Come Home
It’s still watching; eyes like bullet holes, leaking inner light.
That look feels so familiar. We’re far from our old territory, I can’t let myself think of it as her, but why else would a fox have come to my rescue?
‘Tomoko?’ I ask.
The stare doesn’t flicker, but what did I expect?
I huddle over myself to try and stop the shivering. My hands are turning leaden, my cheeks burning with cold. Why does the night seem more miserable when I’m human? It’s not just the lack of fur, but something psychological, I’m sure of it.
Giving up, I wriggle deeper into the pile of black bags until my back comes up against the wall. Entrenching myself like this is possibly stupid. If they find me I’ll have to run, and fast. But surely they won’t look for me here, in some abandoned alleyway, wherever this is. I’m still hazy about how I’ve ended up here myself.
My thoughts are a flurry of pages, I’m left clutching fragments –Tomoko tiptoeing atop a fence; the yellow-toothed leer of Grandma Wolf; Mr Hughes, his face a furnace; and Buckley . . . Buckley, silent.
The disorientation has lodged in my stomach, almost a physical force. Like on teacup rides as a child, when I’d throw the full weight of my body against the wheel until speed turned the world soluble and its streak found new axis around Mum’s face; her blue eyes, across from mine, squeezed almost shut in sickened laughter.
And still the fox stares.
An unbroken look would have been a challenge from Tomoko but this feels more desperate than threatening. Could it be frightened of them too? It saved me after all. Though just the thought seems insane, let alone any answer to ‘why’.
A lump pushes inside my throat as if with the force of questions. Questions, regrets, pleas. Where did this need to speak come from? I’ve always had an uneasy relationship with such human quirks.
‘Did you come back for me?’
The eyes disappear, reappear – a blink. I lick my raw lips.
‘Blink twice if you understand.’
. . . Nothing.
‘I didn’t want to leave you. You do remember?’
No. Of course not. But I do. That night is seared into me, as indelibly as if I’d tried staring down the sun.