Nowhere is Final: Damien (2021)

Chapter 6

Damien dumped the phone down beside him, letting it thud onto the sofa cushions. It was hopeless. He must have spent a good hour scrolling and scrolling through different news sites, and there was nothing. Information about a hundred different stabbings, sure, which was horrible, but nothing about his sister. Nothing about Eliza. Words had started to mush together, the bold headlines slipping through his fingers, and the headache was back, pulsing at his temple as he'd forced himself to read and repeat every single word in his mind. It was the only way he'd found to stop his eyes skipping over things and leaving him completely clueless.

The clock hanging on the wall above Robyn's desk read one o'clock, and that meant Robyn wouldn't even be clocking out for another four hours. It would be nearly five before she could help him look. He'd eaten lunch early just for something to do, but he still felt empty. Pacing seemed incredibly appealing, but stumping about the little flat on his crutch made him feel like he was trooping around a cage, like an animal in a zoo.

Well, he was a little like that. The overly dramatic half of him could imagine what would happen if the authorities found out about these weird abilities of his. He'd find himself shut up in some secret government lab, staring dolefully at the one-way mirror, because they always had a one-way mirror. That's where the head scientist and the top dog from the military would be sitting, scrutinising him while he was being poked and prodded. Perhaps he'd have the same look on his face as the lions at Chester Zoo. Eliza had been obsessed with them as a child, staring at them with her hands pressed up against the glass, as though she was desperately trying to listen to them. It had been hilarious at the time – if a bit worrying when they eyed her like the slab of meat she was – but now he thought maybe that's really what she was doing. Listening to lion thoughts.

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. This was getting ridiculous. There was no point in going over moments from a decade ago, the same way there was no point in delving back into the dense, laggy paragraphs of local news websites without help. His leg was tensed up, his shoulders tight. The flat suddenly felt close and stuffy, as though he was already sealed away. He needed air.

And that was how he found himself grabbing his bag and crutch and limping out onto the road. His leg complained, but it was bearable, and he slung the backpack onto his back and adjusted his grip on the crutch before plodding on. A warm summer breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees on the other side of the street, and as he turned his head to check for traffic, it picked refreshingly at the collar of his t-shirt. One or two cars passed, and then he was on his way. The park felt like a good place to go. He didn't think he'd taken his camera out of his backpack the last time he'd come, and to be honest, right now a green place felt like the right place to be.

He made his slow way past the Mormon church, and then he was under the shade of the park trees. His hand rested on the cool metal bars of the gate. It squealed on its hinges as he passed through, and he limped a short way along the path. He didn't want to go far. His leg was already starting to twinge.

There was a spot of summery green grass amongst the dry stalks, in the shade of a large oak, and he settled himself onto it. He lay back, staring up into the branches, dappled sunlight falling on his face. The walk had been tiring, but it had worked. He already felt lighter. Fresh air whistled up his nose and filled his lungs. This had been worth it.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced over – a squirrel was picking its way up the bark a metre away. It froze, its sweet little eyes seeming to flash at him, and its ashy tail pressed flat against the tree. The individual hairs of its fur coat were so sleek, so orderly, especially compared to the chaos that had been Avalanche's coat. He sat up with a wince and turned himself around. It was sitting in the very centre of the tree, perfectly framed for a photo. He rummaged in his backpack with his free hand and found himself uncapping the camera absentmindedly. Still the squirrel stayed frozen.