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Holy shit. It was unusual. Normally, Gansey said an abundance of words, most including more than two syllables. All he could think now was holy shit.
Barrington Whelk - his Latin teacher - killed Noah. Holy shit. He almost killed Gansey. Holy shit. Whelk had his journal. Holy shit. And his thumb hurt. It was probably broken.
Gansey pressed harder on the gas pedal. His brain felt fuzzy. The images in his brain from the previous event looked like a dream. The road was dark, with only his headlights to illuminate it. Pushing 110, he made a screeching left turn on the highway, and everything sounded like it was underwater.
Feeling dazed, Gansey reached Monmouth Manufacturing. He got out of the Pig and shut the door - or maybe he didn't. He couldn't particularly recall. Did he hit his head? Probably.
He swung open the door - he did shut this one. It was quiet in their warehouse, as usually was. What time was it? He hadn't put a watch on the morning.
Gansey's eyes started to burn. As he tried to walk forward, the burning grew more intense. He leaned against the wall, fingers reaching to his eyes. It was his contacts, he knew, so he was going to have to take them out. He got the left one out easily, though with the right he needed to be a little more tactful. When he tried, pain shot throughout his entire hand, forcing a small grunt - it was more like a whimper, but it didn't count since no one heard - out of his mouth. With his left hand he removed it.
Now, that should have made his situation easier. It did fix the initial problem, but it also created another. Gansey was now unable to see. He belatedly realized that he hadn't thought the action through. There was only one more option.
"Ronan!" he shouted, desperately hoping for his friend to be home. He laid a hand on the wall, waiting for a reply.
"What?!" Ronan's agitated voice yelled back, presumably from his room.
"I could use some help..." Gansey faded off. He was getting dizzy from blurred vision. He closed his eyes. He heard running, breathing, then Ronan.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Ronan's voice said, the usual tone acquired. "Why are your eyes closed?"
"I took my contacts out. They had a bit of gravel in them or something. It doesn't matter," Gansey rushed, trying to get to the point. "It was Whelk. Whelk killed Noah."
Other than his heartbeat hammering in his ears, everything else was quiet. Suddenly, Ronan's were on his, one on his back, one wrapped around his arm. Ronan led him - gentler than Gansey thought was possible for anyone other than Chainsaw - in a direction that Gansey could not see. He was pushed down slowly onto a soft surface - most likely the couch - that sunk slightly with his weight.
"I'm going to get your glasses," Ronan said," then you're going to tell me what the hell happened."
Ronan came back not minute later, placing Gansey's wireframes into his hand. Gansey slipped them onto his face. It'd been a while since he'd worn them, and they felt odd and unfamiliar.
"Call Adam," Gansey said. Ronan looked at him, slightly distastefully.
"Why don't you wall him?" he asked. Gansey thought of Whelk taking his phone.
"Whelk. He took my phone," Gansey said. Ronan looked confused and slightly angry.
"Did he do that?" Ronan asked, motioning to Gansey's thumb. Gansey looked down. His thumb was turning blue and purple. He didn't feel it, but he also knew it was just the adrenaline.
"No. Yes. Sort of. I don't - just call Adam, okay?" Gansey said. This was also unusual; Gansey never stumbled. Ronan looked at him worriedly. It was a strange expression to see on Ronan's face. Ronan pulled his phone out of his pocket, his eyes still on Gansey.
"Adam," Ronan said. "No, just-" he handed the phone to Gansey.
"Adam, hello," Gansey greeted hurriedly. When Adam spoke, his voice was hushed. Gansey was about to feel worse than he already did.
"Jesus Christ, Gansey, why are you calling me at ten o'clock?" Adam's voice was not harsh, just worried. About what, Gansey wasn't completely certain of.
"I know who it was." Adam said nothing. "It was Whelk."
Adam murmured a small 'oh my God'.
"Also, from the look that he's giving me, I'm suspecting that Ronan plans to take me to the hospital," Gansey said. He looked at Ronan, who gruffly nodded.
"What?!" Adam's voice rose slightly. Whoops.
"No, no! Adam, I'm fine, mostly," Gansey assured (failingly). "I couldn't possibly ask you to come. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
"You're not going to the hospital alone."
"Ronan will be there."
"You know what I mean," Adam huffed.
"That's fair," Gansey remarked, his voice sounding deflated in his own ears.
"I'll meet you there. Don't worry about it," Adam said before hanging up.
"He's coming, isn't he," Ronan asked gloomily, though he already knew the answer. Gansey nodded.
"I wouldn't have been able to stop him, I think," Gansey said. Ronan sighed shortly.
"Let's go, then," Ronan said, standing from where he sat next to Gansey. Gansey followed - really, tried to - but when he stood up, he felt like he should sit back down. His head felt light and painful. He stumbled. Ronan steadied him by the arm.
"Did you hit your head, too?" Ronan asked, a slight tinge to his voice. Gansey tried to think, but he couldn't. His encounter with Whelk was mostly a blur.
"I... I don't know," he answered quietly.
"Damn," Ronan muttered, gently pulling Gansey after him.
Gansey insisted on driving. They spent at least three minutes arguing. Of course, Gansey won with his intricate social skills. The deal was that Gansey could drive, just so long as he stayed in sight of Ronan.
There was only one hospital in Henrietta; Henrietta ER and Hospital. It was directly in the middle of town, and Ronan was glad it was close to eleven. The roads were empty as they pulled up at the hospital. Adam was already there.
"Hey," Adam said. Ronan and Gansey met him as they walked to the entrance. Ronan looked around agitatedly, his eyes first looking at Adam. He seemed unscathed. Tired, but unhurt. He did seem slightly relieved to see that the extent of Gansey's injuries were not as harsh as he had previously thought.
Gansey looked like he did not want to be at the hospital. Ronan could tell the adrenaline had worn off, and his face looked paler than normal. He was gently holding his injured hand with the unharmed one as he just looked at the hospital. With an invisible jolt, Ronan realized what Gansey was thinking. Gansey was remembering his most memorable trip to the hospital. The time he had been stung so many times it had been impossible to count. The time he had died.
Ronan grasped Gansey arm gingerly.
"C'mon," he said to the two of them. Adam followed very closely beside Gansey, near enough to touch. He must know, too. Though they had only been friends for a little over a year, they had a closer bond than siblings. Brothers by choice. Definitely not the type of friends that are only friends because they saw each other five days a week. Certainly not that.
The three signed Gansey into the hospital. Though the streets were mostly empty, there were more people than expected, with less cars than people. There were sneezing, coughing people. Ronan decided to stay away from them. There were people with bleeding extremities. Those didn't bother Ronan as much, but did seem to bother Adam. All of them seemed to bother Gansey. So they sat in a mostly isolated corner, Gansey in between Adam and Ronan. Gansey explained what happened.
He told them how Whelk had approached him, taken his phone and his journal - he sounded anxious and dismal when he said 'the journal' - and how he'd threatened to shoot Gansey in the head. He explained the happening surprisingly well after almost being killed - murdered - by their Latin teacher.
He finished with, "and that's how we know that Barrington Whelk killed Noah."
Adam looked shocked, but it didn't affect Ronan. At least, not on the outside. He kept his expression a mix of irritation and worry - worry at Gansey's increasing paleness.
A nurse called out, "Richard Gansey?" Gansey winced at the sound of his first name. The three of them stood up and followed the nurse into the hallway.
Gansey's thumb, as the doctor diagnosed, was broken - obviously -, and he had hit his head, though it was minor. He was still paled. They splinted his thumb, then made him fill out papers, which Adam ended up doing. Really, what right-handed person could write when their right thumb was broken?
Then they left for 300 Fox Way.