The Four Dimensions of Corey Emerson

The Run

            We had reached my house in probably around twenty minutes and by the time I unlocked the door with the key under the mat, it is safe to say that I really had to use the bathroom.

            “Is it here?!” Mr. Emerson called to Bran who was flying into the kitchen.

            “I can't feel it!”

            “Try the cabinets! Don't break anything, we need in once piece!”

            I turned to Mr. Emerson. “What are you yelling about?!” During this moment, I self-concluded that my mother was not home, yet I saw her purse on her favorite white recliner. I didn't bother to answer both my questions, for my instinct to relieve myself was through the roof... Everything up until the point I walked out of the bathroom was a complete blur. Instead, I changed my question. “Mr. Emerson, may I run to the bathroom?”

            Mr. Emerson just stared at me for a second. Probably because he had forgotten what I'd asked. “Yeah... sure... just come back as fast as you can... Elwyn's clan will more than likely have your scent, now. Just... make it quick.

            As soon as I started hiking up the stairs, I turned around and saw Mr. Emerson assist Bran in tearing apart my kitchen. I didn't question it, as I didn't question a lot of things, while my legs were crossed, but I ran up the stairs and dove into the bathroom next to my room.

            It took me not even a minute to relieve myself, but I found myself washing my hands for almost forever. I think I fell asleep for a second, actually... or maybe my body tried to doze off and I woke myself up... I don't know, exactly, but when I bounced back awake, the sink was almost over flowing and my whole arms were soaked. I turned off the water but instead of drying my hands, I rubbed the water all over my face, the back of my neck, and stomach.

            “ALICE!” I heard a cry from downstairs. Nearly slipping on every which-way tile and floor-board, I held myself up with the railing at the top of the stairs.

            “WHAT?” I called down.

            Mr. Emerson appeared at the bottom of the stairwell. His hair was all matted and he appeared to be holding two dinner plates. “Get down here,” he said solemnly.

            I walked down the stairs slowly, watching Mr. Emerson's glance exchange between me and the window over my sink. “What is it?” I asked quietly.

            Mr. Emerson didn't say anything, for when I got down, I still wouldn't have known what he was doing. Every inch of my mother's marble island in the center of the kitchen was covered with the foots of wineglasses. All different sizes just completely covering the counter-top. I didn't say anything when Mr. Emerson guided me to the front of the island.

            “Alice,” Mr. Emerson said in almost a whisper. One of these is very valuable to Bran and I, and we need your help to figure out which on it is.

            I didn't ask him to specify which one, what, anything, because I had the uneasy feeling that I already knew what he was talking about... This was the moment where everything unexplainable hit me as possible. Where anything could be possible. I hadn't even see the best of it, yet, but when I put the pieces together, it was all more than I could have hoped for.

            “Mr. Emerson,” I began, still wary as to whether I should say it or not. “Is this...”

            “Is this what, Alice?”