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“There should be something in—“ Clarice moved the arm with the injured shoulder, and the throbbing flared up again. “Aaaaghhhfuck! That is just—”

Can’t wrestle with a bad shoulder.

“The… the kits. They probably have… pain… things. Bandages. Stop the… ugh.”

Clarice didn’t bother looking for a seat. She just took a couple of steps into one of the cells and sat down. Had a vague impression of padded walls.

Who’d she left behind so far? Isabel. Maria. Jeremy. Barry. The guy with Barry. Five people she might never see again. Six if you counted Nancy. Clarice wasn’t sure yet if she did. Too many, regardless of which number she picked.

Her mind was on the tower, it didn’t have enough focus on the present. Think of now. Think of Conrad. He was still with her. They were still together.

“Sorry. Made you carry everything, didn’t I?” Clarice gave him a strained smile. “Didn’t… didn’t think.”

She didn’t think about anything. Didn’t think about why grabbing Nancy was a bad idea. Or what she’d planned to do if she caught up. How many other kids had chased the people who hurt them without thinking, and acted on impulse when they caught up? How many deaths had happened that way?

Clarice was suddenly very glad she hadn’t found Nancy. No matter how mad she was at the girl right now.
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By the time you hear the next pop, the funk shall be within you · Solitary Confinement