Enoch's Ghost by Bryan Davis

studied it for a moment, trying to memorize every detail. Just before the portrait scattered, she noticed the rubellite ring on his finger. It carried a white gem.
    After glancing at the ridge for a brief second, she turned back to the oracle and whispered so softly she could barely hear her own voice. “Arramos.”
    The seven colored ribbons painted a new portrait, another human male standing in blackness without a walking stick. This middle-aged man was dressed like Enoch, the tunic and sandals identifying him as an ordinary citizen from the pre-flood days. She took a step closer and looked at the ring on his finger. A white gem graced the shiny gold band.
    Thigocia floundered backwards. Flapping her wings again, she righted herself and made her way back to higher ground. What could it all mean? Why was Arramos a human in the oracle and a dragon on Earth? Something was wrong, very wrong.
    She launched into the air and hurried to meet the dragon she still doubted, now even more than ever.

Chapter 5
    The Other Side of Heaven
    Timothy opened his eyes and blinked at the odd light fixture hanging from the ceiling’s wooden panels. It appeared to be a circle of miniature lanterns sitting on a disc supported by three thin chains. He glanced at the other strange surroundings. Varnished wood railings bordered his bed, and an IV tube ran from his arm up to a wooden rack that looked more like a hat tree than an IV stand. And the hanging dispenser wasn’t the sterile plastic bag or glass bottle he expected. It was a small leathery pouch, rough and brown like a well-worn saddle pack, and the liquid in the tube seemed polluted by the dispenser, tinged with oatmeal-colored strands within the clearer flow. He fingered the exposed needle penetrating the back of his hand. What kind of hospital is this?
    Leaning over to peer through the open doorway, Timothy called out, “Nurse! Can you hear me?”
    There was no response. He ran his fingers through his sheets but couldn’t find a button to summon help. “Nurse!” he called again.
    A few seconds later, a young black boy wearing a “Lions” sweatshirt ran in, his long dreadlocks bouncing in time with his stride. The moment he saw Timothy, his eyes widened. “You’re awake!” With a big smile, he turned and dashed from the room, yelling, “Mother! He’s awake. The stranger is awake!” His shouts faded with his retreating footsteps.
    A little girl, no more than ten years old, peeked around the door. With thin hair dangling over the rough, patchy skin on her gaunt face, she smiled and offered a weak wave of her hand.
    As a gush of sympathy washed over him, Timothy returned the smile. This girl was probably suffering from some terrible disease and searching for a new friend in the hospital. “Hello,” he said. “What’s your name?”
    She jerked her head away, and the sound of pattering feet echoed from the hall.
    Timothy squinted at an analog clock on the wall, but its numbers went up to twenty-four instead of twelve. “I guess it’s about fifteen, thirty,” he said out loud. “This must be a military hospital.”
    Pushing the sheet down to his waist, he examined his body. Fortunately, they hadn’t dressed him in one of those awful, drafty gowns with the tie strings in the back. Wearing a loose T-shirt and boxer shorts made a lot more sense. He pulled up his shirt, exposing his stomach and chest. No wounds. No surgical scars. Just flabbier than usual. That meant a pretty long stay. Could he have been in a coma? The boy’s reaction indicated something like that.
    He rubbed his chin. No beard. That meant a recent shave. He mentally checked the rest of his body. No pain anywhere except the slight sting where the needle pricked his skin. His toes moved fine, so no spinal injury to worry about. Since the coma was over, it made no sense just to lie around. Maybe he could carry his IV out to the hall and find out what was going on.
    Drawing his knees up, he shifted his body