By the time Saturday rolled around, Emmet was so paranoid about rifts he couldn’t even use the washroom with the shower curtain closed.

Even his dad noticed how twitchy he’d become, although he probably assumed some association between that and his bruises. He’d asked if it was one of the kids at school and when Emmet hadn’t answered, he’d offered to go and speak with the school principal.  Emmet had politely declined and his dad had dropped it.

Sitting at the small kitchen table on Saturday morning, Emmet shoveled spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth, while flicking channels on the little CRT TV his dad kept on the kitchen counter. His face had mostly stopped hurting, and it was a relief to chew pain free again.

His dad, seated across from him, had his nose buried in the weekend paper.

Emmet paused on a news channel talking about the theft of over 50 pumpkins from the Stop and Shop over on Pleasantview.

His father looked up and glanced curiously at the TV.

“Is that the Korean news?”

Emmet’s heart skipped a beat as he realized what he had almost done. He shrugged and hoped it looked casual as he changed the channel again, being careful to select something in English this time.

Emmet had all but forgotten about his translator. He’d have to pay more attention if he didn’t want to slip up.

Halfway through his second bowl of cereal, the doorbell rang. His father grumbled and stood up.

“Better not be those damned gutter cleaners again,” he said, exiting the kitchen to go open the door.

Emmet could discern the low murmuring of a woman‘s voice and a few minutes later, his father returned.

“There’s a lady here to see you,” he said, sitting down again and picking up his paper. “Says she’s part of your guidance team.”

Emmet frowned, put his spoon back in the bowl and stood up. What would his guidance counselor be doing here? He wiped the milk from his chin as he made his way into the front hall.

He blinked twice when he saw who it was.

“S-Sandra?”

She smiled, then put a finger to her lip before saying, “So sorry to bother you at home on a Saturday, Emmet, but I was hoping to go over that extra credit assignment we talked about on Thursday.”

“Um, y-yeah, s-sure,” Emmet said, confused, but playing along.

“I-I’m g-going out,” Emmet called back to his father, before grabbing his jacket and throwing it on.

His father muttered something that Emmet took for consent and he followed Sandra outside to a tidy blue Prius parked in the drive way behind the grey Ford panel van his Dad drove for work.

With a push of her button remote, the doors of her car unlocked with a clunk. Emmet opened the door and got in. It was a really nice car. It even smelled nice. Kind of fruity.

Sandra got in on the drivers side and started the car.

“Sorry, Emmet,” she said. “I was looking for Brock and Ian, but I was unable get ahold of them. Your address is still listed under the Recent Rift Activity Index, so I came here instead.”

She took a deep breath and turned to regard him. “I think I found something, and it’s big. Can you message Brock and ask him to meet us at the High School?”

“S-sure,” Emmet said.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and bent his head to tap out a text. As he did, he felt a small prick in the side of his neck. He tried to lift his head again, but found it was suddenly too heavy.

His head wobbled on his neck and as it fell, dragging him down with it, he heard Sandra murmur, “I’m sorry, Emmet.”

***

When he came too, he was in a dark, musty smelling room. He couldn’t see very well, partly because his glasses had slid off his nose and partly because there was very little light.

He groped around in the shadows below him, fingers scrubbing up against cold, pitted concrete. His hand finally closed on his glasses, sitting in a small pool of water to his right. He wiped them off as best as he could on his jacket and put them back on his face. It didn’t help much, but it helped a bit.

He was in a large, concrete room, with a small barred window in the corner, barely big enough to let in the late evening light. It must be past sunset if it was this dark already.

Putting his hands underneath him, he tried to push himself up, but his head spun and he tottered back down. He tasted bile and wondered if he had thrown up recently. Then he wondered if he would throw up currently. He put his head in his hands and willed the room to stop moving.

A noise outside the room made him lift his head again. It was the sound of a vehicle approaching outside. He heard two car doors open and shut, almost in unison.

Carefully, he crawled over towards the window, hoping to hoist himself up long enough to get a peek.

“I told you,” someone said, a woman, Sandra, he thought, “he’s out of the way. I took his phone, he can’t call anyone for help.”

Emmet fumbled at his pocket only to find it empty. He swore.

“He’s a liability,” a man’s voice replied. It took Emmet a moment to realize it wasn’t in English. “You should have disposed of him, not brought him here.”

“He’s just a kid,” Sandra protested. “I’m not going to kill a kid.”

Emmet felt a distinct chill that had nothing to do with the dampness of the room.

“You had no problem taking out your partner, even though no one asked you to do that.”

“Aaron was trying to negotiate a separate contract with a different buyer. He would have taken his contacts with him and that would have compromised your boss, so don’t make it seem like I was doing myself a favour here.”

The man snorted. “Spare me, girl. The only person you do favours for is yourself. You know it, I know it, and the boss knows it. It’s why he employed you in the first place, so don’t pretend it’s anything other than what it is. What about this Balinski fellow? I thought you said you had an in there.”

“Brock? He’s more of an old-” she paused, “acquaintance. I’m hoping to rekindle something, though, get close enough to monitor Ian. He’s the real threat.”

The voices faded away, and Emmet rested his head against the cold, concrete wall.

Now what?

He didn’t get a lot of time to think before the large metal door screeched open and a short, muscular man filled the entranceway.

“Come on, kid,” he said, and Emmet recognized his voice as the man who advocated for his death.

He approached Emmet, but Emmet scrambled sideways in an attempt to get away. His legs were like jello, though, and he couldn’t get much momentum going without making his head spin.

Grabbing him around the upper arm, the man hauled him up and dragged him towards the door like he was nothing more than a rag doll. He felt like a rag doll. Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes and for the first time in a long time, he thought he might actually cry. The idea mortified him, even then, on the cusp of death.

Sandra waited for them outside. The final shades of blue had faded from the sky and night had descended. She held a flashlight in one clenched fist, the blue led lighting casting eerie shadows across the worn walls of a tunnel. In her other hand, she held a gun. She didn’t quite look at him.

Beyond the tunnel, Emmet could just make out a paved path and a line of trees. They were in the woods somewhere.

A branch snapped and Sandra turned to peer into the near dark.

“Here,” the man said gruffly, pushing Emmet toward her. “Take him, I’ll go look.”

Emmet slumped to the floor and Sandra trained her gun on him.

“Don’t run,” she warned.

He couldn’t if he tried, he thought.

More branches snapped and then there was a shout. Sandra spun around and then she was falling, twitching, her face a rictus of agony.

Behind her, stood Rey, taser still in hand.