Four Plus Four Chapter One

“This way, please.”
The woman, outfitted in a long, white lab coat, gestured for the three boys to follow her. They walked in silence down the silent corridor, avoiding eye contact with each other. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Damien found himself reminded of school, following a teacher to the headteacher's office after getting into trouble. But here the woman leading them gave them only looks of sympathy and the sounds of children were absent.
They were led through a small door at the end of the corridor, the shorter boys behind Damien, and down a flight of stairs. The woman stopped outside yet another identical door and turned to them.
“Here it is. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Damien looked over his shoulder at the others, then nodded. They didn't really have a choice. No one else would do it.
The woman sighed and pushed the door open, revealing a dim room. Damien frowned as he saw a large television screen in the centre.
He braced himself and stepped inside, followed by the other two with similar enthusiasm. They stood in near darkness for what felt like years, each preparing himself for the worst.
But when the television screen flickered and turned on, none could stifle a gasp of horror at the photograph shown on screen.
“Oh.”
“It's....”
“What is that?”
A sigh. “It's Phil.”
“Y-you're kidding... right?”
“No. That's definitely him.”
“Oh my g-” The sounds of retching.
“Hey, Richard. Help Simon out, okay?”
“Nnn.”
“Go on.”
“Sure, Damien, sure.”
The shorter, broader boy with dull brown hair shuffled over to the hunched form of his friend and grabbed hold of his shoulders. The other remained where he was, staring with a mixture of shock and confusion at the photo of their former friend.
“Jeez, Phil. What happened to you?” Damien kneaded his eyes with his fingers. He could see the kid as he was before: running, climbing, leaping over the stream. Smiling all the time.
A face that messed up couldn't smile anymore.
A car accident, they said. Couldn't reach him. He was thrown off the motorway. Couldn't find the body until... the explosion told them where he was.
“Jeez, Phil.” Damien muttered again.
“Can we go now?” Simon asked, his eyes fixed on the ground. “I want to go home.”
“Yeah.” Richard agreed. “No point in us staying here.”
“Okay. Just... give me a minute.”
Identify the body. That was all they asked.
“Come on, Damien. Please?” Simon whined, clutching his stomach.
“Shut up. Just one minute.” Damien snapped. His head ached.
They didn't even have to see the actual body, just a photo. Oh god. That was enough. Damien thought he could smell the burning flesh, the cooked hair. Oh god.
“Yeah. Let's go.”
Damien spun on his heel, turning his back on the photo. His friend. Gone.
Simon and Richard followed him out gratefully, Simon still crooked. They walked in silence down the long, white corridor. It smelt of bleach. Damien's head just wouldn't stop aching. The photo – the blood pooled on the ground, the mouth open in a scream – was embedded in his retinas. Every blink, there it was.
If they had gone with him, with Phil, when he asked, who would have identified their bodies? Their parents? Damien almost laughed. No way. There was no way would they be interested in doing their 'duty' like that. There wasn't even a pay out from life insurance if you died off the motorway. Phil was nothing now, not even a figure for collisions. Nothing. Gone.

Damien leaned his elbows on his pale desk, a book flipped open. He held a small, grey device to his ear. The newest phone. Only the best.
“I'm home. Yeah, James. Don't worry, the road's empty.” He muttered. The voice nagged at him, his headache was getting worse. “Yeah. Yeah. I understand. I'll be there soon. I'm fine. Yeah. Bye.” He hung up and dropped the tiny square of metal on the desk.
They already wanted a piece of him. The goddamn media. Sure, it was a good story, he couldn't deny that. Millionaire's child loses friend in tragic car accident. A tear-jerker for sure.
But he would have to pay them off to leave out the 'millionaire' bit. It was too much of a risk.
With a sigh of one twice his age, Damien rose and pulled a dark jacket over his suit. It was raining outside. Torrents of water ran down the window and splashed against the pavement far below.
Simon would call it pathetic fallacy, he thought as he pushed the security door open and flipped the alarm on. Weather reflecting mood.
He stepped outside and, before a drop of rain could touch his fine suit, an umbrella opened over him.
“Evening, sir.” A tall man greeted him.
“Any sign of those paparazzi yet, Clark?” Damien asked.
“No, sir. Is that all?”
“Mm.” Damien strode towards the large, black car that waited for him. The tall man followed with silent obedience.
As he slid into the back seat, Damien's stomach twisted. He felt sick. The image of Phil's body flashed across his vision again. The pounding in his head was getting worse.
“Where to, sir?” The driver asked as Clark walked around the car and took a seat in the front. Damien kneaded his brows, determined to wipe that image from his mind. “Sir?”
“Yes, yes. I heard you.” He snapped, then stopped himself. “Sorry. It's... been a hard day.”
“Of course, sir. Now, where do you want to go?” The silhouette of the driver responded.
Anywhere. “James's building.” He replied.
“Yes, sir.”
The car sped forward, gliding smoothly as if it flew. It would soon. Damien's parents had made a vow that, before he turned eighteen, they would have invented a foolproof hover car.
His birthday was only nine months away. He didn't know if he wanted them to succeed or not.
James's building – a block of flats – was only half an hour away and the rain had almost stopped when the car pulled up outside. Damien had been tense the whole journey, his hands clasping his knees and his teeth gritted. His headache was worse, now a near blinding pain that ran from his left temple to his neck. He could feel beads of perspiration on his brow.
“Here we are, sir.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem, sir.”
Damien, although used to it, thought he might strangle the driver if he called him 'sir' once more. He had only been the son of millionaires for five years, but already he was sick of it. All those people congratulating him for his parent's achievements. It was sickening. He wished his parents had never started inventing rubbish that people thought they needed. He missed their little house, second hand car and even the shouting of drunken youths at night. But most of all, he missed his school.
“Sir?”
Damien snapped out of his thoughts as he realised he hadn't yet left the car. “Oh, sorry.”
“Not at all. Please have a nice day, sir.”
With that, both car an driver vanished into the darkness. Damien stood, Clark still sheltering him with the umbrella, outside the building of steel, glass and light.
“Clark?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Have I ever asked you not to call me 'sir'?”
A pause. “Indeed. I apologise, s-” Clark stopped, then his grim face smiled. “I'm afraid I'm so used to addressing people by that title, I forget you preferences.”
Damien, despite the pain in his head, smiled back. “Don't worry. Anyway, let's get going. James is waiting for me.”
“Yes...” Clarke trailed off.
“Damien. Call me Damien, Clark.”
“Yes, Damien.”
“Good. Now, come on.” He hesitated. “And put that umbrella away.”
Damien walked ahead, leaving Clark to struggle with the stiff catch of the umbrella, and pushed the single bell to the side of the door.
Crackle. “Yes?” The voice drifted from the speaker.
Damien leaned in. “James?”
“Oh, Damien, it's you. You're late.”
Damien groaned. “Shut up and let me in already.”
“Whatever.”
A loud buzz, a click, and the door was open. Damien marched in, rubbing his temples. Why wouldn't the headache go?
White light engulfed him as he stepped from the dark lobby area into the hallway. James made a fortune renting flats. When his parents died, James had decided not to finish school. He just used their life insurance to buy the flats, refurbish them, and that was that.
Damien proceeded down the bright hallway, shielding his eyes with one gloved hand. When he reached the lift, he saw a woman hovering before it. Her dark brows were drawn together in a deep frown and she pushed the up button every so often.
As Damien approached, she stepped back and hugged her arms to herself. He raised an eyebrow. “Lift not working?”
She shook her head. “No. I don't think so.”
Damien frowned at the lift's closed steel doors. James should have told him if they were broken. He pushed the down button experimentally and flinched as the gears within shifted and the lift clunked down to meet them.
He looked at the woman in confusion. “Seems to be working just fine.”
She stared at him, lips slightly parted. “Oh.” She said at last.
'Oh' indeed. As the doors slid open, Damien stepped inside the small metal box. To his surprise, the woman remained standing in the hallway, a hand held up to her cheek.
“Uh, hey.” He ventured, after a moment. “Aren't you going up?”
“Oh.” The woman repeated, and stared at her feet. “No.”
“But... Weren't you waiting for the lift?”
“Yes.”
Damien wanted to shake her. Why wouldn't she give him a normal answer?
“Okay, listen.” He growled. “I'm going up. I'm late for meeting a friend. I'm not waiting for you. So either get in right now, or I'm leaving you here, got it?”
The woman's expression didn't change, but she stepped slowly into the lift. Damien jabbed the sixth floor button so hard it made his eyes water, and crossed his arms.
“Ah, you're going to the top floor?” The woman asked.
“Mm.” Damien mumbled.
“I see. So, you know James too?”
'Too'? “Are you meeting him now?”
She looked at her hands, clutched before her. “Yes.”
“Oh, really? Interesting.”
“Why is it interesting?” She asked. Her eyes widened in confusion. “It's not at all interesting.”
“Jeez, whatever.” Damien grunted and turned away. How long was the lift going to take? Talking to this woman was like talking to a small child.
The doors slid open at last and Damien shuffled out, a dark cloud hanging over him. The hallway was silent up here too. Where had all the tenants gone? He stepped to the right, the direction of James's private flat, but hesitated when he hear no sound from the lift.
Turning, he saw the woman standing there, pale and still, inside the lift.
“Aren't you coming?”
She smiled a little and brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. “No. Not yet. I'll... see you later.”
The doors slid shut. Damien blinked once, then shrugged and strode down the hallway. He wouldn't worry himself over the strange encounter. He would ask James about it. That was, if James was in the mood for talking.