Except they weren’t my hands. They were smaller. Thinner. Smoother.

Each fingernail was painted electric blue.

That’s when I noticed the tufts of electric-blue hair framing my periphery.

It was then—and only then—that I realized someone in the human blob was looking directly at me. I rotated my head slowly.

The face staring back at me…

… was me.

It was Ezra Slevin. A mirror image of my face. A doppelgänger. His protruding head was sandwiched between Imogen’s long sweatered torso and, rather unfortunately, Holden’s ass.

He looked as terrified as I felt.

And then it happened again—flash!

Suddenly, I was in a different place, looking a different direction. Also, Holden’s ass was in my face—which should have been an alarming situation in its own regard. However, I was too preoccupied looking at Wynonna, and she was looking at me. We both seemed to be sharing the same look, and the look said, “What the actual fuck?”

“Oh shit!” said Holden. “The eclipse!”

Wynonna and I snapped out of our Twilight Zone situation—if only for a moment. Even Imogen made an Eeep! sound. We all twisted, and squirmed, and pulled, and slowly unraveled from one another. Staggered upright and rushed to the open window. Everyone fumbled to remove their respective cardboard eclipse glasses from various pockets, struggling to assemble them to our faces.

By the time we succeeded, the black circle occupying the sky was already in the process of receding. A blast of white light punctured its side.

We had missed it.

Finally—whether from the disappointment, or the stress, or the Twilight Zone–level shit in between—my body decided this was as good a time as any to shut things down.

I blacked out.

TWO

VOICES DRIFTED ABOVE ME—so close, and yet, so far away—like they were standing over me in some parallel dimension.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, said Imogen.

Don’t worry, said Holden. It’s okay, it’s okay. This happens all the time.

What, is he narcoleptic or something? said Wynonna.

Not exactly. He’s more of a hard-core insomniac who occasionally breaks from sleep deprivation.

And that’s OKAY? said Imogen, incredulous.

I mean, there’s no long-term damage from it. It’s just a part of his disorder or whatever.

How long has it been since he last slept?

Um. Holden had to stop and think about that one. Two or three days?

Two or three DAYS?

Again, Holden seemed to pause and mull this over. Three days, he said definitively.

Oh my god.

But it’s okay, Holden assured her.

How exactly is that OKAY?

I mean, it’s normal.

That is not normal!

Are you saying we SHOULDN’T call nine-one-one? said Wynonna.

Oh, no, we definitely should. His body hit the floor like that Drowning Pool song.