The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

SEVENTEEN | Masks

He felt himself drifting again. It happened sometimes when everything became too much. Voices changed, warping until they were a blended mess of strung-together sounds that didn't mean anything at all. His eyes became unfocused, his surroundings blurring like the voices. Everything was a haze on the outside of his head as if the room was injected with a drug, instead of him.

But then there was always that thing that pulled him back. A word, a clap, a scraping chair leg, a door opening...

Both E7 and James turned at the same time to see someone enter in a white suit. The person pushed a wheelchair and there was someone else sitting in it, covered in a sheet. Their head had fallen forward, long hair covering their face. They weren't wearing a suit or a mask. Just a gown with green spots. E7 stared, unsure if he was really seeing this or if he was just...confused. When he looked back at James for an answer, the doctor was already getting to his feet. "You found it."

The doctor pushing the wheelchair came around the side, revealing a pair of purple gloves. They carried a black plastic bag in one hand. E7's head rushed with questions. Was this Soto, or the girl? Had they come to help with the game? Was it still going, or had his mistake ended it?

James began examining the person in the wheelchair, leaning over him and tugging on the sheet to remove it. As he worked, the other doctor crossed the room, approaching E7. Bending at the knees, they lowered themselves onto the floor in front of him, partially blocking the sight of Dr. Blair's body. He hugged the table leg tighter, shutting his eyes, wishing he could just disappear.

"Are you okay?" Soto's soft, reassuring voice made him open his eyes again. "How do you feel?" she reached out to touch his forehead. He let her gloved hand rest on his skin for a moment, his fingers scratching at metal, knuckles white. Part of him wanted to sink into the floor and get away from all the people in suits, all the doctors, and orderlies, and needles. But another part—an overwhelming part of him wanted to reach out and grab onto Soto as if he was drowning. As if he was falling and he needed her to stop it from happening.

Soto turned to look over her shoulder at James. "He's burning up," she said. "We need to get him some ice or something."

"No time," James mumbled, grunting as he lifted the person off of the chair and onto the floor. E7 watched their bare heels slide over the tiles, heart hammering out of his chest. What was going on? What were they doing? He didn't dare ask, didn't dare make them look at him. E7 hadn't forgotten that he had ruined the game when he moved. His eyes drifted to Dr. Blair's body. That was his fault. This was all his fault.

"How did he do?" Soto asked, getting to her feet. The black bag twisted in her hand until she dropped it, plop, right next to E7, who flinched. She noticed his reaction. "I think he's in shock. Maybe we should give him something." Her voice wasn't sad anymore, like when James made her leave the room before the blood samples and the biopsy. Now she sounded calm, as none of that had even happened.

"He'll be fine," James came around to stand next to Soto, apparently finished with whatever he was doing to the body. "He can control himself."

E7 squirmed. They were both looking at him. Staring.

"Did you get it?" James asked, glancing at Soto through his mask, which had twisted slightly around in his struggle with Dr. Blair but was now facing forward again. Like it had never happened.

"You're really doing this?" Soto demanded, disbelief coloring her voice.

"Obviously," was James' curt reply.

"You want to do it in front of him?" she gestured to E7.

"I don't have the patience for your questions. Did you get me what I asked you for?"