Chapter 2

And much of Madness, and more of Sin,

And Horror the soul of the plot.

- Poe, (The Conqueror Worm)

The room he found at the top of the stairs was empty, with that peculiar ambiance of long-abandoned spaces. Dust clung to every visible surface, hung thick in the wan light from the windows. The furniture that might have filled the space was long gone, but he thought he could see the ghosts of it from the corner of his eye. A chair here, a table there. The brief flash of a red-haired woman in the kitchen doorway, and of a gray-haired old man laughing as he set a deck of playing cards on the coffee table.

He stumbled a few more steps to the center of the room before his knees gave out and he crashed to the floor. Pain sparked through his legs, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his head, as strange images flashed before his mind's eye. His head spun with glimpses of faces, snatches of conversation. With nothing to give them context, none of the images made sense and he couldn't understand what they were trying to tell him. Who were these people? What were they to him? What was he to them? He couldn't remember, and it hurt.

One hand clutching his aching head, he forced his body to rise and stagger over to the second set of stairs that he could see across the room. He pushed himself past the disorientation, past the pain, and half-climbed, half-crawled up. There was a bedroom at the top.

Like the rest of the apartment, the furniture was long gone. But somehow, he knew that the bed had gone there, along that wall. And a desk had been there, beneath the dormer window. As he moved further into the room, his foot kicked something that scuffed against the carpet. When he bent down to pick it up, he saw that it was a playing card like the ones in his vision. The back was a vortex of swirling browns, while the front showed a picture of a man in strange purple armor. Holding the card, he got another flash of memory, this time of a young man with dirty-blond hair laughing as he waved the card out of reach over his head, while a shorter boy hopped futilely after it.

Shaking his head as if he could knock loose the confusion with the sharp movement, he let the card - once more just a rectangle of pasteboard - drop. He stepped on it as he shuffled further into the room.

He remembered: soft flannel pajamas (light blue, covered in yellow stars), an alarm clock with a grinning face, posters on the wall, books and boardgames on the shelves. An ordinary room, for an ordinary boy.

A boy who had gone to school, been bullied, made friends, worked in the game shop, graduated, become an ordinary man.

Fitting the bits and pieces of himself into place was like putting together a golden puzzle, each memory illuminating the dark space where his sense of self resided.

He once had a family.

Mom (holding a ladle), Grandpa (laughing over a winning hand of cards)...

He once lived in this place with his family.

Mom threatening him with the ladle for making a mess (socks covering his bedroom floor) when he was supposed to be cleaning up; Mom tucking him into bed when he was sick. Helping Grandpa in the game shop downstairs. Grandpa teaching him to play Duel Monsters, helping him make his first deck. Waving to him in front of the game shop.

He once had a home here, and a family.

A crash, somewhere out of sight... downstairs? Shouting. Strange voices, then Grandpa- Rushing to the stairs, and down. Strange sound (gunshot) and a scream (Mom), "Grandpa!" Another gunshot. "Mom! No!"

Not dead, not yet. (kinder if they had been) ...The sounds of fists striking flesh. Flesh on vulnerable flesh. (No! Mom!) Mocking laughter, high and manic. His own voice, pleading until his breath ran out.

And then so much pain, as his heart lies bleeding on the floor, his family, blind eyes staring into eternity and seeing nothing. He's always hated fighting, hated violence, but in that moment, he thinks he could kill-

And then there's nothing but darkness, rage, and endless sorrow.

He stumbled back, as if he could retreat from the images, the memories, but the knowledge follows him. They're gone: Mom, Grandpa. Dead, violated, murdered in front of him. He didn't recognize their killers, had no idea why anyone would want to hurt his family or him. He had no idea why he was here now. Alone, but for the strange voice... and the crow.

But he remembered.

He remembered that he loved his family.

He remembered that his name was Yugi Mutou.

o0o

In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed-

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

- Poe, (A Dream)