Taking in the perverse pantomime before him, Mitch shook his head. “You’re a bloody mess, Muzza. How does your missus put up with you?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Murray shot back. “It was here or the caravan park. Figured I’d bask in the greatness of a former Australian international for a bit.”

Damien winced at “former”. It was true, but it still hurt to realise those days were behind him. This was, for better or worse, his life now.

Well, aside from the life in which you exist in a parallel fantasy world in which you’re Fred the Fighter.

Except that.

Mitch turned serious. “Sorry to bother you, mate, but I’ve got to ask a couple of questions. You’re not in trouble or anything, but got to do our due diligence, yeah?”

Damien nodded. “Of course, mate. Ask away, although my memory of things is a bit dicey.”

The initial questions were all fairly standard: what had he been doing before the incident, what did he remember of the incident, and so on. Damien answered as honestly as he could without mentioning any magical journeys to another realm, which meant lying that he had no memory of being hit with the arrow.

He was starting to feel like he had control of things when Mitch’s next question threw him for a loop.

“And why were you camping on Mr. Norris’ property?”

“Camping?”

“We found a small campsite not far from where you were found. Present at the site were a swag, billy, cookpot, blanket, wooden spoon, a cooking knife, disposable cutlery, two bowls, two tin cups, and the remains of a fire.”

“I wasn’t camping,” Damien said, pleased he didn’t have to lie. “That’s not my campsite.”

Mitch scribbled something down in his notepad and nodded. “I thought so. It seems whoever shot you may have been squatting on the farm. I know you don’t remember what led up to the incident, but are you sure you didn’t see anybody prior to the attack?”

Damien shook his head.

“Why would some nutjob in the middle of nowhere have two of everything at his campsite?” Murray asked incredulously. “Saving a spot for his dark half?”

“Or meeting somebody,” Mitch said, his gaze drifting meaningfully towards Damien. “Are you sure you weren’t out there to meet somebody?”

“I have no memory at all of how I got out there,” Damien said, again being truthful. “But maybe I was out there to meet somebody. Why else would I have been out in the middle of nowhere on my own?”

“Interesting,” Mitch observed, scribbling something else into his notebook. His fingernails were chewed short and dirty, his knuckles scabbing over from some past altercation. Damien experienced a moment of clarity in which he recalled with detached amusement that this police officer standing before him was the same annoying kid who had pestered him to play The Sims with him all those years ago.

Time flies.

“I’ve spoken with a mister,” Mitch paused to check his notes, “Graves. He says you were involved in a minor accident on Friday evening. While he seemed frustrated you did not stick around to exchange insurance details, he expressed to us that your concern for your friend’s shop should be taken into account as an extenuating circumstance. I should remind you that under New South Wales law, it is a crime to leave the scene of an accident before a full report is filed.”

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He spoke all of this like an automaton but softened his tone somewhat for the next bit. “Come on, mate. You know better than that. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“Whoa!” Murray exclaimed in mock horror. “Is that any way for a member of our local law enforcement to speak to a civilian?”

Mitch offered Murray a one-fingered salute. “Sit on this and spin, mate.”

Murray nudged Damien. “These pigs, mate. They’re getting fucking bold.”

The three of them enjoyed a tension-relieving laugh. The formalities of the inquiry were done, and, after all, Damien was the victim, even if he wasn’t being honest about the circumstances leading up to the incident.

He was a tad concerned that Matthias had evidently kept the model inn. If the stranger’s theory was correct, Damien always reappeared near the inn model, which meant Matthias had stuck around until Damien’s miraculous reappearance. Only then had he left with the model, leaving Damien to be found by Mr. Norris later.

That’s cold-blooded, Damien thought. I could have died for all he knew. Why return the model, then? He had it.

(Them)

He had the models - models he seemed quite curious about - but he’d returned them all the same.

The clicking of Murray’s fingers in front of his face drew him out of his introspection.

“Earth to Damo,” he teased. “Anybody home?”

“Sorry, still feeling a bit out of it.”

Mitch gave a conciliatory nod. “No doubt, mate. We’re almost done here. So, you were involved in an accident with Mr. Graves and ran on foot to 55 Turner Street, where several eyewitnesses report seeing you involved in a verbal altercation with three individuals - Benji Owens, Drew Owens, and Rohan McAllister. The three of them looked pretty rough when I spoke to them. Your handiwork?”

Damien nodded. No sense in introducing the mystery man to complicate his story.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Murray marvelled. “You beat the shit out of these three wet farts?”

Even Mitch seemed impressed, although that was probably against police policy.

“The three of them declined to provide an account of their altercation with you, although the nature of their injuries seemed to indicate a physical encounter took place. You don’t remember anything after that?”

Damien shook his head. “Sorry, mate. I wish I did.”

Mitch continued. “So, at some point between approximately 6 pm on Friday evening and 7 am on Saturday morning, when you were found unconscious and wounded by Mr Norris, you managed to travel thirteen kilometres out of town, at which point you were attacked by one or more assailants, one of whom used a deadly weapon to injure you severely.”

“That sounds about right.”

Mitch shook his head. “Bloody crazy, mate. This town has gone to shit, I’ll tell you. The number of DVs I get called out on is just ridiculous, and if I never have to tackle a dickhead out of his mind on ice again, I’ll die a happy man. You know they’ve got security cameras up at the high school now? Security cameras! The world is utterly fucked, my friends. Just completely fucked.”

“Don’t whinge to us, mate,” Murray joked, although he did so with some kindness in his voice. “You’re the fuckin’ copper. You sort it out.”

Mitch sighed, sitting down at the foot of Damien’s bed and shaking his head again. “It’s a shit bloody job, mate. Nothing you do seems to make a difference, and everybody out there hates you for it. You arrest a guy, and he’s back out the next day, but rather than blame the fucking judges, they spit at us and call us pigs.”

“Cry me a river, you big sook.”

Murray’s words were harsh, but he had stood up and put a hand on Mitch’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring pat.

A hiss of static and a muffled voice put paid to the conversation. “Code 25,” the tinny voice said. Mitch let out a long-suffering sigh and stood up. “It never ends,” he said, stepping out of the room.

“Now that the fuzz is gone,” Murray whispered conspiratorially. “You gonna tell me what happened? So, you’re not banging the guy. What is he? Your drug dealer? Did ya get a taste for peptides in the big city?”

“I’m telling you, the guy is a friend of Sam’s. You’d be better off asking him.”

Mitch came back into the room, his face pale.

“Jesus,” Murray teased. “What happened? Did the doughnut shop burn down, too?”

“It’s Sam,” Mitch muttered. “He’s dead. Suicide.”

That shut Murray up. Shut them all up, to be honest. Just three grown men, sitting in a hospital room unsure of what to say or what to do.