sixty-eight

Nathan woke mid-morning more groggy than ever. After Merrit had discovered him in the cottage, he’d fallen into a sleep that he would describe as fraught. Goldfinches and knives hounded him through darkness, and now that he was awake he felt more than ever that—

Can yoouu kill, can yoouu kill

—today was the day: the day he resurrected.

He sat up and took stock of himself as he did every morning. No new pains, but the static and crackle throbbed behind his eyes. He shook his head against the fuzziness that wavered around the edge of his vision.

From the direction of Liam’s house, a truck approached and idled. Merrit called out a greeting and was met by a man’s reply. Nathan had forgotten about the Earrach Festival. He’d let it sink into the forgotten netherworld within his memory banks.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain in his head and groped his way to the window that overlooked the neighboring sheep field. Rain had replaced hail. He pushed out the window to allow wind redolent of peat and sogginess to sweep into the room. He held his ground against the chill. In an odd way, he felt calm for the first time in weeks. The static and crackle propelled him in the right direction. He had but to embrace the deeper meaning within the jumble.

Feeling steadier, he closed the window and opened his rucksack. He’d sharpened the carving knife before packing it away. He couldn’t recall his state of mind in the middle of last night, only that he’d had to escape his house.

He stared down at the knife that gleamed despite the dull light. He had one escape hatch, the same one he’d used all those years ago. He no longer had the energy to resist. He’d use the knife again as he had on Zoe, who had proved to be indestructible.

His mobile vibrated. He set the knife aside and reached into his jeans pocket. A text message appeared from Zoe.

Where are you?

I’m fine, he typed. At Fox Cottage.

Good. I’m glad, but we were supposed to drive together to Liam’s house, to help Merrit. Don’t you remember?

She always said that to him: Don’t you remember? No, he didn’t. Everything about her weighed so heavy on him that her incessant chattering words sank into a void.

No worries, she sent. Sid will pick me up. I’m just glad you’re safe.

Sid. Nathan’s pulse quickened, and he tossed the mobile aside to grab his rucksack. He dumped out the contents and rifled through them, shoving a clean t-shirt and water bottle onto the floor in the process. He’d written down Sid’s personal number that he’d pilfered from Zoe’s mobile. He must still have the number. It wouldn’t do to call Annie’s mobile again. He wanted to surprise Sid.

Nathan dug around inside the rucksack. Nothing but stray seam threads. His gaze landed on the rain gear he’d dumped by the bedside, having grabbed it up on his way out of the house. He leapt toward it and landed hard on his knees. He pawed through the pockets of his coat until he found his wallet.

There. Tucked into an empty credit card slot.

He sagged against the bed. The static and crackle eased off. He flattened the slip of paper on the floor and picked up his mobile again. Dialing the number felt logical and sure.

After several rings, the line picked up. “’Allo?”

Nathan’s voice caught in his throat, but a sound must have registered through the digital airwaves. Sid chuckled. “It’s yourself calling, is it? About bloody time.”