The wrought iron doors were massive, with twisting, sharp designs etched into it. Every curve, every artistic protrusion and flair, ended in a sick point. It resembled a deathly vine, all thorns and malice. It was through this doorway that my quest would finally end; months of journeying, fighting, bleeding, and starving, would finally be worth it.

I would walk in with my sword, and out with the queen's head.

But I knew it wouldn't be easy. The Queen will have concocted some sickly puzzle, some moral dilemma for me to sort before I could reach her. No doubt the palace has been prepared for intruders with trap doors and traps. She would surround herself with her most dangerous bodyguards, the Greys in their ashen cloaks and impossibly sharp blades.

I downed a vial of Courage, its super-sweet syrup not quite pleasant as it passed over my tongue. Immediately, my heartbeat raced, the gloomy sky brightened, and my anxieties dissolved. One day I would have to stop using potion. But how?

That was riddle for another time. Now was the time for vengeance.

My muscles bulged as the Courage coursed through my veins. I withdrew my sword and the Tome of Entrance picked from the Coastal Sorcerer's library. I could use it only once to open any door, and here, at the end of my journey, before these colossal monstrosities, was the most perfect time.

I read the words on the browned parchment, and as the elven language was recited, the characters glowed a bright blue and the parchment disintegrated in my hands.

The doors groaned, metal twisting against itself.

Then they opened into an orange brightness.

Don't fail me now, Courage.

I jumped in, expecting an ambush. What I saw was...different.

The Queen's court was in session. Her evil kingdom's elite were congregated, each with the colors and standards of their houses, adorned in courtly attire: gowns and suits.

There was a smattering of applause by some, and a low bow by many more. They were aiming their respect...toward me?

What is this? The words barely escaped my lips.

"You're early!" A booming voice echoed across the hall. The queen sat, reclined on her throne. Her face was painted with a knowing, affectionate smirk.

She looked the same as the posters: tall, easily clearing ten feet; golden hair done up with intricate braids; bright blue, piercing eyes with long lashes. She was a fearsome beauty, a bringer of equal parts fear and lust among her victims.

"Well?" She cocked her head to me, "close the door, will you? It's chilly out there."

Without thinking, I turned to the door to close it. Wait, what am I doing? I turned back around, pointing my sword at the Queen.

"I'm here to end your reign of terror!" My voice felt inadequate to hers.

"Can we close the door first?"

My sword wavered in the air as I processed the request. Without taking my eyes off the reclined royalty, I scooted back, nudging the heavy doors with my feet. I shot the Queen a look that said is that okay?

She responded with a look of her own: that's good, thanks.

Servants approached me with food and drink. I was surrounded by neatly-dressed men and women offering me ale and some delectable smoked meats on crackers and bread.

I spun my sword around to ward off the unlikely ambush.

"I'm not here to dine! I'm here to kill you!" I shouted to the Queen, to the bemusement of her congregation.

"Why?" She asked, the knowing smile still plastered on her face.

"Because...you're evil. Your armies have killed thousands...Do...Do you really not know?"

"Oh, that." She waved off my righteous anger with the flap of a hand. "Never happened."

"Never happened? I was there! I saw the destruction! I wandered through the scorched buildings! I lost friends to you!"

"Oh? Did you bury any bodies?"

"There was nothing left to bury!" I growled through gritted teeth.

She leaned forward. "There was nothing to bury in the first place."

I blinked hard, the connections in my brain reluctantly meeting. "What?"

"It's no coincidence that every burned town and evil outpost was personally significant to you. your father's childhood home, your brother's trading ship, your friends' 'secret' meeting spot."

"You've been stalking me?"

"Yes," she nodded curtly, as if I should have pieced that together by now. "But, I assure you, it was all for a good cause."

"What good cause could involve killing the people I love!?"

"I haven't killed anyone," she shrugged.

I opened my mouth to speak when I spotted a face in the crowd. Jero was clean shaven, healthy. Like the rest of the nobles surrounding him, he was smiling.

"Brother," I whispered, disbelieving.

"Yep, everyone's safe. Everybody was relocated, compensated for their move, paid to participate in the charade."

"Charade?" My mouth was dry, hands shaking as the Courage had no outlet for its energy.

"Oh," she wore a mock expression of sympathy. "I'm not really an evil queen. I'm sorry. I just needed to know if you were worthy. And, hey! Good news! You're worthy!"

"Worthy of what?"

"Why, of my queendom! Though, I suspect, when you take over, you'll want it to be a kingdom, won't you?

I shook my head. This was some sort of trick of the mind, some kind of magic that clouded my thoughts and made me see things that weren't true. I thought about retreating, regrouping. I was compromised as I was.

A familiar group approached me: my father, my friends, my brother. They patted me on my back, embraced me in hugs and kisses on my face. I couldn't bring myself to return the affection. I wasn't convinced that any of this was real.

My father placed both of his hands on my shoulders. "I'm sorry for the trickery, Pol. When the Seers told me you were destined for greatness..." He shook his head. "I was trying to do the best for you."

He looked like my father. He spoke like my father. He had that faint stale pipe smoke smell to him. My body wanted to embrace him, but my mind wouldn't let me. If I simply accept this all as truth, my entire life would have been a lie. My understanding of the world would fall apart.

My quest would end.

The Courage would stop.

"I'm sorry," I told the specter posing as my father.

A gasp swept over the crowd. Guards pulled their weapons from their sides. The Queen straightened suddenly from her relaxed posture, eyes wider than I thought they could go.

My creature posing as my father fell backwards, blood bubbling from his mouth as my sword slid out from his gut.

My hand still shook, the tip of my sword now dripping red. A powerful sadness pulled at the edge of my mind. With my free hand, I uncorked another vial of Courage.

I would have the Queen's head today.

Oh. Well all the opinions are the character’s, not mine. But I didn’t think I said anything that polarizing..

around by the elbow.

There were four victims: Henry Emerson, his wife July Emerson, and their children, fifteen-year old Colin and twelve-year old Bailey. Captain Gunn gave me a brisk tour around the home, which was spotted with evidence cones and swarming with camera-toting forensics officers.

July was found dead in her bed, her face caved in by something large and round, but her body was otherwise undisturbed. The children's fate was no so peaceful.

"Can I see where they were found?" I asked the Captain.

Gunn's stoic posture was slightly shaken, she did not want to see the children again, but she led me to the garage anyway.

It was a scene of chaos: boxes fallen to the ground, their contents spilled. Christmas ornaments coalesced with pool noodles and tennis rackets. In the middle of the car bay, two bodies lied sprawled out, blood dousing their clothes and the ground around them.

"What was the cause of death?"

"You know as well as I do that we won't know until the autopsy is done."

"What do you think it was?"

Gunn leaned closer. "Could be the stab wounds. Could be blunt damage. Could be their eyeballs being ripped from their sockets."

My blood ran cold. I would learn nothing here, where the crime was most interesting. "Where's the father?"

Gunn lead me to the backyard, where a man was erected on a cross, nails driven through his hands and feet and his eyes taped open. It was a bizarre and gruesome scene, more akin to some arthouse horror film than a suburban murder.
But at least his eyes were in tact.

I convinced Gunn to let me a little closer before I peered over the black lenses of my glasses and made eye contact with the corpse hanging before me.
The images rattled into my mind.

Bully.

Abuser.

Alcoholic.

Liar.

Racist.

Sexist.

Sadist.

Murderer.

"Did you know him?" I asked the Captain.

"He was an officer," she replied in a detached, stuffy police captain voice. "I can't say we saw eye-to-eye frequently, but it didn't deserve this."

And yet I knew he did. His family didn't, of course. From what I could tell, they'd been victims the whole time, only to meet a grisly end.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I told her.

"What did you see?" she whispered, either desperation or anger causing the end of her sentence to flutter.

She couldn't know about me. There was no way. But in some way that she couldn't explain out loud, she had picked up on my gift, or at least had come to understand some small piece of it.

I wanted to tell her he'd been brave; noble. I wanted to give the captain comfort. But kind lies would be an insult to a woman of her integrity.

"His family didn't deserve this."

She gave a curt nod before asking me to leave.

I snuck one more glance at the red, taped-open eyes staring at the ground.
"Excuse me," an officer with a camera asked me to move, and as I stepped aside, I saw my reflection in his lens for only a moment.

Traitor.

I doubled over and vomited bile from my empty stomach.

"Okay, okay," the Captain ushered me away quickly. "Let's not make more of a scene."

"A blind detective," the officer with the nametag Collymore exclaimed, "not something you see every day."

"Not something I see any day," I smiled. Most people were sensitive--if not somewhat patronizing--when they watched me tap my way around police barricades and yellow lines of police tape. Not this guy, though. Every once in a while I come across someone who speaks their mind.

"I guess that's right!" he chortled, drawing glares from the handful of forensics personnel as they emerged from the house. Who laughs in the presence of a murder victim? "So it's some kind of ruse, right? Like Miss Cleo?" The officer was now leaned closed, whispering conspiratorially.

"Miss Cleo?

"The psychic." He used air quotations, then caught himself and dropped his hands. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"She had a commercial, used to scam people who called her line. Miss Cleo, that is. Famous in the 90s. You really never heard of her?"

"I don't watch a lot of TV."

"Right." He pressed his eyes closed and tucked in his lips for a moment, illustrating some newfound shame. "But what I'm saying--and I'm not trying to be an asshole--but come on. What are you doing here?"

"I was hired to come assist the department," I answered. "They keep me on retainer."

He shook his head silently before squinting up at my sun-glass-shaded eyes. "I guess go on through," he sighed. "But hey,"

"Yes?"

"This was a good family, okay? Try not to stir the pot too much in there."

"Thank you, Officer..."

"Collymore."

"Collymore," I smiled, extending a hand forward. "I'll do my best to respect the dignity of everyone involved."

He nodded, unconvinced, before gesturing me to follow the freshly edged walkway into the house.

It was like every other home in the cul-de-sac: a large, pitched ceiling, arched windows, hollow columns. A concrete-and-drywall palace, massive from the curb, but oddly cramped inside. Family pictures hanged in the entryway under an artificially weathered sign: "When we're together, we're family." What was once a harmless expression of familial affection was now a cruel, dark irony.

"Detective Bexley," the unmistakable voice of Captain Gunn easily rose above the cacophony inside. She was a tall and foreboding figure, her hair cropped unapologetically short and her uniform prim and spotless.

"Captain Gunn," I returned the professional greeting. "I didn't expect to run into you here."

She ignored my thinly veiled question, what is a police captain doing at a midnight murder, and moved toward me quickly. With one firm hand she gripped my elbow and with the other, she shook my hand. "It's good to see you, Detective."

"Good to be seen."

"I have to ask, though. What are you doing here?" She'd beaten me to my own question.

"I was actually hoping you would tell me. I got a message on my pager thirty minutes ago to be here. What happened?"

"Not that I don't appreciate your service to the department, detective, but that didn't come from me. Regardless, it's too early to speculate. Forensics is still combing through the home and we won't need a consult at least until tomorrow after noon."

"Oh." I tried to sound more embarrassed than offended, without removing all offense from my tone. "I see. In that case, I'm terribly sorry for intruding."

"It's nothing. Do you need help getting back out?"

"Since I'm here, do you mind if I poke around? I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep for a while anyway."

Captain Gunn was not so easily charmed. A black woman in command of law enforcement officers would have had to break a cascade of glass ceilings. My "blindness" was just one, and she was not about to change the rules off that alone.

"No," she finally told me.

"Officer Collymore told me there was a family here--a good one. Was it someone close to the department?"

Her thin eyes peered outside toward her loudmouth subordinate. "I don't like rumors around my crime scenes, detective."

"Then please, dispel them."

Her tongue mouthed the inside of her cheek as she mulled over the position she was in. "You can follow me. Five minutes." Gunn handed me a box of latex gloves before ushering me