Leaping by J Bennett

in the front office.
    A huge bulletin board covers half
the wall behind the front desk. Big bubble letters in the center of the board
read: “Dr. Michael and Dr. Megan Zimmerman’s Extended Family.” Hundreds of
pictures fill the board. It quickly becomes obvious that the pretty woman with
springy brown hair and warm eyes behind her trendy glasses is Dr. Megan. Her
husband is a little sparse in the hair department, but his smile is wide and
toothy. In the pictures, they grin next to cats, dogs, rabbits, and guinea
pigs. Other pictures were obviously provided by their customers and show cats
sitting in window sills and dogs snoozing on the couch. One picture that I
particularly like focuses on the bushy tail of a dog drinking out of the
toilet. Even in these frozen pictures, you can tell that Dr. Megan and Dr. Michael
love their job. They look at their furry clients with care. I bet these doctors
are funny and cute. I can almost see them cracking jokes to each other all day
and giving their employees Friday afternoons off even though that means they’ll
have to stay longer cleaning up. I bet their own home is filled with former
strays that they couldn’t give up.
    Little doggie ghost cutouts hang
around the desk, and a plastic Halloween bucket full of treats sits next to the
sign-in sheet.
    “If you steal those meds, Dr.
Michael and Dr. Megan will lose a lot of money, and they could get in trouble,”
I say.
    “It’s a burglary. The insurance
will cover their losses,” Gabe says, but his voice is soft. His eyes flick from
one picture to the next, and I know that victory is mine.
    “There will be an investigation
with so many drugs gone,” I push. “They could be suspects. And their insurance
will go up. And…”
    “Okay, okay, the meds stay,” Gabe sighs.
He runs a hand through his wavy hair. “Come on. Someone could see us from the
parking lot,” he grumbles and turns around.
    I hide my smile. “My hero.”
    ***
    Two hours later, I sit across from
the operating room and try not to get into a staring contest with Rich, who sits
at attention next to Gabe’s supine form. My brother has taken this forced down
time to finally change out of his costumes, and we both indulged in quick sink
showers in the small bathroom. Gabe calls these “homeless showers,” and we’re
both depressingly adept at them.  The last sickly yellow and green shades are
fading from the bruising on my elbow, and the injury should be nothing but a memory
by tomorrow. Fast healing is yet another benefit of my condition, one I can’t
help but appreciate when I think of the months it will take for Rain to heal.
    Gabe lies on the floor, arms
crossed over his chest, jacket bundled under his head. I watch his chest rise
and fall slowly and his shimmering blue aura drifting with dreams. He can sleep
anywhere. Give him 15 free minutes and a floor, a chair, a park bench, or the
back seat of a car, and he’ll be out like a light. I complimented him on it
once, and he beamed proudly and told me it was a skill. I’d thought that he was
joking. But now I understand. We don’t get a lot of breaks, and most of the
time a safe and comfortable bed isn’t on hand when we do.
    My phone dings. I take it out and
read Tarren’s update. He just got to town and will find a motel nearby for Rain
to rest for the day. I notice that he doesn’t include us in the whole resting
thing. He probably expects us to toss Rain through the door and take off on the
next grand mission. I’m definitely planning on staying, but it doesn’t do any
good to tell Tarren these things straight out. Instead, I confirm and let him
know that I’ll send through an update as soon as we’re on the move. I also send
a quick text to Bear, letting him know that there’s no news yet. He’s still
driving over and should be in later tonight to take over Rain’s care.
    I watch Gabe sleep, peaceful as can
be, and I think about Tarren. His nightmares are far fewer, and I know it has
to