That should have been it. End of story. But something had gone quite terribly wrong.

Eldon was finding it hard to think, his head ached so miserably. As he mulled over the events yet again, he vaguely remembered that for some reason he had pitched over the railing himself. Somewhere within that ghostly memory he also recalled feeling a jarring impact against the steel girder that stopped his fall. Then, everything had faded to black.

The top of his head burned like fire whenever he touched it. There was a tortured spot on his scalp that seemed devoid of hair. It was damp and sticky and the wetness clung to his hand when he pulled it away. From its feel, he assumed it must be blood.

The raucous clamor of loud music blaring from the warlock’s vehicle on the bridge above blended hesitantly with the eerie sounds of the ice-choked river. The cacophony was disconcerting, and when combined with the pain, it made it even harder for Eldon to concentrate.

“What could have gone wrong?” he wondered silently.

Again, he rewound the sketchy memories and thought through the scenario yet another time.

He had lifted the warlock upward, pronouncing the punishment as he did so. Then, straining against the man’s weight, he had pushed his arms outward to thrust the condemned over the railing and into the foggy night.

It was then that his head suddenly began stinging.

His scalp had felt as if it was on fire, and he was instantly doubled forward against the railing himself. Gasping, he was deprived of the breath that had been forced from his lungs by the sudden crush against the blue and green steel barrier. The rest of it was a blur, and a split second later he had blacked out.

The fact that he had blacked out was troubling. He hadn’t had any of those episodes for such a long time. Not since prison. He didn’t even want to think that it could possibly be happening again. It had been years since he had blacked out, hadn’t it?