Chapter 4

Malachi

Waking up in the hospital was a scary thing. Especially when Malachi couldn't remember why he'd ended up there. He lay still in the bed as cool air drifted over him from the air conditioning and tried to recall anything after arriving at the event. He couldn't.

His mother and grandmother chatted between themselves after having checked on him and made sure he was feeling as good as could be expected. The doctor would be in to see him soon, and he wanted to ask a few questions. His mother, Emily, had explained that he'd been found in a room, delirious, and had asked him if he'd taken any drugs. Malachi had frowned at her and growled, "No!" She seemed placated, but his grandmother had narrowed her eyes on him. After that, he hadn't wanted to talk, and he'd closed his eyes, trying to recall anything, but other than the powerful scent of flowers, he couldn't remember anything. It was terrifying and made the headache much worse, so he stopped.

The doctor finally bustled in, and Malachi opened his eyes.

"Good morning, Mr Sanders. I'm glad to see you're awake. I'm Dr Andrews. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Malachi cleared his throat and tried to figure out the answer. "Um, I feel a little sick, and my head hurts. I can't remember why I'm here, to be honest." The doctor shared a look with Malachi's mother, and he bristled a little. "What happened to me?"

The doctor glanced at Malachi's mother again, and Emily scooted closer. "Sweetheart, someone drugged you and took you into a room." Her voice caught, and she blinked back tears, but Malachi shook his head.

"I… What?" His breathing increased as he stared at the three of them. "I was drugged? When? How? I don't remember!"

"It's okay, Mr Sanders. You're fine now, and your body is clearing itself from the effects. Nothing happened to you while you were drugged. You had a saviour that night, that's for sure." The doctor chuckled, as if the words should've reassured Malachi.

They didn't.

His gaze darted around the room as he tried to remember, his head driving spikes into his brain. "I don't…" He rubbed his head. "How?"

"We're not sure exactly," the doctor said, "but the police are here and would like to talk to you. Are you up for a visit?"

"I really don't think now is a good time," his grandmother said. "He needs to rest."

"I understand that more than anyone, Mrs Hopkins, but the sooner they get information from your grandson, the quicker they can investigate. I'll give you something for your head as well." He bustled around while Malachi tried to collect his scattered thoughts.

"I don't remember anything," Malachi protested.

"It won't take long, Mr Sanders," the doctor persisted.

Malachi sighed. "Okay." He didn't want to talk to them, but if it would get them off his back, he would.

Dr Andrews smiled and went to the door, speaking to someone outside before gesturing for them to enter. Malachi knew the Police Commissioner, but why was he was the one to be there?

"Mr Sanders, I'm Commissioner Thomas. I'm sorry for what you've been through, but we have a few questions for you, if that's okay?"

"It's Malachi. I'm not sure how much help I'll be because I don't remember much." Commissioner Thomas glanced at Malachi's mum and grandma, and Malachi shifted on the bed. "Mum, you and Grandma can take a break now," he said.

"No, it's okay. We can wait," Emily said.

Sally pushed herself to her feet. "Come on, Emily. Let's grab some tea from the restaurant and leave these people to talk."

Emily opened her mouth to argue, but a glare from her mother set it closed again. She stood and grabbed her handbag before leaning over Malachi. "I'll be right back, sweetie." She kissed his cheek, and he barely stopped himself from crying.

"Thanks, Mum." He waited until they and the doctor left before focusing back on the Commissioner. "Okay?"

"The event you were at last night was a large event with some royal family in attendance. Do you remember that?"

Malachi nodded. "It was a dinner event for a charity."

"That's right. What we need to figure out is if what happened to you was focused solely on you, or…" Thomas grimaced, "if you were the wrong target."

Malachi opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he sighed, his head throbbing but beginning to ease. "Okay, ask your questions, but I'm not sure how much help I'll be."

"Thank you, Malachi." Thomas settled into a chair beside the bed. "What do you remember from last night?"

Malachi sighed again. "I remember arriving at the event and entering the hall. There were many people, which I expected. I remember sitting down to dinner." He winced and rubbed his head. "I don't remember anything after that."

"Do you remember what you had to eat and drink?" Thomas asked.

"I had a bottle of water when I first arrived, and then at dinner, I had…" He closed his eyes, trying to picture sitting at the table with the other guests. "I had the chicken dish and…a glass of wine."

"Do you remember if that wine was the one from the table or if a server brought you it?"

A wave of nausea flowed over him, and he breathed through it. "Sorry. Nausea is a bitch," he muttered.

"It's okay, Malachi. Take your time. Would you like some water?"

He nodded. "Yes, please." The Commissioner stood and poured some water from a jug into a small cup and handed it over. "Thanks." He sipped a little at a time, testing his stomach. When the nausea abated a little, he exhaled. "Um… oh, right, the wine. Um, the table only had red wine, which I don't like, so I asked the server for a glass of white."

Thomas's mouth tightened. "Do you remember who your server was?"

Malachi closed his eyes again, trying to follow the image. He only had a distorted memory, something blurry and unhelpful. "No, I can't remember. I can't recall his face."

"He? Why do you say he?"

Malachi blinked and thought hard. "I don't know, but I get the feeling they were a man. I don't know if that's true or not, though. I'm sorry." His stomach rolled again. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Thomas nodded. "I will tell you everything we know, but I'd like to get your statement first. I don't want anything I say to change what you remember. Does that make sense?"

Malachi nodded and then wished he hadn't. He breathed slowly again, sipping his water. "Of course."

"What was the last thing you remember?"

"That. Sitting at the table, asking for some wine. After that, everything is fuzzy and distorted or completely blank until I woke up in here."

"Okay, one more question and then I'll answer yours." Malachi nodded. "Can you recall anything else at all from last night? Scents, sounds, textures, tastes. Anything at all?"

"Flowers," he said, licking his lips. "I remember the overpowering scent of flowers. The kind of scent when you go into a florist."

"Anything else?"

Malachi closed his eyes again and rested his head back. "A flash of light. Just briefly. As if a light had flicked on and then went off a few seconds later. And a shout but sounding as if it was far away." He opened his eyes and met Thomas's gaze. "I couldn't hear what they said."

"Thank you, Malachi. That helps a lot." Thomas put his notebook away and clasped his hands in front of him. "I know you will have a lot of questions, and I will answer what I can. I'm prefacing this with something you need to know. Other than being drugged, nothing else happened to you last night. Okay? I need you to remember that."

Malachi swallowed hard and nodded. It didn't ease his mind completely, and his heart rate tripled at the words, but that was more because he was worried about what Thomas was about to tell him.

"From what we can ascertain, a server at the event drugged you, possibly with that glass of wine. When you started showing signs of being disorientated, the server offered to help you find somewhere to sit down. He took you into a room down the hall from the event, closing you both in." Thomas sighed. "This is where some of our information stops. We don't know what happened to you between the closing of that door and the time it opened twenty minutes later, but we do know you were not sexually assaulted. The king's bodyguard broke into the room and found you with your shirt unfastened, but the rest of your clothes were still on and unaffected. I know that might not be a comfort, knowing he had you that vulnerable. The guard pulled the server off you as soon as he entered the room." Thomas's mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile.

Malachi frowned. "What?"

"Nick left his mark on the man, I promise you."

Malachi's stomach swooped. "Nick?"

Thomas nodded. "Nick Tennant. The king's bodyguard. He was the one who went looking for you."

Malachi wasn't sure what to do with that information. He knew Nick didn't like him, so to have him being the one to save him was…unnerving, almost. It was better to focus on that part of the Commissioner's words than to think about what could've happened if Nick hadn't been there.

"Do you know—" He cleared his throat and started again. "Do you know why he did it?"

Thomas's mouth tightened. "No. Unfortunately, the guy isn't talking. We're still working on him. As we have video evidence of him taking you into that room, and we have Nick corroborating that he was straddling you when he entered the room, he will not get out of jail anytime soon."

"Straddling me," Malachi squeaked, his voice finally giving up.

Thomas's gaze softened. "I'm sorry. Yes, when Nick entered the room, the server was straddling you on the sofa."

Malachi closed his eyes against the tears threatening to spill over. He breathed through the fear rushing through him. The what-ifs. The maybes. He hated not being able to remember, but in the same breath, he was glad he couldn't.

"Do you have any other questions, Malachi?" Malachi shook his head. "In that case, I will leave you my number and you can call me anytime if you have questions or if you remember anything else. Okay?"

Malachi inhaled and lifted his head. "Thank you, Commissioner."

A knock sounded, making Malachi jump, and the second police officer, who had entered with the Commissioner, raised his eyebrows at Malachi. Malachi nodded, and he opened the door, revealing someone Malachi never expected—the king's personal assistant.

"Ah, Randall. I was wondering whether we would cross paths today," Thomas said, rising from the chair and holding out his hand to the other man. They shook hands, and Thomas turned to Malachi. "This is Randall—"

"Metcalfe. The king's personal assistant," Malachi interrupted.

"Good morning, Mr Sanders. I wondered if you could spare a minute to have a word, please?"

Malachi nodded, unsure how much more he could take.

Thomas pulled a card from his pocket and laid it on the bedside table. "There's my number, if you need anything at all. Please don't be afraid to call."

"Thank you, Commissioner."

"I'll leave you in Randall's capable hands."

Malachi shifted in the bed, ignoring his rolling stomach and slightly less throbbing head as he watched the Commissioner leave with the second police officer and Randall take his place.

"How are you feeling?" Randall asked, perching on the edge of the chair Thomas had occupied.

"As well as could be expected, I think." Malachi didn't mean anything by his words, but Randall still flinched.

"The king is sorry for what happened at one of our events. He is concerned for your health and your well-being, so if there is anything we can do, please let us know."

Malachi waved him away. "Honestly, unless you were the ones to set this up, it's not your fault."

"I promise we had nothing to do with this, but the king would like to offer something to apologise for what you're going through." Randall paused, and Malachi frowned. "King Andrew would like to offer you the chance for a behind-the-scenes, up close and personal look at Windsor Castle and what goes on there. As I said, he feels responsible—even though he wasn't—and would like to help in any way he can. He's also offering you whatever health, emotional and mental needs you have."

Malachi wasn't sure what to think of the offer. While Randall had said they felt bad about it, why would they be offering such a thing, especially knowing what he wrote about them? He said as much.

Randall shifted in his seat. "I will be perfectly honest with you. The king is against violence of any kind, but what happened—or could've happened—to you is something we all detest. Nobody should be put through what you have, and we want to help in any way. That being said, if giving you this opportunity to watch us behind the scenes helps to…adjust your view of us, we wouldn't be opposed." Randall's mouth twitched, and Malachi couldn't help his laugh. If only he could tell him what he really thought of them.

"I'm a reporter, Mr Metcalfe. I certainly won't turn down the opportunity for a close-up of the royal family, but please let me say that this is in no way anyone's fault but the person who did this." Malachi frowned, realising he didn't even know who the guy was. "Whoever he is."

Randall relaxed a fraction. "I agree, Mr Sanders. But the king still feels responsible, as he does for anyone who is covered by the monarchy. And one more thing. We do not wish for you to keep this quiet if you do not wish to. We are happy for you to write about what happened in any way you want to."

Malachi knew this and loved the king even more for his generosity, but he couldn't show it completely. After all, no one knew his alter ego. "Then, thank you. I accept His Majesty's offer."

Randall beamed at him and stood. "Thank you so much, Mr Sanders. I'll leave my card next to Commissioner Thomas's, and when you are feeling up to it, please get in contact to arrange the visit. I look forward to seeing you then."

The door opened, and his mother and grandmother entered. "Oh, who's this?" Sally said, a visible twinkle in her eyes. She knew exactly who it was.

Randall held out his hand to the older lady. "Randall Metcalfe, at your service, Mrs Hopkins. Mrs Sanders. It's lovely to meet you both. I won't take up any more of your time, though." He turned back to Malachi. "I echo the Commissioner's words, Mr Sanders. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to get in touch."

"Thank you, Mr Metcalfe."

When Randall left, Malachi exhaled long and loud. "Well, that was interesting," he muttered.

"What did he want?" Emily asked, bustling around to ensure Malachi's covers were where they needed to be, something she had always done whenever he was ill as a child.

"Well, Commissioner Thomas wanted to ask what I remembered and then told me what information they had about last night, and Mr Metcalfe wanted to offer me a behind-the-scenes tour of Windsor Castle whenever I was up to it."

Emily narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "They want you to keep quiet about what happened."

Malachi shook his head and wished he hadn't. He closed his eyes and rested his head back. "Not at all. They gave me permission to write about it all."

"Seriously?" Emily said, and Malachi met her gaze and nodded. "Huh."

Sally chuckled. "They're the good guys, remember, Emily? They have their bad eggs, but most of them are good." His grandmother loved the royal family as much as Malachi did.

Emily sighed and patted Malachi's arm. "Get some rest, sweetie. I'm sure the doctors and nurses will be bustling in again soon. You might as well get as much rest as you can."

He didn't even argue with her, almost instantly feeling himself drifting away. But what kept floating around in his head was the image of a certain bodyguard who was apparently even willing to save someone he hated. Who would've thought? He'd have to remember to thank him when he next saw him. If it hadn't been for him, who knows what could've happened to Malachi. He shivered at the thought, and then his mind slid into the depths of sleep.

But even in his sleep, he couldn't escape the dreams of a faceless man leaning over him, and it was only when he woke himself or the nurses woke him that he was free of the nightmares that would undoubtedly dog his sleeping moments for the foreseeable future. Not that he slept much, anyway.

After waking for what had to be the tenth time—blessedly to an empty room, after his mum and grandma had left to go home earlier—he decided to take the king up on his offer of help. Seeing a therapist might be the only way to get over what had happened—or could've happened.

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