In Upper Manhattan, unaware that he was a hot topic of discussion just a few blocks south, Rodgers was closing out his final table at Henderson’s Bar and Grill. It was a dimly lit place, musty smelling, and always looked like there was smoke in the air even though smoking wasn’t permitted inside. The bar was to the front of the place while worn red booths lined the center of the restaurant with two aisles. A stage that was never used sat at the farthest wall, the place never seeing enough customers to warrant a show.

  One by one, Rodgers’ slender hands gathered the plates into his worn bucket before carrying them to the back.

  The bucket landed with a thump on the counter before Henderson, the chef and owner, spoke from the sink. “Sorry you had to miss your family dinner.”

  “I doubt I was missed.” Rodgers untied his apron, hanging it up on the hook by the back door. From when he first returned to now, it appeared as if he only lost weight. His hair sat messy on his head, sticking straight out in some directions, while those eyes that had originally saddened his brother only got worse. The bags under his eyes never left even when he got a good night's rest, which was rare.

  ”Yeah, well, still. I didn’t want to miss out on a customer and they looked like they would eat fast; it turned out I was wrong.” Henderson reasoned.

  It was no secret to them both that the place didn’t exactly have a waiting list. So, any customer that came in, Henderson didn’t ever pass up.

  Rodgers shrugged before leaning against the metal prep table just behind the sink. “They didn’t really want me there anyway. Last time I went, Winnie looked at me like some charity case the whole night.”

  A brow raised on Henderson’s face, “You’re not?”

  Rodgers stared blankly back at his friend before he crossed his arms. “You know what I mean.”

  Silence dipped into them, Henderson mostly expected him to get moving so that Rodgers could head on home. That, or do whatever it was that he did outside of this place. Henderson tried not to think about that bit of his life, though. He had seen the way Rodgers came into work some, if not most, days, and didn’t want to ask. Sometimes he got an explanation, but most days he didn’t.

  “Less leaning, more cleaning,” Henderson pressed when the boy didn’t move, flicking water at him. “I don’t know about you, but I want to go home.”

  Rodgers flinched away from the flick with a scowl. “Relax! I cleaned as I went today. It’ll only take a couple of minutes to close.”

  “Your clean and my clean are two very different things.” Henderson watched as the boy pushed through the swinging doors, only to reappear seconds later through the kitchen window.

  “I’ll have you know, I think my clean is perfectly fine.” Rodgers raised one eyebrow, letting a smirk appear on his lips.

  Henderson didn’t falter as he kept his nose in his dishes. “Tell that to the board of health.”

  Rodgers pretended to weigh his options over in his head before shaking it off. A single pointed look from Henderson was all it took to finally get him moving, wiping down the bar top without further protest.

  Barely three glasses got poorly cleaned before the door dinged; Rodgers had forgotten to lock it again. He shut his eyes in disappointment. He didn’t want Henderson to take in another customer, so he hoped the man didn’t hear the bell.

  Those large dark brown eyes flicked up with a disgruntled expression, already speaking before he fully registered who had entered. “We’re closed, ” His words caught in his throat as he locked eyes with the patron.

  “I don’t think you are,” Giovanni said smoothly. He didn’t miss a beat as he walked toward his usual booth, about midway down the right aisle, away from the windows.

  Rodgers straightened, watching the back of his head as the man moved along. “I apologize, sir.”

  Without another word, he ducked back through the swinging kitchen doors. His face was noticeably paler than he had just been as Henderson turned to him.

  “Henderson, you’d best keep that kitchen open.” Giovanni called out as he settled into his booth.

  ”Will do,” Henderson called back, eyes landing on him as he peered out the kitchen window.

  Rodgers leaned in, his voice low so as to not catch Giovanni’s ear. “Did you know he was coming?”

  “No,” Henderson admitted, “but let’s just do what we always do. Let him do whatever he needs and stay out of his way.”

  Both of them owed the man money, a debt they swore had already been repaid double. Henderson had borrowed his share to keep the restaurant afloat in its first year and then again when his son had suddenly passed.

  Meanwhile, Rodgers had taken his loan while living on the streets. He made the mistake of spending whatever cash he could scrounge up with a cup on the sidewalk on what their kind called brews, a substance more numbing than alcohol, with withdrawals twice as unforgiving. When the need for more became too much, he had tried various other ways to get money. In the end, he settled on accepting Giovanni’s loan offer.

  Now still broke and newly in debt, he needed an actual job. It had been Giovanni who introduced the two of them, knowing Henderson couldn’t run the bar alone.

  Rodgers had eventually been able to stop taking loans by being a server and bartender at the restaurant. He thought things were turning around as he started paying Giovanni back. As it turns out, a loan to Giovanni was a loan for life.

  It’s not like his situation improved much anyway. Whatever didn’t go to Giovanni or his rent still went straight into those brews. He didn’t feel the need to save for anything else and he always said he could stop whenever he wanted to.

  With the two of them under his thumb, Giovanni turned the place into a convenient meeting spot for his illicit activities. Being that it was mostly empty and the only two working there owed him, he found comfort within the walls of the bar and grill.

  Just as Rodgers was going to agree to Henderson’s plan of just doing what they normally do, the patron bell rang again.

  Rodgers tensed, refusing to look, but Henderson peered through the window and gave a smile to greet their new guest.

  “You might want to see this one,” he murmured.

  Rodgers craned his neck against his wishes, catching a glimpse of the man as he stepped inside. His windbreaker jacket was the first thing that stood out to him, with large yellow lettering across the back.

  “An ASA jacket,” Rodgers whispered, his stomach twisting. “They’ve figured it out, this has to be a trap. Yandy probably put something out for me, probably with reward money.”

  “I doubt it,” Henderson tried to reassure him. “There are no pictures of you back in Fisher. It’s as if King Yandy wanted you erased, not brought in. Plus, Giovanni doesn’t even know your real name.”

  Over the years, Henderson had taken it upon himself to look after the much younger Rodgers. Having immigrated from Fisher to New York, he felt it was his duty to protect the ex-royal. Rodgers’, on the other hand, felt it was his duty to give the older man as much heartburn as he could.

  “Right.” The anxiety was still written on his face but Rodgers backed down at Henderson’s words. Rodgers had been going under the alias of Rodgers Lenos, a man with no living family members that immigrated from Dermend to New York. His fake backstory was that he couldn’t stand to live in the kingdom his family once did before they were murdered.

  They both turned back toward the door, as if they were expecting a third visitor instinctually. When the air in the restaurant suddenly chilled, they unfortunately knew that they were right.

  The two watched from the kitchen out the glass door as a white sports car pulled up and a tall but narrow man stepped out. He was in all black except for a green sports cap pulled low over his grayed-skinned face. The door creaked as he entered, even though it had been greased just recently. Rodgers noted that no cheerful patron bell rang out this time, despite the door hitting it.

  Henderson and Rodgers both found themselves as still as the air, almost stuck where they were at the sight of the newcomer.

  “Conquest,” Henderson whispered, his face tight with fear.

  “Don’t,” Rodgers whispered back but didn’t take his eyes off the man, “Don’t bring that online religion crap where it’s got no business bein’.”

  Henderson had gotten incredibly into online forums after his son had passed. First, he was there to talk with other parents that had lost their children. His wife had gone while in childbirth and he was left with nobody, much like Rodgers’ fake backstory. Henderson just actually had the pain to back it up.

  As he dove deeper into the forums, he had found a page with the ramblings of a man that claimed the end of the world was coming. Rodgers always shut him down but how could he deny it with one of the horsemen in the restaurant? Henderson fully believed the man’s ramblings, always bringing some new side to the argument at least once a week to Rodgers. They both just never expected the end of the world to begin in their place of work.

  Henderson turned to The ex-prince then, his expression scolding Rodgers without him even needing to speak. His body language screamed at him: Be on your best behavior.

  “Let the ASA figure out the power signature,” Henderson said out loud, “We know nothing.”

  “We know nothing,” Rodgers echoed and he was glad to echo it. He didn’t want a part of whatever was going on.

  His hands fumbled as he reached for his apron, missing it twice before finally grabbing hold. He dropped it once, then struggled to tie it around his waist, his fingers trembling too much. He was unsure if it was the brain damage from the brews or the nerves of being faced with having to serve drinks to the end of the world.

  From the booth, Giovanni’s voice cut through the tension. “What kind of service is this?”

  Rodgers scrambled out, going quickly over to the table and hitting his hip on another one on the way there. He started to speak before the pain went away, leaving him with a slightly higher pitched voice.

  “What can I get you?”

  Giovanni’s eyes flicked over the boy, up and down, before he ordered.

  “Three whiskeys.”

  The ASA man curled a smile on his face that made Rodgers want to slap it off. What he would give to have his original thoughts be right. He’d take dying over seeing the end.

  “I’ll take a splash of vermouth in mine.” The ASA man said, his voice sounded like his mouth was laced with oil. He didn’t take his eyes off Rodgers, smiling like he knew his secrets.

  “Right,” Rodgers spoke, looking around to try and see what the hell could be making him smile like that. Surely, in Rodgers mind, there must’ve been something he missed. When he saw nothing, he backed away before the horseman could talk. Being that he couldn’t even look at his general direction, he didn't want to attempt to speak to him.

  As per usual on nights like this, he grabbed his large headphones from the kitchen and slipped them on, hitting play on his phone. Any song would do, so long as it drowned out their conversation. That was one of the rules when hosting Giovanni, they were unable to listen in.

  On the way to the bar from the kitchen, Rodgers adjusted the headphones on his head. He mixed the ASA man’s drink, delivered the three drinks to the table, and returned to the bar without a word.

  As he got back, he walked past his phone only to backtrack when it lit up. It was a message from his sister, Winnie.

  Wish you could’ve made it tonight, but there’s always next week. You’re always welcome.

  Rodgers stared at the screen. He typed out a simple Thanks but ended up erasing it. He never knew what to say to her.

  Typing bubbles from Winnie’s side appeared, then vanished. He was relieved that she decided to not send whatever she was about to. He had bigger problems in front of him right now.

  Rodgers’ eyes flicked toward the booth then back down to his sister’s messages. He swiped away from them and opened the music app, hovering over the pause button. Henderson had told him not to listen countless times.

  Just follow the rules, Rodgers.

  His voice echoed in his brain as he hovered his finger over the button. They had one big fight about it a month ago and since then, Rodgers had stopped. Now, he wished he hadn’t. He wondered if he could have stopped it from getting to this point.

  Probably not, but at least he wouldn’t have been taken so off guard.

  With the presence of a horseman, he figured it was in their best interest to at least make sure the two of them weren’t in immediate danger. He pressed the button and let their conversation fill his muffled ears.

  “I will be speaking to the oracle soon on her behalf,” the horseman rasped. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard and made Rodgers cheeks tingle like he was about to vomit. “She needs validation that her plans will come to fruition. Your choice in allies does not seem… solid.”

  “Zeken may have his head in his games in Zease,” the ASA man said, “but he’s the only person who can lay the device on without the government noticing. Not to mention he wants to see the downfall. He’ll pull through for us.”

  “When does his plan actually begin? He seems to have been ready a month ago.” The horseman asked.

  “Tomorrow night,” Giovanni answered. “He’ll break into his penthouse, take the ASA standard handgun, and return it without the prince noticing. Ralph–” Rodgers assumed that was the ASA man’s name, “will hand in the papers to his second in command while at work the following afternoon; after the body is found in the morning, of course.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Rodgers’ mind reeled, trying to connect the plan to someone, anyone, but Charlie. Hard to do when he was the only royal within the ASA.

  Ralph spoke up then, “The second-skin better work. If it doesn’t, that gun won’t go off without his specific fingerprint.”

  “It’ll work,” the horseman assured, “it’s her greatest invention.”

  Rodgers was already stiff from their conversation but it got worse when the horseman spoke again.

  “You have a Fisher in your presence and yet you speak so freely. Do you think I wouldn’t be privy to him when he’s standing right there?”

  “There’s no need to worry about the boy.” Giovanni glanced toward Rodgers, who did everything in his power to not react. “He’s here so we can determine if we can trust him. If I’m not mistaken, the oracle foretold one of them possibly following our lead. I don’t think the princess will, and neither would someone as noble as the head agent. But him? He’s safe with us. We’ve been watching him closely.” Giovanni paused, eyes glued on the bartender, “He’s been trying to fool us into thinking he’s someone he’s not, but he’s very bad at it.”

  Rodgers immediately turned his music back on. He guessed acting wasn’t in his near future if he couldn’t even pull off a performance that his life depended on. Plus, if they had so little faith in his integrity, then he wasn’t interested in eavesdropping any longer.

  Not that there was much integrity to him, but it still hurt.

  Hours passed. It had felt like an eternity to Rodgers who cleaned the same glasses over and over again. The department of health and safety that Henderson was so concerned over would certainly find nothing now.

  The three men eventually left without so much as a goodbye or a thank you. They came, they eventually ordered food, they insulted Rodgers to his face, even though they thought he wasn’t listening, plotted their next couple of days, they left their table a mess, and then got up and left.

  Rodgers pulled off his headphones, his ears sore from how tightly they’d been pressed. He cleaned up their table with his bucket and rag, mind elsewhere as he worked. Hoisting it up to his hips, he walked lopsided and tired to the kitchen.

  There was barely any exchange between the two men. Probably for the best, after what he heard about himself he didn’t really want to speak. Rodgers set down the dishes by the sink and quickly went to the back door.

  Untying his apron, he swapped it out for the red ratty hoodie on the hook before draping an old jean jacket onto himself. He didn’t look back at Henderson as he spoke, “Goodnight.”

  Henderson got the message that he didn’t want to speak about what they saw, but he felt like he had to remind him to stay out of trouble.

  “We know nothing, remember that.”

  Rodgers didn’t give more than a grunt in return before he shoved his way out the door.

  Once outside, he wiggled out a cigarette from its container. With a quick glance to see if anyone was around, he flicked his thumb against his pointer to create a small flame out of thin air. That first puff of the nicotine was like heaven to his running mind.

  Jogging down the subway stairs blocks away, flicking the almost done cig as he went, Rodgers only just barely made it onto the train. The doors just barely grazed his chest as he slipped in like a snake. Thankfully, the car he chose was empty. It wasn't too hard to accomplish this late but he still chose to see it as a win after tonight.

  Rodgers quickly sank into the closest seat, pulling out his phone and tapping on his brother’s contact. His thumb hovered over the call button.

  What would make Charlie believe him anyway?

  If he told him, then all the other secrets he had buried, the ones that explained why he was even in this situation, would have to come out, too. Now, while Rodgers worked just fine as a server, a server didn’t pay off his debts and pay his rent. He had picked up many jobs for Giovanni in secret, ones that Henderson didn’t even know about. There was a laundry list of things he had stolen without even a question, he didn’t know if one of those items helped bring the horseman to the surface.

  He exhaled sharply, clicked his phone shut, and leaned back against the dirty subway glass. The rumble of the car vibrated through his head as he closed his eyes.

  What did he owe his brother, anyway? Not enough to risk sending himself to jail in the process. Besides, he had promised Henderson they would let the ASA figure it out themselves.

  On the other hand, though, if this was happening tomorrow night, there wasn’t time to wait. By the time the ASA picked up on the signature, Charlie could already be in jail.

  And then there was yet another thing; the way they talked about him, as if he was one of them. Maybe because of those jobs he already was. It was offsetting to know that they had some grand plan for him to turn his back on his family. He came back to them, mostly Winnie, only to fail time and time again. That was already hard on his heart, he didn’t want to imagine what guilt beyond his substance abuse could do to his mind. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he straightened, reopened his phone, and pressed the call button.

  In the Upper East Side, high above the city, Charlie slept peacefully in his plush penthouse. His phone buzzed against the nightstand, its screen casting a faint glow in the dark room. He groaned, rolled over, and cracked one eye open to glance at the caller ID.

  Without hesitation, he flipped the phone face down and rolled away. Charlie mumbled under his breath, half awake and annoyed. “Drunkard.”

  When the call went unanswered, Rodgers didn’t try again.

  “Alright,” he muttered to himself, “fuck you, then. Clear conscience on my end, I tried.”

  The next stop dinged overhead and, although it wasn’t his stop, Rodgers got off the subway. He jogged up the stairs like Christmas morning awaited him above. He was back out in no time, only now in the Bronx.

  Immediately upon exiting, he took a sharp right like he had walked this path a thousand times before; because he had. The street was barely lit up by street lights as he sauntered along, one flickering not too far in front of him.

  He walked along before he came across a set of stairs downward to what seemed like a normal front door. As he approached the door, two people came out that were clearly overserved. So much so that the man burped a small flame and thought nothing of it. The coldness of the brick pressed against his back when Rodgers stepped aside, he had wanted to get out of their way as they stumbled up the stairs. Dark eyes watched the duo go up, seemingly not even noticing he was there, before he continued his way down and tugged the door open to enter the nightclub.

  There was usually no line on a weeknight like tonight and no bouncer. There were at least three open seats that he could see at the bar, so he sat down in one of the seats away from the door. He wanted to face the door to see who left and came in. After what he saw tonight there was no way of playing anything too safe.

  The bartender, a cyclops on the smaller side, came over for his order.

  “Rum, neat,” He mumbled.

  It was this or hunting down a brew, but he wanted to hold off. He still had hope that Charlie could call him back and change the direction of his entire night.

  As he contemplated just showing up at his door, his drink was placed down in front of him. After taking a rage sip, only then was he able to relax into the seat he was in.

  Anger came with the second sip.

  Why should he help Charlie out? Maybe he deserved it with how great everything always seemed to work out for him. He was always rubbing his success in his face and Rodgers hated that. Maybe Charlie didn’t rub it in on purpose, but he was still successful and that was enough for Rodgers to irrationally hate him.

  His brain flipped back to the other side of his thoughts then, back on himself. How could he let Giovanni talk about him that way? He didn’t want to live up to whatever end of the word expectations placed on him at all.

  The guilt was too much and before he knew it, he was at the bottom of his glass.

  Rodgers looked up and looked for the bartender.

  “Excuse me,” he called but it was like his voice got stuck in his throat. He ordered another rum and contained his heart that leapt in his chest.

  This wasn’t working, the walls felt like they were closing in around him. Every moment that passed was like he could take less and less of a breath. He wasn’t gasping for air, but it felt like his lungs didn’t bring in enough air. His head felt thin, as he picked up his phone and stared at it intently. It was as if that would telepathically get Charlie to call him.

  He didn’t.

  It wasn’t long before he couldn’t take the bar anymore. He had to get out, had to go for something stronger. His eyes shut tightly while he sat in his seat, hands gripping the underside like that would stop him from floating away.

  His eyes pinged open at the thunk of the glass half full of rum hitting the bar. He grabbed it and took it like a shot before he threw down what he owed along with what he could give for a tip, which was not much, and left the bar. The tingling in his feet and fingers made him almost forget his troubles but it was no match for what a brew could do for him.

  He stumbled his way towards the water’s edge, gripping on the railing once he got there. His sullen eyes looked out past the darkness of the Harlem River to the city lights just beyond. He tried to muster strength within him to renounce the brew calling to him.

  If he didn’t drink it, would he ever sleep tonight?

  What if he was questioned about Giovanni after they found the signature?

  The horseman?

  The ASA agent?

  Surely, this would all come falling back on him somehow. Everything would come out about him and what he’s done for Giovanni and his and Charlie’s places would be swapped in a heartbeat.

  Rodgers quite liked not being in jail.

  He leaned forward on the railing, his chest pressing against it as Rodgers shut his eyes again. His hands found their way around his elbows as he squeezed himself tightly.

  What to do?

  Was this what they meant by him not being a threat? They knew who he was yet they spoke so freely in front of him. One that would betray his family… could he really do such a thing to them? He supposed he already had betrayed them when he was a kid, but that was different circumstances.

  Somehow, he had convinced his mind that he needed to forget to protect himself. He needed to forget any detail he could about the conversation he overheard. Damn, he should've just listened to Henderson.

  Hands pushed him back and Rodgers made his way to where he knew the wizard’s shop currently was. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far off from the bar. He would be lying if he said that’s not why he chose it.

  His footsteps were the only sound down the alleyway besides the soft mumble of his low voice. Rodgers was counting his steps one by one before twisting up to look at a brick wall.

  He took one more step, eyes fixed on the brick, and a door shimmered into reality.

  With the little raindrops beginning to fall, he tugged the door open. The bell rang and it brought Rodgers' mind back to the horseman’s entrance. It made his stomach flop at the thought of it.

  “Hello?” Rodgers called out into the empty shop.

  The open sign was still on in the door window and the neon sign above the broom section was still flickering. He took another step in, past the herbs and cauldrons to his right and shop aisles on his left, and called out again.

  “Sethrin?”

  A sound like something had exploded came from the back room before dark ash creeped out quickly from the cracks in the door. It flung open as a tall and lanky man stepped out from the room backwards, waving his hand by his face as he coughed.

  Rodgers stood there silently, watching the scene unfold before him. Sethrin, the wizard who came through the door, eventually gathered himself together. He wheezed and hacked as he turned, jumping at the sight of the ex-prince.

  “When did you come in?” He scolded his customer as his hand went over his heart.

  Rodgers pointed to the door in confusion before looking back to Sethrin. “Just a minute ago. The bell rang.”

  Sethrin wiped his ash covered face with his hands as he went to the counter. He let out a sigh as he reached below and placed two bottles on its surface. Rodgers was a regular, afterall.

  “Are you okay?” Rodgers asked, leaning slightly to try and get a look at the room he was just in as he closed the gap between him and the counter.

  “Peachy,” the wizard grumbled, clearly looking distressed.

  “Right,” Rodgers didn’t want to argue or worse: start a conversation.

  “This, I assume, is all?” Sethrin looked at his customer with a flat face.

  Rodgers looked at the brew. He swallowed at the temptation of it, knowing all this pain would be over with a sip. However, he knew he couldn’t get both.

  “I can’t afford two right now. Just one.”

  “Alright,” he punched the price into the old cash register that looked like it was from the 80s.

  “One it is.”

  The wizard’s thin bony hands took the second one back and Rodgers almost wanted to protest. The lack of money in his wallet made him keep his mouth shut.

  “26.61,” Sethrin announced before he watched Rodgers lay down single dollar bills and exact change. Sethrin watched him clear his already light wallet and the wizard would’ve felt bad… if he had the room to feel bad. His safe wasn’t exactly overflowing, and his shop had a layer of dust on the shelves that meant most people that walked through the door only came for one thing, the brews.

  Once Rodgers flattened the last bill, Sethrin scooped it up. He counted it himself and slid it into the register like he didn’t just watch him go broke paying for his concoction.

  He slid the bottle to Rodgers, smiled, and spoke. “Have a great night.”

  Rodgers grabbed his purchase and rushed out of the wizard’s shop with haste. The second he was outside, he ripped off the cork from the brew bottle and took a large gulp immediately.

  “Fucking stupid,” he ridiculed himself in the allyway as the rain that started while he was inside fell on him. His fingers began to numb over almost immediately from its effects. He didn’t have much in his stomach to stop the brew from hitting hard and mixing the brew with alcohol didn’t help.

  He lifted the bottle back up to his lips and found only a couple gulps remaining. He lifted the bottle high up into the air and watched the last drop fall to his tongue, savoring the drop like it was nectar from the Garden of Eden. Which was just the backyard of one of the previous Kuluns of Land whose name was Eden.

  Rodgers’ hands dropped to his sides as he stood there in the alleyway.

  Alone, cold, numb. The bottle, though empty, now weighed heavy in his hand. He turned it over and looked at it while his stomach began to burn with the substance spreading out through his body and mind.

  His thoughts raced, his perfect brother's life was about to be shifted all around and all he could get himself to do was one lousy attempt to call him. He supposed there was always tomorrow, the final day.

  As fast as they raced, those thoughts left him. The brew in control of his mind, silencing it just the way he liked.

  Rodgers’ lifted his arm fast and chucked the bottle down the alleyway, hearing it shatter upon hitting the wall.

  He turned quickly and left.

  The world around him started to move in slow motion as he found his way back down to the subway.

  While waiting for his train he stepped over the yellow line.

  Or did he?

  Looking down at his feet certainly made it seem like he did. Only, he couldn’t remember falling down onto the tracks. Everything moved like a glitch, one moment he was standing on the ledge, another and it appeared as if he was floating over the tracks. A horn sounded and echoed at him like a speaker that was set next to his ear.

  Rodgers turned his head and heavy eyes stared down the tunnel at the quickly approaching train.

  It blew its horn again.

  He didn’t move.

  He didn’t want to move.

  Heavy eyelids lifted up across the tracks to the other platform. A tall, familiar man stood there staring him down with annoyance. The man shook his head from side to side slowly.

  The train pleaded with him once more but Rodgers only closed his eyes and smiled, ignoring the man.

  A whoosh and a ding and the doors opened in front of him.

  There was a slight hope that the brew’s vision was right. Instead, he was standing firmly on the platform. He was, begrudgingly, very much alive.

  Rodgers stepped on the train.

  With a plump, he landed hard in a seat. Almost immediately, he fell over and remained slumped until his second to last stop. His body was like liquid, his brain numbing more than just his thoughts.

  His hand reached for the railing and his vision slipped it right through. It was a total of three times before he actually was able to get a good grasp to hoist himself up. He stumbled forwards, looking at a woman with dark hair for a moment. Her dark large eyes stared up at him in concern.

  “What do you want?” Rodgers sneered.

  “Do you need help?” The woman answered his question with one of her own.

  “What’s it to you?” The doors dinged and he exited the train, leaving her there.

  Back up on the street, there was no fresh air. He felt like he was choking as he waded through the steam coming out of the street holes. There was a moan down a random alleyway, he ignored it.

  Whether it was from pleasure or pain, he didn’t want to see either.

  Getting his key into his hand was actually quite easy, getting it in the lobby door lock was a bit harder. Every time he thought it was in, he was somehow inches away. On the fourth attempt, he went from visually seeing it unlock to ramming his face into the glass door.

  On the fifth attempt, he gave a heavy shove and he stumbled through the door. Rodgers stopped short at the sight of that same familiar face from the platform staring back at him. Or, at least, what was left of a familiar face.

  He was tall and lean with thin eyes. Well, with one thin eye. He had a gunshot wound to the left side of his head that blew out his eye socket. It still looked fresh.

  Rodgers’ fingers reached out at him, but they went through the other man’s face.

  They stared each other down, Rodgers in awe and the man in anger.

  The ghost screamed so loudly it nearly tore Rodgers’ melted brain in half. “Wake up!”

  With a gasp, Rodgers woke up in his bed. He was face down, leaning up on his elbows as he huffed and puffed the nerves out of his body. He began to hack hard.

  Heart racing, he looked around to confirm where he was. Somehow, he had made it back safely to his studio apartment and the sun was shining through the broken plastic blinds. He hit his phone awake on the side table, it was ten in the morning.

  With a thud he flopped down into his bed. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t get the image of the face out of his head. Covers shifted as Rodgers moved his body so that his cheek was against the bare mattress. He reached out his hand as if he was reenacting what he did to the ghost.

  ”Until the next brew, I guess.” Rodgers mumbled softly.

  All he could do was crawl out of bed and, with all his memories from the previous day, do nothing to prevent his brother’s fate.

  Cloenia - Under the Moon and Cross! You just met two of my absolute favorite characters for the first time; Rodgers & Sethrin!