The Elementals : The Dawn of Darkness

Chapter 12 - Prophetic visions? Sure. Nostradamus eat your heart out

I sat on the damp sand of the beach eating the most miserable plate of fish and chips I'd ever tasted. The fish was grey, the batter was slimy, and the chips were just pathetic. But I was hungry, so I wasn't really complaining, I'd have eaten it raw if push came to shove.

It was about an hour since I'd last seen Shadow and Sheira and in that time I'd spent about twenty minutes scrubbing myself clean under the mercifully hot water. I didn't realise how filthy I was until I physically had to unblock the drain with the handle of a toilet brush. Mud, dirt, grime, blood all flowed off me taking the soreness and stiffness in my muscles away with it. I also took the time to brush my teeth and clip my nails, because hygiene. My hair was a bit tragic but there was only so much I could do with that mess on a good day. Feeling suitably refreshed, I wandered downstairs, ran into the very nice landlady of the bed and breakfast who asked how I was feeling and then offered to wash my dirty clothes for me (I damn near kissed her for that), and told me the general direction that Shadow and Sheira had disappeared to.

I knew that the two of them were meeting me down at the pier and I wanted to give Sheira as much time as she needed to recover so I decided to take a walk along the promenade, the salty sea air waking me up like a seaweed scented slap to the face. My mind wandered to day trips to Brighton, eating rock and paddling in the steely grey waters with my brother and sister filled my thoughts. After we found them I was definitely going to take them away on a little holiday. Maybe not Brighton, somewhere with sand.

So long as there's light, there's hope.

Shadow's words span round my head like a broken record, repeating over and over again but I was also focusing on his sudden change of tune. We certainly didn't insult each other as much as we did before. He smiled briefly and seemed sad about Juliet, a girl he only knew through the Army. And as for that speech? Well I certainly wasn't expecting that to come out of his mouth to say the least. But up close, it sounded like something he would say. His eyes were looked old and tired, impossibly old. What had he seen? What had he done? What was he not telling us? What was his speck of light to keep fighting for?

My stomach growled unhappily as the Lucozade and Belvita biscuit wore off which lead me back to the current moment in time. Sat under a dingy pier, eating mediocre fish and chips as the tide crept out to sea. Flame lounged comfortably behind a sand pile which meant that he was obscured from any of the holiday makers who were meandering down the brown sand, swatting lazily at any seagull that came to close. He had almost eaten one, but I'd seen enough blood in the last week than I had in my entire previous life, so I rescued it from his jaws, gave it a chip, and sent it on its way a little battered (Unintentional pun).

This quiet moment on my own meant that my thoughts were allowed to wander freely, dredging up the events of the previous day. When left to its own devices your brain either calms itself down or goes into full scale mental breakdown mode. My brain had chosen to dump the latter on me. Josh's dead eyes stared into mine, judging me for every crime I had ever committed. His blood-soaked lips whispered the blame onto me. The cavernous wound gaped angrily. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. It felt like a hand was squeezing round my heart.

Oh wonderful. Now I'm having a panic attack.

I didn't used to have many attacks. I really didn't, but a combination of suddenly having to step into a father role for the kids, school and the goddamn estates we've had to live in meant that I now have one every other day. And they chose to pop up at the most inconvenient of moments, like now for instance.

I tried desperately to control my breathing, which was escaping me in short sharp gasps as my pulse began to race under my hands. Flame looked up, obviously worried as I employed the techniques that the school therapist had taught me. Breathe in for three, out for five, in for three, out for five. Flame pushed his head up against my chest, his own steady breathing blowing warm jets of air against my chest. It gave me something to focus on as my breathing steadily slowed. Without saying a word Flame lifted his head and gave me a friendly lick. It had the texture of wet sandpaper, but I was not complaining about having a friendly face to comfort me.