Malcolm - Post Chapter Ten (Patreon)

Malcolm Albright was dead.

It was a funny thing to say, really, especially once he realized he was Malcolm Albright. It was a whisper he had heard for as long as he could remember. Some rejoiced at his demise. Others felt such deep sorrow.  And some, sought him out. He remembered in the early days how there were spirits that would greet him but when he only stared at them with a blankness and a memory that had crumpled somewhere in another world's ether, they had begun to leave him alone.  Now, with his memory back, he did the same to anyone that passed him. Mainly because he didn’t like the notoriety that came with his name.  It wasn’t as if he could do whatever it was they wanted him to do in the first place.  Whatever powers he had were gone.  And in their wake was nothing but that aching feeling of the Night Market tearing itself apart for reasons he had yet to coax out of them.

Hands in his pockets, he walked the streets. Looking at the walls, running his fingers over their cracks.  Hoping that something would become clear.  The challenge of what to do when it did was another one all together but he figured the only way to continue was with one foot in front of the other and little room for a conversation that wasn’t about fixing their home.

He found Hazel first. She was the easiest. She was out in the garden picking herbs.  Malcolm knew he had been here before. Dozens of times he had wandered towards her with no idea why, watching her hum within her garden, petting her cat and having full conversations with the creature as if he were her oldest and dearest friend. Once or twice he tried to reach out, letting her know he was there. Occasionally she would get that look in her eyes that said she knew something was off but it was never enough.  Malcolm didn’t know how much time had passed but by the state of the apothecary, he was assuming it was a lot.

He had tried to go see Kamille down in the deep, hoping against hope that she had not been taken out like so many of the Barons before her.  The selkies had set up their wards though and despite Malcolm having come from there, apparently he was not welcome back. There was too much up top he was supposed to be seeing.

The thing was, up top hurt. It knifed through him like a dull ache and took his breath from him every few steps.  As the market gasped around him, seeking out some way to heal, he felt every inch of it run along his skin.  He didn’t understand how everyone else couldn’t hear the screams.  Hear the dying gasps of their world.  How did everyone just go about their day like it was nothing?

When he found Milo it was in the back of a bar.  It had taken him an exceedingly long time to track him down and Malcolm couldn’t help but think that was somehow by design despite the younger man not knowing he was even there.  Milo sat in the very back, a half drank tumbler of whiskey in front of him and a distant look on his face.  When Malcolm sat in the chair across from him, he could almost pretend, at least for a moment, that this was like all the other times they had sought refuge in the quiet.

“Hey, Button,” he said with a sigh.  “You look like shit.”

Milo took a small sip, swirling the amber liquid in the dirty glass. Leaning back against the cushion of his chair, he sighed, staring down into the contents.

“I probably will too,” Malcolm said conversationally. “Half expecting to be a rotted corpse.” Worm food, as Milo used to call the dead. He wondered if he did anymore. “Went to see Haze. I know she’s up to something. Something not good.” he frowned. “Why aren’t you with her, Milo? Why are you here? She’s going to do something stupid and…” and what? Hazel wasn’t Milo’s responsibility.  It was only the anger that wanted to blame someone else for what Malcolm knew was going to be terrible actions on her part.

Across the way, Milo downed his drink, signaling for another. It was replaced by a young waitress with breasts that spilled from her top. Milo’s go to on an uneasy night. Yet, he didn’t even look.

“Well,” Malcolm said, “either you’ve grown up or shit got bad.  Given the dark circles under your eyes, I’d say, shit probably got really bad. You’re not sleeping again, huh?  Probably aren’t taking care of yourself either. You never did understand that you have to eat something green to maintain health.”

Leaning back, Malcolm crossed his arms, observing the man.  The one he had wandered the streets with once. The one he had gotten into trouble with.  The man who had driven him to such anger and yet inspired such fierce loyalty.  Malcolm used to say he never knew if he loved Milo or hated him. Milo used to smirk and tell him something about fine lines.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Malcolm shook his head.  It wouldn’t do to dwell. Not here. Not while the tears across the market were widening.  And certainly not with a man who couldn’t see him.

Standing, Malcolm took one last look at the mop of dirty blond hair and the ringed fingers.  “I’d say I’ll be seeing you soon but…” there was nothing to say.  Nothing he could say.  A stab of pain went through him, like it had all the times before as he walked the streets. It flared to life much larger this time though, gathering around his midsection and gripping him in a band of steel.  Head thrown back, he let out a shallow gasp.

The next thing he knew Hazel’s arms were around him and she was crying into his shoulder while the lamp light next to her pulsed with unsteady life.  He didn’t see himself get flung through the opening gate. He didn’t know what was happening. And he certainly was not aware of the pair of amber eyes that had locked onto him the second he had been called home.