“I wasn’t dead.”
“You don’t know that. You died, and he brought you back to life, gave you that island.”
Gabe put his fork down. “And that man.” Breathing in that silence. “I am alive because of that man.” He raised his eyes to their silent faces. Their thin smiles.
“Sure… you need to rest. Eat. Your room is ready. Tomorrow, we will go to church to thank our Lord.”
“I’m not going.” He forced a few bites down in a mild panic.
His father cleared his throat. “Gabe? You have to come. They want to welcome you back. This is a new start. A new opportunity for redemption and salvation. Purge your sins and step on the right path.”
Gabe’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Yes. A great chance to make it right.”
He rose, white with anger. “I have not done anything wrong. I don’t need redemption, or whatever fucking bullshit you have in store. I don’t believe in your fake God, and…”
His father had risen, his mother in tears. “You don’t talk like this in my house.”
Gabe grabbed his bag, trembling. “I don’t… I’m going… I was wrong coming here in the first place.”
His mother rose. “Gabe… just go to sleep, you’re tired. The night will be of good counsel. The Lord’s angels will enlighten you.”
Gabe’s eyes went to her, his vision blurred. “Mum… fuck… I’m going. It’s useless. Don’t waste your time.” He stormed to the door, utterly clueless what he would do in that dark night, but he left, running down the street, but nobody followed, so he ran, crying.
Collapsing on a bench in the park of his childhood. He fished the phone out, finding his phone number. Dialing. The number you have reached is out of service. He listened to that repetitive female voice, checking if he had dialed the right number. Checking if there was another one. Sitting, he cut the call, his eyes a bit wide. Raph’s words in his mind.He will forget you. Impossible… He dialed again and got the same voice. Pulling a browser up, typing the company’s name, saving the address.
He hauled his backpack up, determined, and he called Raph up, that voice thick with sleep. “Gabe?”
“I need somewhere to sleep tonight.”
“Come to my hotel. Hold on, you have no money, right? I’ll send you a cab. Where are you?”
Gabe told him and sat to wait, his heart in his heels. Stroking that dark phone, hoping that he would call.
Next morning, Damian tried calling again, but all he got was a voicemail. Annoyed, he waited for Harold, dressed in a white shirt and dark jeans, which were a bit loose. He put loafers on because those didn’t hurt as much, waiting, his mind wandering to the far sky.
Harold drove him to his old house, stopping his sports car on that white gravel in front of the entrance. “Ok, I’ll be around. Just call me. My number is on your phone.”
“Gabe’s number… I always get the voicemail…”
Harold frowned. “He must have left it switched off. Must be exhausted or raving with his parents. Don’t worry. See Maddie. Hug your son. I’ll pick you up.”
Damian got out, his eyes roaming the façade as Harold shot off. Walking, a bit numb, to the door, he rang, waiting. Almost like a guest when this had been home. His hands in his pockets, watching that vast drive, the trees swaying in the wind. A slight tint on the green leaves.Autumn.Harold had told him.September. Of whatever year. He turned to the sound of the door opening, facing Maddie, a soft wave running down his back at her face, her hair, her wide eyes. Her scent. Still something there, so he let her wrap her arms around him, cry in his neck. Clumsily patting her back, this woman whom he had known by heart.
Her voice. “Oh, Damian… Damian…” She pushed away a bit, looking up into his eyes. “This is a dream… this can’t be real…” Her eyes glazed over a bit.Medication.Damian knew it too well, those glassy eyes watching him from the mirror for many years.
“Uh… yes… I guess it’s real… how are you?” Throwing that empty phrase in to escape her hug. Those arms which didn’t belong around him anymore.
She got it somehow, and stepped back, gesturing him in. “Come. We can sit in the dining room.” Crossing the foyer behind her, to that large dining room and its black table. The same where they had sat many mornings. Throats tight. Brewing hate. It seemed like something through a blurred milky glass, transposed, but Damian sat, avoiding the head of the table. Facing her.
She fidgeted with her dress. “Kevin will be with us soon. He finishes early on Tuesdays.”
Tuesday…He blinked, not knowing what to do with his hands, so he laced them together in his lap. “Ok…” His eyes roaming that vast room, trying to breathe against his heartbeat.
“I’m married. Harold told you?”
Damian’s eyes went to her. “Yes. I know. Good for you.”
