Dan scurried backward, as if he could escape his own blood.
“Something is very wrong,” he whispered, wondering if the guy he owed money to had caught up with him. He’d been beaten pretty badly a few times before, so it wouldn’t be unusual.
A man needs a vice.
Dan’s was gambling.
Something was off, though. The idea of the bookie’s enforcers following him to a hiking trail was funny enough to make Dan laugh—which made him wheeze and pass out.
The next time he woke, Dan was in what appeared to be a hospital bed from the feel of the sheets. Maybe it was silly, but he thought coarse sheets were the worst. When he traveled, Dan always brought his own sheets. In fact, he had brought a set of sheets, including a pillowcase that was stuffed with his laundry, while camping.
He looked around and saw his backpack beside his bed. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to spend eternity lugging it around—especially as it still weighed as much as on the failed hike. Dan glared at the offensive bag and grumbled, “The afterlife is weird… and it smells like sulfur.”
He looked up at the approach of a curvy woman in an old-fashioned hat and dress who held out a cup of something green and frothy.
“Is this hell?”
“No.”
“It smells like it,” he pointed out, scrunching up his face as if to erase the stench of sulfur that seemed to be everywhere.
“You get used to it.” She wiggled the cup. “Drink this, dear. You’ll feel better.”
Dan drank it, and that was that. He was out cold again.
That cycle of wake, drink gross smoothies, and pass out was repeated several times, but each time he felt better and better.
Maybe I was dehydrated.
Maybe I hallucinated the fall and the blood.
But even in his flickers of awareness, Dan knew better. Lies made him feel peculiar—like ants in his veins—even when he was the one lying.
Finally, Dan woke to find the nurse—ordoctor?—talking to Cosplay Hottie.
“He had a sickness in him,” she said.
“How long to fix it?”
“Seriously, Sondre? Ialreadyrepaired everything. As long as he stays here, he’ll be fine. If he leaves…” She glanced at Dan.
“Hello?” Dan said, feeling awkward about eavesdropping.
The woman flashed him a smile, pivoted, and was gone.
“I have questions,” he said, louder now. “Am I dead? And why does it smell like bad eggs?”
The man, Sondre apparently, rubbed his face and gestured toward the door. “Come with me.”
Sondre slung Dan’s backpack over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.
Dan stood, testing his stability, and in the next few minutes, he was back on his feet and escorted out of the hospital. After a lifetime of hospital visits, Dan still had a moment of relief each time he was able to walk out on his own. One more day, week, month, year of life was all he could hope for. The thought that the doctor was right—that she’d removed his “sickness” so easily—astounded him.
Dan followed Sondre as he strolled out of the infirmary into a courtyard that was straight out of the Middle Ages. Okay, maybe not totally. No horses. No swordplay. But it was a courtyard outside a castle, and in the distance, mountains loomed. It was if a European village had been restored to function.
And Dan felt better than he had in years.Who knew nearly dying was the cure?Dan grinned, almost giddy. His “sickness” was cancer, and from what he’d heard, it was gone. Not “more surgery/have some radiation/sorry about the new holes in your bones.” Just gone.
“This is amazing,” Dan whispered. There was an energy here, a sense of wellness that he hadn’t often felt. He’d chased that sense of peace often enough via gambling. Betting on the horses and on games he didn’t understand created a fleeting glimmer of joy. The peace he felt doingthatwasn’t real, though. It was like a quick buzz, but then it faded.
