A Pattern

The campus doctor examined Henry on Monday, and gave him a clean bill of health. The ambient noise of the city and a school gearing up for finals relegated the Pulse to the back of his consciousness. He was still aware of it, but at least it was manageable.

Or so Henry thought.

It was 7:27 AM that Saturday, when Henry once again became keenly aware of the Pulse. He was in the shower when the slow, steady thrum began. He shrugged it off as deja vu, even as the pitch slid up and became a staccato tapping on his skull.

The following Sunday, Henry was walking through the Institute’s “Infinite Corridor,” just past the lobby of Building 10, when he felt the slow, steady thrum of the Pulse once again. The time was 1:51 PM. Eight days, six hours and twenty four minutes since he felt it in the shower. The exact same amount of time before that when he originally experienced it at the Mullins’ home. Henry recognized a pattern.

But what did it mean? The question preoccupied Henry, even as he took his exams…

The End

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