Sometimes, silence is absolute. That night, Guy found silence for the first time. He had been beaten and battered to a point where he could hardly move, he had fallen to a depth of emotional pain he had never experienced, he had embraced his father, had had Gina sit alone with him on his bed for the first time and tell him her own story, and now he sat flat on the floor, his legs crossed, eyes closed, listening. He was listening to the very pit of himself, the absolute deepest energy he held. Were he able to sleep he would have passed out hours ago. Now, at half past four in the morning, he was beyond sleep, he was beyond consciousness, he was adrift in an infinite world behind closed eyes.
Somewhere amongst the fields of blackness he felt a breeze on his face and in his hair. It was as the purest breath of life. It washed over his body, cooling him. A light rose in his eyes. It was the whitest light he had ever seen. He sank into it. It embraced him like water. Then a pulse struck him and he felt alive; alive to the world beneath the illusion of day to day life. It was then that his purpose hit him. It had always been there. It was the purpose that had carried him to that day, only he had never seen it. He had to find the truth, his own personal truth. He had to find out what had happened to his mother.
His eyes flicked open to a new world. Suddenly, he was in control. No longer was he at the mercy of the elements. He had power; the power of awareness. Somewhere out there lay the missing pieces of his mother’s story and he would not rest until he put them together. From now on, he realised, he could only rest in the light of the truth. He eyed the clock. It was half past four. What difference did that make? No matter what the time, his mission was the same. No matter what the time, the truth of his mother’s story lay out there, and he was going to find it. He forced himself to rise to his feet, despite the ache all through his body. He ignored it. The urgency of his need to find the truth numbed the pain. He was aware of it, but he could work through it. He picked up a hoodie that he had left strewn on the floor. He didn’t check if it was clean; it probably wasn’t, but he didn’t care. It was a wrestle to put it on as he couldn’t bend his back over properly, but one arm at a time he forced himself in. Thankfully the hoodie was long enough to cover his wrist and baggy enough to leave room for the bandages. His face was another matter. His father had washed it as best he could, but it wasn’t like he could hide the damage, he would just have to cover it as best he could with the hood of his top. He closed his eyes for a moment, felt the change inside him, the sense of knowing that the time to act had arrived. He mouthed a prayer in silence to his mother and slowly but surely marched out of the room.