Chapter 32

Percival was with Jay and Odie, evaluating the damage to the portal device. There was nothing Herry could do to help, with the old man's distracted he couldn't help his eyes from wondering around the street. Had he managed to succeed in finding Opal? She hadn't been with Cronus. He glanced in the crevices of buildings, into the gloom of allies, dusk was not aiding in his casual search.

The world lifted off his shoulders when he spotted her head of blonde curls poking around the corner of a brick building, finally he was able to draw in a relaxed breath. A relieved smile morphed his face. She was safely away from Cronus.

His feet were already taking him towards her. He was just about to call her name when she glanced over. Her eyes went wide when they met his. She slipped away from the corner of the building and back into the dim of the ally, out of his sight. For a moment he was frozen, nothing moved, his heart, his feet, everything stopped. Why did she shy away like that? One second he was frozen and the very next he was running.

He stopped in the entrance of the ally, breathing heavily through his mouth. Opal was leaning against the white motorcycle, her arms wrapped around herself, gnawing on her lip as she cast her furrowed look at the ground. His footsteps were soft as he made his way to her, as if she were a mouse he might accidently startle off.

"Opal?" he asked in a whisper. He was close enough to touch her, but afraid to do so.

"It's all real," she told the cement ground, "That thing and you… you've done this before."

"I…" he stopped himself before he babbled, instead he simply said, "Yes."

She didn't say anything. She didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on her feet.

"Opal, I'm sorry," he reached out a hand for her shoulder, "I didn't want you to have to know."

She stiffened and leaned away, reaching up to brush his fingers off, "I need some time to work this out."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, rubbing his nose with his fingers, "I shouldn't have… this is all my fault."

"Herry please," he had never heard her more desperate or more firm. Her eyes flickered up to him for the first time, jamming his words in his throat. "Can I just be alone?" She phrased her comment as a question, but it was too forceful to be anything other than a statement.

He couldn't say anything. He just nodded once and turned, his feet numb as he walked. Percival cast him a judgmental look as the two passed one another, but it hardly registered in Herry's mind.

"Get on the bike," Percival said, picking up a helmet to pass to Opal. She gave a small nod, fixing the buckled of the helmet before she clambered onto the back of the bike. The engine came roaring on. Percival tore off from the ally once she was seated behind him.

She fought down the tears as they road, refusing to let them fall until she was home. The ride was fast, much quicker than usual with Percival weaving in and out of traffic with his small vehicle. They rumbled up to her house. Percival put his foot down to steady the bike and twisted around in his seat to look at her from over his shoulder. She took the cue and scrambled off.

Removing her helmet she asked, "Are you coming in?"

"No," he turned to face ahead down the road, his eyes sinking as he said, "I have to visit someone."

She nodded, placing the helmet back before she turned, jogging up the path to the house. Opal slammed the front door and leaned her back against the closed fixture. The tears overcame her in a wave. Everything that had happened had been so overwhelming, too much to take in during such a short time. She pressed her shaking fingers through her hair, forcing herself to take deep breaths.

"Chickadee, I thought you weren't going to be home till morning. Is everything alright with your friends?" her father called from the kitchen. Jumping strait she brushed away the moisture on her cheeks in a frantic. If her father saw her crying he would want to know why, he always did.

"Yeah dad," she said, her voice tight in her throat. She rushed for the stairs across from the landing before his footsteps reached the doorway.

"Opal," she could tell by the tone in his voice that he knew something was wrong. She managed to jump up the first two steps of stairs before John made it to the landing, "Opal, stop right there young lady."

She froze, looking up the steps to the second floor, her hand gripping the railing.

"Turn around," he said and she obeyed. He could always tell when she'd been crying no matter how hard she tried to cover it up, an empathetic coo etched into his voice, "Chickadee, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, flicking away a stray tear insistent to betray her.

"No one cries for nothing," he said, "What's wrong? Is it Herry, honey boys don't matter, they aren't worth crying over."

"Dad," she moaned, "why is that what you jump to first?"

"Well?" he raised an eyebrow, "Is that why?"

She huffed and kicked at the carpet on the steps, "Kind of."

"Chickadee," he rushed up the steps to pull her into a tight hug, "Don't cry, boys don't matter, they're assholes."

"Dad," she squirmed away from his embrace and backed up another step, "Herry's not an asshole. You don't understand."

"Then tell me," he pleaded, holding out his arms in pained confusion.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said and turned to run to her room.

"Opal," he called, taking a tentative step up the stairs.

"John," he was stopped by his wife's hand on his shoulder. He turned his worried eyes to her and she just shook her head.

"But –"

"Just let her be," Ophelia said, taking his hand to guide him back down the steps.

It had been seventeen years since he had been back to the city, since he had visited her. The path was grown over, no more than a little gravel pounded into the dirt. No one had been this way in years. Percival wished he had kept his helmet on. Its visor would have helped his way through the wildly growing tree branches. There was a time he would backpack up in this mountain, when he could freely walk down this path. Now his pace was slow as he navigated through the brush cast in the night's shadows.

It took longer than he had anticipated to work his way to his old camp. Coming past the last few prickling branches of a spruce he found nothing of the view had changed. The ocean spread out before him, the moon high in the clear night sky. He could hear the waves crashing against the cliff side hundreds of meters below.

The camp looked just as neglected as the path. What once had been a space of packed dirt in a grove of spruce trees was now a grassed meadow. The fire pit remained, a circle of carefully selected rocks set in a perfect circle. The log that had been rolled up for a seat was decaying away. Crawling with insects, the wood made soft from the weather.

Percival gathered up some branches and bark to start a fire in the grass covered pit. It didn't take long before he had it crackling up high. He unrolled his blue sleeping bag. He slipped in and leaned against the old log, the wood squishing under his weight.

This was where he and Oriole use to camp, it was their spot on the cliff side. He had never been one for visiting the dead at their grave. This was the closest he could get to her while he was still living, at this camp. He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for the velvet box there. The white of the fabric was tarnished with lint, fuzz clinging to its every surface, muddling it gray. He opened the box and was met with the lightning flashes in the creamy white of an opal stone. Opal had been her favourite, she would have loved this ring, but he hadn't been the man she wanted to spend her life with.

"Oriole," he sighed, "I'm so sorry." He had been studying the gem for decades. He knew each colour that was trapped inside, how it flashed in which light. Knowing something for so long didn't take away from its beauty, especially with the light of the fire dancing over its smooth surface. He sucked in a deep breath of cool mountain air and snapped the box closed. He clutched it in his hand while he stared into the fire, its flames mesmerizing. He sat until it burned down to embers, glowing red, and then he shifted down into his sleeping bag for the night. The radiant heat from the coals guided him to sleep.

Knock knock, knock knock knock. It was her father, only her father knocked in that pattern. Opal sighed as she placed her violin on her lap. She turned on her bed to face her door and called for her father to enter.

"Hey there Chickadee," he poked his head in, a small smile on his scruffy face, "How you doing?"

"Fine," she said, looking to her instrument in her hands.

"I thought maybe you wanted a partner to play some music with," he stepped inside, his guitar in hand. She loved his guitar with the salamander drawn on its stained wood with a sharpie. He took a seat on the bed beside her and began strumming out some cords. Her father wasn't exceptionally good at playing it. He had picked it up to impress his musical girlfriend back when he was first dating her mother. Opal was sure it was his effort and not his actual skill that impressed her mom.

She struck up her bow and composed a melody to accompany the rhythm of cords he was strumming. She appreciated her father's idea to use music to sneak his way into her room. She knew he would just keep playing with her until she could think of how she wanted to tell him her problems.

"Dad," she placed her violin back on her lap and said, "I yelled at him. The way he looked at me, I think I hurt his feelings."

"Boys are stupid Chickadee, he probably deserved to get yelled at," John said, instantly taking his daughter's side over Herry's.

"No Dad," she said, frustration rubbing through on her voice, "I found out things about him he didn't want me to know. I just needed to be alone and he wasn't leaving me alone."

"If you're going to be in a relationship with someone, you're going to find out about all their secrets eventually," he said, "If you need time to think about them that's fine, you have every right to be alone. Herry's going to have to trust that you like him enough to accept his secrets. Chickadee, it sounds like he's afraid of losing you."

She nodded, keeping her eyes on her instrument as she whispered, "Yeah."

"Are you going to talk to him tomorrow?"

"Ugh," she groaned and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, "I don't want to see him tomorrow. I was so mean to him, I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be embarrassed," he reached out a hand to rub her back, "Everyone gets frustrated sometimes and loses their cool. Just talk to him, apologize if you feel you need to, he'll understand."

"Mmm," she nodded, plucking at the violin strings with her finger tips.

"Tell you what," John said, getting to his feet, "Let's go out for ice cream tomorrow once I finish work. That will make you feel better."

"Kay," she smiled up at him, setting her violin aside so she could get to her feet and give him a hug. Once she could calm down enough to talk to her father he always ended up giving her good advice. She wrapped her arms around his neck tight and whispered in his ear, "Thank you Dad, I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes."

"No problem Chickadee, it's what I'm here for," he said, returning her embrace, "I just want to see you happy."