A music box sort of chiming joined the humming.

“Fuck that shit,” Blindside said. I was the closest person to them as they stood somewhere near me. I lay near the butt end of the eighteen wheeler, which had its nose in the wall of the building. Nursery and Snag were at the door. I wasn’t sure if Blindside was talking to me.

The humming seemed to be picked up elsewhere, and the music box noises intensified, with new notes and a higher tempo. The area near the door blurred. It was a window into another world, what had to be a pocket dimension, but for the most part it seemed unsure if it was our world or the pocket world.

An indoor setting, at a glance. Beds and walls that didn’t line up with things in our world.

I felt Blindside’s hand on my neck. They felt for my pulse.

“Asshole is invincible, and so he doesn’t even think to get your gun from you. You’re lying on it,” Blindside said. “If I roll you onto your back, will it kill you?”

It was a question I’d heard variants of before, in a tone I’d heard before. A tone from someone that didn’t really care about me.

We’re going to roll you over now and check for sores. Is that alright?

We’re going to wash you now. Can you try to move this arm?

Can I get you anything? Would you like water, or something to eat?

Condescending, caring more about themselves, feigning concern or consideration. They just wanted to get on with their day. Even the ones that did care lost patience sometimes. Stubborn, aggressive people like me made it easy to lose patience.

I made myself be calm. I exhaled slowly, and the exhalation came out as a shudder. It wasn’t because I was hurt, but because the memories were close to the surface.

Blindside eased me onto my back, then I felt them touch my gun.

My eyes snapped open. My arm lashed out, one swing, mindful that they were probably just a fragile human being.

I didn’t make contact. Muscles in my arm wrenched, seized, and cramped as the entire arm locked up, just in time to keep me from touching them.

“Aha,” Blindside said.

I felt them grip my gun hard. My initial fumble to grab the gun ran into the same problem. My hand hit an imaginary wall.

The gun had a buckle keeping it in the hip holster. They hadn’t undone the buckle, and they weren’t able to pull the gun free before I jumped up to my feet, backing a short distance away. The hand pulled free.

I still couldn’t see them. My head was turned to one side, I had a glare on my face, and I walked slowly, keeping track of them by keeping them at the very edge of my field of view.