As midnight strolled by, and the customers dwindled out, Christopher remained at the bar stool. The bottle he bought at the start of the night was less than half full, or maybe it was over half full. Christopher couldn’t see straight. The world spun, orange under the taverns hanging lantern lights that the owner extinguished one by one. The doctor, still in his not-so-pristine, white lab-coat, poured himself another shot, but instead of slamming it back he slipped it slowly. Savouring the disgust with a wince.

  ‘It’s time to go, Boss,’ the owner said. He was a thick man with a bald head and dirty kitchen apron over his belly.

  Christopher waved him down. He wasn’t trying to be dismissive, but the bald man frowned, or maybe he was always frowning.

  ‘Hop up, Boss. I’m closing.’

  ‘Let me just-’

  The owner extinguished the final lamp, plunging them into darkness. The pale moonlight faded through the shop windows, blue reflections cast off the owner’s scalp. The world spun. Christopher felt sick and suddenly he didn’t mind the idea of going outside, getting some fresh air. He stumbled out, holding his mouth with one hand and the remaining liquor in the other, all while the owner hampered after him like a cattle dog. Christopher puked as soon as he stumbled through the threshold. The door slammed behind him, bells rattling. Soon his stomach was as empty as it would ever be, yet his mind continued to swim, his limbs were limp and his throat continued to dry retch as if he could vomit the alcohol directly out of his bloodstream. He climbed to feet and swayed as he walked. He didn’t really know where he was going, he just was. The doctor passed a familiar back street. Down there was nothing but the pitch black and the most pitiful groans. On a normal afternoon Christopher was down there healing. There were many who could not afford the lifespan to pay for a doctor so Christopher would heal them without charge. It started after his first job from the church paid him so much that he could not absorb it all or else de-age into a child. Now it had continued until he looked twice as old as he should. Yet Christopher could not pretend to do it out of the kindness of his heart. He knew the truth. He healed selfishly. He healed to repent, so he could go to heaven, leaving everyone behind, but he would never be able to repent. His sins were too deep. Today too, he sinned. After hearing that David would not help Alek, Christopher had relapsed. He turned to the bottle which he swore he would never do again. He crumbled too easily. He was so weak.

  He was not worth the little lifespan that remained flowing in his body.

  Christopher stood near the centre of Kerioth. The city was dead to the night. Not a soul moved around the central plaza. The shops that surrounded the great intersection were closed and the moon drifted by, coming to set behind the angel in the sky. The angel. The floating lump of stone that had caused so much pain, so much fear. The grand protector. The destroyer. If Alek Howell had not walked under its statue, would anyone even know he was different? Did it matter? The boy was hated for existing. He was as feared as the angel itself. He was guilty of no crime and Christopher failed to save him.

  A wave of nausea washed over Christopher. He fought the urge to vomit again, knowing it would do no good on an empty stomach. Accidentally, he stepped into the angel’s range and buckled. The fear took him by the scruff of the neck. He was trembling, his mind stopped thinking straight and all he could do was cower, making himself as small as possible. He couldn’t escape, not even at a crawl. This would be how he died and he deserved it.

  A hand grabbed his arm, wrenching him free of the circle. Sprawled on the ground Christopher puked again, but little came out. Just an acidic, green dribble. Catching his breath, he recognised the black shoes in front of him. It was her, that woman. She cloaked herself in shadowed clothing, but under the moonlight she seemed more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. Her one eye was… thoughtful.

  ‘Doctor,’ Rez said.

  He stood up, swaying as he did. ‘Thank you for… pulling me out.’

  She nodded.

  There was silence, it filled the entire city.

  ‘I take it you have not changed your mind?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t sneak you down there to cause more death and destruction.’

  ‘Stubborn man.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I takes one to…’ He trailed off. There was no energy left for snarkyness.

  ‘Tonight will be the last chance,’ she said.

  ‘I…’ The doctor shook his head. I don’t know what to do.

  ‘Then it is done,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I have reason to believe that tomorrow this city will be filled with holy-knights. By sunrise I will be long gone, with Kerioth far behind.’ She looked at him, sizing the doctor, covered in his own vomit. ‘I doubt you would be able to do anything here by yourself.’

  He faced down, his slow brain trying to form the words, but when he looked back up, the one eyed woman was gone. It was like she was never real. The bottle was real. It sloshed, heavy in his hand, so he made it lighter even though a single smell alone made him gag. When there was only a sip remaining and he raised it to his lips it slipped from his fingers, shattering on the bricks. He knelt, stooping, trying to lick up the remaining sweet forgetfulness, but all he received were cuts on his tongue. His mind swam, but it wasn’t enough. He could still remember. He still knew how pathetic he was, how much of a failure he turned out to be. First chance on Earth and second in Purgatory, it made no difference. He was the most skilled doctor there was, the best healer in Kerioth and he couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice. Even his thoughts annoyed him.

  It’s not too late, he thought, but it was.

  You can make a change, but he couldn’t.

  You have helped people, but he hadn’t. Every action he had ever done, ever, when he thought he was virtuous and giving he was actually just propping himself up, making himself feel better. He never truly cared about others, it was all for repentance. Christopher was a greedy man.

  The greedy man lumbered across Kerioth, a trail of blood running down his lips. His bones hurt. He walked with a limp and arrived at the cathedral, it was not far from the angel. If the holy-knights would take the BOY tomorrow morning then he may as well say his goodbyes. Take one final look at the caged beast he promised he would free. He promised it to the BOY’s face, but now that would be broken.

  Inside, the prayer room was empty. Not a single priest walked between the isles. Lavender perfume filled the room. The doctor made his way under the hanging chandeliers and over the plush, crimson rugs towards the hidden passage under the stairwell. He knocked the secret pattern on the bricks - one, pause, two, pause, two - and a moment later they slid away, stone grinding on stone. Christopher was still struggling to stand upright when a cold gust of air whistled up from the dungeon and battered his face. Behind the stone doorway was a red guard, his eyes hidden, and an ash-knight in her armour. She would be the chief jailer for the night. Other than her, it would be only the Crimson Clergy and Elizabeth below.

  ‘It’s very late for a visit, Doctor,’ she said.

  ‘Depending on how you…’ he trailed off, his words slurring. She went to say something, so he quickly continued before she could. ‘Depending on how you look at it, it is very early for a visit.’ He tapped his forehead thoughtfully.

  She sighed. ‘Go get some sleep and come back in the morning.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said, but then stumbled. He caught the wall and pulled himself back up.

  She grabbed his arm with an iron grip and gave a deeper, longer sigh. ‘Escort him to one of the beds upstairs,’ she told the red guard, ‘and be gentle with him.’

  ‘Hang on, I need to-’

  The guard grabbed his other arm, squeezing violently.

  What am I doing here? He didn’t know, but he knew he wanted to see the BOY. He would decide below. He would go below.

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  Both of them held one of his arms each. They made the connection, the doctor merely used it. He sent his lifespan into their bodies, putting them both to sleep. The ash-knight’s eyes widened in surprise, but it was too late. He would see Alek tonight. They collapsed against the ground, a raucous echo came from the armoured helmet which spilled off the knight's head, freeing her brunet hair. Christopher stepped over them, into the dungeon below, not bothering to check if he had been seen.

  On the first floor he found no more knights, as he expected. There were a handful of the crimson clergy and he had heard they were deadly fighters - at the same level as knights - but they were near mindless if not given direction. He felt it when he touched the first one. Sending his lifespan inside felt like filling an empty vase. Without someone to direct them, or a standing order, they were near useless. Each red guard he saw had the order to keep the prisoners quiet and inside their cells. Christopher had no trouble touching them, one by one and putting them into a deep sleep. They would not wake until the morning after tomorrow, even if they were being beaten.

  Down onto the second floor was as he remembered it. So many sullen prisoners crammed into their holds reeking of human waste. The doctor shivered as he walked past those dark cells. The air may have been cold, but it was those gloomy eyes that chilled him to the bone. Making his way to Alek’s home at the far end of the floor, he knocked out another dozen guards.

  Around a corner and at the end of the hall, Elizabeth was waiting for him. She slouched in her corner. Her sword was buckled around her waist and her hand rested on the hilt. Her eyes, like a cat's, glimmered through the dusk, locked onto the doctor who swayed as he walked.

  ‘Come no closer,’ she said, standing up straight. Her hand never left her weapon’s handle.

  Christopher kept walking.

  ‘I meant it, Doctor. Do not take another step.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ His tongue was heavy, and the words came out clumsy, but he continued. ‘I am here to see my patient.’

  ‘If you won't listen to my words…’ she trailed off, drawing her sword. Candles on the wall glimmered across the silver blade that pointed straight at him. He had seen her move before; even without a weapon she could end him faster than he could blink if she chose to.

  So why did he step forwards? He did not know.

  Approaching, he saw her face under the dim light. She had a black eye and a busted lip. Bruises ran down her arm and one of her fingers did not circle the sword’s grip, but bent off to the side.

  ‘You fought him again?’ he asked.

  ‘I had to get even,’ she replied.

  The tip of the sword stopped on Christopher's Adam's apple and he felt the warm trickle of blood drip down to his neck.

  ‘Unless you plan to commit suicide, I would halt,’ she said and this time he did.

  Her body was firm, confident, but Christopher had recently learnt to look people in the eyes and hers told a different story. She was trembling on the inside, scared and without a friend in the world. Why wouldn’t she be afraid? Anyone who spent time in this cursed hole, even a guard, would be put on edge. Christopher had no bad will towards her, but she stood in his way.

  ‘You reek of booze,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Is it not normal for a man to have a drink or two at night?’

  ‘I hear snoring from down the hall.’

  ‘Is it strange for a guard to sleep on the job?’

  When he saw the bags under Elizabeth’s eyes he realised she had not slept since he put her to sleep nearly two days ago.

  ‘It is not normal for you to come at this time. Go home Doctor, I do not want to kill you.’

  He chuckled. ‘I do not want to die, but I am here to heal Alek and you too.’ He thought his mind was dead, but an excuse appeared easily enough. ‘The guards, they told me you two had another fight and sent me down as fast as they could to heal him. We can’t risk him dying now.’

  She stared at him.

  Sweat ran down his back.

  It was cold in the room.

  It was boiling.

  He swallowed.

  The sword cut a little deeper.

  ‘I’m not getting through to you am I?’ Christopher asked, chuckling nervously. ‘If Alek Howell dies, that’s the end of it all. By the archbishop’s own words it will be the end of Purgatory.’

  She didn’t even flinch.

  ‘If he dies, you will have failed your mission.’

  She twitched. ‘He won’t die.’

  Christopher hummed. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just do,’ she said.

  ‘Are you a doctor?’

  She made a pouty, distasteful face, but at the same time, her eyes flickered into the cell at the boy in chains. It looked like she had enough and she was about to end his life and be done with it. The blade came out of his skin, stinging more than it had going in. She waved towards the iron bars. ‘Fine. Go in there and do your job.’ She smacked his back with the broadside of her sword, hurrying him. ‘I’m watching you.’

  She moved behind him and when he reached the gate, she threw the ring of keys onto the floor, clattering as they bounced. He almost fell picking them up, then rising back up he had to support his lower back which felt stabbed by knives. Old age in my thirties.

  ‘Hurry up.’

  He mumbled, not really saying anything as he drunkenly fumbled through the keys. It took far longer than it should have to open the door, trying every key multiple times. Each time he tried to put them into the keyhole, they wouldn’t fit as if not a single one was correct. Finally, with Elizabeth tapping impatiently behind him, a key he had tried twice before clicked in the lock.

  He went in and saw to his patient. He was unconscious and beaten black and blue, but upon inspection, his life was not under threat. He worked over his body. Healing as he went, he kept his eyes away from Elizabeth, but his ears were listening. She was shuffling, fighting yawns and struggling to stay focused on him. He also heard Alek’s breathing; it was not regular. Quickly, he healed the worst of the injuries, not bothering to fuss over every nick and bruise.

  He sighed in relief. ‘It’s a good thing I came,’ he said. ‘If I wasn’t here,’ he shook his head, ‘Alek wouldn’t have made it to the morning.’

  ‘Really?’ She still held her sword pointed straight at the doctor.

  ‘Yeah, I guarantee it.’

  ‘I didn’t realise he was so weak.’

  ‘Well, his body has taken a terrible toll the past week.’ Christopher brushed his coat as if that could clean out the stains. It was painted with at least three liquids, two of which came from his own body. ‘Well I should be going, but first, will you let me heal you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What’s the harm? I healed him, while I am here I might as well help you.’ He pointed at the finger that was sticking out from her hand purple and crooked. ‘That looks awfully painful.’

  Her eyes darted from the doctor to Alek in his chains, down to her finger and back onto the doctor.

  ‘I don’t like people who drink. The smell reminds me of people I’d rather forget.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I wasn’t planning to come down here smelling like an outhouse, but I am not those people.’

  Reluctantly she nodded.

  ‘You know me, I am here to help.’

  Slowly, her body relaxed and the sword was sheathed.

  ‘Alright then, make it quick.’

  Christopher stepped forward and her body stiffened again. He reached out and his fingers hesitated for a moment before he placed them on her hand. He felt a pang of guilt through his heart for what he was about to do. The second they made contact, her eyes shot open with a look that could only be betrayal, recognition that something was wrong.

  She tried to fight it, but this was not something that could be beat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  She hit the ground with a dull thud and like the guards, she would not rise for days.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Alek asked, from behind the doctor.

  I knew he was awake.

  ‘I’m breaking you out.’