“That way.”
“Are you sure?”
“The man with no eyes went that way.”
I drag my knuckles across my eyes – it burns to keep them open. I don’t remember feeling so tired – wonder what happened to the days when I faced the world secure in my own immortality. I used to follow a case for days, get by on nothing but caffeine and grunt determination. They called me a blood hound, called me a falcon, called me a demon with the hands of a priest. I’m too old for this shit.
I kneel in front of her, this little girl whose eyes make mine look young, who has seen centuries. She’s clutching a ragged brown teddy bear under one arm. It’s wearing a little red shirt, like Winne the Pooh. My daughter had one just like it. I remember setting it in the crib beside her, before she was old enough to look at me with disappointment in her eyes. Though maybe it didn’t wear a shirt. Maybe it was a giraffe and not a bear at all – I’m too old for this shit.
“You need to go now, honey,” I say.
“I must bear witness,” she reminds, but the face of a child shouldn’t see everything she does, and whoever put her in a body like that had one warped sense of humour.
“Don’t get in the way,” I grumble, and our steps sync up as she follows down the cobbled street. My tie is too tight – hate wearing them. You’d think most of a century of life would have earned me the right to wear nothing but house robes, but I can’t help but put the uniform on when I get a call like this. A call – haven’t gotten one in years. Younger, better man have taken my place, and more credit to them. But no one was here but me and the Witness, and times are hard for most everyone. A man like me doesn’t retire – he just slowly fades to black.
“He went that way,” she says again, her eyes following signs only we can see. I don’t need her guiding me, but it makes her feel useful and I don’t mind so much. The poison’s in the air like oil now, though, and I could follow it with my eyes closed. Well, one eye closed – I’m not as young as I used to be.
She really does look like Sandy. She has kids of her own now, invited me to Christmas once out of guilt, and I felt like I had a family for the first time in twenty years, but once the dishes were cleared and the presents opened it was so long and thanks for coming, and the phone calls dried up after a month or so.
There’s a shadow at the back of the alley. “There,” the Witness says, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. She knows damn well I can see it, knows I might be old but the power still vibrates through my wrinkled shaking hands, and I know I might be old, but I am enough.
“Let’s do this,” I say, and there’s still a twinkle in my eye, and I don’t feel so old after all.
Image courtesy of Stuart Thursby. Stuart is an art director and photographer, currently adventuring in the wilds of Germany, where this photo was taken. To see more of his work, or to check out his portfolio, please visit StuartThursby.com.