Seams of the Infinite

"Dock muttered to the empty room, a cracked grin forming: “Gonna need more than nine today.” He rubbed his aching head, stabbing pain just behind his left eye. “Just a little something,” he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. But the room pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a dissonant drum that called to something buried deep within him. Shadows flickered in the corners of his vision, retreating whenever he turned his head, but he could swear they were watching.

Dock pulled himself from the bed, stumbling into action by a force beyond comprehension, staggering past empty bottles as if they were landmines scattered across a battlefield. Their glassy throats caught the light, winking like tiny watchful eyes. Each crunch beneath his heel felt like the crack of a bat on bone.

The carpet swelled under his bare feet, soft and pulsing, alive with its own heartbeat. He swayed, half convinced he was trudging through the outfield grass at Forbes Field, only now the blades screamed his name with every step. Sweat rolled down his brow and into the corner of his mouth, briny and metallic, like the taste of a split lip. The LSD did not just sharpen the senses. It bent them, stretched them, made every sound too loud and every color too bright. Every touch became both velvet and sandpaper at once."

"The pitch had started at the thigh, cut across the inside corner, and signed its name at the knees. Dock knew it. Jerry knew it. The batter stepped back and looked surprised that he had not swung.

Jerry popped from his crouch and walked the ball out to the mound.

“You missed a hair in,” Jerry said.

“No, I did not,” Dock said. His own voice sounded far away. “He did.”

Jerry watched his eyes for a second. There was no comfort there, only calculation.

“Then hit the hair next time,” Jerry said. “He is not giving you anything. So do not ask for anything.”