Gabe could barely breathe. “What…? What the fuck. You left me, threw me out… and now…”
“I know. And I was wrong. We go well together, you and I? Silver fox and golden sparrow.” His eyes smiled, those familiar grey eyes under his white hair. A perfect tan on that aging face.
Gabe’s eyes burned with tears. “We’re so done. Damian will not let me down. You are so wrong…”
“I wish I were.” He rose with a smile. “I’ll be waiting for you. We have time.” He left back to the cockpit and Gabe’s eyes went to the window, to those clouds, wishing for that jet to appear, chase them until they landed. Land in his arms. Those words, like black worms eating his soft heart. Slow. Painful. He closed his eyes on his thoughts, on that doubt growing on that tortured flesh.
They landed, and Harold pushed Damian in the back, straight to a stand put up in a private lobby of the airport, a room filled with reporters. Blinded by flashlights, Damian was struggling to see, but he kept a composed face, drawing on that self-discipline he had nurtured throughout the years. Even if that simmering rage was there, in his steel eyes. Harold quieted the crowd down, and some hands were raised. Questions. How. What. Where? Who?
Damian’s eyes went to that woman asking that question. “Who was that man with you on the island? Is he special? Did you have a relationship?”
His lips parted, but Harold capped his mic. “I think Mr. Bourne’s had more than enough. We’ll issue a statement. Thank you.”
Flashes, shouting, but Harold steered him out, gripping his arm. To a back room, out a door, everything a blur as the night air hit his lungs. Pushed into a limo which shot into the dark.
Harold leant back. “Fuck. But it’s over. We need to be careful with that statement. And I know what you think, but let me drive this. You are in no state to think properly.”
Damian didn’t reply, his eyes roaming the city lights, those tall buildings masking the sky, even if he leant a bit forward, gazing upwards. Everything foreign and still familiar. His mind struggling with it, the smells, the view, those lights flashing when he was used to darkness, to the soft stars. Evening his breathing when the limo stopped at the back entrance of a hotel.
“Come. Let’s sneak up. I got you a suite. You can stay here until the legal shit is done. Tomorrow, I’ll drop you at Maddie’s. You can meet her and Kevin. Cassie is away, in college. She is flying back the day after tomorrow. Hey, all ok?”
Damian nodded and waited until he swiped the card. A huge suite, top floor, but even like this, the buildings were blocking the view.
Harold flicked on the lights, and Damian squinted in that harsh light. “Hell… not too big, sorry, but discreet, ok? I’ll be here tomorrow morning. You’ll be fine on your own?”
No…“Yes.”
Harold patted his back and put his bag on the floor. “Your closets are filled with clothes. They might be a bit loose, but we have time to have them adjusted. Just order anything you want, it’s on the firm. Soon, I’ll have some money for you, but you need to live first. Ah, and of course, Maddie has the house… but the lawyer said it might go back to you.”
“No.”
“No what?”
Damian turned to him. “I don’t want her to give up the house.”
“Well… that makes it easier, but that means we need to shop for you. I can get a real estate agent for you soon.”
Damian just nodded, standing near the window, trying to make any sense of what he was seeing. His hands fell to his side, his fingers looking for that familiar pig head. He clenched his fist. “You can go. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes… See you.”
Hearing the lock. He walked to the switch and flicked off the lights, that room still flooded with the city lights, so he pulled the curtains. Sliding down against the bed to the floor, he kicked his shoes off, and his socks followed, sliding his feet on that artificial carpet. Just sitting in the dark, trying to calm down, trying not to break down crying.I miss you…A sudden idea in him, so he fished the phone out of the bag, flashing the screen up. Phone book icon. Gabe. He pressed that green button, but it went straight to voicemail.Fuck.Probably not switched on. He breathed in the dark, plummeting into sleep as his body slid to the floor.
“Gabe! My God!”
He stood in his mother’s arms, trying to breathe, this mother who had asked him to leave many years ago. His father coming close, squeezing them together. All those emotions toiling in Gabe, almost too much, a sudden horror that he didn’t want to be here, mingled with that rekindled love. Because he still loved them, this moment, like a dream come true where he would return and they would hug him, like the prodigal son. A futile thought, he knew.
Pushed inside, to that living room he knew by heart, the same furniture as when he had been a kid. Same cross on the wall, same paintings of Christ’s suffering lining the walls. That agonizing man writhing on the cross, that painting which had terrified him as a kid.He died for your sins. Your sin.That sullen scolding, right before he’d left, trembling with grief. He closed his eyes when his mother pushed him down on the sofa.
“I cooked your favorite.”
He looked at her, how she’d aged, but still her neat self, her green dress, her pearls, her hair in a bun, his father sitting, lean, balding. Those desiccated faces eaten by their religion. Mummified between these walls, surrounded by the suffering of the Lord. Gabe had to swallow a bout of nausea, sitting, his breathing shallow. He wanted to love, and all he found was dread.
Finding his voice. “Thank you…”
“You will get better here. We prayed every day. Every day. Prayed for a miracle. And the Lord gave it to us.” His father made the sign of the cross, and his mother followed, serving him then a large plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
“Yes, a miracle… you are alive. Back from the dead.”
