Emma sprang out of bed. Despite hardly sleeping, she felt well-rested. All night she lay awake, pulses of energy flowing into her from everywhere. It was like trying to sleep after chugging a gallon of Red Bull. It both exhilarated and terrified her. At one point, she picked up one of her more boring textbooks—first-year geography—hoping that a few dull chapters about the mountains of Northern Africa would bore her to sleep, but instead became engrossed learning that the Atlas Mountains only facilitated east-to-west air movement. Stupid, fascinating geography.
As she puttered around her apartment, trying to figure out what was going on, the more rational part of her assessed the facts.
Fact one: she had suffered an abrupt and intense seizure.
Fact two: she had an insane amount of energy, manic in its intensity.
Fact three: she was unnaturally happy, as if her body was compensating by releasing a flood of endorphins. It felt like she could throw a dump truck through a brick wall.
It all pointed to a serious medical problem, and she had to get someone to look into it. She should have gotten checked out right after it happened, but Smoove Dick was to blame for that one. There was no universe where a ride to the hospital with him ended in anything other than murder.
She made herself a cup of decaf tea and did some quick Googling: abrupt seizure plus insomnia plus manic energy. The first link lead to a page of potential conditions associated with those symptoms. Lyme disease, sugar withdrawal, restless leg syndrome, hypothyroidism, and, of course, a brain tumor. The decision tree that made up the Internet's self-diagnosis engine always ended up at the same spot; even something as minor as a toe sprain would link back to a brain tumor.
Sighing, she rubbed her temples. It would take forever to go to the hospital. Besides, all they'd do is recommend a bunch of tests. More time and more bother.
Instead of deciding, she opted for some healthy procrastination. She vacuumed her place from top to bottom, flew through a yoga routine, and reorganized her book collection by alphabetical thematic intent, starting with abuse of power and ending at unconditional love. Instead of tiring her out, it made her even more awake and energized. And, in fairness, the book organization game had been fascinating. Was Slaughterhouse Five about the illusion of free will, or the acceptance of inevitability?
It was when she picked up the mail downstairs that she got a new clue. Her neighbor puttered by, a wonderfully sweet woman named Joyce, and they stopped to have a quick, apartment-based chat. Things like, 'I tripped on that pesky bump in the stair' and, 'oh my god that cat last night was so loud'. Energy from Joyce bled into Emma's body.
People. The energy came from people. Impossible as that fact was to reconcile, it seemed incontrovertible. Along with that realization came creeping dread. What if she was hurting them? What if she was making Joyce sick, simply by being around her? With an abrupt squeak about how she left her kettle on, Emma scrambled back up to her apartment to hide and do more thinking.
As she sat in her living room, sipping her third chamomile tea, her phone vibrated. MissD. Her friend, Doreen.
how did last night go?
fine, dull
did u meet that special someone :)
ha no, I'll tell you later, but I met a guy calling himself smoove dick
oh god do they use words to mean size now I can't even
doesn't matter. Night was a bust :(
awww
Emma fiddled with her phone. She didn't want Doreen to worry, but she was tired of wrestling with this thing alone.
one thing did happen last night
??
I had a seizure. One minute fine, the next minute pow
OMFG what!!!! Are u ok
ya I'm okay. It was weird, they said I was out for a few minutes
did u go to the hospital?
no
OMFG GO TO THE HOSPITAL
I feel good tho
don't be all Emma about this, go to the hospital. Do u want me to come to take u?
no, I'm fine. Great actually
don't be a dumb bitch, I'm taking you
Now that someone else said it, she realized how foolish she was being. None of what was happening to her was at all normal. She reassured Doreen that she didn't need a ride, but would go to the hospital right away.
It was after one p.m. Enough stalling, time to get it checked out. The hospital was only five miles away, and she figured if she jogged she might burn off some of the energy.
She gave her legs a half-hearted stretch before starting. The crisp and cool fall air invigorated her, and she settled into an easy rhythm. Through her headphones, Adele's singing provided a soothing counterpoint to the steady thump-thump-thump of her feet on the pavement, and she picked up the pace. The ground sped by beneath her and she lost herself in the run. Everything fell away; her fears, concerns about being sick, stress about school. She stopped worrying and let light and strength flow into her.
At the end of the street, the hospital loomed, a sleek and reassuring monument to modern-day science. She checked her phone and blinked, not sure if she could believe the display. Twenty-five minutes. That's how long it took her to run there. It meant a five-minute mile. She wasn't even breathing hard or sweating. What was that? What kind of brain tumor gave you super-running powers? What was happening to her?
With a little more urgency, she pushed through thedoors.
YOU ARE READING
The Hotel at the End of Time
ActionVain likes movies, hanging out with her best friend and ex-cellmate, Roman, and running. Always running, forever moving from place to place so they're not caught again. Okay, she doesn't love that last part, but there's not much she can do. Since th...
