Chapter Twenty-Six
Every time, the dream was the same. He was six years old again. He looked up to see the twisted olive branches weaving into each other, creating a latticed arch that broke the crystal-blue sky into slivers. It was the longer way home from school but Damien liked it better than the gloomy alleyways. He was knee-high in soft emerald grass, his schoolbag slung over his right shoulder. A breeze tickled the grass. It reminded him of the way the fur moved on the back of his dog, Primo, when he shivered at the back door, wanting to be let inside. The shivering was just for show, but if no one was looking Damien would let him inside anyway.
He heard voices not far behind him. They sounded about his age. He recognized one of the voices as Ernesto’s. It wasn’t surprising: the ol
