A cough turns to flu and my descent hastens. Despite the pills and syrups, some heightened understanding of the world remains vivid and clear. I ask Elda, ‘Am I dying?’ and she doesn’t answer.
I’m worried. I can admit that. I’m troubled by the idea that I will pass with all this business left unfinished. The last project.
And where is my blanket?
The warmth of the sun?
This is the Gold Coast, goddamn it.
‘Sir?’ says Elda, appearing. She has her barrage of pills and medicine.
I’m losing time.
If I’m awake, I’m alive.
If I’m alive, I have work to do.
But …
The pills are the opposite of all that.
I look across the room and Elda has vanished.
The girl is there instead. The concubine.
‘Where is he?’ I scream and the girl smiles.
‘He’s no one’s son,’ she says, clear as day. ‘He’s lost to all.’
I blink and she remains.
I blink again and she’s gone.
Did I take my meds?
Sounds echo.
Locked doors opening. Unused trajectories. Forgotten passageways.
Familiar footsteps in hallways.
Like the patter of—
Oh no.
For all my power and might, I did not expect this. The one behind the door. Another woman. A daughter.
Not this.
Not now, but …
History fights its way to the surface. A signal bright and red, the glimmer of an answer, shining in the dying light.
Heir to the heir.
A way through.
I’m going to stop taking the medication.