The evening sun shines through the large window of a hotel bedroom. Its soft rays lay on Elias Pettersson, who is asleep on the right side of the bed. The thick quilt is over him; his arms are wrapped around his pillow.

He then blinks awake, his small blue eyes staring ahead. He sits up, his blond hair poking out in all directions, and turns to the left. His phone lays on the night table on the other side of the bed.

Elias stretches his arm across the bed and grabs his phone; he pulls it back and wakes up his phone.

His phone displays the time and a calendar notification of the All-Star Media Day.

He smirks. “Tio minuter tills det börjar. Åtminstone hade jag en trevlig tupplur.” Ten minutes until it starts. At least I had a nice nap.

He then throws his quilts off his body and slips out of bed.

---

The hotel building stands at the corner above the roaming traffic and pedestrians. A window from high up then slides open and Elias, with his white jersey wrapped around his waist, springs down from it. He lands on the sidewalk on his feet and looks to the right, where he spots a truck roaring down the street. He throws his arms out to it, grasps onto the edge of its tailgate, and pulls himself onto it, landing on the bumper.

He stares out at the whizzing scenery with narrowed eyes, due to the wind blowing at his face and whipping his hair. He then gazes to the left, where the targeted upcoming street approaches him. However, the truck begins to pass by it as it crosses the intersection.

“Åh nej!—” Oh no—

Elias swings his arms out across the street and onto one of the tree branches at the Plaza de César Chávez. He lets himself be slingshot over the streets before letting go and landing on the grass.

The cars continue to roam around the park as Elias tightens his jersey around him and swishes his head around.

“Mr. Whiskers! Don’t be scared! Please come down!”

With confusion growing on his face, Elias turns his head to the source of the voice.

A young girl stands at the foot of a tree, gazing up at its branches. Perched on the highest branch is a calico cat with pinned ears and wide eyes.

She holds her hands out to the cat. “It’s not a far drop! I want you back! Please!”

The cat lets out a scratchy meow, backing its head away.

Determination taking over him, Elias dashes across the grass, leaps into the air—straight at the branch the cat is clinging on to—swoops the cat into his arms as he sails over the branch. He flips as he descends before landing on his two feet in front of the girl. He holds the trembling cat out to her.

The girl gasps with twinkling eyes. “Thank you!” She pulls the cat into her arms and cuddles with it.

Elias gives her a warm smile. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

He then continues down the park, approaching the other end of it. His eyes lock on an SUV that is passing by the park, indicating it is heading straight.

He swings his arms out to the racks on its roof, wraps them around them, and hurls himself at it. He then rolls and lands on his back against the roof, immediately flattening himself to stay hidden.

The golden sky and looming buildings whizz pass his vision. Strong shouts fill his ears.

Elias perks his head up to look at the source of the shouting.

Rushing down the sidewalk are two men in ski masks carrying stuffed mesh bags. Coming after them are two police officers.

Elias shoots his arm out to the robbers, rips the bags away from their grip, and tosses them at the feet of the police officers. He gives them a small salute at the confused people before pressing himself against the roof of the SUV again.

As the wind brushes over him, Elias turns his head to the right, spotting a familiar street nearing him. However, other cars on the same street separate the SUV and the street, indicating the car will not turn left.

With a groan, Elias lassos his arms across the two streets and grabs onto the light post, and swings himself onto the sidewalk.

He rushes down the sidewalk, crossing under a large bridge, and emerges onto the walkway scattered with palm trees and large, puck-shaped banners. To the right is the Arena Green West, which is the park decorated with trees and a playground in a sandbox.

Sitting under a tree on the grass is Patrik Laine, who is vehemently rubbing two sticks over a pile of sticks. Suddenly, fire bursts from the sticks and catches onto the pile below. Patrik bobs up and down with sparkling eyes of delight.

Then two large, flattened hands drape over the fire, turning it into smoke. With a drop of his ecstasy, he gazes up at the source.

Elias pulls his hands back to him in their usual size. “Fire hazard.” He then continues jogging down the walkway.

Patrik looks at his smoking pile of sticks. He groans.

Elias gazes ahead, spotting the SAP Center looming above him from across the street. He rushes to the other side of the street.

“I dropped my Mister Orca!” he hears a young kid cry out.

Elias whirls around, spotting a young boy with his parents in a Canucks jersey pointing at the street. Sure enough, abandoned on the asphalt is a miniature plush toy of an orca whale in a Canucks jersey. The streetlight for the street is signalled green.

Elias shoots his hand at it, swipes the plush toy off the street, and pulls it back to himself.

He then hands the plush toy back to him and whispers to him, “Go Canucks.” With that, he dashes down the sidewalk in the shade of the arena.

He skids at the corner of the arena and whirls to face the back of it, only to be confronted by a chain-link fence blocking the entrance to the players’ lot.

Elias holds his hands out at the locked entrance. “Varför är grindarna inte öppna?” Why aren’t the gates open?

He then flings his arms at the top and whips them around the bar.

His phone rings.

With a groan, Elias unwraps his arms and pulls them back to him to take out his phone and answer.

“Petey, var är du?!” Gabriel Landeskog asks from the other end. Petey, where are you?!

“Utanför arenan!” At the arena! Elias holds his opened hand at the gate. “Öppna upp grindarna.” Open up the gates.

“Du borde vara på kongresscentret.” You’re supposed to be at the convention center.

Puzzlement clouds his face. “‘På kongresscentret—’” ‘At the convention—’

He then cranes his head back and lets out a groan: “UGGGHHH!”

With that, he turns around and uses his free arm to grab onto the light pole from across the street and swing himself to its foot.

Gabriel continues urging as Elias retraces his route over the Arena Green West: “Du har en minut kvar—” You got a minute—

“Jag är påväg!” I got it!

Elias disappears under the bridge.


The End of “A Helping Hand.”

Notes

Episode 4/15