here? We were just at 2002." Johnny's eyes dart between the three of us. "How the hell are we here right now?"
Unable to meet his eye, my eyes search the hardwood for answers. I hate not knowing the answer and I hate having no access to the internet.
The suction click of a door returns me to reality. "Johnny!" Thomas shouts. "Get back here!"
"Why should I?"
"We don't know what's going on. It could be dangerous."
I scoff. "Why would it be dangerous?"
"When was the last time you woke up in a chair with three strangers?"
"2002," Emma answers. "And they guaranteed our safety. So, if we stay put, it's not going to be dangerous."
"Well, you aren't my mum!" is the last thing Johnny says before storming out. I glance over at Ebony, who rolls her eyes. I should follow her lead. But I guess that's the bad thing about Tauruses and Virgos—once something piques our interest, we can be persistent to a fault.
I push myself out of the seat, headed for the door. "You stay. I'll find Johnny."
"No." Thomas also rises. "It could be dangerous. I'll come too."
Ebony stands silently and gives me a dark look as if to say, you'd better not make me regret this.
Exiting the DDT, something becomes apparent to me: this has to be a nightmare. Ghastly empty corridors lined with sinister shadows. Tiny circular holes in the wall, upturned tables that look like swiss cheese. Red smears and dented lockers. This is not Porcupine Laughter Club as I remember it.
I walk a little closer to the other two.
We reach a set of stairs with two options: onward and upward, or stay put. Thomas suggests that we hide in one of the classrooms. "Johnny," I whisper. It seems too selfish to argue against this.
The first floor silent as the ground floor. For no reason, we navigate towards the Wise Owl Ski Hall. Johnny runs out from a backstage door, flailing about like his whole brain is crying. "There's a guy in there and— it's bad, man. It's really, really bad."
Without question, I tail him into the stage wings. An NPC soldier is slumped in a chair, stripped to his tank top and camo pants, drenched in sweat and eyes squeezed shut. Ebony startles behind me. "It's just a dream," Thomas assures her.
"What if it's not?"
"I think it's a messed up dream," Johnny agrees. "I just don't want it to be real."
