Time and location (present day): 3:30pm, ENDURE Center for Rehabilitation

I’m back, standing once more in the middle of that two-lane road. The winds have picked up amidst a brutal and unforgiving snowstorm. It’s loud, so loud that it almost sounds like white noise, and due to the rampaging flakes of frost, my surroundings also mimic static. Up ahead of me, I can make out a single object set upon the pavement, the only other thing occupying the vast stretch of asphalt aside from myself. I know the game by now, and the only way out is to play along. So, like a good dog, I drudge on forward towards the unknown. I hold my forearm to my head to shield my eyes from the blizzard, and as I draw nearer it becomes apparent that the object is a door. There are no walls supporting it; just a wooden-slab door and its frame, standing upright in the middle of the street. I grab its knob, turn it. The door opens inward, and its frame serves as a portal, outlining a realm that differs drastically from the dreary frozen hellscape of my current position. Warmth radiates from beyond the door’s threshold, and I instinctually, and yet almost involuntarily step through. I glance over my shoulder, but the door is gone, and with it the tundra. When I look forward once more, there are three figures stood before me. Two of them are instantly recognizable as my mother, Olivia, and my father, Charles. The third, however, is nothing more than a blur, a shadowy silhouette. The shape of it feels familiar, I’m certain of it. Feminine in nature, pure of sin and all wrongdoing. I clenched my eyes shut firmly, willed my brain to bring form to this shadow, to reveal its identity. Just then, the flash of a memory. A mere snippet of her face that’s gone as quickly as it had appeared, but it’s done its job all the same. Aurora, Rory for short, my younger sister. Suddenly the shadow comes to life, its edges begin to vibrate violently until all at once it disintegrates into ash, gently drifting away in the breeze. A swift and instant pain wells in my chest, the feeling of loss, of grief… I look then to my parents, as if hopeful that they can bring her back, that they can fix this, but they simply stand statuesque, unmoving. They both reach out to me, beckoning me closer still. I step towards them, but the second I do the earth beneath me upsets and quakes angrily. With every passing second the tremors increase in strength, until my feet are swept out from under me, and I fall to the ground. The sound of earth crumbling and cracking begins to overwhelm me, a thunderous symphony of nature. I curl up in a fetal position; my parents have disappeared; I’ve been wholly abandoned to my fate. I clamp my hands over my ears, attempting to silence the chaos, but it changes nothing, and so I scream. I scream until my throat is raw, until I have nothing left to give, until the entire world around me collapses.

I shot upright in bed, struggling to gain control of my breath. I was drenched in sweat, and the beginnings of one of my famed migraines was stabbing at my left temple. I swung my feet out over the edge of the bed and noticed the floor, which was shining its usual pearlescent white. The scarlet glow of lockdown was gone, and therefore, I was free to leave my room. When I attempted to stand, instantaneous nausea attacked my gut, and I quickly found myself seated once more. These episodes are getting out of hand, I thought. It was true; with each nightmare came an increased physical reaction upon returning to the real world, and it was taking a toll on not only my mind, but my body as well. I took me a moment longer before attempting to stand again. When I did, I focused on my breathing, steadying my heartrate. I tried again slowly, methodically. The nausea tried to creep back up, but eventually it passed. I looked to the clock; it was now 3:36pm. Had I really nodded off for so long? My attention needed re-directing, and so once I felt okay enough to move, I made way for the lobby. If I knew Jonathan as well as I thought I did by now, he would already be waiting at the chess table for me. Sure enough, when I arrived at my destination there sat Jonathan, chessboard set up and ready to go.

“What’s the score again?” I asked as I seated myself across from him.

Jonathan furrowed his brow as if not hearing my inquiry.

“Are you feeling alright? Because you look like shit.”

I waved him off, repeating my question, “The score?”

“Six to five, me. Underdog goes first.” he replied mockingly as he straightened his posture, seeming to abide by my feigned lack of concern for my own wellbeing.

I positioned myself comfortably and moved a pawn forward as we began conversing.

“So, lockdown… what was that all about?”

“I dunno,” he said as he shrugged.

“I’ve been here for just over a year, and I’ve never witnessed anything like that.”

He moved a knight, taking one of my pawns off the board. I glared at him, then studied the board as I contemplated my next move.

“Interesting. I’m sure it was nothing quite as extravagant as my mind would lead me to believe. Probably someone attempting to leave without permission or a guardian.”

Just then I felt a presence beside me, and for a moment I thought Mallen had shown up in public, deepening my descent into insanity.

“Well, it wasn’t an attempt to leave per say, but I certainly didn’t have permission. I’ve got next game kid, so long as no one else has staked their claim.”

The man pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards beside the chess table, his folded arms resting upon the seatback. I couldn’t decide if it was his unkempt dirty-blonde hair, the beard stubble, or his bright blue eyes that gave him a slightly crazed look. Aside from that, the man looked like your typical corn-fed country boy. He extended a hand.

“Name’s Aiden Buckley.”

I glanced at Jonathan, who simply shrugged in response before I accepted his hand and shook it firmly.

“Royce Wilko, this is my friend Jonathan. Next game is all yours.”

A second set of chair legs scraped against the floor, and we were now flanked on both sides of the table by uninvited company.

“Desmond Luther, I’m a friend of Aiden’s.”

The second gentleman said as he seated himself. He was tall and of African American descent. If I had to guess, they were both somewhere in their forties, but Desmond seemed more stoic in nature. His facial hair was well groomed, and his shaved head was so well lined up it looked like he had just come from the on-staff barber. Once I finished studying the two of them, I took the bait Aiden had put in place upon their arrival.

“You? You’re saying you’re the reason for the lockdown?”

He smirked.

“Maybe that’s what I’m saying, maybe not. Depends on how the rest of this conversation goes.”

Jonathan, not one to be deterred, moved a bishop and then leaned forward on the table as I attempted to split my attention between the two newcomers and our game.

“Sounds like you thought this conversation out preemptively Aiden. What exactly does this have to do with Royce and myself? Why are you two bugging us?”

Jonathan had been a straight-to-the-point kind of guy for as long as I had known him. Desmond interjected.

“Forgive Aiden, he’s a bit eccentric. So, I’ll just cut to the chase. The two of you seem like logical men, so I urge you both to hear us out,”

He paused, and I made my next move before I looked sideways at Desmond. The entire interaction felt strange, and their intrusiveness was now becoming slightly irritating. Desmond continued, seemingly noting the cautiousness in my eyes.

“Aiden and I have this theory, and it isn’t without merit. We’ve spent a few years now compiling evidence in our favor. It’s become aggravatingly apparent in recent months however, that if we’re going to act upon our theory and get the answers we’re seeking, we need more help. That’s where the two of you come in.”

Did he say a few years? How long have some of these people been here? Jonathan knocked one of my knights off the board and pulled me away from my thoughts; I was losing. He smiled slyly.

“Alright, we’ll bite; what’s this theory of yours Desmond? What delusion have you two conspirers conjured up?”

I could tell Jonathan wasn’t taking the two men seriously, but something about the calm nature surrounding Desmond was preventing me from writing him off entirely just yet.

“Not here. If you want to hear more, meet me in my quarters tonight after lights out. We’ll explain everything then.”

Desmond covertly slid a small piece of paper across the table to me. There was a room number written on it. Jonathan chuckled audibly.

“Sure Desmond. Tell ya what, let us think on it for a bit. Maybe you see us tonight, maybe you don’t. Checkmate, Royce.”

It took me a moment to look away from Desmond. When I finally snapped out of it, I looked to the board. There were no moves I could make, Jonathan had won.

“Good game,”

I said as I stood from the table, Jonathan following suit.

“We know how it seems kid,”

Aiden said as I pushed the chair in.

“Just give it some thought, we’ll be waiting.”

I looked at him bewildered, then to Desmond who simply nodded. Jonathan came to the rescue once more.

“Yeah, we’ll do that… you hungry Royce? Think I’m going to head to the cafeteria.”

“No, I’m suddenly not feeling too well. Think I’m going to head back to my quarters for a bit, it’s getting late.”

It was true enough; the nausea had begun making itself known once more.

“It’s not even 5pm, you sure you don’t want to eat?”

I nodded.

“I’m sure, thanks though. I’ll find you later.”

Jonathan nodded and waved goodbye. I looked at Aiden, then at Desmond.

“Nice meeting you two.”

Aiden smiled and waved.

“See you soon, kid.”

I hesitated, then turned away and headed back towards my room. As I walked, I thought on the interaction. What a strange pair… though I must admit I’m intrigued. What was this theory they had? And what was it even regarding? There isn’t exactly a whole lot going on here… maybe they’re just a couple of loons… ENDURE was home to a wide variety of patients… it was possible, after all. I’d seen my fair share of schizophrenics who refused to take medication, patients with severe bi-polar disorder, and many other mental ailments. It was perfectly plausible that Desmond and Aiden fit that mold. But that’s not truly what you think, is it? I stopped dead in my tracks just outside of my quarters as my stomach plummeted. Not because the thought had me second guessing my own sanity, but because it hadn’t felt like mine. I circled around, checking the hallway for anyone else. No one was around. Sweat began to bead on my forehead. Don’t… don’t do it. You know it’s all in your head. Just don’t give in. I shut my eyes tightly, hesitant, afraid, even. Then, regardless of how much my body and brain were telling me not to, I spoke into the ether.

“Mallen… are you… are you here?”

I continued to clench my eyes shut. It felt like an eternity before I finally opened them and glanced around frantically. Nothing. No one. I was still alone. I let out a sigh of relief. Here I am contemplating whether Desmond and Aiden are off their rockers, and yet I’m losing my own damn mind. Christ, I need to get out of here… I found my bearings, steadied myself and entered my room. Once I closed the door behind me, I flopped down on my bed yet again. I suddenly felt exhausted, drained of my lifeforce. The nausea was stronger than ever, and my head was beginning to throb. I didn’t want to sleep for fear of what awaited me in my dreams, but I couldn’t stay awake unless I wanted to puke my brains out and fight the pain in my temples. Neither option seemed fair, but I settled on the lesser of two evils and shut my eyes.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3: Time