Page 46 of Collin: Episodes 7-9
They made it to the entrance of their building. A few more reporters were waiting there, some of them obviously more internet personalities than representatives of news outlets. One of them rushed forward. Collin moved between the woman and Mr. Reevesworth and Mr. Moreau. At the very last moment, Collin realized she wasn’t shoving a microphone forward at all.
She was throwing something.
Collin raised his hand to stop her. Liquid sloshed out of the bottle in her hand, catching him across the face and down the front of his clothes.
“Collin!” Mr. Reevesworth was right beside him, pushing the woman back, putting an arm around him. “Émeric! Get him inside,” Mr. Reevesworth growled.
It stung. Whatever was on his face burned. He didn’t dare open his eyes. And it wouldn’t brush away. He couldn’t breathe through his nose without his lungs burning.
Mr. Moreau grabbed Collin by the coat and dragged him forward.
Collin’s lungs seized. He needed to breathe through something other than his nose. Collin wiped his face on his coat. If only he could clear the substance from his lips. The skin there burned. He gulped in air through his open mouth.
Mr. Moreau was still dragging him forward. There was noise; the air pressure changed. He could hear the sounds of the building’s air-conditioning, and the temperature rose. Collin shook his head. Whatever had been thrown at him was sticky and clinging to his hair and sliding into his ears. His eyes were watering.
Everything hurt.
“Keep your eyes closed, Collin.”
“Burns.” Collin gasped.
Mr. Reevesworth’s roar filled the space. “What did you throw on him?”
A woman screamed. “Let me go.”
“Not till you tell me what you threw on him.”
“He will be cleansed of your wickedness.”
“Richard, I smell tea tree oil and frankincense,” Mr. Moreau said. A moment later, Collin felt something that had the texture of a shirt against his face.
“Is his skin bubbling?”
“No.”
The woman babbled, then let out a high-pitched wail. “I want to save him, not kill him. You and your ways are dragging his soul to hell!”
Collin pressed the shirt to his lips, wiping off everything that he could. He moved toward the voice. “What did you throw on me?”
The woman whimpered. “You poor, poor boy. By the power vested in me by the Holy Spirit…”
Collin rolled his eyes behind his eyelids. Mr. Moreau continued to wipe the liquid from his face. It was smearing everywhere, a fine remnant stubbornly clinging to his skin.
“Don’t touch him.” Mr. Reevesworth’s voice shot through the atrium like a gunshot. There were sounds of a scuffle
The woman made a small cry. “I just need to pray over him. There is redemption at the foot of the cross!”
Mr. Reevesworth was on the phone again. “Yes, I’m calling to report an assault. We need medical assistance and officers.”
“My eyes are burning,” Collin said. His lungs were also burning. Tears were running down his face.
“We need milk,” Mr. Moreau snapped. Someone went running.
Collin felt around, trying to sit.
“I got you, boy.” Mr. Moreau’s strong arms came up around him and helped him down.
Collin breathed through his mouth, trying to hold his lips open so the air wasn’t polluted with whatever vapor was emanating from his face. The rawness in his chest was growing. What if he was poisoning himself with every breath? Dizziness washed through him. He let his head fall against Mr. Moreau’s chest.
