Whispers of Nowhere

Chapter Seven: Part Two

Phenex wandered around the deserted streets, only vaguely aware of where he was going, his footfalls echoing softly as he turned off one main street and onto a suburban boulevard. He estimated that it was sometime after midnight, probably closer to dawn. Maybe three or four in the morning, well before the sun would make its ascent into the sky.

Either way, it didn't matter; nothing did. Not the fact that it was particularly cold for the month of May in Southern Ontario, or that the wind had steadily been picking up since he'd arrived half an hour ago. He hadn't even noticed that it had begun to rain until it had turned into a downpour, soaking him through within a matter of minutes. He felt the cold, and yet he was physically removed from it—as if it wasn't really him walking along the faintly-lit streets with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shuddering whenever a droplet of ice-cold water trickled down the back of his neck.

Some distant part of his mind took notice of the manicured lawns on either side of the boulevard, of the neatly-trimmed boxwood hedges running parallel with the sidewalks, of the coloured solar lights and lawn ornaments scattered throughout the lavish gardens of tulips, pansies, and marigolds. But his mind was elsewhere, in a place of vibrant colour and crystalline walkways. A place of gods and near-immortals alike, filled with the pleasant memories of his youth; far removed from the cold, dreary greyness currently surrounding him.

As he made his way down the very centre of the road, his gaze flitted from the ranch-style house on the far corner with its faded, powder blue siding and wooden swing set in the front yard, to the rose-bricked bungalow next to it on the adjoining street, the lattice trellis along the eastern wall laden with fragrant wisteria blossoms. There was a massive ash tree on the property line between the two houses, probably three-hundred years or older. Phenex might have stopped to marvel at its beauty, but the feelings nature often invoked in him were as absent as the self-control that might have otherwise spared him from his current misery.

All he could think about was how callously he had treated Forneus—Forneus, out of all of the beings he had ever known across the realms, his oldest and dearest friend—the moment his own selfish desires had called to him. The one he could always count on to watch his back, to listen to him and spar with him when he needed to blow off steam. The one who always knew just how to make him laugh when he needed to be pulled out of one of his moods. And like the hot-headed idiot that he was, Phenex had let his temper get the better of him, casting Forneus aside like yesterday's newspaper.

If Forneus never forgave him, it would be exactly what he deserved. And yet, Phenex couldn't help hoping that, in spite of the terrible way he'd treated him, Forneus would welcome him back with open arms. That somehow, all would be forgiven and forgotten; that they could go back to the way things were before the artifacts had been lost, before Gwen—before Forneus had been appointed guardian to begin with. Return to a time when it had been just the two of them, sharing a private joke at the expense of their fellow operatives, whom they had gone such lengths to—and had taken great pleasure in—annoying with their mischievous tendencies.

But you can never go back. At some point without realizing it, Phenex had stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the road for what felt like an eternity, rain cascading down his face as he tilted his head back to stare at the ominous storm clouds high above him; their heavy, swollen forms promising that the storm was far from over. Heaving a sigh, he glanced around, noticing that he had wandered onto yet another street, this one ending in a cul-de-sac.

The pavement gleamed beneath the streetlights, everything bathed in brilliant white instead of the soft, orange glow of the lights he'd seen in Gwen's neighbourhood. The construction of the houses here seemed newer too, and when he turned to his left, it was to see a grey and white real-estate trailer sitting just beyond the mesh fence marking where the next house would be, the light from the street reflecting off of the trailer's rain-spattered windows. The more he looked around, the less he liked what he saw. This area was still too underdeveloped, which on its own wouldn't have bothered him if the lack of civilization had been filled with forestry and wildlife instead. But it wasn't. The land had been cleared for the sole purpose of creating human dwellings, leaving the landscape rather barren. At least Gwen's neighbourhood had been—