Nowhere is Final: Damien (2021)

Chapter 2

Damien squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at them with his free hand. Maybe if he pushed his eyes far enough back into his skull, that might trigger some sort of visual reset, and maybe the camera would be where it was supposed to be.

He let his eyelids inch open. His camera still dangled there in mid-air, as though it was lying on an invisible table. He blinked and it started to move – it floated towards him, turning over in mid-air, the lens cap dropping off and dangling below. It rolled through the air and gently landed on his bag, nestling itself beside the water bottle. He stared for a moment. Was that real? A prank? Or was it a new symptom, a hallucination of sorts? His hand reached out to touch the image – familiar hard plastic met his fingers, and he ran his palm over the bulky shape. No, this was real. Not only was it real, but there was no fishing line, no string, no nothing.

That wasn't possible.

Damien's heart was beating a tattoo in his ears. He was suddenly sweaty, his shirt sticking to his back, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. Something was wrong. Well, that was obvious, but either the laws of physics had decided they were no longer going to be obeyed, or his brain was doing...what was it doing? The only other option that didn't involve some sort of extended brain hiccough, if not a larger problem, was the presence of a poltergeist, and he didn't believe in that rubbish. Eliza had always been the one to stick on a horror film, to squeal and hide behind the sofa, to turn all the lights on when she was going to bed because she was worried a ghost might jump out from behind the bathroom door.

Eliza...

A memory reared its head, breaking through the thick layer of oozing mud that he often imagined cementing the surface of his brain. Fifteen-year-old Eliza in the living room of his parents' house, legs tucked up on the leather sofa and Avalanche the malamute's fluffy white head resting in her lap. Her dark hair tumbled down her back, loose and a little tangled. He had been sitting next to her. It must have been early morning.

"Y'know, it's like we can really talk." She had been fiddling with Avalanche's fur, twirling it in her slender fingers. "I hear her voice in my mind. As loud and clear as I hear you, or Mam or Dad." Avalanche's tongue lolled out of her mouth, and his sister grinned down at her. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's really cool."

I hear her voice in my mind...

He stumbled forwards, sinking into the desk chair. Eliza had told him that. Not that he knew how she'd found out, but it was something weird too, right? He wasn't the only one? And she hadn't said just once, the way she'd said it made him think it had happened a few times at least.

His gaze settled on his abandoned coffee cup, still sat on the tiny dining table cramped into the corner. That might do? But how did it work last time? He had a vague impression that he'd been searching for the camera, but what exactly had gone through his mind had gone, like sand through his fingers. That didn't help, anyway – it wasn't like he didn't know where the cup was.

But it wasn't like it was within his reach. He stared at the mug. It was another ancient one of his, just plain blue with some chips in the rim. It'd been one of the few he'd felt able to claim from his mam's cupboard – most of them were his sister's – and he couldn't lie, it was on its way out.

The mug jittered. Damien could hear the cold remnants of his coffee slopping away, saw a bead or two of the dark liquid spill onto the table.

"C'mon..."

He widened his eyes to continue the staring match. His eyes felt dry, uncomfortable, but he resisted the urge to blink. If the damn thing would only move –