No sound, nothing. How many times have I done this same sort of thing with Dad, searching for him in the dark? ‘Damon, are you here?’ I jump down. In the dimness I see the same candle stub still burnt to the same level, the old lamp where I left it. I guess my theory was wrong about Damon being here. It’s obvious no one’s been here since this morning. That means Dad’s sketch isn’t here either. I slide down the wall and sit on the cold floor, pull my coat tighter around me. I’m empty now, used up. Damon’s got the sketch and he’s skipped town with it. He just hasn’t told his mates, that’s all. I lean my head against the wall. I could sleep like this, I could dream. Maybe, in another life, I’d be waiting for Damon to come find me here and it wouldn’t be for any reason to do with death or pain. In that life Ashlee wouldn’t be dead, and my dad wouldn’t be in prison. Damon and me would talk for hours, we’d keep the hatch open and look up at the moon and stars.
