
A few hours later he has forgotten who he is, and how he got there. All that is left is a deep, encompassing fire. It is angry. So is the child. So is the doctor who sits by his bedside, the only one there who had tried.
Something in the storm broke. Between flashes of faces that he had clung to for dear life, there is the grey, foaming shore of a seaside town. It felt different, unlike anything else he had felt before. There are things in the air he is alien to. The degree of the salt is less, the chill is much colder. It digs into ever nerve. The sky is crystal grey. He had never seen a grey quite so pure.
All the burning had fled, his mind felt bent and stretched to near capacity. Whatever pain he had felt has concentrated up into his head, face pressed into wet sand, ears filled with water and roaring as the rough waves broke, the fingertips of the edge feel at the wet clothes that are metal-tight to his body.
Rushed and intense murmuring caught his attention. As he lifted his head up as much as he could, he saw the strobe flashing of a police car, on the road elevated above the sand. The mental capacity to be confused isn't something he possesed. So he continued to look up at the strange couple, who had pulled him away from the seas edge. They turned to face an approaching figure, who to Isaiah was nothing but a blonde and blue blur.