The Free Canary, grimy and crumbling and beautiful.
I see Kian and Sean on a clear summer’s day, chasing that awful dog of Sean’s through a field.
Everything’s so fucking clear. It only reinforces the truth that’s slowly starting to dawn on me.
I really am dying.
“Artem!”
My eyes fly open.
That’s not my imagination, is it?
Someone just called for Artem. And I know that voice. At least, I recognize it. There’s a name I associate with it, but it’s not popping into my head now. The pain is crowding it out, silencing it.
Fuck… what is her name?
I hear movement.
And then I see her.
Dark hair, beautiful features, slim figure.
Esme.
That’s it.
That’s her name.
She is Esme. He is Artem.
And I am Cillian O’Sullivan.
We’re not dead. Not yet.
I open my mouth and try to call out her name, but I can’t seem to remember how to speak.
At least my eyes are open, though. I can see that she’s managed to drive a vehicle through here.
What a fucking star. Artem certainly chose the right woman.
Or rather, fate chose her for him.
Either way, he isn’t fool enough to deny what he has been given in Esme Moreno.
I watch, nearly lifeless, as she somehow manages to get him to his feet. It’s painful to witness, because his weight is clearly too much for her to handle and he’s groaning with agony just like I am.
But she refuses to give up.
Artem is pushing himself forward in an attempt to help her. It’s obvious how much it’s costing him.
Neither one of them have so much as glanced in my direction. And even if they did, I doubt they’d notice me. Between the leaves and the ledge and the shadows of the night, I might as well be invisible.
Which basically translates to—I’m fucking screwed.
“Esme!”
I think I’ve managed to shout. But in reality, it’s barely more than a whisper.