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09-01 blogpost3

[Note: Thanks to Oliver for cleaning up this document. Hope it makes sense.]
I turn the corner.
Books. A room made of them.
An empty bedroom.
I gag, covered in water, clothes sticking and slouching. I catch my breath. In. Out.
Finn is standing where Sam should be. “Whoops,” he laughs through a cheesy smile.
A thicket and a smell of lemon. The light flashes on and off. Not the light. The room. No one else is here.
“Sorry about the arm,” he notices. “No time. Get him off his feet, remember?” He glances up, does that motion with his finger, like he’s counting, before the smile comes back. “Um, flying tackle from the front. Try the neck and collarbone.”
I nod.
Finn’s face is light, eyes wide. A face shared. The room flickers.
I gulp in a breath. He lowers his head, bends his knees in a ready stance. Is he—?
Two. He flicks my forehead.
I blink.
Finn is gone.
Back in the water.
Sam lunges at me. I step to the side so his stomach crushes into the countertop.
He pushes himself up. I get to the bedroom and throw the door closed before he reaches the frame.

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