Neal isn’t sure what he expects when they walk through the door. For the light to change, maybe. The building seems strangely foreign, even though it’s just a house, a picked-over and untidy house that used to have people living in it.
The question of what happened to them almost makes him throw up again. He doubles over, hands clutched against his stomach, and forces it down. He hates throwing up. He hates it.
The warmth comes to him slowly, like he’s at the heart of an icicle in a world only starting to thaw. Neal straightens, easing himself upright. He stares at his hands, then down at his feet. Turns his hands over, then back again.
“It tore me in half,” he notes, the same uncertainty still in his voice. He feels like he’s talking from the bottom of a well. “I tried crawling away and I was so light.”
His breathing turns shallow as the reality of what he just said hits all over again. Neal claps his hand over his mouth, retching without puking. “Oh god.”
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The question of what happened to them almost makes him throw up again. He doubles over, hands clutched against his stomach, and forces it down. He hates throwing up. He hates it.
The warmth comes to him slowly, like he’s at the heart of an icicle in a world only starting to thaw. Neal straightens, easing himself upright. He stares at his hands, then down at his feet. Turns his hands over, then back again.
“It tore me in half,” he notes, the same uncertainty still in his voice. He feels like he’s talking from the bottom of a well. “I tried crawling away and I was so light.”
His breathing turns shallow as the reality of what he just said hits all over again. Neal claps his hand over his mouth, retching without puking. “Oh god.”