After three
more zaps, Moron finally figured out he should listen to me instead of scream.
“So,” I
said calmly as we descended at approximately 120 mph towards the ground. “I
need you to follow my instructions, all right?”
He jerked
his head several times.
“Good. Okay,
so you feel all of that wind hitting you, right?”
More nods.
“Now, I
want you to picture your house in your head.”
“I have a
condo.”
“That
works, too. Picture the front window of your condo. Now it’s a little windy
outside, but you want to feel some of that, so open it just enough to feel the
breeze, okay?”
“In my
head?”
“No, right
fucking here. Yes, in your head! Just slide it open a little bit.”
With my
sight, I could see the air currents, and where before they slid around him,
suddenly some flowed into him. He gasped, looking at his hands and feeling at
his chest.
“Good,
that’s progress. See, you can do it?”
“Do what?
What the fuck was that? There’s something inside me, I can it feel wiggling
around! What did you do to me!” And the screaming resumed.
Rookies!
I rolled onto
my back, shielding myself from the wind and palmed a couple of Vicodin for the
ensuing headache. A Storm Rider had to be able to self-medicate in any
condition, even at terminal velocity.