It is perhaps a little too early for the drunk Natalie to pick up the phone, but it is a respectable hour for people who like to catch Sunday brunch before the restaurants get crowded.
"Hey Natalie, It's Eli. Just calling to say hi. Wanted to keep in touch. Talk to you later!"
Eli runs into Betsy and recruits (scares) her into helping.
A message on Norah's phone: Hey, so I heard about this woman in the Bronx. She had a seizure in a Starbucks and was taken to a hospital or a morgue afterwards. Eyewitness says it was very strange and - well, here's her number -
Are we following up on every brain related death we can find? I feel a little like Sherlock Holmes or something.
It's an absolutely crushing realization that you can't function without someone sticking their finger in your brain to hold the crazy at bay.
I guess I'm lucky, really, to have a friend that can do that - and one that's willing to do it even after I've hit him in the face.
This is just a quick testament to the fact that I want to go in for treatment. I need to. No matter what I say tomorrow, I need to conquer this thing - whatever it is. I can't risk hurting other people.
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