Desolation by Derek Landy Page A

falling into some delusion where you can no longer separate reality from fiction? Do you think we’re in an episode of the show right now?”
    “If we were, you’d be Ernesto Insidio, evil mastermind, and I’d have to punch you again.”
    Javier let a slow smile creep on to his face. “I think you might be nuts.”
    “I really don’t care.”
    “I actually think you might be losing your marbles. Do you know your own name? Tell me, are you Virgil Abernathy, washed-up television actor, or the Shroud, crime-fighting hero?”
    Virgil looked at him, and shrugged. “I can’t be both?”

 
    A MBER’S HANDS WERE GETTING better. They were still stiff, still discoloured, but the throb had reduced to almost nothing, and she could actually move her fingers now. She tested them on the walk from Main Street to the Dowall Motel, wriggling them a little in their bandages. The iPad was in the bag on her back and it bounced with every step she took. She was walking fast. After a day spent in her human form, she was ready to crawl out of her own skin.
    She passed a park where little kids played on jungle gyms and swing sets while their parents looked on. The afternoon had turned to early evening, but it was still bright, still way too bright, and it was cold and getting colder, and they were all wrapped up in thick coats. Amber barely felt it. She started up the hill, keeping her eyes on the motel at the top. She envisioned herself walking into her room and stripping off her clothes and shifting, and had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.
    A car pulled up alongside her, its window down.
    “Hello there!” the driver said brightly.
    Amber frowned at him and kept walking.
    He was fat and balding, unexceptional, but his smile was intense in its friendliness. “I was wondering if you could tell me where Daggett Road is …?”
    “I’m not from around here,” Amber said.
    “What was that?” the driver asked, keeping pace.
    “ I’m not from around here, ” she repeated, louder.
    He shook his head. “Sorry, still can’t hear you.” He pulled in ahead of her and Amber stopped walking. He got out, holding a map. He wore a bowling shirt that did nothing to hide his bulk.
    “I’m not from around here,” Amber told him again.
    “I’m just looking for Daggett Road,” he explained, coming closer.
    “I can’t help you,” said Amber. “I don’t live here, I’m not from here.”
    “But look,” the man said, holding out the map. “I know where it is, I just don’t know where I am.”
    Amber started to back up. “I can’t help you.”
    “I won’t take up much of your time,” said the man. “I’m just trying to get to Daggett Road.”
    “Please stay back.”
    “Why?” the man asked, a wounded expression on his face. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m just asking for directions. Are you scared? Why are you scared? I’m just asking for directions.”
    “And I told you I can’t help you.”
    “But you haven’t even tried.”
    “I’m not from the area.”
    “I just want to find Daggett Road. Can you show me where we are on this map?”
    “I don’t know where we are.”
    “Of course you do,” the man said, and chuckled.
    “Sir, I don’t know the name of the road we’re on, I don’t know how to find it on a map, and I don’t know where Daggett Road is. There’s a bunch of people down in the playground you could ask.”
    “What playground?”
    “You just passed it.”
    “Yeah?” he said, and looked around. “Didn’t notice it. Maybe you could help me find the playground on the map?”
    He stepped towards her and she held up a hand. “Stop.”
    “Stop?”
    “Stop where you are.”
    He laughed. “This is America, young lady. Land of the free. You can’t tell me what to do. If I want to walk, I walk.”
    He took another step, and another, matching her backwards steps.
    She snarled. “Sir, if you take one more goddamn step, you’re going to regret it.”
    “Yeah?” said the man, and then