The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Eleven: The Rock Collector Wants His Toys Back

Every morning since the HeartChart stopped ticking, I woke up the exact same way: my brain would spit out two words before I even opened my eyes. This morning was no different.

Dad's dead, my brain told me. 

I was on the floor. I groaned and rolled over, confused. The events from last night started trickling into my consciousness. My eyes flew open. 

Lying on my back, with my head turned towards the tanning bed, I could see that the door was closed. I went to get up and my muscles screamed. I was sore all over from my fight with Junior. Pulling back my sleeves, I found the elf's fingernail scratches still raw against my skin. My nose throbbed. I didn't need a mirror to know it was broken. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened. There was the elf. 

A laugh of relief escaped my lungs. Although his nice white suit was absolutely destroyed, his skin was fresh and pink, like someone had painted and polished him. Even his hair was more relaxed and lay flat on his head. 

My face split into a grin. The elf's face remained blank, unreadable.

Before I spoke, I made sure that my face was turned towards his, so he could read my lips. 

"How do you feel?" I asked.

He shrugged. 

"You look a lot better." I grinned. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Or drink?"

The elf's eyes were fixed on my lips as he read my words. It was a bit odd to have someone stare so intently at my mouth, and for so long, but I knew it the only way we could communicate.

He shook his head no, then began to inch towards the door. It was then I noticed his shoes were already on. Reality hit me like a ton of bricks. 

"You're leaving?" I said, incredulous. "Were you even going to tell me?"

The elf shook his head yes. He mimicked scribbling on paper, then pointed at the kitchen table. One of my notepads was on top of a placemat. He must have left a note for me. I walked over.

At the top of the page was one word in neat handwriting.

Thanks. 

The rest of the paper was blank.

"That's it?" I shouted. I flipped open the rest of the notepad. It was empty. 

"You can't just-"

The front door was open. The elf was gone. 

"Hey!" I shouted. Then cursed to myself, because he couldn't hear me. 

I barreled after him. He was already down the flight of stairs and out the front of the apartment building, making his way across Heiti Square. I huffed and puffed after him. Dang, his legs were long! 

Finally, I caught him at the dumpster he had fallen next to. He began rooting through the trash, dumping out boxes and rooting in the cans. Dwarves in the apartments above began peeking their heads out. As soon as they saw us, their mouths opened wide. My heart skipped a beat. I could already read tomorrow's headlines: BLITZEN, DEGREE IN "FASHION", BEFRIENDS TRASH LOVING ELF. I had to stop this. I reached out and grabbed the elf's hand. He swung around and looked down at me. I sucked in my breath. Never, in all of Nidavellir, had I felt so short.

"Hey!" I squeaked, then cleared my throat. "You can't go digging through someone's garbage like that!" 

The elf began signing, half to himself and half to me, in a very exasperated way. Then he continued to root through the garbage. I tried to find some reason for his actions.