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Luc Zelsor and Home

There was a particular smell in the old-people’s-home that most of the human realm workers claimed to not like. Luc was probably the only being in existence who found comfort in it. It was filled with old stories, peaceful tones, and untapped wisdom. Humans didn’t realize all the available knowledge hiding away in their elders. If only humankind would take a glance at their history every now and then, they might find solutions to their problems instead of repeating the same mistakes over and over.

Luc opened the front doors and headed inside as he adjusted his backpack, then he nodded to the young receptionist at the desk who cast him a shy wave and pushed her hair behind her ear. A variety of paper trees had been hung up along the walls—likely the patients’ most recent craft.

He made his way around the bend to his locker, shrugged off his coat, and dragged out his scrubs, slipping them on over his jogging clothes. He was still fastening his shiny name tag to his chest when the head caregiver, Mary , came around carrying a clipboard and a rather heavy-looking teetering tray of rolled towels. Luc almost didn’t make it to her in time before she would have dropped everything. He lifted the tray while the middle-aged female caught her balance and wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. She flashed him a smile.

“Thanks, Luc. I was on my way to distribute those to the rooms on the second floor, but… well, I got a little dizzy,” she said. “They’re a lot heavier than they used to be.”

“I’ll do it,” Luc said. He cast her a smile in return that might have actually been authentic and cruelty-free. “How is patient 112? Any new trauma symptoms?” he asked as he moved the tray to one hand and used the other to replace his backpack. They headed back by reception toward the stairs, and Mary laughed.

“They’re people, Luc, not patients. This isn’t a hospital. And you should learn their names!” she reminded him. “I think it’s so funny you always call them by their room numbers. How do you remember everyone’s numbers like that anyway?”

“Not everyone’s,” he admitted. “Just the ones I like, I suppose.”

Ten minutes later, Luc set the empty tray on the cart at the end of the second floor hall and ventured down to room 112 with the last towel. He knocked lightly, and when there was no answer, he cracked the door open.

“Ms. Hunter?” he called gently. “I’ve brought towels.”

“Come in,” a voice called back, and so, Luc slipped into the room.

A female sat in a wheeled-chair by the window, making a study of everyone outside. Wreaths of woven flower stems and long grass hung in various places around the room.

“How are you today?” he asked her, and the female turned in her seat. She smiled when she saw him—she had a lovely smile. Heart-shaped and kind.

“Luc, was it?” she asked. “Sorry to ask—my memory isn’t great. I’m not sure I can trust my own mind anymore even though you come in almost every day.”

“Your mind is just fine,” he told her as he sat on the bed and pulled his backpack around. “So are your legs,” he added, eyeing the wheeled-chair. “You don’t actually need that thing. Why bother with it?” He unzipped the backpack and reached inside.

“Of course I don’t need it. I’m younger than all the people here,” she said, waving toward the other rooms. “But if I tell the staff how good my legs are, I’ll have to start walking everywhere.”

Luc chuckled. “Fair.” He pulled something out of the backpack and held it up so she could see. “I brought you a present,” he told her.

Ms. Hunter turned in her chair to see it closer, eyeing the tight wreath of the crown, the glittering black opals, and the expensive moonstones that had been sacred to the Dark Corner for generations.

“What is it?” she asked.

Luc reached forward and placed it on her head. “It’s something that will ensure you’re never ruled over again,” he told her.

She released a laugh as she balanced it atop her head. It complimented her smooth, pale skin, her silvery eyes, and her pointed ears. “How do I look?” she asked.

“Like someone who belonged at the Queene’s table all along,” Luc said. He tossed his backpack aside and stood, then he reached to adjust the crown, but he paused when her hand came up and rested along his. He found her studying him the way she studied all people.

She cracked a modest smile. “Oh dear. You know, the strange thing about having Alzheimer’s disease is feeling like you know someone but not remembering why,” she said, and Luc frowned. He lowered his hands as she took him in. A second later, she laughed at herself and shook her head. “Maybe I should be worried I’m forgetting something important.”

Luc’s shoulders relaxed. He found his own smile and he stood again, walked around her wheeled-chair, and took the handles. “That would only apply if you actually had Alzheimer’s disease, which you don’t,” he informed her. “You have a simple case of amnesia. And you have nothing to worry about in here. As long as you remember that I’m your favourite caregiver in this place, and they continue to feed you three times a day, and they let you play board games with your friends, and they take you out for long, lovely walks in the park, I imagine it’s much better than whatever life you had that you can’t remember.”

He turned her chair toward the door as she nodded.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said with a sigh, and she laughed again. “You seem clever.”

Luc’s grin widened.

“Now, since you’re so determined to take advantage of these chairs on wheels and get pushed around instead of walking on your perfectly good feet, why don’t we head out for a walk? There’s an ice cream place not far from here that I’ve recently discovered is open year-round.”

Ms. Hunter’s room filled with the sounds of her clapping. “Yes! I love ice cream.”