The next morning, I wake up with no troubling thoughts because trouble has decided to wake me up instead.

“Finally! Good morninnggg,” the entity known as Ete croons.

I open my eyes and see teeth large enough to bite my head off from the neck. Then, I jolt back, and end up slamming my head on the headboard.

"Shit!"

Ete starts cackling. It doesn't stop until I push its jaw away to sit up. It feels like trying to put your hand in cold cement.

"What do you want? It's too early for this."

"Get up," Ete sing-songs, swimming off somewhere else in the dark. Its voices are everywhere and before me at the same time. "I need to switch when Hirsch gets here, but I thought I'd be nice enough to tell you first!"

"Switch with who?" Underneath my legs, the mattress is firm and lush. I swing my legs over the edge of the four poster, drawing back the bedcurtain. The room before me is dim enough that Ete has no problems just disappearing into its darkness, but my eyes adjust to the carpet flooring, the framed paintings on the wall, the fireplace and the furniture.

"Hirsch."

"Who's Hirsch?"

"Your butler."

Given that I just woke up, I'm still confused. "I don't have a butler."

"Okay, Lysander Narh's butler, then."

So there's Lily the female lead, Roland the prince, Henry my son, Lysander the merchant, Rewez the driver, Bayiz the guard, and Hirsch the butler. These are a ridiculous amount of names to familiarize myself with. "Why do you need to switch? I thought you were going to follow me around and decide on your whims if you were going to be useful."

Ete's fingers nudge me by my cheek. "I'm not of this plane, Lee Huang. I'm at my weakest at the end of sunrise until the start of sunset. I need sleep too!"

It's inhuman. It's not a creature that exists. It can send me back to my own time, defying the laws of physics and life and mortality, but it still needs sleep? I give up on understanding this, and knock its fingers away. "Where will you be?"

"Sleeping."

"And if I need something from you?"

"Just call me by my true name. Ete!"

"And not Nalii?" After I took a shower last night and returned to the room to sleep, I left the exterior robe over the back of an armchair. It's still there, so I get up and put it on with the slippers. The chill settles into fair comfort. "Is that your fake name?"

"It's my in-world one, the one of this body, just like yours is Lysander."

It's a name I still haven't attributed to myself but it's not important. I've been called a lot of things in my lifetime, negative and positive; an alternate name is no problem.

The drapes are still shut on either side of the window, so I go to open it. Outside with the dawning sky, a quiet lawn--complete with grassy greens, gardens, hills, hedges, a fountain and a greenhouse--stares back at me. I glance back at the room and its unnecessary grandness and double doors, and Ete now in human form leaning with folded arms on the top of the armchair.

I came back last night half-cognizant, so I hadn't really been paying much attention then to the rest of the place. Now awake, I find it escapes logic: the King's merchant is living in such an expensive mansion. Either he's able to afford it, or it's a gift to keep him in check somehow.

"What's supposed to happen next in the novel?"

"Henry was in jail?" Callous, Ete shrugs. "Well, no idea, but Roland and Lily start wedding planning." The door opens behind me. "Moooorning, Hirsch!" calls Ete. "I'll leave him to you."

I turn all the way back, just in time to catch the lazy, speedy wave of them in human form before they depart.

"Of course, Nalii. I will take over from here." A man enters the room, pushing a filled trolley cart. He's wearing a black and white suit with coattails.

He's a prim, stern-looking older gentleman. Styled back black hair greys at the edges of his temples. The watch chain at his chest pocket and the trim at his sleeves are tasteful details, while the lines of his face give him a refined look. gentleman in a black and white suit with coattails

"Good morning, Hirsch," I say. The man's face softens when I say his name, and a small smile stays on his lips. It's an odd feeling; like approval without having done anything. It makes me uncomfortable.

"Good morning, Master," he replies warmly. "How did you sleep? Any lingering signs of nausea?"

The last time I've had my health asked after was at the doctor's. I haven't had time to attend any family gatherings for a long time now. "I'm fine. I've troubled you  yesterday."

Last night, I'd been motionsick out of my mind. My stomach couldn't handle it, and I'd thrown up on his polished shoes once I stepped out at the carriage.

"It's never a problem, sir," he insists. He's a good decade older than I am, so it's strange his warmth makes me feel at ease and unsure at the same time. It's the tone of voice; someone used to customer service--or in this case, working with an important client. At the same time...

I try not to think about it too hard.

The top of the trolley has a bowl of water and a towel. I assume it's to wash my face, so I do. When I'm done, he trades the the tray with the one from the bottom: a plate of breakfast complete with fork and knife, and a tea-set.

"Would you prefer to get dressed first, or eat?"

"I'll eat." I wouldn't even know where to get clothes. There were a few maids last time that left a change of clothes outside of that extravagant bathroom, but this room seems like it was specifically designed for sleeping and relaxing in. There's no wardrobe.

I've had room-service before, but never so service-oriented. I pick the leftmost seat, so Hirsch wheels it over for me. If he could, I'm sure he could have saved me the trouble of even sitting down.

This place is out of my element; these circumstances are too. I'm more used to waking up two hours earlier than I need to leave, showered, dressed, and reading a newspaper or catching up on work before I leave with a coffee. I don't really eat breakfast.

Hirsch is nowhere near as built as Bayiz nor as slim as Ete is. He's in between, slightly lankier than I am, but I get the feeling he's quite strong. For one, when I try to shift the tray by picking it up by its handles, my arms shake with effort.

"Your agenda was interrupted yesterday," Hirsch informs me as I'm digging in. Breakfast is sausages, eggs and toast. "I have taken the initiative to inform the young Master that he has been placed under house arrest and his privilege to wander has been limited. All servants have been made aware of this."

It's exactly what I would have made sure of if we were back at home. I was planning to ground him, and then let the housekeeper, the chauffeur, security and the concierge know Henry was meant to stay in the condo. "Mm."

"It takes a village to raise a child, after all." Hirsch has placed himself at a deliberate angle: at the edge of my periphery, with his hands folded behind my back.

"How was he, hearing this?"

"The young master understands you have his safety as a priority."

I doubt it. "You convinced him?"

Hirsch smiles again. "I have seen him grow up, sir. It would not be amiss to say he considers my opinion well enough."

A sour feeling fills my gut, the idea that Henry would listen to some stranger and not to me. I pause after I finish the last mouthful, wiping my mouth with the napkin on the side of the tray. 

"What's on the agenda?" I ask, after a moment. I'm not an actor and I think it's a waste of time, but assuming Ete wanted the story to continue, things will happen regardless if I initiate them. It makes more sense to understand what's going on.

To my surprise, Hirsch is very detailed; rather than a butler, I'd call him more of a skilled secretary. I have a list of things to do, files apparently at the ready for my perusal, and several meetings, each of them arranged well enough. Looking over the written schedule, all I can think is that I would have hired him in the blink of an eye and fired my current assistant.

There's a walk-in closet attached to the side room; I change within it, but when I exit, Hirsch is very careful to help me wear the strange one-shouldered cloak, and fix my collar.

"I'll see Henry first," I decide. If he's thinking about why a father wouldn't even know where his son sleeps in his house, Hirsch doesn't show it. He bows, deeply with a hand over his heart. "Lead the way."

I never liked big houses. Too many rooms to clean. I grew up sharing my house with another family. When I went to school, I split a room with roommates in a three bedroom. I looked into an apartment as a professional--and had the nannies raise my children in a one floor condo apartment.

This place is large and complex. It wouldn't be wrong to call it similar to the other building I was in yesterday. Needlessly fancy.

"Where did Nalii end up going?" I ask, for something to break the ice. As comfortable as Hirsch is, I'm not.

"Nalii comes and goes," Hirsch replies. "Even I'm unaware, but I'm sure he will return. He usually does around the afternoon."

We round the corner and I freeze. There's a large portrait on the wall. Lysander Narh glares down at me, but beside him is a woman whose face I would know anywhere.

"Michelle," I croak, before I can stop myself.

"Ah, it's a portrait of the madame you commissioned after the engagement. Do you want to visit her?"

My voice shrinks low. "Visit?"

"Yes. It's been a while since you've seen her. She has also been asking after you. I'm sure she would welcome--"

"Take me to her. Now."

My hands grow sweaty, my heart pounds louder, and it's all I can do not to grab Hirsch by his shoulders.

Hirsch's expression is neutral, though his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. "O-of course, sir. This way."

I could not tell you how we got there. All I know is that suddenly, I felt Hirsch was not walking fast enough. That no matter what how I had gotten here and what I had to do, it didn't matter.

The room is nondescript. The doors like any other. Hirsch stands to the side, and my sweaty palm lingers on the doorknob.

Just this. Just this separates the two of us.

I'm afraid if I open this, it'll be a mistake. That if this all is some kind of a dream, I will wake up heartbroken.

Eventually, I steel myself and turn the doorknob, and push the door in.

The room muted. The drapes have been drawn close, not even letting a bit of light in. It takes me a while to get used to it, and when I step in, I end up closing the door behind me. Stillness surrounds me; as if the dead are still sleeping.

There's a figure lying in the bed.  Unlike mine, the bedcurtains are sheer. Through the gap in them, I see her wrists first; thin and worn out, laying atop the sheets.

"Jessica?" her voice is so weak, barely a whisper. My heart aches. "Is that you?"

I don't answer. I can't answer.

My footsteps drag against the carpet, one after another. My throat is squeezed so tight.

When I lay my eyes on her, I falter. 

When she meets my eyes, there's a dullness. Then, a surprise. Recognition, shame, so many variations of emotions I have not seen on her for sixteen years.

"Lee," she murmurs, and her hand twitches.

In this moment, I am not a dead man. I am not a father who has failed his son. I am not in another man's body, living in the world of some strange novel my son read before he died.

I am Lee Huang.

I grasp her frail hand in both my own, tears in my eyes. "Michelle."

My wife is alive.