Sunday (Not Frelling Friday), MHA #7

2 days ago, Stark had watched a friend bleed out and die. He'd felt him die. Yesterday that same friend had been alive until he'd caught on fire and died again. Stark had felt that, too. And there had been other deaths he'd been dimly aware of, all of them wrong somehow. All, he fervently hoped, just as impermanent, since today was apparently Friday for the third time. He'd taken the dog with him yesterday, and she'd vanished in the night when he ended up back in his own apartment. Again.

It was disturbing and it was distressing and it was confusing. Nothing made sense about any of it.

So he was going to do something that did make sense and just let himself into the apartment next door (the occupant of which, sadly, was going to think it was Friday again) because that's why he had a key. For when he needed it.

"Faye? Are you still here?" There was no reason to think she wouldn't be. He was still going to ask. And maybe attempt to keep her inside all day, just in case.