Deserving of More

Chapter Ten: No Matter The Cost

Vultures. Beasts who benefit from the misfortune of the dead. That is what they are. Not satisfied to let the dead be, they must pick at the bones for any last bits of flesh they can scavenge. Necessary creatures in the wild. Not as necessary when used as an analogy for sleazy journalists.

I was home, with a cup of tea. Notification sounds came. Rapid-fire. Over and over. Intrigued, I checked to see what was going on. What I found stopped my heart.

"King's Autopsy Report Reveals Drugs in His System"

I stared at this headline. I knew eventually, someone would send me the link. They always did. With the demons creeping closer, I took to the forums, and all but begged everyone to leave me out of it.

"Just this once, please leave me in the dark."

My heart was pounding. Breath was short. And I was still staring at the headline. Why? I didn't know. I shouldn't look. This didn't need to be released. No one needed to know these things.

"But it's part of the truth," a voice in my head told me, "The truth you promised your king that you'd find. Remember that?" It asked, the words slippery with manipulation and guilt.

"I do," I replied to the demonized version of me.

"No matter the personal cost," you said, it reminded me, "When all those conspiracies started flying around, you said that you would find the truth. No matter what."

"I did say that," I confessed, "Out loud. To the air."

"Well, he heard you," the demon replied, "And you wouldn't want to go back on your word to him. Would you? He'd be so disappointed. Just someone else on the long list of people who let him down. Could you live with yourself if he felt that way?"

"No," I said with a hard swallow.

"Then you should read it," the demon prompted, "Go on. Click the link. It's right there."

My hands shook as I hovered over the blue words. Closing my eyes, I pressed my finger onto them, and downloaded the report to my phone. Once it was finished, I opened the file. Page after page flitted across the screen as they stacked for my convenience.

All of me shook as I began to read. Pages of descriptions. Diagrams. Measurements. Unfortunately, my shallow background in criminal justice meant that I was familiar with the terms used. I knew exactly what it all meant. The image it created in my mind was the stuff of nightmares. Seeing him in the manner described, even in my imagination, stole the air from my lungs and sent the blood in my body far from my brain. The world swam as I struggled to breathe. My guts squeezed against themselves and I reached for the small trashcan beside my desk. My insides contracted, but nothing else happened. This occurred several times. My core hurt. My eyes watered. I still clung to it, hugging it against my chest as though it could hug me in return. The image I had created refused to disappear, whether my eyes were open or not. My insides made one final, unsuccessful, attempt to purge themselves. I took advantage of my watery eyes and finally broke into sobs, a white-knuckle grip on my companion trashcan.

I couldn't bear the weight of this. What I saw in my mind was clawing at my soul. I was desperate to make it disappear. I finally released my plastic friend and it fell to the floor with a thunk. I heard a different beckoning. The kitchen. The answer was there. The bottle of vodka in the door of the refrigerator.

I dumped an unmeasured amount of the slightly viscous alcohol into a container. I poured whatever soda I had on top, and gave it a quick stir. I'd downed a glass before I realized. And a second. It didn't even taste like anything. Just burn. Which was fine. Maybe it would burn away the brain cell that held the awful image I was trying to dissolve.

The container was empty. And I still felt the same. I could hear my notifications chiming in the bedroom, so I went back. Everything was a flurry of posts. Shock was rippling outward in the kingdom. I took it upon myself to warn others against reading what I had. To save them from my fate. And then, Grace popped up.

G: "Those sleazeballs! I can't believe they did this to him! That should not have been released! So disrespectful! I refuse to read it. Everything is painful enough."

M: "Please don't read it. You're much better off. Don't. And if anyone is unsure, tell them the same thing. Don't read it."

G: "You read it. Didn't you?"

M: "I did. It was horrible. Please don't do that to yourself. I just had a lot of vodka to try and make it go away."

G: "Oh no. You should lie down. Try to rest."

M: "I will. See you at the coffee shop tomorrow."

Before I could abandon the forums for my bed, however, the General... Mike posted.

"The story has been corrected. Originally, there was a false positive on the toxicology test. This part of the report has been changed in the story. Your king did not have drugs in his system when he died. Disrespectful vultures."

I wasn't sure if my head was spinning from the vodka or this. This piece of news didn't really change anything. Not for me, at least. He was still gone. I still had a horrible, haunting image in my mind. But if it gave anyone comfort, then I figured it was worth knowing.

I finally flopped onto my bed, my face buried in the pillow. My mind was loosened from the vodka, but the image was still there. In a moment of desperation, I screamed into the pillow. And a second time. My third scream came out as a sob, and before I knew it, I was wailing in agony, only half muffled by the mass supporting my head.

I felt a gentle hand smooth my hair and travel down to between my shoulder blades. And again. I held my breath, unsure if the vodka was making this up.

"It's all right," a very familiar voice soothed. I let go of the sob I'd been holding, and tried to speak as they continued.

"You- Don't- Have- To- Ches-" I couldn't finish his name. I didn't have any words left.

"Shhh," he shushed me, "Close your eyes. Come see me. I can take better care of you there."

"No," I managed to protest, still through tears, "Burden." I hoped he knew what I meant.

"You are not a burden." Yep. He got it. "Come see me. Please." I shook my head. I could feel his gaze sink into my skull. "Close your eyes. That's an order, Lieutenant."

Well, shit. Now I had to. I complied, and everything slipped away into darkness.

I was still crying when the room materialized. Not in our usual spot. A sofa on the far wall. He had me in his arms immediately. Gathered up as if I were a little girl. Just like before, when I was weak.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," he said gently as he resumed stroking my hair, "Fall on that sword for everyone. You didn't need to do that to yourself."

"Truth," I sniffled, "No matter what."

I felt him take a slow, deep breath beneath me. Almost as if he was impressed by my response.

"Rest," he told me in a quiet voice.

"You don't have to do this," I said, both air and the ability to speak properly returning to me.

"Have to?" he chuckled, "No. I don't have to. I want to." He leaned away from me a little, so we could see each other's faces. "You are so devoted," he smiled, "And I want to show you that that's worth something." His lips briefly met my forehead; again, as if I were a little girl. "Rest," he repeated a bit more sternly.

"Yes, Your Majesty," I replied, my heavy eyelids giving in to his command.