My eyes flew open to the off-white tiles of a hospital room ceiling. My body ached and the pounding in my head was an incessant drumming noise like a madman's heartbeat. Beyond the drumming and pain, a machine beeped steadily. Tubes fed into IV bags, cables fed into machines tracking my vitals, and someone snored. I turned over on my side, a slow and excruciating process, and received a shock. Kena dozed in a chair beside the window, head thrown back and a book clutched in her ringed hands.

I hadn't seen her in more than six years, but she looked much as I remembered. Long beautiful sisterlocks, full lips and carob skin. She might have aged slightly, but it only added to her beauty. The longer I studied her sleeping face, the more images of our good times filtered in. A morning at the beach after we'd dropped Maleek off at school. Road-trip to Connecticut to see her sister. Game night with our church friends... I shook my head. They were her church friends who completely forgot me when we separated.

The beeping of the machine played in opposition to the drumming in my head and the room swirled for a moment. I swallowed down the contents of my stomach, which must have been nothing because only acid scorched the back of my throat. I coughed, she stirred.

"Kena," I croaked.

Her head lulled down and her eyes blinked slowly. She was always slow to wake. Kena's eyes met mine and recognition dawned. She blinked again and her eyes widened.

"Mal?"

"Hey, beautiful."

"You're awake!" She jumped up and tossed the book in the chair. "I need to get the doctor."

She ran out the door and I had a few minutes to let it all sink in. What was I doing in a hospital? Why did I hurt so badly? Why did it feel like I'd forgotten something extremely important?

I tried but there were no answers in my head, just that drumming noise.

Kena returned with a short Middle Eastern man in a doctor's coat. Nose buried in a hospital chart, I couldn't see his face. Maleek came in behind him. Lightning rippled through me at the sight of my son. Tall, hard-faced, dignified. I tried to sit up and the bone deep pain took my breath away. The machines beeped and the drumming thundered.

"Mr. Baldwin, please take it easy. You are in no condition for any undue stress." The doctor spoke with a slow southern drawl.

"What happened?" I asked. It still hurt to speak, but the words came more easily.

"They found you in an alley, unconscious in your own blood and filth." Maleek's deep commanding voice reminded me of my late father's. "Your wallet was missing, but you had a business card from the local bar. I guess AA didn't work out."

The steel of his words felt ice cold.

"My sponsor died. I'd just come from his funeral."

"What a way to honor their memory." He shook his head.

"Maleek." Kena put her hand on his shoulder.

That hurt. Pierce would have understood, I know he would have... but Maleek shined a light on my shortcomings and a father never likes to be checked by his son.

"I was looking for comfort–" I tried to explain.

"At the bottom of a bottle?"

"Maleek!"

"No, mom. Alcoholism runs in the family so we have to be doubly vigilant. I've lost buddies overseas, but I know those are the times I need to be strong." He scoffed. "This is what happens when you let your guard down."

The whole time Maleek dressed me down, the doctor checked my vitals and recorded the readings on the machines with clinical detachment. He cleared his throat to get our attention.

"The swelling when you were brought in was consistent with the kind of catastrophic trauma caused by falling from a window or a car collision. X-rays found only a shin fracture and broken fingers in both hands. Now that the swelling has gone down, I'd like to run a few tests, but first can you tell us what happened to you?"

"I... I don't remember..."

Even as I said it, images raced through my mind. A teenage warrior queen. A deer on steroids. Blue women. Green women. Shit out of Lord of the Rings. Magic, warfare, fantastical creatures, rivers of blood. I saw a furry beast and it was me. I saw a beautiful one-eyed girl... and she was–

"Mr. Baldwin, please calm down."

The machines beeped a chaotic song, my head pounded. I heard the hospital room, but I saw a landscape of rolling forests and magical vistas.

"Doctor, what's happening to him?" Kena's voice, far away and full of concern.

"He's having a seizure."

"Jesus..." Maleek faded.

~

When I opened my eyes, the drumming in my head had dwindled down to a gentle tap at the back of my skull. The machines had resumed their monotempo. My body still ached and the blinds had been drawn up. In the evening sky, a few of the brightest stars fought against the light pollution to be seen. I remembered looking up at unfamiliar constellations in an old forest where strange stars blanketed the night sky. Kena was gone and Maleek sat in her chair, massaging his brow and typing on his smartphone.

He looked up and noticed me watching him. Tucking his phone away, Maleek glared.

"What are you doing to yourself?"

"I honestly don't know." I swallowed, trying to moisten my dry throat. "Some days are easier than others. My sponsor, my friend, Peirce, was a big help. He didn't judge me. He listened and he was there when times got hard."

"That has always been your problem. You let the judgement of other people control you. When publishers rejected your manuscripts, you moped–"

"I don't mope."

"You mope. When critics panned your blog, you quit. When mom said you were neglecting us, you grew even more distant." He shook his head. "The only reason you haven't found an excuse to walk away right now is because you can't. It's who you are... and you're too old to change."

"Fuck you..."

I saw Maleek smile for the first time in years.

"I've missed you, kid. How have you been?" I tried to sit up and needed his help. He grabbed a pair of pillows from the room closet and propped them up behind me. It hurt like hell but I no longer had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.

"I'm doing well. Just started a new job, and Kim and I are looking for a house. The kids are healthy and happy, and..." He frowned.

"Wait. And what?"

"Well, Sarah looks just like mom and Tobias looks like your old baby pictures."

"Wow... Am I going to get to meet them?" My pulse quickened and the tapping at the back of my skull grew more persistent.

"It's probably best if you don't." From his face I could tell I'd pressed too hard.

"Why–"

"I don't need you bringing your mess into their lives. You're a miserable man when at your best and a drunk at your worst. My family doesn't need that."

"I am your family, Maleek."

"Yeah." He stood up. "And look at us. I haven't seen you in four, maybe five years. I only came because Mom thought you might die. Shit, we both only came because you don't have anyone else to identify the body. If the bartender didn't recognize your coat... I have no idea how he had Mom's number, but if he hadn't..."

We lapsed into silence for a little while.

"Where did I go wrong, kid?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I really don't know."

"How do we fix it?"

He smiled for the second time, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I don't think we can."

The pain was like a blade in the side.

"I'm sorry, Maleek. For everything. I'm truly sorry–"

"My flight leaves in a couple hours. I'm glad you didn't get yourself killed." He stood and shrugged on his coat. "You need to pull your shit together. I've been back and forth for three weeks. The next time I receive a call like this, I won't come running."

I stared out at the stars.

"I love you, son."

"Goodbye, father."

He left and didn't see the tears rolling down my face. I sat like that for what felt like a long time. Clouds moved in and left, sirens blared and the world continued to turn with no regard for my story or my pain. I thought about Pierce, alone in a pine box. He was remembered and loved. His parents loved him, his daughter loved him, I loved him. If I died that night, my son wouldn't even care.

I was still crying when Kena came in with her husband Jack. They were glad I was okay, but had to go. He said he'd check up on me for her, but I read beneath the lines. She'd spent enough of their time worrying about her ex-husband. They wished me well and left without much preamble. He squeezed my shoulder, she gave me a half-ass smile.

I tossed the extra pillows on the floor and tried to sleep, but my mind raced. I wanted a drink so bad I could taste the burning sting of the alcohol on my tongue. I wanted to drown my sorrow and pain. What I really wanted was someone to talk to. I had so much to say. Some of it good, some of it terrible. But all of it was bottled up inside, eating away at me. As I'd done far too often, I laid awake until the sky began to brighten.

On a whim, I got out of bed. The pain was excruciating, but if I had to watch the sun come out on a new day. I'd go insane. Once I was standing, I intended to lower the blinds, but before I realized it I was hobbling down the hall, using my IV stand as a crutch. The elevator doors were already closing by the time the nurse at the desk looked up from her book.

I went down to the basement and followed the signs down the cold hall to the morgue. The sounds of my makeshift crutch echoed along the corridor. As I reached the door marking my destination, a tired voice called out to me.

"You shouldn't be down here, sir. This is no place for the living."

I looked back, half expecting to see a diamond-skinned reaper in a black shroud. What I found was an old man with bulging crossed eyes and an asymmetrical grin on his face.

"I've always wanted to say that. Just fucking with ya." The closer he got, the stronger the smell of hand sanitizer and asparagus. "But really, you shouldn't be here. The only patients who come this far down, rarely go back up."

One eye met mine, but the other quivered as it stared off down the hallway.

"I want to see the other dead men."

Raising an eyebrow, he gestured at the word stenciled above the double doors.

"You've come to the right place. You terminal or something, buddy?" He gave me a quick once-over.

"Something like that."

He helped my push through the surprisingly heavy doors.

"They're heavy so the corpses have a harder time getting out," he chuckled. When I didn't laugh, he shrugged and wandered off.

The cadaver slabs were empty and everything looked freshly wiped down. Steel gleamed with an antiseptic detachment. Thirty cabinets lined the walls, thirty beds, thirty cold drawers where I could fade away. I laughed at the morbid musings buzzing around in my head. I caught my reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall and shuffled over.

Swollen, pathetic, inconsequential. I didn't want to see the man staring back at me. He reminded me of all my mistakes, all of my missteps, and everything beyond my control that ever happened to me.

"Damn you."

The mirror surface cracked, webbing into a dozen facets. From their depths, faces stared back at me. Faces that weren't my own.

Marina, the teenage royal.

Florin, the mender.

Lowell, the thief.

Shekel, the diplomat.

Cornelius Grey, the nobleman.

Goldie, the feral child.

And Aurora... the one-eyed girl.

Each face was contorted by despair, my name on their lips. They needed Malachi, The Stag Knight. I wasn't him, yet part of that hero lived inside of me. Standing in a room dedicated to death, I realized I wanted to live. As long as I was needed, as long as I was useful, my life still had purpose.

The tapping headache drummed again, rattling my head and shaking the cabinet doors. Confused, I turned and watched one of the drawers slide open. Green light spilled into the room, accompanied by a refreshing breeze. Verdant leaves wafted into the air on swirling winds.

Limping across the room, my heart swelled looking down at a portal of eldritch green light.

"Let's try this again," I croaked.

Word Count: 2099

Total Words: 23656