Chapter 59: 59. A Doodle from Disaster

Waylon keels over; he labors for breath and his chest heaves. Six pipes that were connected to the refrigeration unit now transition from metal, to a hazy ghost, to nothing. Four more pipes and the painful waiting is done.

Near the door they came in, Thea sits on the ground and doodles nonsensical curves into the floor's fog-covered surface. Each stroke of her finger wipes away condensation to reveal strips of clear reflections.

Is there really nothing else I could do?

She rolls her lips over her teeth. A bit of pressure from her jaw and they squeeze out from between, like she's some kind of fleshy pasta extruder deep in thought. "Wouldn't it have been better for me to go with Ivan? Should I go find him? He's the one moving around, and it'd probably help to—"

Waylon's phone rings. Still struggling to fill his lungs, he roots around inside his coat. "No way he's already there."

Thea lets her head fall back down to her doodles. "O-oh. Sorry, I'll be quiet."

After a second more of him digging, Waylon wrenches the phone out and raises it to his ear. "What is it? I still have four—"

Ivan's voice comes through the dingy speaker amid a regular beat of ticks and clacks. "She found me!" He says.

Thea's finger freezes mid-line; her stomach drops. "What?"

Waylon rolls his eyes and pushes himself back up to his feet. "So? Why does it sound like you're running?"

"I've got to catch her." Ivan says.

Catch her? Why?

Waylon leans over the machine. Both elbows rest on a facet and his empty hand supports his forehead. "That's not part of the plan. Go back to pouring. At this point, you'll finish before anyone comes to the rescue." He says.

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"Easy for you to say, asshole. She saw my face. Don't worry though, I'll get her sat still and explain things. Then I'll finish the job." Ivan says.

Sharpness tints Waylon's voice. "No, you can't. What I did to the pipes—" The receiver clicks before he can finish.

Thea's heart hammers: it wills her to take some kind of action, but all she does is clench up. Shrivel into herself. "What did he mean by explain things? He's not going to hurt her, right?"

Waylon ignores her. Instead, he massages his left temple: jaw set and phone still pressed to his ear.

"W-Waylon?"

He slams his phone down. "Gah! Damn it. Let me think!"

"Oh! S-Sorry."

Eyes closed, Waylon bobs his head through his thoughts. Ten seconds pass in silence; Thea watches on.

One final bob then he opens his eyes and squares himself in front of the next pipe. "Okay. Don't go anywhere, we can still make this work. Just sit there and let me know if you smell anyone coming this way."

He's not going to do anything about it?

The pit in her stomach swallows her hammering heart. Heat explodes from underneath her cassock and sweat slicks every inch of skin. Fear, panic, everything. A tornado of emotion sweeps her up, but also freezes her in place. Ivan seemed so nice. Is he really going to hurt that intern? I can't be a part of that: should I just run for it? What do I do?

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