Emma sat in an uncomfortable chair in the emergency room, listlessly flipping through a Field and Stream magazine, although this specific issue contained articles about neither fields nor streams. She filled out a form with her symptoms and was told to take a seat. The admitting nurse seemed concerned about the seizure, but then much less so when Emma mentioned she'd jogged herself to the hospital. It would be a long wait. There were people there in worse shape than her, and she thought they might get in first.
Across from her, a younger man cradled his bloody, bandaged finger close to his chest. Whoever he was talking with on the phone had him more agitated than the horrific damage to his appendage.
"No, don't throw it out," he said. "Most of the blood ended up on the wall and the floor, barely any made it into the pot." He listened. "Right, but it's about four batches of chili." Another pause.
"Why not, though? What do you think I was cutting? I'll tell you what. Steak. Raw steak. And do you know what raw steak is filled with? Blood. So, when you consider it that way, you were ready to eat at least a half-cup of cooked bl—" He cut himself off, his cheeks flushing. "Don't you throw out my goddamn chili!" He looked around, embarrassed, and continued to whisper a series of chili-based threats to the person at the other end of the line.
She tuned out the conversation and tried to focus on the magazine article, but a smoldering wave of energy pulled her attention to a woman coming into the room. She had dark spiky hair; an obvious home-cut, like someone hacked at it with a lawnmower. Underneath, blonde roots poked through the dye job. Her eyes were wide and angry, and all of her features were sharp. The energy coming from her blazed, and Emma shrank into her chair by reflex.
After scanning the room, the woman locked onto Emma and looked straight at her. Despite there being several dozen empty chairs in the waiting area, she walked over and plopped into the seat next to Emma.
"What are you in for?" she asked.
Emma could barely muster an answer and scootched over to the edge of her seat with her jaw hanging open.
"Oh, you know," Emma replied, hoping that would be the end. She flipped through her magazine, landing on an article about the ten best rifles for murdering elk. Everyone knew that with your face in a magazine or book, other people weren't allowed to talk to you.
"I don't know," said the woman. "Are you sick?"
Emma forced a smile. "I'd rather not say. Thanks, though."
"Why not?"
Clearly this woman was crazy, perhaps in the middle of a manic episode. She looked the part. Her clothes were disheveled like she either hadn't slept in a while, or did so on piles of garbage.
"Well, why are you here?" Emma countered.
The woman tilted her head. "Syphilis. Full-blown."
Okay, so she was crazy. "It's been nice talking to you," said Emma, putting her magazine down. "I have to use the washroom. Excuse me." She smiled and got up, but the woman grabbed her forearm in an iron grip.
"Listen," she said. "Sometime within the next little while, identical bow-legged men with cauliflower ears will come for you. I don't know what they'll say, but these men are dangerous. You have to run."
Emma's stomach dropped in that way it did when you found out the person you were talking to was dangerous-crazy, instead of ordinary-crazy. This woman was a lunatic. Emma wondered if anyone would help her, but the chili-man still argued on the phone and the nurse wasn't paying any attention.
"I see." Emma pried her arm from the other woman's grip. "Thank you for telling me. I'll make a note of that. Please don't touch me again."
The woman ignored Emma's request and pulled her closer. "I get this sounds nuts, but you have to pay attention. If you ignore everything else, remember this. Duplicate men. Brown hair. Crummy ears. If anyone like that comes near you, run. Got it? Good."
Emma lowered her expectations for this encounter to not getting stabbed. It was a low bar, but under the circumstances, she'd count it as a win.
With a final glare, the crazy woman nodded, dropped Emma's forearm, and walked out of the emergency room, taking her intense, angry energy with her. It was as if someone had turned a light back on.
Well, that was abruptly and weirdly terrifying.
Double men with dark ears? Or did she say angular ears and long legs? Did she mean elves? Elves would kidnap her? How did someone that dog-barking crazy function in everyday society? As she pondered the many vagaries that life presented, the nurse called her name.
*
Hours later, she was relaxing back in her apartment, no closer to figuring out what had happened to her, but feeling better about the whole thing. The doctor seemed concerned about the seizure and less so about the after-effects. She instructed Emma to drink lots of fluids, get plenty of rest, and make a follow-up appointment with a neurologist. Done, done, and done.
With a structured plan in place, Emma was ready to put all of it behind her and move on with her life. It was after six, so she made herself a quick dinner of pasta and poured a glass of wine, settling in to relax for the night.
She cleared a spot at her small kitchen table by shoving textbooks aside.
She should have been famished; aside from a few small bites at breakfast, she hadn't eaten all day; but after the first mouthful, she was done. She had no appetite. It wasn't like being full; more like not needing to eat at all. A sip of wine provoked the same reaction. A sense of panic bubbled up again; the whisper in her brain that said, this isn't right.
Even worse, she still buzzed with inexhaustible vitality; the endless, vibrating force that made her feel like an alarm clock tossed into a washing machine. She had sprinted back from the hospital, doing the miles in twenty minutes. When she stopped, she wasn't out of breath; she could have gone all night. She also wasn't tired, despite having not slept in close to thirty-five hours. Nothing the doctor said explained any of that.
Emma found that if she focused, with every muscle flexed and with fierce concentration, the flood of energy slowed to a trickle. But as soon as she relaxed, the rivulets came back, flowing into her. It was everywhere. No matter how she tried to distract herself, the presence of other humans intruded; in the apartment next door, in the hallways, even out in the street. It was the same energy she'd been tingling with all day, except—
Except now there was that furious, unique signature she'd only experienced once. Had that crazy bitch from the hospital followed her home? She wiped her hands on her jeans. That woman was dangerous; there was no doubt.
She picked up her phone, ready to send a text to Doreen. Could Doreen even help? How? Besides, what would Emma say? Oh, hey, Doreen. Listen, I went to the ER and now I'm good at running and a crazy woman with a lawnmower haircut told me to watch out for elves.
A knock from the door made her flinch.
Startled, she let out a small yelp and dropped the phone. Jesus, had the crazy woman walked right up to her door? But no, that energy seemed further away, maybe across the street. The energies by her front door were gray and uncanny. Although there were two of them, they were identical. As she focused more intently, her stomach flipped, and she tasted bile. Whoever they were, they weren't good people. She didn't understand how she knew that, but it was true nonetheless.
After picking up her phone, she walked to the door and tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach.
"Who is it?"
"Hi, ma'am," said a friendly male voice. "We wanted to talk to you about your energy bills. Did you know solar power can reduce your annual costs by as much as three percent?"
The tension drained out of her and she took a deep, calming breath. Salesmen. No wonder she was nauseated. With an embarrassed chuckle, she opened the door, ready to tell them 'no, thank you'.
Two identical men stood on the landing wearing smarmy grins that didn't seem to fit on their faces. One had a shaved head and sunglasses worn turned around, stems poking from behind his ears.
Poking from behind his cauliflower ears.
Double men. Twins.
Her eyes darted to where their legs bowed out from the knees.
Their smiles vanished.
Elves. The woman had been right. The elves were here.
Emma tried to close the door, but one of the men blocked it with his foot. Their eyes met and he smiled. This time, it was a real thing, the smile that fit on his face, and it was horrible. Monstrous. A smile devoid of warmth or compassion. Emma groaned, and he punched the door open, knocking her to the floor. What was happening?
Saying nothing, they hauled her off the ground. One pinched her arm, and she yelped in protest. Although she tried to pull away, their grip was too strong. They pulled her out into the hall.
"Hey, stop! What are you doing?" What a dumb thing to ask. She knew very well what they were doing.
Scream. She should scream.
Before she could put her plan into action, one pulled a bag over her head, and everything went dark. Something slammed into her stomach and she exhaled in a rush. Had one of them hit her? She almost couldn't believe it. Never in her entire life had anyone hit her.
She tried to tell them she'd buy whatever they were selling, but before she could, a solid object thudded against her temple, and she staggered. They had punched her. In the head. It dazed her, and they picked her up and pulled her down the stairs.
"You are needlessly aggressive salesmen," she whispered from under her bag.
They dragged her out into the cool night air.