The Chronicles of Dog and Troll: Book 4 - The Taking of Anne Warwick

By Joshua S. Friedman

“The time has come. Gaze upon the face of your true enemy.”
After the fall of Krin, as good as his word, the Wraith led Troll and his trinity atop the major bluffs as the sun rose over rolling breaks of ocean blue. There, the Wraith revealed himself and took the one the King wanted. Desperate to find the answers to his destiny, Troll pursued his enemies through a shimmering doorway of blue light, only to awaken in a world he could not possibly fathom. A grayish world throttled by concrete, glass, and technological advances the likes of which he’d never seen or even dared to dream of. Now he was lost, and there no turning back.

Finding himself imprisoned, Troll would need to plan a harrowing escape in order to save his friends. Star murdered atop the major bluffs of Krin and the Dog had been taken. Now Troll utterly lost and alone. His only solace remained in his care giver and a Peace Officer that resembled Jethro Jessop.
Ruminating on his vision quest in the mountains beyond the Mo’Tave desert and Al’ber Que, Troll quickly realized he locked in a world far beyond his own. The only question that bedeviled him: Was he in the future, or the past?

If entering the blue doorway whisked him away to this nefarious realm, could the reverse be true? Could he somehow go back and prevent all this heartache and hardship from ever transpiring in the first place? If he wanted to find out, he’d need to enlist the help of the doppelgangers of this world that resembled his former friends. But on top of all that, he’d need to find the one the King wanted all along: The Dog.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joshua S. Friedman
• Release date: Sep 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005972691

Joshua S. Friedman

Greetings friends,I love reading and writing. There is no better (at least in my opinion, but what the Hell do I know), escape from the banality of reality than just expressing that is within you.If you feel it, love it. If you love it, embrace it. And if you embrace it, and take everything entirely for what it is, then though art truly a master of thyself.To thine known self be true, and truly unto they self. Then take that knowledge and understanding and give unto others.Is that too esoteric?Be yourself. Enjoy one another (especially in these times).If not, then what the Hell are you doing?I also enjoy reading and reviewing works from other Smashwords authors; especially those offering their books for free hoping someone will read them. Well, someone is. Slowly but surely. I encourage my fellow Smashwords constituents to read and write honest and insightful reviews of ALL works they download.Hey...You read it. Someone wrote it...Provide feedback.Good DayGood NightHave a Restful SleepAnd Good AppetiteJ.S.F.

Book preview

THE CHRONICLES OF DOG AND TROLL:

BOOK 4

THE TAKING OF ANNE WARWICK

By

Joshua S. Friedman

FIRST EDITION

****

PUBLISHED BY:

Joshua S. Friedman on Kindle Direct Publishing

The Chronicles of Dog and Troll:

The Taking of Anne Warwick

Copyright © 2020 by Joshua S. Friedman

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are a production of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

****

For Felicia,

Thank you for encouraging me to finish what I started.

****

FOREWORD, AFTERWORD, AND EVERYWHERE IN BETWEEN

Hello again, my friends. What’s that? Aye, indeed it has been awhile. I see you’re older now. More mature. As if the life events you’ve endured since we last met have opened ye’r eyes to the way things really are. Like the drawing back of a velvety curtain moments before a play. No-doubt, our heralds, Troll, Myriam Star, and the Dog, emphasize with that.

So much has transpired since last we held conclave. So much heartache, so much pain and suffering. One could only attribute such an emotional tidal wave to a singular word: Loss. And aye, we have lost much, indeed.

In our previous installment, we lost Star, Byron, Montalvo, Sarah, all our friends that we’ve known and adventured with over the course of the triumvirate’s journey. Anne’s innocence long forgotten like Maddy the rag doll thoughtlessly forsaken amongst tall-grass and waist-high weeds.

Troll struggles with his dwindling faith; once so brilliant. And the Dog battles the demons of his past.

One could only surmise that after the depths we’ve sunken to, there no place to go but up. ‘Though I fear we are wrong. Dead wrong.

After all, we’ve barely scratched the surface of the Wraith’s master plan; like the glistening peak of an iceberg about to emerge from freezing opal waters. And more Hellions prepare to enter the fray like bandits awaiting guards around a bank to fall into slumber.

As before, once again we pick up where we left off.

Where were we?

Ah, yes. Into the breach.

Let us chase down those who robbed so much from us.

After all, what more could we possibly lose?

J.S.F

August, 2020

****

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you."

Maya Angelou

D.C. al Coda

Anne’s voice cried from some far-off distant plane; fragmented like a distorted echo. She said, Troll, whatever ye do, don’t enter the blue door. Please Troll, don’t.

He attempted to shout, Anne, where are ye? I can’t see thee. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move. But his restraint was not from bondage. He was held ensconced in some murky, black abyss that reminded him way too much of the opal sludge Byron drooled before he was taken by the Swee…him.

Then the Wraith’s pleasantly hollow voice surrounded him; like rusty nails in a glass mason-jar. "Your Dog did die. And I assure you, your beautiful Myriam Star will be dead before ever you reach her."

But, why?

Because, we want one of you.

Then just take me demon!

But alas, Troll was not the one they wanted. Instead, the Wraith took everything from him. His friends. The Dog. The love of his life. All had fallen by the waste-side, and now Troll was left wallowing in the bleak.

Beep-beep-beep

Where was he?

How did he get here?

The last thing he remembered was a piercing, blue glow that vibrated at a sickening resonance.

Beep-beep-beep

What was that dreadful noise?

The sounds’ cadence resembled that of a beating heart, but artificial; preternatural.

The time has come. Gaze upon the face of your true enemy.

The darkness dissipated like a velvety curtain, and finally, Troll could see.

He was back on the major bluffs of Krin. Except, he was not in his body -- apparently. For, he saw himself kneeling there next to Star upon a grassy knoll as gulls squawked from the heavens and briny breaks crashed upon moss-covered rocks below. The rising sun cast golden glimmers over the oceanic waves.

The Wraith/Joshua King loomed over Troll and his trinity like a brooding storm cloud. Next to Joshua stood Fedic (donning the Dog’s gauntlet and belt of daggers), Annola/Mia (with Star’s shooters strapped around her bulbous waist), and of course, Furion.

This was not the present, Troll already suffered this. He watched the events unfolding as if observing some sort of play or charade.

Joshua King leaned toward Troll (but not Troll the spectator; the past Troll that huddled close to Star).

For a moment, He envied that Troll. But, only for the utmost of brevity. For, Troll the spectator knew what came next.

Joshua grinned like the Devil, hisself.

Somehow Troll saw this through the eyes of his former self.

Joshua asked, See anything familiar?

Beep-beep-beep-beep

In unison with his avatar, Troll gasped, Oh, my God.

Star asked, "What is it? Who is it?"

The man stood about Star’s height. Lean and slim. He wore black pants and an odd, button-less, short-sleeved shirt, also black. His head shaved down to neat stubble. Thin, black eye-brows. He had no beard, but his face looked exactly like the Dog’s.

Growling fiercely, the Dog struggled to stand.

Fshwoom

Another energy blast from Fedic drove the Dog down.

Star asked, Who is it? What’s goin’ on?

The Troll of yesterday just knelt there; eyes bulged, jaw gaping. The scar riding the left side of his face quivered as he tried to understand that which the present Troll already knew.

Star urged, Troll, answer me! What’s goin’ on?

Beep-beep-beep-beep

Quavering, his doppelganger replied, I…I…I think it’s the Dog.

What!

The Wraith snatched a dagger from the Dog’s belt (currently wrapped around Fedic’s waist). He grasped hold of the Dog’s braided beard and cut it off. The Dog yelped. The Wraith dangled the beard from his chin, and said, Look at me. Woof. Woof. I’m the Dog. His voice even sounded like the Dog’s.

Furion, Fedic, and Annola cackled wildly.

Gaze dithering, past Troll quavered, I don’t understand. Brothers? Twins?"

The Wraith chuckled, "I’m afraid the answer to that question is far too complicated."

"But I must know. Who are ye really?"

Giggling, the Wraith clasped his hands, and said, Oh, I’m sorry, so rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joshua King. He nodded at the Dog, and said, And that miserable mutt is William James Mather, you can call him Jimmy, most folks do. Jimmy is the reason you’re here. He’s the one we want. Shaking his head, he waltzed toward Troll, and said, And all this time, I bet you thought it was you.

And it was true. He always believed it him.

Star asked, Why us? Why are we here?

Joshua King said, Because we couldn’t find Jimmy. He just up and wandered away one day in one world, as dogs often do. We needed you two to help us find him and bring him here.

Troll asked, But why us? To what end?

Donning a devilish smile, Joshua replied, Oh, there are answers. But, not here. Not now. Now, we will take the one we want. He wafted his hand through the air, and a doorway of solid blue-light appeared where the compass needle pointed.

Whatever ye do, don’t enter the blue door.

Beep-beep-beep-beep

Hands out, as if reaching for alms, Troll cried, The choice! Ye said a choice would be made.

Oh, how stupid and desperate his past self was.

Still, the Troll of yester year cried, Dog choses not go with ye. Sweaty, face pallid, and breathing heavily, he turned to the Dog and asked, Don’t ye? His bottom lip trembled as he awaited the reply.

The Dog growled ferociously at Joshua.

That a boy.

You’re quite right, replied Joshua. He nodded toward the Dog, and said, But, not for him. Fedic, if you please.

Fedic stood there glowing, at first it appeared nothing happened.

Annola staggered and swooned. She swept the back of her hand across her squamous forehead, and slurred, Wait, what’s happening? I don’t understand.

Good. Die ye heathen bitch.

Hands folded behind his back; smiling, Joshua offered Annola a gracious bow, and said, I personally thank you for all your hard work, but your services will no longer be required.

No wait! Writhing and squirming, Annola crawled toward Joshua’s feet, groveling, I served you well. I served you well! Please don’t! But, by the time she got there, she had been drained dry.

Joshua, Furion, and Fedic roared in laughter.

Beep-beep-beep-beep

That preternatural pace quickened.

Present Troll’s blood percolated; fists clenched so tight he wondered if he might break his own massive hands.

Fedic pivoted and blasted the Dog through the blue door.

Smirking, Joshua said to Fedic, Go after and make sure everything is taken care of.

Fedic smiled and strolled through the portal of light. Then it closed, as if never even there.

Joshua waltzed toward the Troll of yesterday, and said, The choice is for you. But first, I have one more promise to keep. He held out his hand. Star’s holster unbuckled from around Annola’s waist, and sailed into Joshua’s awaiting grip. He pulled a shooter and let the holster (and other gun), drop to the grass in a muted thump.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

No! No! I can’t watch this. Not again.

He attempted to shut his ethereal oculars, but alas, no use. He pivoted away from the scene, but every time he did so, he still sat in the front row of the events unfolding.

Lip curled in a snarl, Star asked, What’s happening?

Troll uttered, Our enemy has taken ownership of ye’r weapons.

Hey! She tried to rise to her feet. Joshua held out his other hand, and she froze mid-air.

Joshua aimed at Star, but his gaze remained glued to Troll’s. Smiling, he said, You’re Dog did die, and now it’s time for Star to die before ever you reach--

A small dagger flew out of nowhere, bounced off a rock, and clattered to the ground.

What was that? Who threw it?

Joshua continued, Ah, that must be the children. Furion, would you mind taking care of it? Feel free to eat them. They’re purpose has been served.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Children, what children?

For some reason, the present Troll cerebrated over the fate of Anne and DJ. He never did find out what happened to them.

Furion slouched off.

Fists trembling, teeth clenched, Star hissed, Monster.

Joshua pouted, Damnit, those stupid twerps were early. I tell you, I had this all timed out perfectly. The way I pictured this… Sigh. It was supposed to be so beautiful. Oh, well. He shrugged, and then shot Star with her own gun.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

That artificial claxon raced in tandem with his galloping heart, ‘though he didn’t feel it in his chest, he heard it like the yaw of some imminent marauder.

Star’s torso exploded in a cloud of pink mist.

In unison, both Trolls roared, No!

Past Troll lunged, but Joshua held out his hand, and Troll’s muscles seized up. Jaws twitching, teeth clenched and grinding, he muttered, I’ll kill thee.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

We’ll see. Joshua wafted his other hand. The blue door reappeared. Well, it’s been fun, but I have ever so much to do, and there is very little time. I’m going to take my leave now, but first, as promised -- the choice. After I enter the blue door, it will disappear. Within moments, another shall appear. It will take you wherever you want to go.

Sputtering blood, Star lay wheezing in the grass. Every breath sounded like rain drops bouncing off church tarp.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Hot tears streaming down his face, Troll sniffled, What do ye mean?

Joshua continued, You have a choice. You can either pursue me and try and rescue your Dog. Learn the answers you seek, the reason behind why all this is happening. Or, you can choose to live with Star.

Past Troll scoffed, She won’t live.

Not in this world, no. But like I said, there are other worlds, other versions of her. Or you can simply choose to go back in time in this world. Now that we have the one we want, I will not meddle with you two. You can relive the life you had, without the Dog, of course. Find Star, fall in love all over again. Raise a litter of kids. All you have to do is enter the door with a thought in your mind, a mental picture, if you will. Just think of where you want to go, and you’ll be sent there.

Liar!

But, wait, he remembered something else; a wide road fashioned from some black, hard substance. Preternatural lines of yellow and white painted cracked and creviced streets. Honking sounds. Structures built from glass, brick, and steel scraped the smoggy horizon. Blinking, colored lights that dazzled the towering skyline. Thousands of people dressed in odd clothes shuffled about. Blaring noises and lights like eyes barreled toward him.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Well, toodles. Then Joshua King, the Wraith, vanished into the blue door of light.

Past Troll raced toward Star and scooped her up in his arms.

You fool. You idiot. You braggart.

Trembling violently, Star coughed up blood.

Then he was back in his body. Star in his arms. He brushed the thinning locks from her febrile brow and blubbered, Don’t worry my dove, I will save ye.

Chest rattling, she gasped, No. Save Dog. Kill that son-of-a-bitch. Kill them all.

But I can’t leave ye, he sobbed. I won’t.

You have to.

She ran the tips of her fingers down his scar, and it felt all too real.

She gasped, You have to. Something big is happening. Something bad. Stop it, Troll. You have to stop it.

And then he kissed her.

She didn’t kiss back. She was dead.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Heart shattering into a million pieces, Troll roared, No!

The blue door returned.

Crying, he held Star’s limp body.

What should he do?

Everything he could remember rushed through his mind, like water breaking through a dam. In his mind he re-lived every moment spent with Star. Every caress; every kiss. No, he could not leave her. Not ever.

What about the Dog? Star’s voice echoed in his thoughts. "You can’t leave him either. The Troll I know, the one I fell in love with wouldn’t do that."

He peered at the doorway of shimmering light.

Whatever ye do, don’t enter the blue door.

He gently placed Star’s body on the grass and peered at the compass in his trembling grip. No choice. He had to enter the blue door one way or the other. The only question that remained, where should he go?

He couldn’t live without Star. But would there be another Star if he went after the Dog? Would it even be his Star or some doppelganger placed by the Wraith to tug at his already torn heart-strings?

But she was right. Something big was happening. And he had to stop it. That was his purpose, God’s plan for him.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Glaring at the glimmering portal, Troll snarled Very well, then, into the breach.

He awoke with a start; on the verge of all-out panic. All seemed blurry and white, as if peering at the world through a whiskey bottle. His eyelids raked across dry oculars. His desiccate tongue felt like sand drifting docilely through a barren desert.

Oh, my beautiful dove. I’ve lost thee. I’ve lost everyone. What am I to do now?

His vision cleared and he cursorily scanned his surroundings. He was in a small white room. An artificial luminance beamed down from tube-like objects in the ceiling. The tubes buzzed like skeeters on a sultry summer’s eve.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Clear, thin, pliable hoses ran from his forearm and slithered up some odd, metal T-shaped stand from which a clear bag suspended from the edge of the T. The unusual looking bag held some sort of liquid inside. He tried to pull the tubes out of his arm, but it felt as if they contained stingers that buried deep into his meaty flesh. A searing pain coursed through his extremity and up toward his clavicle, as if he’d just been stung by a wasp with a bad attitude.

He sat on some sort of make-shift bed that was both too small for his heft and extremely uncomfortable to lie upon.

Odd gizmos, gadgets, and machines surmounted him, the likes of which he’d never before seen; never even dreamed of.

Beep-beep-beep

Wires with sucker-like appendages dotted his chest, as if they leeches.

Those machines must’ve been the source of that damnable beeping.

He glanced around the small room, but found no door.

He was trapped. Hooked up to alien machinery and without a clue as to where he was or how he got there.

His heart trolled with long awkward strides.

Beep-ba-beep-ba-beep-ba-beep

He felt naked, but wasn’t. He no longer donned his cloak, kilt, and deer-skin shirt, but wore a baby-blue gown, the consistency of which resembled finely pressed parchment, and crinkled as he moved.

No, this was wrong. This was so wrong.

A wave of panic descended upon him like an unexpected sandstorm.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

He tried to rise, but his chest pounded and his bones seemed as brittle as glass. Febrile and sweaty, he stood and his knees buckled. He gripped the miniscule bed to keep from colliding to the tabular ground. He expected the bed to flip, but no, t’was bolted to the floor.

Hyperventilating, he grasped the tubes in his arm and ripped them out with all his might; their long, metallic stingers dripped with his blood, but they weren’t siphoning the precious fluids from him. Instead, they were injecting him with something no-doubt nefarious.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

He tore the wired-suckers from his chest.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…

A hidden door opened in the wall and a handful of men and women dressed in odd clothing scurried in. Their pantaloons fashioned from some thin material, as was the their strange short-sleeved shirts with V-necks. The peculiar, white shoes they donned squeaked as they trotted across the smooth flooring. They wore weird hats and masks made of paper that covered their facial features.

A thin woman with blue-eyes knelt in front of him, and asked, Sir, are you all right?

A man with a brusque voice asked, What are you doing out of bed?

Another asked, Can we scan him yet?

Yet another passed a small tablet-like device over his left hand, and said, Nope, still nothing.

All of their accents sounded weird, as if he trapped in some foreign country.

Troll asked, What’s going on? Who are thee? Where am I?

The woman with blue-eyes said, Calm down sir, we’re trying to help you.

Another asked, Sir, how many fingers am I holding up?

Three, he replied.

Do you know the day?

No.

Do you know the year?

Regrettably, no?

Sir, do you know your name?

Aye, t’is Troll. Usually he would’ve amended this introduction with an, at ye’r service. But he had no idea who these people were, or their intentions. Their armor was fashioned from paper-cloth, sure, but for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling they soldiers of the king -- Joshua King.

And then he saw her. It happened so fast; was it even real?

A young vixen with chocolate skin and vivacious curves strut past the open door.

Troll’s strength returned and he arose with such vigor as to knock the paper-king’s men to the ground. Bracing the walls, he hobbled into a hallway; also white while’st an eerie luminance beamed from above. A series of doors lined the hall, but the avenue appeared otherwise abandoned.

Ah, but he knew all too well about appearances, didn’t he?

He called, Star! Star! But his voice sounded meek; lacking its usual diction. His throat felt itchy and course. He scratched his neck, but scratching afforded no assuagements. Myriam, he croaked, my dove.

Something inside him told him to be quiet and still. So, he did. He knelt to the ground and bowed his head.

Please, Lord, tell me what I am to do? What strange, new path have ye placed before me?

From further down the hall, and around a corridor he heard her voice.

Charts?

A husky-voiced woman replied, Right here, doctor.

His dove asked, How’s Mr. Johnson doing?

Leaning against the wall, his bones feeling like brittle glass, chest throbbing, Troll hobbled toward the origin of that sweet, sweet chirping.

So sweet.

No! He forced that thought away with all the will he could muster.

His dove asked, And our John Doe?

All quiet. He’s still unconscious.

Well, zoom me as soon as he’s awake. He’s not scannable and that’s a major problem.

Was it her? Could it really be?

There are other worlds, other versions of her.

Troll crept closer. The eerie luminance tubes flickered from above, and it reminded him of the stringed work-lights from the mines. That look of elucidation upon Byron’s face before the Sweetie-man took him. That ice-platform bobbing listlessly in frigid, opal water.

The husky voice said, I’ve already contacted the authorities.

His dove replied, Good. Zoom me as soon as they’re here.

Yes, doctor Starkey.

Then Troll felt it. That odd tingling sensation, as if his energy being drained.

Fshwoom

He collapsed to his knees. His muscles seized and quavered, but he managed to roll over on his back. His heart sank into his deepest, darkest bowels.

Fedic loomed over him. He also wore odd clothing of white. A big, golden button adorned his chest, like that of a sheriff’s badge. His gray-eyes glimmered in the preternatural light. That sickish blue aura radiated from him like heat-waves off the desert floor. He smiled like the Wraith, and asked, Remember me?

Troll meant to say, All too well. But before he could utter a single syllable, Fedic blasted him again with another blue, energy burst.

Heart racing, chest throbbing, Troll’s body vibrated at a resonance he thought his fragile bones would shatter.

In his head he heard Anne’s voice over and over and over again, "Whatever ye do, don’t enter the blue door."

But alas, he already did. And now it was too late.

****

1

Troll awoke sluggishly, as if struggling to revive from a nightmare that simply refused to release its hold. He attempted to open his eyes, but he couldn’t, like his eyelids were glued shut.

Beep-beep-beep-beep

That damnable noise returned, but the pace was slower; steady.

He tried opening his eyes again, but only succeeded in cracking the oculars. A faint, preternatural light burned his pupils, like he was staring at the sun, but the hue resembled more of a pallid white than a beaming, yellow orb. He motioned to rub the sleep from his vision, but his stalwart muscles barely twitched. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, but that only seemed to send the world rocking forth-and-sway, as if his entire universe comprised of a loose spring.

Beep-beep-beep-beep

He tried to sit up. No use. The sensation reminiscent to when the Wraith ceased Troll’s motor functions with a waft of its taloned-hand. He forced his eyes open with all the will he could muster, and that artificial light tortured his pupils evermore. Vision blurred, he glanced around, but his head barely seemed to move. He appeared to be in the same cold, sterile room he’d awoken in earlier.

Beep-beep-beep-beep

The odd bag of fluid still hung from its metal T-shaped stand; its clear tubes once again buried stingers into his veins. Wire-leeches still suckled from his barrel-like chest, while the machines chanted, Beep-beep-beep-beep.

A shadowy figure loomed over him, and for the briefest of moments, he terrified the Wraith returned. He blinked a few times and shook his head again. He felt foggy, light-headed. Nausea swirled within his gullet, and for the utmost of brevity, he certain he about to vomit.

The apparition leaned in closer, but t’was not the Wraith; it was the same blue-eyed woman wearing cloth garments and a paper hat and mask. Cradling an odd-looking tablet, she asked, Feeling better?

He meant to ask, Where am I? but his words came out all jumbled and slurred, as if soused. Troll had never been poisoned before, but he remained fairly confident this must’ve been what it felt like. W…wa’s…inn…ing…?

Brow creased in effeminate folds, slender eyebrows arched, she replied, I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t understand you.

"Wh…ere…I…?

She said, You went berserk and attacked myself and some of the other nurses, so we had to sedate you.

Did he? He didn’t remember it that way. Funny, he heard hear voice clear as day, but his vision blurred, light-headed, and his speech and motor skills seemed impaired.

She continued, We rated you +4 on the RASS scale, so we’ve given you an intubated mix of morphine and propofol.

What? Perhaps he didn’t understand her words as clearly as he thought. All he ascertained from her jargon was that they gave him something, but he retained no memory of that.

She released a noise that sounded like an amalgamation of a laugh and a sigh, and said, Of course, we also had to restrain you. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it’s SOP in a situation like this.

Sure enough, he was cuffed to the small, uncomfortable table by fabric straps that held tight as steel.

She added, But you seem calmer now, so I’m just gonna go ahead and back you off your meds, plus the doctor would like a word with you.

Troll stuttered, S…ta…sta…

With elegant fingers she pressed the tablet’s face in random places, and said, There, you should be feeling a bit more lucid in a few moments. She sauntered toward a machine, placed her palm on a screen fashioned from opal glass, and said, Doctor Starkey, the patient is awake now.

From somewhere unseen, he heard Star’s voice crackle, Thank you, Susan, I’ll be in in a moment.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

Urgency filling his bones, he attempted to sit once more (but couldn’t), and called, Sss…ta…sta!

Take it easy, sir. The doctor will be in to see you momentarily.

Troll relaxed.

Beep-beep-beep

His dove was coming to him.

A coldness coursed through his veins. Chest rising and falling like granules of sand across ever-changing desert, he asked, Wh…where…am…I…?

Shuffling toward him, she patted his hand, and said, Relax, you’re safe. You’re in the hospital.

The what?

A whoosh sounded, and then a white-paneled wall moved aside; no-doubt the very same door he tried to escape through earlier. And just like before, Star loomed in the archway. She wore a long, white coat over thin pink-colored clothes. The shirt she sported also fashioned with the same V-neck as her constituents. Her hair was black and straight, averse to long, golden curls; and smartly tied up in a bun. Although silky bangs loomed over her smooth forehead. Her eyes brown, but her face, voice, and physique equaled that of the Star he knew; the one he’d left behind. With the same saucy gait of his dove, she strutted inside. She too held a small tablet-like device. Gaze glued to the instrument (as if inspecting her faulty compass), she strolled toward him, and said, Good afternoon, my name is Dr. Mary-Anne Starkey. Can you tell me yours?

T…ro…ll…

I’m sorry, what was that?

Troll rolled his desiccate tongue around his mouth, gathered his wits, took a deep breath, and said, Troll.

Is that a first or last name?

Bones weary, muscles fatigued, his head lolled to the side. He slurred, T…roll

Dr. Starkey asked the blue-eyed nurse, Is this how he always talks?

Bashfully hunching her shoulders, she replied, No, Dr., he was quite lucid earlier, and very articulate.

Was he? Once again, he didn’t recall that ever transpiring.

Dr. Starkey asked, What’s he on?

Fingering the tablet in her grip, the nurse replied, I’m zooming you now.

Dr. Starkey stared at her own tablet like she reading a book. Biting her bottom lip, she nodded, and said, Mhmm, well let’s give him 30mg of ephedrine.

Eyes wide, the nurse lurched back, as if a roach just scuttled across her shoes. She asked, Dr. are you sure that’s wise?

Of course, Dr. Starkey replied. She glanced back and forth between Troll and her tablet, and said, Look at this guy, he’s as big as an efficiency apartment. An awkward smirk painted her beautiful face, like whenever she attempted concealing a smile.

He knew that smile.

Dr. Starkey cleared her throat, and said, Better yet, make it 50mg.

Gape glued to her tablet, the nurse chirped, You’re the doctor.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

A tingling rushed through the hollows of his very essence. His skin crawled with an antsy sensation, and suddenly felt like he had to void his bowels. His heart beat with the rapacious rhyme of the king’s war drums. His vision cleared and his mouth felt drier than when he traversed the Mo’tave desert.

Was that even real? Was this?

The nurse said, That should do it. He’s all yours doctor.

Still gazing at her own tablet, Dr. Starkey replied, Thank you, Susan. You may return to your rounds.

Susan proffered a slight bow then trotted toward the white-paneled wall. She passed her left-hand across something.

Whoosh

The white-paneled wall opened once more, revealing a door, and Susan took her leave.

Troll surveyed his environment now that he bit more clear-headed.

The room appeared cramped, smaller than a Krinian hut. Windowless. The walls and floors a glossy white that no-doubt intended for the occupant to experience a cleanly vibe. But it only caused sterile shivers racing up and down his spine. The odd buzzing, tubular lights hummed from above. Complex machines, gadgets, and gizmos surmounted him like sentinels assessing his every move.

Dr. Starkey pulled a wheeled-stool from underneath a desk and sat within arm’s reach of Troll (if he not restrained).

Face scrunched, and with a piercing gunman’s gaze, she asked, Do I know you?

There are other worlds, other versions of her.

Sure, this was Star. He knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But it wasn’t his Star; just some doppelganger sent by the Wraith, Joshua King, to tug at his already torn heart-strings.

As a frigid, empty feeling of loneliness shivered through his bones, he attempted to perform his characteristic running of a hand down the left-side of his face before remembering him restrained. He sighed, and that coldness dug deeper with the tenacious malignancy of cancer. He replied, No, my dear. I don’t see how that’s possible.

Biting her lower lip, she toyed at the collar of her white-coat, as if twirling a finger around the compasses’ chain, she said, Alright, well let’s get down to it. As I mentioned, my name’s Dr. Mary-Anne Starkey, and I’m one of the head residents. You were in an accident. Do you remember any of it?

A phantasmagoria of images flashed through his mind’s eye. Black, tabular streets with painted colored lines. Blinking lights. Monolithic structures of glass and steel. A Large, mechanized carriage barreled towered him like a train speeding toward Al’ber Que. A cacophonous maelstrom of indecipherable voices and blaring honks.

Aye.

Smirking, she asked, Aye? Are you from Scotland?

What-land?

Gaze glued to the tablet, she grinned, and said, Never mind. Anyway, your BP is 160 over 100, which is rather high, but not uncommon for a person in your condition.

My condition?

Yes, the scar tissue around your right coronary artery is indicative of an acute myocardial infarction.

A what?

Dr. Starkey donned that all-to-familiar awkward grin. Gaze downcast, she exhaled a whimsical huff, and said, Basically, you had a mild heart-attack.

Troll scoffed, Tell me something I don’t know.

Sighing, Dr. Starkey said, Okay, well, your heartbeat’s arrhythmic, but that’s fairly common for heart-attack survivors. You’re malnourished, especially for a man of your…well, stature. Oh, but your CBC checks out, so that’s good news. Scanning the tablet, she swept a lithe finger across its face and continued, Also, somehow, you’ve managed to contract a rather nasty, but dormant, case of histoplasmosis. Mind telling me how that happened?

Unable to meet her gape, Troll replied, My dear, I don’t even know what that means. Is it fatal?

No, you don’t possess any symptoms of chills, fever, aching or sore muscles, headaches, or anything of that nature.

Suddenly, he whisked back to the deep, deep dark; standing before a mound of festering bodies who’d met their demise from cave-rot. The lambent glow of his torch/staff illuminated their pain twisted faces juxtaposed by long shadows. Even now, the putrid stench violated his sinuses like strafing arrows.

She continued, Normally we don’t treat asymptomatic patients for histoplasmosis, but, she glanced down at the tablet’s face again, released an amused huff, and said, Your exposure rates are off the charts. So, we’ve given you 10cc’s of Amphotericin B just to be safe. Chuckling, she gazed up at him, and asked, I’m curious, how did you come to be exposed to such…I don’t know…an archaic ailment. Have you been cave-diving, or spelunking, or something like that?

His cerebrations reassembled that horrific look painted upon Byron’s face.

So sweet.

A cold shiver raced up and down his spine once more.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

He replied, Alas, I knoweth not.

Are you a Shakespearean actor?

A what?

She studiously scanned him up and down, and asked, You’re not from around here, are you?

How would he answer that? He didn’t know.

His thoughts drifted back to Silverdale, where Goodies died of horrible farm accidents. He asked, What of this accident ye mentioned?

Well, according to citizens on the scene, you were standing in the middle of the street when you were hit by a city bus.

Again, he had no idea what she was talking about. Aye, this surely was a strange and terrible world to awake in.

Observing the tablet once more, she said, You sustained a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but no broken bones, no internal hemorrhaging, or anything of that nature. Chuckling, she added, Which is pretty miraculous considering you were hit by a full-sized bus.

"Anything else I should know?

Yes. Sigh. You’re also afflicted with giantism.

Aye, I am a giant of a man.

No, you don’t understand. With giantism coupled with your recent heart-attack; the stress of you bones, your arteries…everything…well…let me ask you this, have you always been this…big?

I’m afraid I don’t know.

I only ask because giantism stems from a malfunction of the pituitary gland resulting in hyper-secretion of growth hormones. Typically signs of gigantism or giantism are an enlargement of the face, hands, feet, and excessive height. But the thing is, you’re not just tall, you’re…

Big?

Yes, Mr. Troll, was it?

Aye.

Yes, you’re very big. So, my question is, have you always been this big, even as a child, or is your overall stature a new development?

I can’t remember.

Are you experiencing any other memory loss at this time?

No, my dove, my memory’s fine. I simply don’t remember my childhood.

Well, okay, that’s understandable, and Dr. Starkey is just fine. The only reason I inquire is because if you’ve always been this big then you’re probably suffering from giantism, but if it’s a recent affliction it’s probably acromegaly, which is treatable.

And this giantism, as ye call it, isn’t?

No, sir, I’m afraid not.

Troll was about to ask what this meant of his fate.

As if reading his thoughts (but probably the confused look on his face), she replied, Basically, you’re just going to keep growing until your organs are crushed beneath your own weight.

You seem taller.

She continued, It also causes detriment to your skeletal and circulatory system. Most people suffering from giantism don’t live past their forties, if they’re lucky. And I estimate your age around mid-to-late thirties. Although your graying hair might suggest otherwise. And as I said, that coupled with your recent heart-attack and arrhythmia…well…

What are ye trying to say, doctor?

She placed the tablet in her coat pocket, and gently took his hand. Unable to meet his gape, she said, I’m not sure how much time you have left.

Whoosh

The white-paneled door slid aside once more. A man garbed in white-leather clothing marched inside. He wore a shiny, white helmet with a face mask fashioned from some reflective, opal material.

Troll reminisced on the king’s men and their black armor with snarling animals carved upon their face-masks, and shivered.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

God, he desired to tear those wired-suckers from his chest, but alas, he couldn’t.

Dr. Starkey held her palm out to the man, and said, Please, officer, I said I needed a few minutes to disclose the patients’ diagnosis.

The officer replied, I’m sorry ma’am--

Doctor.

"I’m sorry doctor, but orders are orders, and I’ve been instructed to talk to the patient as soon as he’s lucid, which he seems to be."

Once again, Troll descended back into the deep, deep dark. Turn-coats pounded the scratch-mark upon their chest-plates, and barked, "Ar-ar!"

Dr. Starkey bit her bottom lip. Fingering the collar of her long, white coat, she replied, Very well, proceed.

Helmet bobbing, he placed his hands on his hips, and chuckled, Dr. are we gonna have a problem here?

She snorted, This man is my patient. I’m his doctor. And he has his rights.

The officer conceded his gloved palms, and sighed, Okay, okay. He removed his helmet. The man’s hair was short, cropped, and dirty-blonde; his face princely and cleanly shaven.

Troll blinked in disbelief, and asked, ‘Ro?

The officer that looked like ‘Ro (but probably wasn’t), gazed at Troll, and asked, I’m sorry, what was that?

But Troll didn’t answer. How could he? He had no idea what to say, and even if he did, it would no-doubt come out all wrong. So, he hung his head in dejection, and said nothing.

The officer clomped toward him, and said, Sir, my name’s Peace Officer, Jeffrey Jessip, and yours is?

Troll, he replied.

Uh-huh, I see, Officer Jessip produced a tablet of his own, gazed at it, and asked, And is that a first or last name.

T’is my only name.

T’is? I’m sorry, did you just say the word t’is?

Dr. Starkey scoffed, Actually, it’s a contraction, but yeah, that’s just how he talks.

Uh-huh, I see. He said to Troll, Well, sir, the reason I’m here is because you’re un-scannable.

I’m sorry, Troll replied, But I don’t know what that means.

Hands on his hips, Officer Jessip donned an awkward (and familiar grin), and snorted, You don’t know what that means? How do you not know what that means?

Dr. Starkey interjected, Officer you must understand that Mr. Troll just came off heavy sedation and--

Officer Jessip said, I’m sorry, are you his doctor or his attorney? Please remind me, because I have the attention span of a goldfish.

A spirited fire burned behind Dr. Starkey’s dark, brown-eyes, but she clamped her mouth shut; no-doubt concealing a snide retort.

Perhaps this woman wasn’t so different from the Star he’d known after all.

Officer Jessip’s grin widened. He waltzed toward Troll, and said, This is scanning. He passed his left-hand upon the surface of his tablet and showed it to Troll.

All of Officer Jessip’s pertinents were displayed upon the glossy face of the tablet: His name, weight, height, eye-color, vocation, and even something called his serial number.

Troll muttered, I don’t understand.

Officer Jessip replied, You see, everyone has a chip embedded in the wrist of their left-hand, which allows people to scan each other for verification, that and among other things. But we can’t scan you. You don’t have a chip.

Perplexed, Troll asked, So?

Officer Jessip forced a laugh, and said, So, we haven’t encountered an un-scannable or John Doe, or Jane for over twenty years.

Troll uttered, That sounds like a personal problem.

Arms crossed, Officer Jessip leaned back. Grin widened to a maniacal magnitude, he replied, Oh, it is. For you.

Troll attempted to run his fingertips down his scar and beard before remembering him restrained. He asked, So, by not possessing one of these so-called chips, ye’r saying I’ve inherently broken some sort of law.

Officer Jessip chuckled, Well, it’s not a law. It’s just strange, is all. And I’ve been instructed to investigate your mysterious appearance. Where are you from?

Gazing at Dr. Starkey, he replied, Not from around here.

Yes, I think we’ve established that based on your accent.

His accent? What about their accents; so nasal and uppity?

Officer Jessip persisted, Tell me where you came from.

In his mind, he heard Star’s voice say, "Don’t tell this son-of-a-bitch nothing. He ain’t the ‘Ro we know."

Troll worked his tongue around his desiccate mouth, sighed, and said, I’m afraid I knoweth not, for my accident ye see has left me a bit bereft of memory.

Officer Jessip asked Dr. Starkey, Who is this guy, Shakespeare or something?

Arms crossed, she snidely retorted, Oh, so now I’m allowed to speak?

Rolling his eyes, Jessip huffed, Never mind. He asked Troll, So, do you remember anything about your accident?

Don’t tell him nothing.

No, Troll replied.

Perhaps, anything before your accident? Any lingering memories at all?

No, I’m afraid not.

Uh-huh, I see. Officer Jessip cleared his throat, ran a hand through his short, cropped hair, and asked, "Well, is there anything you can tell me about yourself? Anything at all?"

Gaze dithering between the doctor and the officer, Troll replied, Apparently I’m dying.

I’m sorry to hear that, sir. He said to Dr. Starkey, I know I have no legal right to ask this, but how bad is it? Or would you prefer to answer that with a lawyer present?

Smirking, she replied, No, I’ll answer that. Sighing, she toyed with her shirt collar, and said, Without divulging any personal details, the prognosis isn’t good. Unfortunately, without a chip, we don’t have any of his medical history or proof of health insurance, so there’s literally nothing we can do for him.

Troll said, Then perhaps ye might find it in ye’r hearts to release me from these bonds so that I may die in peace. He gestured to the bed he was strapped to, and added, And on more comfortable furnishings.

Officer Jessip ran a hand through his hair again, and said, I’m sorry sir, but we just can’t do that. An un-scannable can’t just go strolling around.

Troll scoffed, Why not, what harm could an old man on his death-bed be to your society?

"Your society?"

Frowning, Dr. Starkey asked, What?

Officer Jessip replied, "Nothing, I just think it’s interesting the way he phrased that, your society. Gazing at Troll, he continued, But seriously, without a chip you can’t have a bank account, you can’t get a job, you can’t rent an apartment, you can’t buy groceries or pay your bills, hell, you can’t even zoom anybody. Snorting, he shrugged, and asked, I mean, where you gonna go? What you