WHEN THE DARKNESS COMES I NICK CLARK

Take A Breath

Take A Breath

Bruised rib, contusions, delusional, ran into traffic with intent... Lourdes looked down Nick's fragile features, his dark eyes almost staring unseeingly back at her. The doctor wouldn't tell her what was in the toxicology report, but it was obvious Nick was coming down from a bad high. Heroin was his drug of choice, but he was known to dabble. Ever since her dad had started dating Madison, trips to Nick's bedside had become a regular occurrence. It always began the same way; Nick would disappear for days at a time, only for a cop to turn up on the doorstep to inform them Nick had been found shooting up in some alleyway, or passed out in a crack den, stripped of everything from his common sense down to his shoes.

But this time, things were different, something had changed. This was the longest Nick had been away from home, driving Madison out of her mind with worry. It was like he'd disappeared off the face of the earth. The police could find no trace of him, the missing posters becoming ripped and torn as time passed, their ink running, distorting Nick's picture until it was unrecognizable, making him resemble a rotting corpse.

Wherever Lourdes went, she looked for him, searching for him the face of strangers. Despite the drugs, Nick was bizarrely non-threatening, with a gently melodious voice and distant dark eyes, cutting an eccentric figure with his romantically flowing shirts always open at the waist and home-cut hair. He gave the impression of always being lost, strangely childish, almost like he'd fallen from the pages of Peter Pan. He was as different from Alicia as night and day, Nick absentmindedly breaking the rules whilst Alicia rigidly upheld them. Lourdes felt oddly protective of him, even if he was the elder, her maternal attitude endlessly amusing Nick during his sober streaks, leading him to nickname her Mother Hen.

"Nick," one of the cops said, stepping in front of Lourdes, waving his hand in front of Nick's face, "you with us, buddy?"

Nick just smiled crookedly, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

The cops exchanged a look over Lourdes's dark head. "Okay," the first cop said slowly, "let's start again. You were taking a walk?"

"Yes," Nick said slowly, watching the old man in the next bed, his attention wandering once more.

"You were running, Nick," Lourdes interjected, her voice cracking, remembering all over again, ran into traffic with intent.

"I'm training for a marathon, Lo," Nick said, bestowing the ghost of a wink upon her.

"Barefoot, down Needle Alley?" the second cop said incredulously.

"Kenyans run barefoot," Nick said knowledgeably.

"You said someone got hurt," the first cop said, pulling out a small notebook, "remember that?"

Nick shrugged his shoulders, Lourdes half turning away from him, his forced flippancy getting on her last nerve. He didn't seem to realise how close he was to dying every time he OD'd, walking the knife-edge every time, the darkness waiting below.

"You spoke about blood, guts and viscera," the first cop continued, reading his handwritten list of notes like a litany. "Ring a bell?"

Lourdes glanced sharply at Nick, just in time to see a shadow pass over his face, the same shadow that had touched her last night. Then it was gone, as if it never existed, Nick smiling again, that vague quirk of his lips that annoyed Lourdes so. "Runner's high, man," he drawled, winking at Lourdes again.

But she just shook her head at him, tired of his evasion, the games he always played, trying to stay one step ahead when he was really several steps behind. This time he had gone too far, crossing a line he'd never dared to before. She'd never seen him sink this low, his bloodshot gaze darting restlessly around the room, restraints pinioning his long limbs to the bed.