20

The rain passes through walls and ceilings, just as you do. And yet you notice that it does not pass through the people it strikes—it impacts against them much as any other drop of rain would, even though they can't perceive it.

And so it seems the most obvious shelter to you is to hide within a living person, as unappealing an idea as that may be.

You choose a larger man, to give you more space to move, as it were. You step inside him—and here, you become blind. Little or no light passes through his form.

You cannot hope to stay within him if he keeps moving. Even at a normal pace, you won't be able to anticipate his movements. And so you concentrate, willing him to move more slowly.

And he slows. You've done it. You have a sense that your degree of influence is limited, even now—you likely wouldn't be able to get him to lie down in the street or to punch somebody. But walking more slowly, something that he might be inclined to do anyway…yes, you can achieve this.

What's more, you begin to gain a sense of the world around you. You're seeing through his eyes, you realize, albeit in a blurry way, with little control over what this man chooses to look at.

The rain falls upon him, sickening him little by little, while you remain safe within him. But you're not out of danger yet. Influencing the man like this requires enormous concentration on your part. You feel sure you can't accomplish this for long. You have found a short-term solution only.

You've already established that you cannot easily pass through the ground beneath you. Perhaps this is true of the burning rain as well. It's the best idea you've had so far. You spot a subway entrance leading down to Boston's underground rail service, the T. You step from the body of the man out into the air and the rain once more, and dart toward it.

You do not reach it. A hand grips your forearm—really, physically grabs it, as if skin were holding skin.

You turn, shocked at this contact. It is the shining woman you saw atop the tower. "You won't be safe down there," she tells you, and her voice is wind and music. "Come with me. I have a shelter."

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