When my phone rings in the middle of the night, I don't even need to look. I do, out of a morbid curiosity about what time it is, but I know who's calling. It's him. It's always him.
"I saw another vision," he says. His voice is rough, raw.
"You wanna come over?"
"Yeah. Is that okay?"
I don't have to ask and neither does he, but we always have the same familiar exchange anyway.
"Come on over. I'll make some tea," ends the ritual.
Soon, he's huddled at the counter with his hands tight around the mug, staring at, without seeing, the steam curling into the air. I've dumped as much sugar and cream into it as I can - my mom swore by strong, sweet tea for anyone who'd had a shock. It worked for me, and he always looks better after a cup. Besides, he needs the calories. Doesn't eat enough. On that thought, I fish around one of the drawers for my bottle of gummi vitamins and hand him two. He chews them absentmindedly. It'll do for now.
I grab my own tea and we sit silently for a while as the color leaches back into his face and he stops shivering.
"Where are you at?" I finally ask. He looks up at me with a start. At least his eyes are focusing now.
"I'm here. I'm okay." He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, as though to clear it. "Get your notebook. I need to tell you what I saw."
