Lieutenant Colonel Church’s head felt like John Henry was laying rail in it. His eyes couldn’t focus on anything. When the staff came in and spoke, he could hear them talking, but the words didn’t make sense. Any light made the pounding more severe. One thing kept popping in his head, the contents of his lower drawer in his desk. He wanted it. No, he needed it, like he had when he was ten, but lied when Santa asked him what he wanted for Christmas?

He grabbed the blurry arm of the shape in his room and tried to speak to it. “My desk, bottom need, drawer in.”

“Excuse me, sir, but you’re not making any sense.” The blur started to focus and clear up. The words bounced around Church’s head for a minute as they congealed into an understandable sentence...

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