Coming To

The Window

May 22, 2026

Hi Sparks!

Welcome to Chapter 5 (at long last).

This one might be just a little long for some email clients, so click on the title to view in browser if you get cut off, okay?

Quick heads‑up: the cocktail Luke gives Logan? Real drugs, and the effects are … pretty accurate. But this is a story, not a how‑to guide. So maybe don't experiment at home, yeah?

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“Ugh! My head!” I mumble, rubbing my eyes while Luke sets aside his tab on the cabinet close by.

“How are you feeling, Son?” He asks with an earnest smile, plucking the penlight from his coat pocket and reaching over to blind me.

“Like I’ve just crawled out of a vat of absinthe,” I grumble, recalling the hangover from that experience, and wave him away to push myself up.

The restraints from before are gone. It’s dark outside.

“Here,” He hands me a glass. “It’s been a few hours. The drugs should be mostly out of your system, but there will be a bit of a lag as you come down. My apologies…”

“What did you give me?” I ask, and sip the delicious, iced water, a low wave of nausea warning me not to drain it.

“A cocktail—Ketamine, MDMA, LSD and a balancer to keep things safe and help it interface with your Manorian biology. Suppresses higher brain function, opens you up to my guidance, and your own instincts.”

“That was supposed to be rhetorical.” I grumble again, setting down the half empty glass of water with a clink. I reach over and pluck out the IV, dizzily swinging my legs over the edge of the table. I have to pause for a moment before attempting to drop down.

“You’re going to want to take it slow for a while,” Luke says, offering an arm for support. I push him away, looking back at Elle. There doesn’t seem to be any change.

“That could take some time too.” He says with confidence, but the undercurrent of frustration behind his sad eyes tells me he still can’t influence her.

“I believe we were successful,” he offers after a moment while I dither, resisting the urge to escape. “Her vitals have been steadily improving.” He smiles, a sort of frowning smile.

“How soon will we know?”

He shakes his head, “For now, all we can do is wait.”

I nod, grinding my teeth against the instinct to flee that’s taken hold of me. We should talk about this, process it, but Luke’s inviting half-smile and openness is only making me feel even more nauseated. I don’t want to talk.

I want out. I want to put as much distance between us as possible. I feel myself nodding as I move, slowly

“Son,” Luke calls me back as I shuffle towards the door, “Thank you. You saved her life.”

I return his smile, wordlessly, and leave, in search of my bed.

* * *

“Three weeks to go hey?!” Luke pats Tom on the back as he enters our little construction site office at the bottom of the manor’s back garden. Things are still a little awkward between Luke and me, but he’s been trying.

“Excited?” He beams, looking out at the project we’ve been working on for half a year already.

The medieval-style gauntlet Tom and I are building for our twentieth birthday party is finally starting to take shape, complete with giant swinging clubs, a moat, and a double spinning mook jong with rotating spikes sharp enough to rip out someone’s entrails.

“Not really.” I shrug, gazing out the open door. “There’s still so much to do.”

It is sunset already and the late summer wind is picking up. Tom and I toss our hardhats onto the blueprints on the solitary desk in unison with a double clunk. I run my hand through my sweat-damp hair, grinning broadly as Luke appraises the array and the pile of about a hundred ready-cut logs laid out to plant the next section. He told us last winter we could use as many redwoods as we want from the three-thousand-hectare plantation surrounding the manor, as long as we see to all of it ourselves. My back and shoulders have never been so toned.

“You still going to see Elle before dinner?” Luke asks me on the way to his shuttle. He must have just come from the hospital.

“Of course, it’s the anniversary today. Four years since Telera,” Tom answers for me, laughing as he slides coolly into the pilot seat. I shake my head, slipping into the engineering dock without closing the main door, letting the breeze blow through the hull as we take off.

* * *

I stand outside Elle’s door tracing the carving with my fingers. I pass it every morning on my way to the gym, but I’ve never really looked at it before. Three suns in a clouded sky—Luke’s impeccable taste. The smooth wood turns rough beneath my fingertips, grating.

It’s been a month since the ritual. I haven’t had the courage to visit. I told myself that Luke would call me, that I don’t need to be here until she wakes up. I told myself it was him I was avoiding, but maybe it’s been her too.

I turn the shiny brass doorknob, push.

The graying sky is too dim now to offer much light through the open curtains, but the bedside lamp casts a pool of light. I can make out the familiar furniture. The room has been restored to its former glory, hideous purple armchair, sans orange juice, and all.

Nurse Molly will be along any minute.

Elle’s chest rises and falls. Steady. She’s supposed to have been improving every day. It looks like it. Her cheeks are rosy. Her lips are full and moist. Even her energy is stronger than it was.

I feel… contentment.

She’s so perfect. Growing. She looks healthy, strong. Her skin is milky. Her hair, still ankle-length, the braid so dark it drinks the light.

Why didn’t I come sooner?

I was so hopeful at first. Overwhelmed and exhausted, sure, but filled with anticipation. I thought Luke would call me and she’d give me that smile of hers, then we’d show her the house, and the garden and the city, and school and…

Then she didn’t wake up.

I was angry with Luke. I wanted to confront him, fight over his interference. Just talk—convince me it wasn’t all just a drug-induced dream, but… I couldn’t face him. He has practically begged. I just…

She’s still sleeping.

She’s doing better, physically at least. Mentally… Of course, it isn’t like Luke can pop back in and check.

She was eight when we found her. Now… the difference between eight and twelve is the difference between a kid and a girl. She still looks like a doll, with perfect milky skin, and not one scar, anywhere.

I close the door on my way out.

A faint beeping breaks through my heavy dreams and I slowly start to notice that there is a world outside my own memories. I’m alone. The air is warm. It smells nice—like flowers and clean sheets. I feel rested, heavy, and comfortable. It’s a little weird, but I don’t care. How long has it been since I last felt this way? This… good? It has to be a dream.

I can’t quite remember what happened. Not knowing gnaws at me. The questions pile up. Where am I?

It’s dark. The beeping thing is irritating. The room is a collection of scattered black lumps, familiar black lumps, but still black. I stretch my toes beneath the sheet, my fingers twitch. Sigh. I’m bored.

Why do I know this place? I try to think of the last thing I remember but it is all cracked and muddled. An energy pulse. Thick stone walls, resisting, I push through. Some large rooms out there, and smaller ones, a lot of smaller ones, and faint energy signals. So many people. Most of them are so weak that it is hard to get a fix on their numbers. Concentrating—three stand out, strong and clear.

I know them. Luke, Thomas and Logan. All the missing details come flooding back, all at once. Chrys, the Manorians, the fight, the silver-green light… My chest tightens. They didn’t die! I didn’t kill them. I lie still for a long while.

There’s a twinge in my right hand, I shift it. Now my nose itches, the sheet is pressing on my feet—freeze. I need to move. Slowly sitting up in the dark, something tugs weirdly at my nose. I reach up, more tugging. What? A thin flexible tube in my nose. I swallow. It goes all the way down my throat. What?! I pull. It tickles, making me cough and my stomach does a flip. Euw! Gagging, I pull harder, steadily. The tube snakes its way up. Euw, euw! Yuck.

Finally, the end pulls free. I throw the wet disgusting thing away, flop back in the pillows and just breathe, trying to remember where all the other attachments are. One by one I find and remove them, until I can move without anything dragging along. The monitor screams a steady high-pitched beeeeeeep!

Free at last. I made it.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and end the annoying screech with a zap of energy.

Plopping down is like stepping onto a fluffy cloud! My feet sink in and the long tickling fibers tangle between my toes.

I stumble twice trying to get my balance. My body feels awkward and stiff. I frown. Was the bed always so low? I try to take a few steps and slam hard into a cabinet, with a loud crash. I rub the bruise on my thigh and remind myself to slow down.

I sit down on the carpet. Running my fingers through the wooly strands, I stretch out my muscles like I’m getting ready for a workout. Deep breaths.

It feels so good to move, to feel alive again. My face smiles all by itself as the stiffness finally eases. I stand up and don’t fall, and my feet move into the position of the first form - shoulder width apart, knees bent, palms forward at my hips. Instinct. I let my hands come up until they are level with my shoulders, move my left foot forward, quarter turn to the right, easing into the second form. Smooth. The rest flows as if I last did it yesterday.

Slowly I let myself go through each of the first twenty forms, reconnecting, feeling the energy flow through me, but not letting it rise. Fully in control. Like Teag taught me. Efficient, calculated...

Standing in front of the door I pause, paralyzed by a surge of guilt. There’s a light on out there. I see it round the frame, and it begs me to open up and explore, but back home, I would have been flayed for leaving my cell unattended. Afterward, some poor girl would lose her skin for them to put me back together. Not there anymore. I force down the stupid panic. They can’t reach me. I smile and turn the knob.

The light isn’t all that bright but after the dark room it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. The walls look like a picture book, patterned with leaves and vines, and hung with heavy framed paintings. To my right are steps, up and down. To my left, at the end of a long, wide hallway is a pair of heavy double doors, not quite closed tight. A thick shaggy rug leads my feet straight towards them.

The portraits all look a little like Luke. The light brown hair and chiseled jaw. Their blue eyes seem to watch me as I count the doors I pass. Seven empty rooms besides mine. The big double doors at end of the hall make me feel small. Their dark wood is carved with flowers and vines to match the wallpaper. It feels alive beneath my fingertips. I push, and it opens into a small gym.

The flat plain plaster is a little disappointing compared to the pretty wallpaper outside, but weights and weapons line the grey walls. Wooden swords and staves of different lengths and cabinets with towels and bright gloves. A dark blue padded mat covers most of the floor and there’s some machinery across from a sparring ring, two pairs of horizontal high bars, and a small rectangular pool at the end.

I hesitate for a few heartbeats, then run and dive, gown and all, headfirst into the cool water. It feels amazing. My long arms and legs easily find a rhythm and I reach the other side too soon. A somersault turns me around, back the way I came. I stay under the water, doing it over and over until my lungs burn and sparks dance before my eyes, then finally drag myself dripping onto the edge, and gasp when I see the far wall has changed from a black mirror to a wide window. The sky is bright blue and orange, dotted with wisps of pink cloud. My feet take me closer all on their own.

The garden is just as stunning. A wide sweeping lawn with a fancy wooden gazebo in the middle and a little stony path. It leads up to a forest of the tallest trees I have ever seen. It looks like their tops almost brush that brilliant sky. I wish I could get closer. I press my wet hands up against the warm forcefielded glass, following the line that stretches all the way around, a wall up along the horizon and away down the other side as well. This house is actually surrounded by them, like an island in a sea of the tallest of trees. I wonder if they will ever let me see how far it goes.

Then I sense an energy signal, getting closer. Somebody is coming.

I wake, like always, half an hour before dawn. I roll out of bed, pull on some swimming trunks, stretch, grab a protein bar from my stash, and head off to the gym to start my morning. I walk the half-lit stairwell and hallway, past the recreated paintings of Luke’s great uncles, cousins and grandparents without a second glance, anticipating the feeling of endorphin-laced blood pumping through my veins.

It’s just a perfectly normal day, no different from yesterday or any other.

As I shoulder the gym’s double doors open, gulp down the last bite of my breakfast, and toss the wrapper into the trash can in the corner, I contemplate the coolness of the swimming pool and how good it will feel to slice through the water and rise to see the sky lightening as the sun comes up over the horizon. Luke never said he had the windows reoriented for my sake, but I’m the only one who’s ever up this early.

I turn into position, just about ready to take the plunge, then pause. There’s a puddle of water on the tiled edge, a pair of small footprints.

I bend down to inspect the fresh defined edges. A narrow gait. Light, dainty. The toes are turned out, just a little, like a dancer. I wonder…

I look up, following the trail. Silhouetted against a sky tinted with all the shades of sunrise are a pair of small wet feet, thin, milk white legs, and a black braid brushing the floor beside them.

My heart skips a beat.

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