Alltopia - 1. Chapter 1

Beep.

Beep.

On the third chirp, his eyes fluttered open. The surroundings were foreign. A firm bed, a sterile odor, and a dull headache filled his senses. Groggy and weary, he tried to make sense of things.

Beep.

After watching countless hours of television, he recognized the sound. The beeping belonged to a heart monitor. “Hospital,” he thought. “Wonder how I got here.” He shifted in the bed, discovering his left arm was in a cast.

A door opened, and before he could look, a woman's voice rang out, “You're awake!”

Though exhausted, the patient attempted to rise but stopped when his vision landed on the person entering. He noticed the white lab coat that belonged to a medical staffer, but was alarmed by what was wearing it. Phalangic limbs covered in bark, leaves, and moss swayed as the being approached. Peeking from underneath the loose jacket fabric were several tree roots. They wavered, carrying the humanoid-shaped body across the room. Where a head would be was a mess of foliage, budding flowers, and vines.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” the plant stated, its tone light and feminine. “I used some strong oils to sedate and heal you.”

The man in bed skirted up, unsure and afraid of the stranger. “What are you?”

“Easy does it. I mean no harm. I’m Doctor Gallagher. You were brought in last night with some injuries. From what I understand, you were in a nasty car accident. We’ve managed to take care of the major wounds with around-the-clock care. All we can ask of you now is to rest while we figure out what happened.”

“What… What happened?”

A thin, long root slithered across his shoulder. Strangely, it felt comforting, warm, and welcoming. “Let’s start with you. I’m afraid neither my staff nor the police could determine who you are. Would you mind answering a few questions, like what your name is?”

“My name is—”

He stopped. Lips trembling and voice frozen, the man blanked. He reached to touch his head, then flinched and hissed as he touched a bandage. “I… I can’t remember.”

The plant brushed a curtain of leaves from its face, revealing a woman’s countenance with yellow eyes. “Fear not. You suffered a head injury, so memory loss might be normal. Perhaps a glance at yourself will help jog things.” She walked using her roots to a drawer and procured a handheld mirror. Holding it out, she offered it to him.

Holding it, he studied himself. The bruise peeking from underneath a cheek-sized bandage shocked him. Unkempt, dirty-blond hair threatened to cloud his view. Pulling his medium-length bangs out of the way, he took note of his brown irises and purple discoloration on the skin under them. It told him he was restless. Throw in the scratched nose, bruised cheek, and cut bottom lip, he looked like hell.

Still, he shook his head. “N-no. Nothing.”

Dr. Gallagher looped a stem around a pencil and jotted something illegible. “For now, would you be okay if we called you John? I’d consider it rude to keep calling you ‘that guy’ or something silly.”

Despite proverbially drowning in doubt, he chuckled. “It could be worse. John works. But, I look so different from you. I’m… pink? And fleshy.”

“Well, that’s because you’re a human, and I’m a dryad. Consider it another day in Alltopia.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry, where?”

The doctor turned to him as if he insulted her. “You don’t know where you are?”

John scowled. “I thought this was Connecticut. You know, the USA? I know what a dryad is, but this Alltopia is news to me.”

“At least you know where you’re from, wherever those places are. Would you mind me taking a moment? I need to place a call.”

He nodded, and his concern returned as she left through the walkway, his concern returned. The dryad confused him. He heard of the name from somewhere. Mythological history, maybe supernatural lore? It seemed familiar. However, he fretted about her not knowing the locations he listed. They came to him with ease, so they had to exist. If only he could remember his n—

“Nick,” he blurted. He gasped and repeated the name, “Nick! Nicholas. My name is Nicholas!” In a fit of excitement, he swung his legs off the bed. Testing his stability, he favored his right side and hobbled to the doorway to search for the dryad. “Dr. Gallagher, I rem—”

Nick stopped in the frame. Looking around, he could not believe his eyes. They refused to study a single being for more than two seconds. Not one person was like him, and he struggled to understand how such entities existed. He recognized several of them at first glance: satyr, goblin, werewolf, and a dwarf, but he focused on one in particular. “Centaur,” he thought aloud.

As if the beast knew, the creature glanced up, meeting Nick’s stare. The male centaur wore a sky-blue, wrinkled dress shirt with an unraveled red necktie around the collar. The lengthy brown hair draped down to the shoulder, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard that barely covered his neck. A brief smile and wave was given to the human. Somehow, he managed to return it with a weak one of his own. When the horse-man returned to chatting with a blob of green slime, Nick swallowed. His throat was dry, but he panted and continued to search his surroundings.

“John,” Dr. Gallagher called as she approached, “you shouldn’t be out of bed so soon. Please, let’s go back in your room.”

As she ushered him back inside, Nick craned his neck and shivered from the air conditioner’s flow. Another was entering with them. While the clean-shaven man wore a coat similar to Dr. Gallagher’s, white feathered wings protruded from his back. The bright wings contrasted his umber complexion, and it offered a radiant glow around the man. A calming aura washed over Nick. It was as if he had known the man for years. “Are you an angel?”

“You weren’t joking, Ruth,” the newcomer murmured, stroking his dreads out of his face. “Yes, and I take it you’re unaccustomed to seeing someone like me, John?”

“I… Y-yes, and I remember my name. I’m Nick.”

Dr. Gallagher clapped her roots together, making a thud sound. “Excellent! You do look like a Nick. Nick, I’d like to introduce you to Doctor Malach, one of our finest counselors.”

“You don’t have to sugar-coat it, Doc,” Nick harped. “You can say therapist. I think I’ve met a few in my time.” He realized what he had just said and slouched. “I can’t remember the sessions, but I know I’ve seen a therapist before.”

“I do like a blunt patient,” Malach admitted with a smile. “So I can comfortably let you know I’m here to help you remember more about yourself, right?”

“That, and help me figure out why I’m the only human in the building.”

“Yeah. I admit, that’s a new one. We know about your kind, but you might as well be a unicorn. Nevertheless, I’m ready to tackle that challenge with you. First and foremost, welcome to Alltopia, Nick.”

Returning to the bed after Dr. Gallagher’s repetitive gestures to it, Nick sighed and spotted a glass of water on the nearby rolling table. Quenching his thirst, he pondered his first question. “Alltopia, huh? Is this a country, state, or city?”

“More of a kingdom, really. Our monarchy and council ensure our well-being as a community. From what Ruth here has told me, you recognized her species’ name but not the appearance. Then you recognized mine. You’ve heard of a few of us, I take it?”

“Yeah, I even saw a centaur out there.”

“Fascinating,” Malach whispered to himself. He rubbed his chin as he sat on a stool. “I’m curious if your land of Connecticut is a memory lapse, or if you’re from an uncharted area we’re unfamiliar with.”

Nick shrugged and looked around. The medicine cabinets and various glove boxes seemed similar to what he figured a hospital should have. “This room… I’ve been to a hospital before. It seems just like one in Connecticut. Almost exactly, aside from the fourteen different glove sizes on the walls. Why’s that? One size for each hand, paw, and tentacle?”

“Most likely, more of your memory will come along with time. It’s not something that can be rushed, nor should it be.”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Gallagher agreed, unfurling a page on a clipboard. “I wanted Dr. Malach with me as I reviewed why you’re here. From what the responding officers and EMTs reported, they pulled you from a rough car wreck on the highway a few miles from here. They suspect you were cut off, judging from the skid marks in your lane, and then you lost control of your vehicle. You rolled a few times before landing in the grassy median. The EMT stated you were lucky. Your car missed the start of the concrete barrier before the median. That probably saved your life.”

Hearing the hallowing recollection, Nick only grew angry at himself. “And I don’t remember a damn thing! Fuck!”

He clenched his eyelids shut and slammed a fist onto the bed. After a brief moment, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That’s normal, Nick,” Malach said soothingly. “Traumatizing events in memory loss cases is the first or last thing one remembers. How about this– are you hungry?”

“Not really, but I should get solid food on my stomach. Am I clear to go?”

“Ruth?”

The dryad set the clipboard down and pointed with a root. “Wheelchair only. I saw that limp, buster.”

With the plant’s temper noted, Nick sat in the chair Malach provided. Once out of earshot, he asked, “Did I make her mad?”

“I’m afraid that was me. I may or may not have taken you as my patient. You’re practically fit as a fiddle, so my line of work takes precedence.”

Snorting, Nick couldn’t help but make the joke. “I thought the song said the devil went down to Georgia, not an angel.”

“Not sure I get the reference, but it sounds amusing. If I may point something out, I’m surprised you’re not gawking.”

“I’m just taking it all in, I guess. This is what’s going on right now, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Until then, I’m riding the gravy train until I remember stuff.”

Malach wheeled him backward into an elevator and pressed the L button, presumably for the lobby. “I appreciate your positive attitude. Many memory loss patients are strung out or want me to magically make their memories return with a snap of the fingers.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, covering his mouth as he chuckled, “but from what I know about angels, they’re expected to be miracle workers. You know, answering prayers and whatnot.”

“Sheesh, sounds like hell to me. Nope, just a guy with wings that like listening to people.”

Malach brought him to the cafeteria line, and was delighted to see some of his favorite entrees being served. “Quite a selection here. Can’t say I’ve seen a hospital serve such a variety.”

“One of the reasons I applied to work here, not going to lie,” the therapist joked. “The pizza is a go-to for me. They brush on a garlic butter on the crust right after they pull it out of the oven.” Malach brought him along the various options before Nick chose a few slices and a breadstick. Upon parking at a table, the gooey cheese made him salivate. He picked up a slice and discovered something unusual.

“I can’t smell it.” Nick leaned forward and sniffed. “Not a damn…” He looked toward the serving line and sniffed. “I can’t smell anything other than hospital stench”

“That’s abnormal. It could be a sensory issue. I’ll be sure to inform Ruth when we return to your room.”

Despite the alarming condition, Nick ignored it for now and took a bite. The texture of the melted cheese pressing against the roof of his mouth made him smile. However, a new issue arose. “Add a loss of flavor to the list, Doc. I got nothing here.”

Malach set his slice down. “Are you certain? No taste at all?”

Taking another nibble, he analyzed it further. “I mean, I get a bit of salt. Maybe? It’s like I’m eating solidified water.”

“Strange. I’ll shoot Ruth a text real quick, but it’s still important to get some food on your stomach.”

He nodded, understanding the importance. “Better than an IV diet, right? Not that pizza is extremely nutritious or anything.”

* * * * *

Due to the unforeseen complications of losing two senses, Dr. Gallagher ordered Nick to stay longer than anticipated. He underwent multiple tests, and while his practitioner was transparent with the eventual results, nothing was conclusive. After several days of no new information, the doctor sent their findings to a few colleagues for their input. Until then, he valued his time spent with Malach, even if it meant eating bland food in the cafeteria. There were few problems with his proverbial vacation in the hospital room.

After a couple of days, he felt his back getting sore. Dr. Gallagher chalked it up to potential bedsores and apologized for the uncomfortable mattress. Nick rejected the offer when asked if he wanted an extra pad for his bed. He refused to act like a pompous twat who needed extra pillows for their hotel room. Malach found the metaphor humorous, but that was how Nick saw the situation. During one of their lunch dates, as the therapist jokingly called them, the patient explained to him, “I have my own room, bathroom… Hell, we could've ordered room service to have food brought to us.”

“You know, I think I’ll use that as ammo when I handle my next client. I don’t suppose…”

Nick’s attention drifted as an unfamiliar entity skirted along with the serving line. A large, gray-furred, bipedal wolf held a tray out as pot roast was plopped onto it. The swaying, fluffy tail amused him as the wolfman turned and walked away.

“Fancy someone, eh?”

Being brought back into the conversation, Nick stammered, “I-uh… What?”

“That’s Demetri. Comes every Friday to see his sister in the ICU.”

“Every Friday? If she’s in the ICU, then…” He felt sorry for the guy. “Coma patient, right?”

The angel nodded. “Sad, really. It’s been a couple of months. They’re about to transfer her to a long-term care facility. She’ll be in good hands.”

Slurping his uninspiring spaghetti, Nick wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t envy your job. Having to deal with people dealing with their worst nightmares, you know?”

“That’s actually the beauty of my job. On a good day, I can break the darkness surrounding them and shed some light for their futures.” Malach flashed him a smile. “It makes me feel like I do something good for this world.”

While he shared no responsibility in the man’s occupation, Nick felt proud of Malach’s accomplishments. “I wish I could have that. All I do—”

In a sudden flash of realization, he stood abruptly. The silverware and plates clattered on the trays. “I work in an office!”

Malach joined him and grabbed hold of Nick’s shoulder and arm. “Careful now. No need to—”

“Insurance. I’m… I’m a cold-caller.” Dejected, he sat down and sighed. “Fuck, that’s just depressing.”

“Remembering something important about yourself is depressing? I think not.”

Nick slumped in his chair and huffed. He sat as memories from work flooded in. He saw nameless faces, two screens on his desk, and a headset dangling on a wire frame. “I would’ve been fine if I was a cashier or something, but a cold-caller? I literally bother people and disrupt them while having lunch and dinner. I’ve woken people up and gotten my ass chewed out for it. Hell, I rope old ladies into extravagant life insurance policies they really don’t need.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Malach instructed while rubbing Nick’s shoulder. “You’ve gained another piece of your memory. In many cases, discovering a distaste in your former occupation can lead you down a more enjoyable career path.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Malach returned to his seat. “Is there something you’d rather do for a living?”

“I’m not entirely sure, man. Seems like you have a rewarding job.”

He shook his head. “Not entirely. There are times when I can’t heal a mind or behavior. I’ve left several lost souls behind due to either my inability or their intense injury.” His wings fluttered as he flashed a smile. “But I still try my damnedest.”

The determination felt assuring. Nick powered through the meal. The loss of taste and smell still bothered him. All he wished for was a mere speck of flavor to grace his tongue. Instead, saline dominated. Out of desperation, he opened a packet of both salt and pepper. The seasonings merely added a tingling sensation on the tongue, likely from the salt. Glancing at Malach, he knew the man was trying to hide his delight from his pizza slice. Nick admired the angel’s consideration. Other people would mindlessly comment, realizing their error afterward. The man was a true gentleman.

Feeling sleepy, Nick ate one more forkful and resigned to his room. Malach accompanied him to the doorframe, then claimed he had business with others. They waved in parting before Nick fell into his bed’s rut. As the days melded together, he was convinced a pit was formed in the mattress. His body fit snug, yet it told him he required exercise. As he laid his head on the pillow, he quickly drifted and dreamt of a fresh breeze’s kiss on his skin.

He felt a breeze, but knew it was fake. Darkness surrounded him. His eyes were still closed. “Dreaming,” he thought.

“It won’t be long.”

He awoke in a snap. The room’s lights blinded him and he gasped. Cringing, he peeked and noticed the door opening. A gryphon with blue scrubs and a stethoscope entered. Its sharp eyes met his. “Oh,” a sharp voice muttered. “Didn’t mean to wake you. My apologies.”

Nick sighed as the brown and white-feathered beast stood on its hind legs and grabbed a clipboard, pressing it against her bosom. “It’s okay. I probably needed to wake up. Felt like I slept like the dead.”

“From how quiet you were, I believe you.” She approached, her sharp eyes darting over him. Nick recognized her reasoning. “Appears you’re losing a bit of weight. Is your appetite weakening?”

Studying himself, he raised an arm. He saw his wrist was slightly slimmer. Patting his sides and stomach, he agreed. “I’d say so. Everything has lost its flavor.”

“That can happen. However, you still need nutrients. Keep up the low energy, and you’ll be stuck in this place for a long, long while.” The nurse took his vitals and asked several questions pertaining to his comfort levels. “You seem healthy. Just focus on your stretches and appetite, all right?”

He merely nodded, and when she left, a lingering thought troubled him. Why was he still here?

“It won’t take long,” he whispered. “That wasn’t a female voice. It was definitely a man’s.” Chalking it up to hearing voices, he nuzzled the warm pillow, flipped it, and then returned to sleep.

* * * * *

Nick woke in a cold sweat. He gasped and tried to grab the blanket. Wheezing, his strength was sapped. He couldn’t pull the cloth from under his ankle. Mustering the energy, he lifted his leg and freed the blanket. After curling on the bed, he waited for warmth to pool. Minutes passed in silent agony until the door opened. He didn’t acknowledge the greeting from whoever entered. A hand pressed against his forehead.

“Shit,” a woman whispered. He heard footsteps walking away. “Get Dr. Figgins here, now. Possible pneumonia. I need an IV hookup.”

The orders and actions were swift. A tube was inserted, causing minor discomfort. For some reason, it felt familiar. Licking his parched lips, he begged, “Water.”

“No can do, hun. We don’t want you to aspirate and make things worse. You’re getting IV fluids, so that will help.” Nick whined. “I know you’re thirsty and in pain. I’ll put some vaseline on your lips.”

“Martha,” a new voice came, “add an antibiotic to the IV. How’s his breathing?”

“Stable but raspy.”

“Oxygen, just in case.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Nick watched as the gryphon reached over his head and pulled some translucent tubing closer. “This’ll help you breathe, okay?”

He barely nodded before feeling plastic ends entering his nostrils. They were irritating at first, but the air they provided was well worth the trouble. All of the reoccurring complications from the entire week of being hospitalized attacked him. The shivering reminded him of the bedsores. The pressure from the IV tube brought memories of bland, flavorless food. The physical fatigue prompted his lack of memories. This was the worst he had ever felt in his life. For all he knew, he was on death’s door.

His eyes opened wide. A memory came to him.

He clutched the sheets beneath him as he grew drowsy. He had to fight. He needed to get better. There was someone waiting for him.

* * * * *

He sat, somehow both patiently and impatiently. The sheer desire for life to return to normal ached within. A simple finger snap could not fulfill the wish. For countless days, he remained in the unimpressive recliner. Whether he sat, lay, or leaned on it, all he could do was wait. Time was blended with itself. Each moment his eyes were open was an eternity in hell.

Still, he remained thankful. The scenario could have been worse—

He bit the inside of his cheek. Who was he joking? This was a terrible outcome. Sure, a limb could have been amputated. But why was this the—

The door opened, distracting him. Nick watched as his doctor walked holding a clipboard between her pink fingers and her slender hip. “Doctor Gilligan.”

“Good morning, Malcolm. I trust you managed to sleep an hour or two?”

“You know me so well,” the man said. “It’s like we’re both doctors or something.”

“Then you know the importance of taking a break. We’re here for both him and you. Go home. Get some actual sleep. His pneumonia is all cleared up, and I have standing orders for double check-ins with the staff.”

Malcolm sighed and stared at the bed. “I know, I know. He’d probably be pulling me by the ear if he could. Still,” he said, leaning forward to hold the unmoving hand, “part of me wants to be here when he wakes up.”

“Come now. You’re telling me you don’t want to walk in and hear one of his terrible jokes?” The doctor’s heels clacked as she sidled next to him. “Don’t make me order you to a bed, young man.”

He laughed as she pinched the back of his neck. “And I’ll inform HR about the required psych session you missed last quarter,” Malcolm said with finger quotation marks.

“And it would be worth it. He wouldn't want to see you like this. Purple bags under your eyes, and you look like you haven’t eaten since he got here. Please,” she whispered, rubbing Malcolm’s shoulder, “as a friend, I’m asking you to go home. We’ll take care of him. I’ll even schedule the overnight shift to give him a muscle massage.”

Leaning forward in the recliner, he prepared to rise. “Okay, but I’m giving him the sponge bath. At least let me do that.”

“We’ll leave you the honors. Although, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a therapist giving a patient a spon—”

He stood and deadpanned. “That’s my husband, Judith. Four too many nurses here have had their hands on his balls, and he needs a trim if you ask me.”

Dr. Gilligan smiled and waved a hand as she walked to the door. “I will definitely leave that to you, dear. Just be careful.”

When she left, Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed and held back his tears. He caressed the prone, lifeless hand. After a moment, he leaned up and brushed the unkempt, dirty-blond hairs from his love’s face. Despite the man’s condition, he looked far different from how he normally slept. “I’m waiting for you to roll over and cuddle two or three pillows. I’d be lying if I said you looked like a sleeping angel like usual.”

He managed to smile, imagining the emotionless yet witty retort he would have earned. Giving the man a kiss on the forehead, he walked to the foot of the bed. Nubbing his husband’s covered big toe, he studied the unmoving face. “Be right back, Nico. Love you.”

From the hidden depths, Nick thought, I love you, too.