After three more zaps, Moron finally figured out he should listen to me instead of scream.
“So,” I said calmly as we descended at approximately 120 mph towards the ground. “I need you to follow my instructions, all right?”
He jerked his head several times.
“Good. Okay, so you feel all of that wind hitting you, right?”
“Now, I want you to picture your house in your head.”
“I have a condo.”
“That works, too. Picture the front window of your condo. Now it’s a little windy outside, but you want to feel some of that, so open it just enough to feel the breeze, okay?”
“In my head?”
“No, right fucking here. Yes, in your head! Just slide it open a little bit.”
With my sight, I could see the air currents, and where before they slid around him, suddenly some flowed into him. He gasped, looking at his hands and feeling at his chest.
“Good, that’s progress. See, you can do it?”
“Do what? What the fuck was that? There’s something inside me, I can it feel wiggling around! What did you do to me!” And the screaming resumed.
I rolled onto my back, shielding myself from the wind and palmed a couple of Vicodin for the ensuing headache. A Storm Rider had to be able to self-medicate in any condition, even at terminal velocity.