Deadman Sequence

Scene 4: Trigger Point

4

Trigger Point

A building in downtown, now boarded up, had lost its name, sign, and purpose. Just after sunrise, Daven slipped inside, ducking through a warped plywood panel into the dust-laden silence. He remained there throughout the day, sitting quietly in the stale darkness until twilight gently blurred the city's sharp outlines outside.

He stepped outside as the streetlights flickered to life. The sidewalks felt familiar under his feet and, again, they seemed to know where to take him. The sounds of traffic, laughter, and distant sirens made up the typical background beats of the inner city. Occasionally, he rubbed the spot on his palm where glass had once sliced. There was no wound, no scar, yet disbelief hung in the air like static.

As he walked past the corner store, the rusting street lamp, and the flickering neon sign of the pawn shop, he felt it. Eyes on him. Across the street, next to a boarded-up newsstand, stood a man, hood up and hands in pockets, observing him.

Daven continued walking, covering one block, then two, before turning a corner and stopping. He heard footsteps, steady and approaching. When the man came into sight, Daven seized him and pinned him against the wall, his forearm pressing against the man's throat. "Why are you following me?" he growled.

The man didn't resist. He returned Daven's gaze with an almost sorrowful expression. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

"Daven!"

A sharp voice cut through the air, making him turn. Twila, with two cups of coffee, stood still, her foot caught mid-step. Then, memories flooded back — her name, his, and the man gripped under his arm. He stared, bewildered. "Damian..."

Twila moved closer, shaking her head with a half-smile. "Seriously? Are you two still bickering over that action figure from when you were eight?"

Daven released his grip on Damian's shirt, his hand shaking. Damian laughed, yet his gaze remained fixed on Daven's face. They strolled down the block together toward the familiar open-front café. The same one as before, same table. Twila chatted casually, sipping her drink and remarking on the crowd, as well as how frequently Daven drifted away during the day. He replied instinctively.

Damian remained silent, seated across from them, observing like a scientist captivated by a living experiment. When the waitress came to refill their drinks, Twila grinned at Daven. "You seem more like yourself today," Daven responded with a slight nod.

Damian reclined in his chair, gaze fixed ahead, releasing a slow breath. He murmured, "Fascinating."