Jack’s brain felt as though it were floating in a warm blue liquid.
Everything was calm. His eyes were closed, and in the darkness he heard no
sound, felt nothing of his body, knew nothing of his surroundings.
Jack’s forehead had directly struck the concrete. Hard. He
laid their motionless on the train platform. Some witnesses fled, fearing the
supernatural, while others came closer, either intrigued by the impossible or
hoping to help the mysterious bleeding man.
As his eyes opened he saw blurry shapes crowding his field
of vision from all directions. He heard dull, distant voices.
Jack’s eyes began to focus on the faces staring down at him.
He heard unfamiliar voices. “Is he okay?” “Who is he?” “What did he just do?” The
questions came from every direction.
A large man in a red sweatshirt knelt over him. “Sir?” He
looked straight down into Jack’s eyes. “Sir? Can you hear me? Do you know where
you are? Sir?”
Jack couldn’t respond. He couldn’t quite connect the dots
just yet. He could, however, feel a dull, throbbing pressure coming from the
right side of his forehead.
“Jack?” Finally he recognized one voice. “Jack, are you
okay? Jack!” Emma was there. She was afraid.
It was difficult, but Jack concentrated and pieced together
two words. “I am.”
“Ma’am, you’re with him?” asked the man in the red
sweatshirt.
“He’s my husband.”
“My name is Evan. I’m a doctor.” The man in the red
sweatshirt was direct and calm. “The way your husband hit his head, I would bet
he’s got a concussion. He should be fine to get up in a few minutes, but for
now--”
“Emma.” Jack wanted to tell her he felt fine, that he wasn’t
even in pain, so he couldn’t have a concussion. His forehead just felt a little
sore. He wanted to ask why he was on his back, and why all of these people
seemed so concerned for him. He couldn’t quite piece together the words to ask
these questions. He remembered that they had been at the stadium. That they had
come out of the gates. That they had stood in line for a while. That he had
tried to see--
Then it all flooded in at once. He remembered trying to see
over this man, the doctor in the red sweatshirt. He remembered jumping. He
remembered shrieks and horror and confusion. He remembered a crowd backing away
from him. Now that same crowd closed in on him.
“Jack, my name is Evan. You just hit your head on the
sidewalk. I need you to relax, ok?” Jack was not paying attention. His mind was
replaying the impossible scene from only moments before. “Do you know where you
are? Do you know what happened?”
He did.
Frantically, Jack reached for Emma’s shoulder but missed.
She grabbed his arm to steady him as he flopped onto his side. “We have to go.
We have to go.” It was a struggle to put words together, one after another, but
now his adrenaline surged and gave him focus. “We have to get out of here.” The
confusion. The closeness of the strangers, pressing in. Jack had to escape.
With his palms on the concrete and Emma steadying him by the
arm, Jack struggled to stand. “Sir” the doctor sounded concerned and reached
for his other arm. “Jack, you need to lie down, you’ve got a concussion, Jack,
I need you to stay here, ok? “
Jack got one foot under himself and tried to stand. He fell
into Emma who was crouched next to him. “We have to go!” He hoisted himself
upwards using Emma’s shoulder. She stood with him, unsure of herself, but not
knowing what else to do.
Jack gained his balance and looked up. He was looking into a
crowd of faces, a sea of eyes that had seen the whole thing. Some backed away like
before. A few stepped forward to help steady him.
“Don’t touch me!” Jack could see to the back of the
platform, where the streetlights of the train station ended. It was dark there,
down below at ground level, and the street seemed mostly empty. His heart was
racing. He had to get out of the light, off of the platform, out of the center
of this mass of strangers. He lurched forward.
Jack pushed and pulled at the shoulders of those who boxed
him in. Frightened, they made a path, one by one stepping back to make way.
Some still held up cell phones, recording Jack’s primal struggle to escape.
Emma rushed to keep him from toppling over.
Fans continued to pour out of the stadium and onto the back
of the train platform. These people, these newcomers to the scene, had no idea
what Jack had just done as he painstakingly fought his way between them, against
the flow, bleeding from his forehead and tripping over himself. He breathed
heavily, his chest heaving as his momentum carried him unsteadily forward,
passing by each curious face with determination.
His progress was abruptly halted when he ran directly into a
heavy-set man with a backwards cap and a large soda. ”Whoa! You okay there?” The
man could see that Jack was unsteady. He grabbed his arm to help.
As soon as Jack felt the man’s hand grasp his arm, all of Jack’s
fear and panic mixed with urgency and confusion, and within an instant, Jack
exploded.
He punched the man in the face, just below the left eye. It
was a sloppy punch, the punch of a dizzy fighter still reeling from a hard blow
to the head, but the surprise of the blow sent the man stumbling backward,
spilling his drink on the shoes of others in the crowd. The man put his free
hand over his face, sputtering a muffled “what the f---!“.
Emma, too, covered her mouth. She was stunned. She stared at
her husband with fear in her eyes.
Jack’s head was pounding now as he saw single drops of blood
fall down in front of one eye. He stood, dizzy and in pain, as more onlookers stepped
back, tripping over each other, but never taking their eyes off of him.
The way they looked at him…
He started to run. He was desperate and anxious. He made his
way as directly as he could toward the stairs that led down to the ground level
behind the platform.
He turned back at the top of the stairs and saw Emma
directly behind him. She was weeping and trying to keep up. He reached back and
took her hand frantically as they descended the stairs that led down six feet
to a shadowed sidewalk.
Jack couldn’t stop. They ran down the block, Jack stumbling
now and again, Emma keeping him from falling completely. He had to escape, to
get out of sight. He heard one or two shouts from behind, but kept running.
They had made their way three and a half blocks when Jack,
unable to take the dizziness and the pain, finally ducked into a darkened
alleyway. He fell forward onto his knees next to a huge wet dumpster. Emma
knelt beside him, sobbing and out of breath.
Jack pulled Emma close, held her tear-streaked face in his
hands, and desperately pleaded, “What just happened?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was quiet and weak.
Jack swayed. He fell sideways against the dumpster, dropped
to the ground, and vomited.
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