Turning sharp left, and skipping out of the way of an oncoming wheelchair with more speed and grace than anyone as old as he was had a right to, he walked solemnly towards the second door on the right, passing two innocuous patients, one male, the other female, sitting on a row of metallic chairs, both reading magazines. Nodding almost imperceptibly at both, he silently thanked them for the sterling job they were doing of keeping him safe while he was on the surface. Stepping up to the white door with a fire resistant glass pane in the middle of it, he knocked once, opened the door and flitted inside.
Perched halfway up Richie's hospital bed, the covers all dishevelled, magazines and books scattered haphazardly, Peter jumped to his feet on seeing the king. Moving all the junk off her bed, Richie sat up straight.
"Settle down... there's no need for all of that. It's not an inspection you know."
Smiling at the frail looking old man, Richie knew underneath that he was nothing of the sort.
"Sire," whispered Peter, approaching the king.
"What have I told you youngster?" the monarch replied.
"Sorry... George."
"That's better."
"Let me get you a chair," ventured Peter, rushing off into the far corner of the room, retrieving a high backed bright blue chair for the king to sit in."
"Thank you," said the king sitting down. "Hmmmm... this is comfortable. I like this chair very much. Do you think they'd allow me to take this and swap it for my throne?"
"I think that might be frowned upon Si... George," added Peter.
"Oh well," huffed the king. "So my dear," he said cheerfully addressing Richie, "how are you?"
"Getting better bit by bit," replied Richie softly.
"You still looked quite banged up, if you don't mind me saying so," stated the king, referring to the plaster on Richie's right wrist and her left ankle, as well as the fading purple mark down the left hand side of her face and the bruising around her eyes.
"It's not too bad," she mumbled, knowing how hard all the doctors and nurses around her (all dragons) were working to try and put things right.
"Well, if there's anything you need," added the king thoughtfully, "don't hesitate to drop my name into the conversation. All the staff know I'm on the lookout for you, and have explicit instructions to contact me on your behalf should you ask."
"Thank you," replied Richie, genuinely touched.
"It's great to see you," put in Peter. "How come you're here? Did you have business this way?"
It was then that the king's expression turned sour, and Richie cottoned on to the real reason for his visit. She didn't even have to wait for him to say it. But he did.
Having had decades of experience in the top job (in the world), not knowing how to say something was rather a novel experience, not one he'd recommend though. In the end, all he could think to do was come out with it, and deal with the repercussions as they arose.
Ignoring Peter, and taking Richie's right hand, he stared deeply into her beautiful brown eyes.
"I'm sorry my dear, I truly am. I tried everything in my power, and more, to get them to overturn their decision, but in the end, I could do nothing."
Richie just nodded, her eyes starting to water. Unlike the young lacrosse player, Peter still hadn't realised what was coming next.
"It has been overwhelmingly decided by the council that because of your irreversible condition, you are to undergo a stage three memory wipe that will allow you to recall your time above ground, but nothing else, enabling you to keep the life that's been your cover ever since you left the nursery ring."
"WHAT?" Peter exploded.
"I'm sorry. I truly am."
"You can't be serious, not in a million years!" exclaimed the young hockey playing dragon.
Standing, the king's demeanour turned grim.
"But I am. I understand Peter, I really do. And when I said I tried everything in my power to change things, you couldn't possibly know what that might yet cost me. But it was all for nothing, almost as if things have been taken out of my hands. The council's decision on this matter is final, with it already having been passed over to the priesthood for them to deal with. My understanding is that young Richie here will be discharged towards the end of the week. After that she'll be given three weeks to get all her dragon affairs in order. It will then be a matter of the priests tending to her somewhere above ground, probably her home I would guess. And then it will be done. It can't be changed by anyone I'm afraid."
Tears streaked down Richie's cheeks as she lay propped up by her pillows in bed. Peter still faced the king.
"I'm really sorry to have caused you both so much pain. I did think, however, that you'd both really prefer to hear the news from me, rather than some faceless official."
"Thank you Sire," sniffed Richie through her tears.
"I'm so sorry it's come to this. You do understand that you'll never again remember all this, everything you've come from, once the memory wipe has been carried out?"
Richie nodded.
Peter just stood looking at the king, his face almost set in stone.
"I know that look, CHILD," scolded the monarch.
"Never say never," exclaimed Peter.
"I know you're angry and upset, but there's nothing you can do. If I can't change things, how on earth do you hope to do so?"
Saying nothing, mainly from fear of crying, already his mind whirled through the possibilities, but he could only come up with one. One hope, one chance. Letting his face morph into a cold, calculating smile, right in front of the king, he hadn't meant it to be mean or cutting, but that's what it turned out to be.
Apologising once more before taking his leave, the monarch claimed he had to get back to his huge backlog of work, which was partly true.
After that, the two friends were at a loss. Peter stayed a while, but it was awkward as he had no idea of what to say or do. Richie tried to stay positive, even cracking the odd joke or two, but she couldn't fool him. He could see just how badly hurt she'd been by the news, and vowed to himself there and then that he would stop them from wiping her memory at all costs, no matter what it took. Walking out of the door twenty minutes later, he prayed that his one hope would choose to help him, and would indeed have the answer he was looking for.
13
Time To Dragon Up
Needing the air, he'd decided to walk, giving him yet more time to consider where he was going and why. It had been over two weeks now, and he'd heard nothing from her. Not a word. No phone call, text, email or letter. She, of course, had no job at the moment, well... as far as he knew, what with the devastation of the clubhouse and all. And although she may have been out of the loop so to speak, she must have known that he and Tank had been cleared of having anything to do with the clubhouse's destruction. Somehow he'd assumed that she would have got in contact by now, not saying sorry, but just to see how he was. But all was quiet on the Janice front. Strolling along below the shivering boughs of tall trees lining the road inundated him with thoughts of future possibilities. With everything that had happened since that fateful day, and everything going on, seeking her out had become all but impossible... well, for a week or so. After that, it just became... awkward, scary. The more he thought about going to see her, the more excuses he made to himself to put it off. He had to go to work to see Garrett about the clubhouse, to go to the hospital to see Richie. More and more excuses he'd made for himself, until there were no more and he could put it off no longer. The mere thought of seeing her brought a lump to his throat, made his legs go weak and set his stomach rumbling in cruel anticipation. One of the reasons he'd come on foot was that it was easier not to be spotted and therefore easier to turn round and head back without anyone knowing that he'd ever been there. In his mind, he knew there was still a very good chance that he would get within sight of her house and be too afraid to go any further. Given all that he'd been through these last couple of years, this excursion should have been quite painless and relatively easy. But it wasn't. Hurting from an almost physical pain inside, that day, when the clubhouse had been destroyed, had been harder than facing Manson on the icy cold Astroturf pitch when the dark dragon had tried to steal the majority of Cropptech's laminium. And not because he and Tank had barely made it out alive or even because, at the time, they'd thought Richie's life had been extinguished. No! It was the look on Janice's face when the police officers arrested them and bundled them into the back of their cars. That look still haunted him every day, and every night in his dreams. A look that said, 'I trusted you. I loved you... and you BETRAYED ME!' Just the very thought of that moment made him choke.