He'd had breakfast with Lucas, worked to clean up the mess he'd made, squirrelling away human bones all wrapped up and hidden in various trash bins around the midway, hoping that, if he spread the evidence out, it might not lead back to him. It had been necessary, Eric thought, to leech himself of the anger and fear that had come from opening his trailer door and realizing that he might not ever make it back to his specific crevice. What did he know of land geography? He knew the name of the country he was in but he didn't know how far it was from Russia, didn't want to find out, and really just wanted to escape somewhere cold.
The coldest place he had was his trailer, with its deep, dark tank. So, once the sun had risen, he slept, long hours, until it was time to rise again. He headed back to the lagoon, leaving his jeans by the side of the deck, and slipped back into the water, looking around for signs of what he had done there less than twelve hours before. Thankfully, even though he could still taste a tinge of blood in the water, that was all the evidence there was and his tank-mates didn't seem to be bothered.
So he swam, twisting in the water, sometimes slow and lazy, sometimes quicker to make the green and blue blur together. Eventually, his eyes went to the glass where he saw a young man that could only be Gabe, standing there, staring, eyes wide and hand pressed against the glass. Eric swam closer, bobbing there gently and reaching out to press his hand against the glass where Gabe's was. He smiled softly and then somersaulted in the water to push himself up toward the surface.
A few minutes later, he was out in the heat again, just wearing his jeans, the glow in his hair and on his chest slowly starting to fade. He didn't like being out in this warmth but, for his new friend, he would suffer through it, and he smiled, wider than he had in the tank, as he approached Gabe. "Like the show?" He asked, accent vaguely Russian and vaguely something else entirely.