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Bradford’s lungs were on fire and his vision was slowly dwindling into a great pool of darkness. For forty days now, he had been unable to move. Sharp pains lanced his sides with every cough and hammers battered at his head with every thought. After visit upon visit from doctors of all corners of the world, they had agreed to confine him to his bed, a sad little nest of blankets and small comfort, in a room he considered a prison and looked on with in disdain. He was not a patient man- indeed, he could hardly remember an age when he had had time for others and their tedious conversations- but the doctors had told him he would simply have to wait for his mysterious illness to vanish.

Across from his bed, there was a large window which opened to a magnificent balcony. Before his sickness had descended, Bradford would stand upon the terrace and observe his vast expanse of estate, but now, he could only see the tops of the trees that grew before his manor. The beautiful sight used to fill him with pride, but no longer. A rich man in his youth, he had grown vain and merciless. Never satisfied, he began to long for more, searching the depths of the Earth for the happiness and wealth he believed he deserved. Now, in his old age and illness, there was no one to grace his bedside and soothe him with words of hope and faith.

Mr. Bradford was dying and Death was determined to prolong his agony.

1

Bradford awoke on a sunny Wednesday- although he could distinguish neither facts. The walls surrounding him were pitch-black, illuminated only by a miniscule fire in the corner opposite from where he had awoken.

“Where am I?”

Out of the depths of the room emerged a devil-like man who smiled, his sharp, white teeth glittering like diamonds in the dark. “You are where you have been meant to be for a very long time.”

Bradford recoiled at the sight of the stranger, whose red, deformed face sagged down with scars and intricate tattoos. “What do you mean by that?”

“My, my,” the unusual man tsked. “Such curiosity.” He snapped his fingers and a letter, wrapped tightly in a scroll, appeared on a silver platter that floated before them in midair. “Tea?”

Bradford stood agape.

The man shrugged. “Mr. Bradford, do you remember when your mother died forty years ago?”

“Yes,” Bradford said. “I do, thank you very much.”

“And do you remember when you gave that lovely speech about the beautiful Martha Bradford leaving this wretched Earth to a special, better place?”

“Yes,” the old man repeated. “But what’s that-”

“Well, you won’t be finding her here!” The other man laughed hysterically.

“What?” Bradford asked softly. “What is this place?”

“Death,” the man replied. “This is death.”

***

Mrs. Dorchester made her way up the stairs, carrying a silver tray of tea and bread. The mansion, though draped in gold and white, was gloomy and miserable as always. The day that light had begun to hurt her master’s eyes, he had ordered the curtains pulled tightly shut, and the lamps forbidden to be turned on.

Opening the door, she saw that Mr. Bradford was peacefully sleeping. She breathed a sigh of relief, finding a reprieve from her daily beratement. She gently put the tray down on the nightstand beside him, then noticed the unearthly blue tinge about his lips.

“Mr. Bradford?” She asked. ‘Mr. Bradford, I’ve brought your tea.”

There was no reply from the man.

“Mr. Bradford?” She slowly backed away, blindly finding the door, then fleeing quickly down the marble staircase.

For the first time in seventy years, Mr. Bradford had not woken in time to see the sunrise.

***

“Death?” Bradford cried incredulously. “I’m dead?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the strange man said. “You were suffering for a very long time.”

“Death...” Bradford whispered. “But why am I here then?”

“Atonement,” the man said. “You must pay for your mistakes, Mr. Bradford. And I will help you, as I have helped so many before you.”

“What... who are you?”

The man smiled. “Stephen. Demon of Sector 27, Block Q. Home of the Corrupt and Amoral.”

“Home? I am to live here?”

Stephen laughed. “Only if you do not atone. To leave, you must make it right.”

“It?”

“Your sins. What you must correct before your soul enters damnation.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” Bradford cried. “I never harmed no one!”

The demon laughed again. “Of course you would say that. Why wouldn't you? No one ever confesses on their first day.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Bradford gasped, falling to his knees in distress. “Please! I’m not meant to be here!”

Stephen looked sharply at him. “Atonement, Mr. Bradford. Remember.”

The demon snapped his fingers suddenly, disappearing in a cloud of red smoke and taking the light of the fire with him.

“Please....” Bradford pleaded. “Stephen....”

Slowly, the room began to turn in on itself, morphing into the bright front lawn of a large white house. Bradford lay, his eyes closed, sprawled across the fresh, green grass.

2

Once again, Bradford awoke in a dark room, the only light coming in from between the blue curtains covering the window opposite the bed he lay in.

“You’re awake,” a stern-looking woman in the corner said. “Who are you?”

“What?” Bradford asked, his head spinning. “Where am I?”

“Bradford Manor,” the woman said firmly. “You were found on our front porch this morning. It was insisted that you were brought in and made comfortable until you were well enough to leave.”

“Bradford...” He said blankly. “I don’t understand.”

“When you’re ready,” she said. “You may come downstairs.”

***

As Bradford made his way down the stairs, he heard the woman’s voice. She was in a nursery, holding a baby not a year old.

“Hello?” he called.

The woman looked up. “Hello. I see you’ve decided to get up. I am Edna.” the baby shifted in her arms. Bradford looked down at him. “His name is Eddie,” the nurse said, pursing her lips in disdain. “A true delight.”

“Where are his parents?” Bradford asked. “It’s very quiet.”

“His parents travel,” she scoffed. “They rarely visit.”

“Not even to see their children?”

“They do not trouble themselves with the affairs of young Thomas and Eddie. Children are nuisances.” 

The baby looked as though he might burst into tears, though he made not even the slightest trace of a whimper or cry.

“Eddie is rather well-behaved,” Bradford commented. “It’s rather strange for a babe to stay so still and quiet.”

“Well, he knows the consequences of misbehaving,” the woman said. “Age is no reason for disobedience.”

Startled, Bradford looked curiously at her. “I see.”

“Shush,” Edna said sharply as Eddie cooed, pinching his arm tightly. “Don’t.”

All of a sudden, Bradford fell back. The room was beginning to fold once more, reconstructing the walls, brick-by-brick.

***

“The baby,” Bradford said, looking shocked at Stephen. “Eddie. That was me.”

“It was,” Stephen said. “Took you long enough.”

“I remember Edna,” the old man said. “She wanted perfection. She never thought anything was good enough.”

“You struggled to keep up,” Stephen noted. “And she would slap you, wouldn’t she?”

“She would, but she told Thomas and me she was making us men.”

“Of course she was,” Stephen said. “She had you eating out of her hand before your first birthday. Mr. Bradford, Edna Whitman was not a good person. But enough. We are running out of time.”

The demon snapped his fingers and once again, the room began to shift. Before the empty room had completely disappeared, Stephen whispered two words to Bradford.

Good luck.

3

Bradford awoke on a bench in a colorful park. A boy was standing nearby, silently watching him.

“Are you homeless?” the boy asked. “Do you want food?”

Bradford scratched his head. “No, thank you. I was just resting.”

“Oh,” the boy replied. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“No, it’s alright,” Bradford said. “I’m Stephen. What do they call you?”

“They call me His Majesty,” the boy replied, smiling shyly behind a long lock of hair that fell before his eyes.

“His Majesty?” Bradford laughed. “What’re you, a prince in disguise?”

Three boys ran past, laughing raucously. One of them pushed Bradford forward, knocking him off the bench, yelling, “He’s the prince of England!”

“They’re making fun of you,” Bradford said, coughing a bit as he stood up again. “Why are they making fun of you?”

“They are?” His Majesty asked. He smiled. “That’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do believe that Edward is a rather princely name,” the boy- Edward- remarked. “If they are doing anything, they are complimenting me. Royalty is a nice thing to be, even in pretend, when you have little left in the world.”

“How can you say that? If someone had done mocked me to my face, I would have decked them right then and there.”

“But that’s wrong,” Edward said. “I can’t hit someone. It isn’t right.”

“Well, it isn’t right to call someone names,” Bradford said.

“My nanny, Edna, says I should stand still when they tease me and hope things will get better.”

“Don't hope,” Bradford said. “Hope is for people who can't make things happen on their own. Be strong, boy, and you'll have no need for hope.”

“What would you do, sir?”

“I would whup ‘em,” Bradford declared. “Make them sorry they ever mocked me.”

“I'm not very good at fighting, sir,” His Majesty whispered, looking a little frightened of his own words.

“You've never hit a boy?”

“No, sir.”

“Come now, you've never pushed one of your friends?”

“Well, sir, I don't have many friends. Most of the lot think I'm strange because I’d rather read and write than wrestle and tease the girls.”

“No wonder,” the older man exclaimed, “they call you His Majesty! Why read and write when you can fight in the mud? If you know the alphabet forwards and your Latin is good and well, there is little more to learn!”

“I don't mean to be disrespectful sir,” His Majesty said, “but I believe there are a great deal of things one could learn from books.”

“Nonsense!” Bradford cried. “Force, Edward. Force is the answer. If you show people that you are not one to be pushed around, then they will not push you around.”

4

Edward was surrounded by females, clamoring about him in a fervent frenzy. He was sitting atop a large table, a smug look upon his face. As the crowd began to disperse, he noticed Bradford staring at him.

“Hey, do I know you?” he called out.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Bradford replied. “I’m new in town.”

Edward laughed. “And at this joint? You gotta know someone.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bradford said. “A buddy of mine, Winston. Told me about this nice place a coupla weeks back.”

“Winston? I don’t know a Winston. Well, he wasn’t wrong. It’s a swell bar, Johnny’s.” Edward called the bartender over. “Two of the usual, my good man.”

***

Three drinks later, Bradford could see that Edward couldn’t think straight. “Let’s get you home, son.”

“It’s alright,” Edward slurred. “I can go by m’self.”

“No, have you got a car? I’ll drive you.”

“S’alright. I’ll drive.”

“Edward, no, you won’t.”

“It’s a short drive, sir. Why don’t you come back with me? We can talk.”

Bradford thought for a moment. “Only if it’ll keep you out of trouble.”

***

The erratic drive had lasted barely five minutes when Edward was pulled over. Bradford looked at him, the boy starting to shake.

As the police officer approached the car, he looked at the crying boy. “Your taillight’s out. I’m going to give you a warning, son. Only this once, you hear me?”

Edward nodded, but didn’t start the car’s engine as the man walked away.

“You alright?” Bradford asked.

The boy shook his head. “It wasn’t a taillight. You know, I- I'm scared, sir.”

“Why’re you scared, Edward?”

“Well, it's just... my brother’s dead.”

“I'm very sorry,” Bradford said, his chest tightening up.

“A drunk man killed him,” Edward went on. “And left him in the road. Three years ago- before they sent me to school. I'm scared that I'm going to be like that someday.”

“It was three drinks,” Bradford said, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “One time. Only one time. You made a mistake, but it's alright. If it's only once.”

Edward looked pitifully at the older man. “Sir... if this is what being afraid is like, then I don't think I've ever truly been afraid before.”

***

Bradford awoke on a battered and worn couch. Edward was dressing beside the bed, paying no attention to the old man.

“Are you alright?” Bradford asked, getting up. He stood in the small hallway leading out to the door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man,” Edward said. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“But...” Bradford said. “Last night...”

“Look, I got a nice little lady waiting out there for me,” Edward smirked. “So if you don’t mind?”

Bradford sighed and stepped aside. As Edward c***ily made his way out the door, the hall began to spin and fold itself into the dark room that was becoming more and more familiar to him.

***

“I caused this?” Bradford asked as soon as he had awoken.

“Yes, you dim-witted, little man!” shouted Stephen. “It was you who did this to him! No one else but you! He could have lived his whole life as a prince but you had to come along and ruin it all!”

“But he was no prince,” Bradford replied softly. “He was a boy and I thought I was teaching him the right thing.”

“Perhaps,” the demon said. “But maybe, if you hadn't, there would have been someone at his side when he died.”

“Is this what I stole from him? His innocence?”

“What?”

“When we first met, you told me that I had stolen something from all the people in my life. What did I take from Edward?”

Stephen looked at him with disgust. “Everything. You took everything.”

“Did I?” Bradford asked breathlessly.

5

“I’m going to take you back,” Stephen said suddenly.

“What?” Bradford gasped, taken aback.

“I’m going to take you back so you may right your wrong.” As he spoke, the room was morphing once more, this time behind a large bin in a dark alleyway, where two men stood facing each other, hostile looks painted upon them.

“Where’s my money?” the man farthest from Bradford yelled. “I loaned it to you months ago, Edward!”

Edward had aged considerably, lines etched beneath his eyes, his hair misshapen and disorderly. “Look, George. I told you I’d have it next week. I’ve been having trouble getting my paycheck. I swear, Tuesday.”

“I’m tired of next weeks, Eddie,” George said. “I want my money and I want it now.”

“I swear!” Edward cried. “I’m trying!”

“Not enough,” George said. He stepped back, then swung his fist at Edward, connecting with the smaller man’s jaw.

Edward’s head snapped back. “What the hell, George!”

“I’m sick of you taking advantage of me.” George walked slowly towards the fallen man. “And this is what I do to leechers.”

He revealed a small gun in his waistband, pointing it at Edward. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna kill you. I’m just gonna teach you a lesson.”

“No!” Bradford leapt out from behind the garbage bin. “Stop!”
In shock, George jerked the gun upward, his finger pulling the trigger in a second. Bradford crumpled as the bullet pierced his skull, blood pooling around his head as he hit the ground.

Petrified, George ran off. Edward ran over to Bradford, struggling to staunch the flow of blood, but there was nothing he could do. The man was dead. But even as Edward frantically screamed for help, the alley was slowly reconstructing itself into the dark room where Bradford knew Stephen awaited.

“I died again,” Bradford said incredulously.

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Stephen replied. “Bradford, I know I told you that you would be righting your wrongs in that alley. But I lied.”

“What?” the man gasped. “What are you talking about?”

The demon sighed. “People don’t change. Especially not when they see someone die for them. Bradford, Edward and George were friends. The betrayal, the murder... it was just too much for him. He began to push people away. He became heartless, cold, and distant. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Then why did you show me that?” Bradford exclaimed. “Why did you make me give up my life for him?”

“Don’t you understand?” Stephen asked. “That is exactly why I brought you back there. A week ago, you never would have sacrificed yourself for others. You would never have saved Edward, even knowing that you were the same person.”

“I don’t understand. I didn’t make anything right.”

“There was nothing to right,” Stephen said. “People are people. You cannot control that. But you can control your actions. And you did. Bradford, you’re free to go.”

“Free to go?”

The demon waved his hand, drawing a glowing door onto the wall next to the fire. “You may leave.”

Bradford hesitated. “I-”

“Go,” Stephen insisted. “The door won’t last for long.” 

As Bradford opened it, a gust of air rushed in and sucked him through, the door slamming shut behind him. Stephen stood alone in the room for a second before vanishing into another cloud of red smoke.

***

At the edge of the now-abandoned manor, Mrs. Dorchester stood alone, facing the shallow grave. There was nothing left beside it but a cheap tombstone reading Bradford’s name. She opened her umbrella as it began to drizzle and started her walk home, leaving the monotonous plink-plank of raindrops falling on the casket behind her.