I hit Grey Street running, boots bashing concrete, blood hammering in my skull. The gutter nearly trips me, I’m so desperate to get away. I’m choking, spitting clouds of breath, and not because of the running. A howl nearly forces its way past my lips and I have to bite hard to keep it down.
The toilet and the blazing convenience store lurch into view. The light sears my eyeballs. They must be tapping. No one has that much legal electricity.
I need darkness.
I leave them alone for one minute and Ortolan has to tell Wildgirl every little detail of her life.
Welcome shadows beckon on the next side street. The six memorial gardens are further along, down the slope that rolls all the way to the river. Orphanville sits to the right. The high-rise buildings are scattered with lights. My steps gradually slow until I find a vacant lot.
I sit on gravel and clumps of dead grass, digging my fingers into the stones and feeling dirt clog under my fingernails. I’m motionless now but my insides still race. I drink the night air in, taking each breath down as deep as I can, trying not to shudder. It gets colder in Shyness when it’s night all over the City, even if it can’t get any darker here. It’s not fair that Ortolan would show Wildgirl a photo of her kid when I haven’t even met her. Did they talk about Gram as well?
Gradually my blood cools, my heart slows. The Darkness is a heavy blanket that keeps me hidden from view.
I slip my hand inside my pocket and clutch my lighter, shutting my eyes as if I’m making a wish. The metal is cold and smooth against my fingers. Sometimes I think Lupe is right: my brother isn’t far away. I can see him clearly if I concentrate. Out he comes from the darkness, sharpening quickly. Scruffy hair, an eagle tattoo on his bicep. He’s leaning against his Valiant smoking, squinting into the bright sunlight. He flicks his cigarette butt onto the ground: Let’s go, Little J.
The gravel crunches. My eyes snap open. At the far edge of the lot there’s a patch of pink in the darkness, and two white legs. A pair of black boots walk towards me.
Wildgirl moves carefully. Her eyes are big, too big. She stands at a distance, using her bag as a shield.
‘Hi.’
‘How did you find me?’ I sound pissed off. What I should be doing is apologising, but the right words aren’t coming.
‘I asked a few people. You’re pretty distinctive so you weren’t difficult to find.’
‘Did you get chucked out of the bar?’
‘No. We pretended it was an accident. The table wasn’t even broken.’
That was lucky. I kicked it like I was trying to send it to the other side of the room. Wildgirl doesn’t move any closer. I’ve scared her. I scare even myself when I get like that.
‘Is Ortolan mad?’
‘No. She’s worried about you, though. She told me to come after you.’
I don’t know what to say. The evening is teetering on the edge of failure. I don’t want Wildgirl to go home, but I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I can’t bring myself to ask her to stay. Getting angry and then grovelling about it won’t help. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d stand for that.
‘It doesn’t bother me that you got upset. I don’t need to know why. I just need to know that you’re…safe. I’m taking a risk here. Same as you are with me.’
‘I’m not dangerous. I don’t kill cats for fun, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t bite people either.’
Wildgirl’s face relaxes a little. ‘Unless they ask nicely, right?’
My eyebrows knit. I’m always half a step behind her. I don’t know why she’s joking with me after what happened. I don’t believe her when she says she doesn’t need to know why I got upset. Maybe Ortolan already told her. I swallow. I don’t want to talk about this stuff; I don’t even want to think about it.
‘We got off to a bad start,’ I say. I push away the feeling that it would be easier to send her home.
‘I still want you to show me around Shyness.’
Wildgirl comes closer and sits near me, her handbag next to her. She turns her hand over to show me something. A bankcard. She holds it out, gesturing for me to take it. ‘I was about to tell you before Ortolan showed up. I found it in the bathroom at the Raven’s Wing.’
The card isn’t like any I’ve seen before, and I’ve never heard of FutureBank. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a bankcard. I use cash and I get paid in cash, like most other Locals. There isn’t a single bank branch left in Shyness.
‘What do you think?’ Wildgirl’s voice is anxious.
‘If we’re banking on the future, then I’d say we’re fucked.’
Wildgirl smiles. Her teeth are small and neat like breath mints. ‘That was a good joke, Wolfie. You’d better watch it or I might think you have a sense of humour. What I meant was, do you think it works? Can we use it?’ ‘I guess so.’ I turn the card over again in my hand. I can’t see any reason why it wouldn’t work. ‘You didn’t think to turn it in at the bar?’
‘Haven’t you ever asked yourself: what would I do with a million dollars?’
I try not to think about money too much if I can help it. I make some mixing other bands, and I’ve gradually sold off the best bits of furniture from my house. I know if I cross Panwood and go to the bank, which I do only if I’m desperate, someone, Mum probably, will have been topping up my account.
‘Not really.’
‘I do. I think about it a lot.’ Wildgirl glows with excitement. ‘Sometimes I start with ten thousand dollars, and then I work my way up to a million.’
‘I doubt there’s a million dollars in this account. Maybe this person’s gone bankrupt and that’s why they’re leaving their card lying around.’
‘Still, we should see if it works.’
I shrug. There’s no name on the card anyway, so it would be difficult to find the owner. ‘You’d better sign it then.’
Wildgirl finds a pen in her bottomless handbag and leans against my back to sign the card. I try to ignore the feathery touch of her hair against my neck. She’s not scared of me anymore. When she’s finished she squats in front of me.
‘There’s one more thing I have to ask you before we go any further.’ Her cheeks flush. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
‘What?’
‘If I hang out with you tonight, am I, you know, going to get slapped by someone?’
I shake my head. I don’t know whether to feel insulted or flattered.
‘Okay.’ Wildgirl stands up. Something has been decided between us. ‘I’m not calling you Jethro, by the way. You’re Wolfboy to me, and that’s what I’m going to call you.’
It’s fine by me. I don’t like being called Jethro. It’s my name from before the Darkness, before everything changed. A name used by my parents and other people who haven’t moved on yet. There’s no point wishing that life could be like it was before.