^pretty much Also, ask if Debbie's there. Because you didn't come here to talk with the – um – houseguest.

>ask if his phone/Debbi's phone (s) are working

[b]>There's some strange things going on[/b] You explain the truly weird phenomena you encountered back at your home, but you try to frame it in a slightly saner sense. You woke up to all the windows open, all the power off, all the family gone. You don't want to bring up the black water or the blue lighting or the soundlessness. The guy's credulous, but his patience might only extend so far, and if carbon monoxide poisoning is the culprit, you kind of need him on your side instead of sidelining you to the hospital. You don't know the time, you don't have a way to call anyone, you don't know where everyone is, but you do know that Debbie's lights were on, and she has been, historically, really good about making sure you stay fed and have notes for classes. "Come out of the cold," he sniffs, opening the door a little wider for you. "I have no idea what to make of any of that, but you're letting all the cold in." You cross the threshold meekly, aware of his bright magenta ankle socks so, so very incongruent with his pale stick legs. Last thing you want to do is step on toes. The foyer is cluttered. There's two umbrella stands and a coat tree laden with the family's outerwear. The bright light is freaking your retinas out, after adjusting to the low lights. You become aware of the cold again, now that you're somewhere warm, and you start to shiver. "Erm--" He reaches for you, then stops. "Li-- listen. Stay here, I'll get Debbie." "Who is it?" You hear from the second floor. Debbie, from Debbie's room, another pale pale face, coke bottle glasses denting her nose, a mess of black hair with a strange bedhead cowlick. Zach starts on the stairs, and you see more bony dude-booty than you ever wanted to in your whole life. "It's Pearl-- I told her to come in." Zach vanishes behind Debbie's door for a second, and all you can think is that you hope it's for pants. They both take their time, and when Debbie comes downstairs with Zach, she's now wearing the X-Files shirt, and Zach is fumbling buttons up his pale pink dress shirt, flashes of his athletic support occasionally visible behind his big, spidery hands. Okay. That's okay. Just going to completely ignore what's going on here. Cool. Right. (This is going to make study group weird, isn't it?) They both seem to have a kind of comfort that suggest they're the only ones in the house, because Debbie's traditionalist family is probably not keen on pre-marital sleepovers with, uh, anyone. You repeat things again for Debbie's benefit, while she tries to make it look less obvious that she didn't bother with a bra to check out what study-buddy wanted at this hour. So no one is comfortable here. 0 people are comfortable. "Well, my parents and little sister left the house at, like, eleven," she muses. "But I don't think your family's into late-night bowling, huh?" And Zach has been living on his own.... actually, if you have to think about it, you're probably lucky you caught Debbie here and not another empty house. If Zach has his own pad, it would make more sense to--- nope. That's enough of that. You ask her if her own parents really are out at 'late-night bowling', and she fixes you with a gaze that suggests no one is that stupid. >

>try to see if her phone is working Maybe you can get in contact with someone

[b]> Ask her if her phone is working[/b] "I think so," she muses. "Do you want to borrow my cell, or do you want to try the land-line?" She already has the mobile on hand, an older model iPhone with a green plastic phone case -- repeating Roswell alien heads -- and a glue-on charm-hook with an assortment of plastic food and alien miscellanea. You let her know that either works, and she passes you the phone. It has all four bars, and has the house wifi. Yours is still dead, you confirm. >

>call your family members

(If no response from them) >call the local 24-hour clinic and ask if anyone under your family name has checked in tonight

[b]> Call your family[/b] You tap in your mom's phone number and listen anxiously for her to pick up. It immediately jumps to a strangely energetic three-tone sound: '[i]The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.[/i]' You try your dad's next, although your mom has had that number since cell phones existed, practically. You get the same dial tone. Debbie and Zach can both hear the over-loud message, even with the speaker close to your ear. They look about as uncomfortable as you feel. You try your own phone next, just out of curiosity. You get a direct to voicemail. "Listen," Debbie starts. "You, um-- do you want to--" [b]> Call the 24-hour clinic[/b] You ask her if she can get you a phone book. You want to see the numbers for the hospital and the local clinic. If your family is at one of those place -- and just.... just forgot to bring you, tell you, reassure you -- you could ring the front desk and... She doesn't argue with you, though you can see it in her eyes. She's always been logical at the expense of emotions, but this is the kind of situation where even she defers those wounding comments for another time. Zach has you sit down on the small bench in the entryway. Some ingrained sense of chivalry, perhaps, or maybe just concerns that whatever's going on might put you into shock. You're not going into shock. You are very, very clear right now, and the way they're treating you feels at once very relieving and also a little patronizing. "Uhm..." One of his arms loops behind you awkwardly, and he begins to rub your back as best as he can. "It's going to be okay," he says, and it sounds like the most unconvincing line-read you've ever heard. He's saying it because he's expected to say it, but you're not sure anyone believes any of this. Debbie returns with the phone book and flips to medical care. There's a few doctor's offices listed, a few specialist clinics, there's the university clinic, the hospital up the hill, and an emergency health clinic just down the road. "Pea--" You're already jabbing numbers into the phone. Hospital first. It's the closest. Hospitals have to be staffed with someone at front desk all the time. If they aren't there, you can at least check to see if 911 forwarded anything from your residence, or-- at least it would be nice to talk to an-- you were going to say an adult, and you're all adults here, but someone older than you, someone who feels like an adult. Deep breath. Adult. Adulting. "Why is no one answering," you croak. Your friends exchange a look. It rings, and it rings, and it rings, and it doesn't go to voicemail, and no one answers, no one at all. >

Whoa, okay, this is going to some crazy intriguing and quite alarming places! Wow! Hm. >Several deep, slow breaths. (Calm is good. Calm is great. Let's try for some calm...) >Set down Debbie's phone. Do not slam it, just place it gently down. >Ask friends to help you brainstorm possible theories.

> let yourself cry a little while your friends are here to comfort you. emotions are still a thing, and you shouldn't bottle em up